A Mile in My Moccasins

Few people from industrialized countries are closely connected with their countries—not in a nationalistic way, but with the land and water, wildlife and air. We assume the notion is outdated. We use survival in the wild as a contest not unlike ancient gladiator spectacles. We have all sorts of technology to replace our meager senses—scopes and hearing apparatuses and high-powered rifles, etc. Our lives seek ever more expansive separation from the primitive. People laud AI and experiment with replacing parts of our own biology with technology—not always out of necessity but to enhance our egotistical capabilities. I didn’t think about how far afield we’ve traveled until I watched the 1980 American-Australian film THE EARTHLING with William Holden and Ricky Schroder.

In the film, a child played by Ricky Schroder is suddenly orphaned when his vacationing American parents die due to his father’s carelessness. The boy is left alone in the Australian wilderness with almost no hope of survival. His only chance is a man who’s hiking to his former remote outback birthplace to die of cancer and has traveled too far already to be able to turn back before his death. He’s repulsed by the hopelessness of being responsible for a previously sheltered boy and answers the child’s pleas for help with angry rejection that insists the boy fend for himself. As he commands the boy to pay attention to the nature around him—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the motivations of the wildlife—we recognize our own ignorance about what we’re destroying in the environment because it’s inconvenient. With no weapon other than a bit of wire and a sharpened stick, the man Foley is able to provide for himself. He doesn’t take more than he needs. The boy has to harden and learn.

The story is reminiscent of the former fictional soldier in AVATAR who must be schooled by the  native Na’vi humanoids in how to read the signs and creatures on whom he depends. Based on the plight of the real indigenous of Brazil who face extinction to make room for farming, mining, cattle, and city expansion, the Na’vi are loathe to teach humans their survival skills, humans who believe they’re intellectually superior and, therefore, above adapting to people they call savages. The invaders feel little compunction about annihilating the locals, assuming they have to be uselessly ignorant. It may be fiction, but it’s a sadly familiar plot in human history.

Scientists who are still employed scramble to learn the clues animals, birds, and insects use to predict natural occurrences such as tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, even thunder storms. My husband and I finally noticed that our own spoiled dogs react before we receive an electronic alert when an electrical thunderstorm is approaching our immediate area. A friend told me she watches the behavior of hummingbirds for warnings about the direction and severity of storms. Some in our society are finally paying attention to the amassed wisdom of ancient peoples who paid careful attention to weather, animal behavior, even plants to keep themselves safe and healthy. Others in our materialistic world create online scams based on our gullibility for easy miracle cures and magic.

Scorn for talk of climate change identifies the people who have grown distant from their natural heritage. They don’t want to be aware of or comprehend the signs. They’re confident that humans are meant to dominate nature. They’re content to pay exorbitant amounts for weapons that make them intimidating to all life and complain about the rigor of survival courses that are included in military training. Nature is seen as an opponent to be beaten. And when nature reacts by murdering thousands, that’s considered unfortunate, even though those incidences remind us of how much we rely on one another and nature for compassion and sustenance.