Memoir of a Living Fossil
Katie Wynn | December 2019
Technically, I am not extinct. Just ask the Kenyan conservationists who monitor my mother and I every day in Ol Pejeta Conservancy. My mother and I are the last Northern White Rhinoceroses known to be alive on the planet, but we are not extinct. Things certainly looked bleak a year ago when Sudan, the last surviving male of our species, grew so old and sick that the conservationists had no choice but to euthanize him. They say there is still hope though. Before Sudan passed, the conservationists collected and froze his sperm. My mother and I are unable to carry calves ourselves, but they collected our eggs. Apparently we have close relatives, Southern White Rhinoceroses, who are very different from us but could carry our young well enough to save our species. The conservationists seem sure that they can save us.
Modern science and human innovations have given the conservationists a sense of confidence that they can restore our once numerous population to its former glory. Thousands of Northern White Rhinos used to roam freely across the African continent. As recently as 1960, around 2,000 members of my species could be found in the wild across Uganda, Chad, Sudan, the Central African Republic, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Now, only two of us remain instead of thousands. Instead of thriving across nations, we exist within a 700-acre enclosure. Our diet consists not of what we forage for ourselves, but is instead carefully calculated and delivered to us by conservationists. Armed guards ceaselessly protect us from the outside world. We live in a vacuum.
In the wild, we had very few natural predators. We are the largest rhinoceros species on Earth, so very rarely were we threatened by other species. However, like many others, we were threatened by human greed. Humans found that our bodies could be sold for very large profits. They hunted us illegally and sold us on the black market. Then, humans realized that our habitat was valuable as well. They would clear-cut our homes, harvesting the lumber and developing the land for their own use. The humans did value us, but not for our ecological importance. They didn’t care that we played essential roles in maintaining ecosystem balance across the African continent. In the eyes of the humans, we were only as valuable as the profit we could bring.
My mother says it wasn’t always this way. A little more than 30 years ago, she lived alongside 14 others of our species in Garamba National Park. They were protected by conservationists who saw their intrinsic values rather than their monetary ones. The conservationists worked to help protect them from poachers, provided them with protected land, and encouraged them to breed. By 1995, the efforts of these conservationists had effectively doubled our species’ population. Sure, 30 Northern White Rhinos still weren’t much when compared to our former thousands, but it was a sign that times were changing. Things seemed to be getting better, and our species was on the incline. Human intervention, the initial cause of our problems, had redeemed itself and brought us back from the brink. That was until the impacts of the Sudanese civil war caught up with us.
In the early 2000s, after years of work to restore my species, rebels from the Sudanese People Liberation Army infiltrated Garamba National Park began to poach many of the large animals that populated the land. This included many of the 30 Northern White Rhinos that had begun to thrive in the park. The poaching was done on a commercial scale. Once again, the humans wanted to turn a profit. Quite often, they harvested and sold our meat in order to fund the war. The real money was in our tusks though. In 2009, rhinoceros tusk could yield anywhere from $3,000 to $60,000 per kilogram. Our tusks were like gold to the poachers. Sometimes, entire rhinoceros bodies would be left behind by poachers who had no interest in anything but quickly killing us, collecting our valuable tusks, ignoring the less valuable meat, and fleeing just as quickly as they had arrived.
Despite the best efforts of conservationists who attempted to stop the poaching, our species once again dwindled, by November of 2015, there were only three of us left: Sudan, my mother and I. We lived in complete captivity, once again protected by the same human forces that had led to our species’ demise. The irony seemed lost on them. Even after they euthanized Sudan and harvested his sperm, the conservationists refused to call us extinct. They firmly believed that their own human intervention was the only thing that could repair the damage done by past human intervention. With the hope that they can artificially conceive new members of our species, they plow ahead. Nevermind the fact that the same anthropogenic threats, poaching, habitat destruction, and war, that hindered our success still exist in the wild.
