Apparently threatening to completely upend entire ecosystems isn’t enough for Asian carp.
Nope. Now they’re ruining my personal relationships.
It started as most of my days do … coffee and reading up on the basin. But there was a new lady friend with me this morning.
She asked me about my job, which, of course, I loved.
Silver carp ... a relationship destroyer. Photo: Michiganseagrant (Flickr)
“Well, we write about the Great Lakes, but we try to be quirky … you know, stay away from writing about Asian carp every day,” I said, just starting to step up on my Great Lakes/journalistic soapbox.
“What are Asian carp?” she said.
Oh no. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I looked at her like she had a third arm growing out of her head — a distasteful, ignorant third arm.
I won’t repeat what I initially said; as I’m sure it will sound pompous and condescending. And I won’t bore you with any more details of my awkward, futile dating life.
But the exchange shocked me. Here, a lifelong Michigander and otherwise intelligent young lady didn’t even know what Asian carp were, let alone their ominous ability to completely change our region.
I don’t expect everyone to be obsessed with the Great Lakes. I mean, I don’t know anything about Jersey Shore or pop music, which may have offended her. But Asian carp seem to be a BIG news story here. I can see why climate change eludes people — it seems abstract, in the distance. Most people are just trying to get through the day and it’s difficult to care about things that may happen in 50, 100 or 150 years.
But Asian carp are knocking at our door. And it’s certainly not just an environmental story (granted, most environmental stories aren’t). The Great Lakes fishing industry is a $7 billion a year endeavor.
Everyone knew it when the Big 3 automakers circled the bowl. Newspapers spoon fed us constant updates about their finances, layoffs and federal action to stop it. The common theme among people was, “well, this will affect everyone in Michigan.”
Well, the Asian carp story has some similar plot elements. We have state and federal intervention. We have competing interests and controversy over how to handle them. We have a whole state, and possibly a region, of people who will be affected.
Sure, there’s the economic component, but millions of people enjoy recreating on the water each year and it just won’t be the same if they invade. This isn’t mussels hidden deep under the surface; this problem literally smacks you right in the head.
So, why the ignorance and apathy? It’s not just my poor subject here — I know plenty of people who I’m pretty sure wouldn’t know an Asian carp from a round goby.
My editor, a Great Lakes environmental veteran, thinks Asian carp gets a lot of play in the news, more so than other important issues. So it’s probably not a lack of coverage.
Is it just too hard to grasp that the seemingly resilient, expansive lakes could really change so much because of a couple ugly fish?
I think so. The Great Lakes are just too great. I think it’s hard for people to believe some fish, some mussels and some farm runoff can really change these huge bodies of water. But they can. And they are. Take a look at Erie’s algae, or our coastal wetlands, or our beaches where mussel numbers are rivaling sand grains.
It’s easy to ignore news you just don’t think is that big of a deal.
I don’t think we should change the name to the Sensitive Lakes, or the Changing Lakes, but I do think it’s up to journalists, officials and anyone who cares to remind people that, while great, the lakes can’t continue to take whatever humans and invasive species throw at them.
I don’t know if this was the case with my former-potential-girlfriend. Maybe she