So, I continue to live alongside my mother, guarded by rifles and enclosed in 700 acres of controlled land. In the real world, outside of my bubble, I have no impact that is more direct than the eggs the conservationist harvested from me. I do not roam wild, nor do I forage for my dinner or transcend the boundaries of African nations. I have no impact on the ecosystem that I should call home. The ecological chains that once relied on my species have now either failed or moved on. I exist as a living fossil, preserved for the sake of preservation. Perhaps my species will go on, and conservationists are right to save my eggs. Perhaps it is simply foolish for humans to play god once again. I would not know. What I do know, however, is that they are wrong to call me anything but what I am. I not endangered; I am functionally extinct.
Sources
Cinková, I., & Bičík, V. (2013). Social and reproductive behaviour of critically endangered northern white rhinoceros in a zoological garden. Mammalian Biology, 78(1), 50–54. https://doi-org.proxy006.nclive.org/10.1016/j.mambio.2012.09.007
Dinerstein, E. (2019, October 8). White rhinoceros. Retrieved from https://www.britannica.com/animal/white-rhinoceros#ref1255793.
Fernandez, D. (2018, June 1). Can the Northern White Rhino Be Brought Back From the Brink of Extinction? Retrieved December 7, 2019, from https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/northern-white-rhino-brought-back-brink-extinction-180969000/.
Groves, C. P., Fernando, P., & Robovský, J. (2010). The Sixth Rhino: A Taxonomic Re-Assessment of the Critically Endangered Northern White Rhinoceros. PLoS ONE, 5(4),1–15. https://doi-org.proxy006.nclive.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0009703
Hartley, A. (2018). Witness to an extinction: My visit to the deathbed of the last male northern white rhino. Spectator, (9891), 20. Retrieved from http://search.ebscohost.com.proxy006.nclive.org/login.aspx?direct=true&db=edsglr&AN=edsgcl.538248982&site=eds-live&scope=site
Northern white rhinos. (n.d.). Retrieved December 7, 2019, from https://www.olpejetaconservancy.org/wildlife/rhinos/northern-white-rhinos/.
Säterberg, T., Sellman, S., & Ebenman, B. (2013). High frequency of functional extinctions in ecological networks. Nature, 499(7459), 468–470. https://doi-org.proxy006.nclive.org/10.1038/nature12277
Katie Wynn | December 2019
Technically, I am not extinct. Just ask the Kenyan conservationists who monitor my mother and I every day in Ol Pejeta Conservancy. My mother and I are the last Northern White Rhinoceroses known to be alive on the planet, but we are not extinct. Things certainly looked bleak a year ago when Sudan, the last surviving male of our species, grew so old and sick that the conservationists had no choice but to euthanize him. They say there is still hope though. Before Sudan passed, the conservationists collected and froze his sperm. My mother and I are unable to carry calves ourselves, but they collected our eggs. Apparently we have close relatives, Southern White Rhinoceroses, who are very different from us but could carry our young well enough to save our species. The conservationists seem sure that they can save us.
Modern science and human innovations have given the conservationists a sense of confidence that they can restore our once numerous population to its former glory. Thousands of Northern White Rhinos used to roam freely across the African continent. As recently as 1960, around 2,000 members of my species could be found in the wild across Uganda, Chad, Sudan, the Central African Republic, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Now, only two of us remain instead of thousands. Instead of thriving across nations, we exist within a 700-acre enclosure. Our diet consists not of what we forage for ourselves, but is instead carefully calculated and delivered to us by conservationists. Armed guards ceaselessly protect us from the outside world. We live in a vacuum.
In the wild, we had very few natural predators. We are the largest rhinoceros species on Earth, so very rarely were we threatened by other species. However, like many others, we were threatened by human greed. Humans found that our bodies could be sold for very large profits. They hunted us illegally and sold us on the black market. Then, humans realized that our habitat was valuable as well. They would clear-cut our homes, harvesting the lumber and developing the land for their own use. The humans did value us, but not for our ecological importance. They didn’t care that we played essential roles in maintaining ecosystem balance across the African continent. In the eyes of the humans, we were only as valuable as the profit we could bring.
My mother says it wasn’t always this way. A little more than 30 years ago, she lived alongside 14 others of our species in Garamba National Park. They were protected by conservationists who saw their intrinsic values rather than their monetary ones. The conservationists worked to help protect them from poachers, provided them with protected land, and encouraged them to breed. By 1995, the efforts of these conservationists had effectively doubled our species’ population. Sure, 30 Northern White Rhinos still weren’t much when compared to our former thousands, but it was a sign that times were changing. Things seemed to be getting better, and our species was on the incline. Human intervention, the initial cause of our problems, had redeemed itself and brought us back from the brink. That was until the impacts of the Sudanese civil war caught up with us.
In the early 2000s, after years of work to restore my species, rebels from the Sudanese People Liberation Army infiltrated Garamba National Park began to poach many of the large animals that populated the land. This included many of the 30 Northern White Rhinos that had begun to thrive in the park. The poaching was done on a commercial scale. Once again, the humans wanted to turn a profit. Quite often, they harvested and sold our meat in order to fund the war. The real money was in our tusks though. In 2009, rhinoceros tusk could yield anywhere from $3,000 to $60,000 per kilogram. Our tusks were like gold to the poachers. Sometimes, entire rhinoceros bodies would be left behind by poachers who had no interest in anything but quickly killing us, collecting our valuable tusks, ignoring the less valuable meat, and fleeing just as quickly as they had arrived.
Despite the best efforts of conservationists who attempted to stop the poaching, our species once again dwindled, by November of 2015, there were only three of us left: Sudan, my mother and I. We lived in complete captivity, once again protected by the same human forces that had led to our species’ demise. The irony seemed lost on them. Even after they euthanized Sudan and harvested his sperm, the conservationists refused to call us extinct. They firmly believed that their own human intervention was the only thing that could repair the damage done by past human intervention. With the hope that they can artificially conceive new members of our species, they plow ahead. Nevermind the fact that the same anthropogenic threats, poaching, habitat destruction, and war, that hindered our success still exist in the wild.
So, I continue to live alongside my mother, guarded by rifles and enclosed in 700 acres of controlled land. In the real world, outside of my bubble, I have no impact that is more direct than the eggs the conservationist harvested from me. I do not roam wild, nor do I forage for my dinner or transcend the boundaries of African nations. I have no impact on the ecosystem that I should call home. The ecological chains that once relied on my species have now either failed or moved on. I exist as a living fossil, preserved for the sake of preservation. Perhaps my species will go on, and conservationists are right to save my eggs. Perhaps it is simply foolish for humans to play god once again. I would not know. What I do know, however, is that they are wrong to call me anything but what I am. I not endangered; I am functionally extinct.
Sources
Cinková, I., & Bičík, V. (2013). Social and reproductive behaviour of critically endangered northern white rhinoceros in a zoological garden. Mammalian Biology, 78(1), 50–54. https://doi-org.proxy006.nclive.org/10.1016/j.mambio.2012.09.007
Dinerstein, E. (2019, October 8). White rhinoceros. Retrieved from https://www.britannica.com/animal/white-rhinoceros#ref1255793.
Fernandez, D. (2018, June 1). Can the Northern White Rhino Be Brought Back From the Brink of Extinction? Retrieved December 7, 2019, from https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/northern-white-rhino-brought-back-brink-extinction-180969000/.
Groves, C. P., Fernando, P., & Robovský, J. (2010). The Sixth Rhino: A Taxonomic Re-Assessment of the Critically Endangered Northern White Rhinoceros. PLoS ONE, 5(4),1–15. https://doi-org.proxy006.nclive.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0009703
Hartley, A. (2018). Witness to an extinction: My visit to the deathbed of the last male northern white rhino. Spectator, (9891), 20. Retrieved from http://search.ebscohost.com.proxy006.nclive.org/login.aspx?direct=true&db=edsglr&AN=edsgcl.538248982&site=eds-live&scope=site
Northern white rhinos. (n.d.). Retrieved December 7, 2019, from https://www.olpejetaconservancy.org/wildlife/rhinos/northern-white-rhinos/.
Säterberg, T., Sellman, S., & Ebenman, B. (2013). High frequency of functional extinctions in ecological networks. Nature, 499(7459), 468–470. https://doi-org.proxy006.nclive.org/10.1038/nature12277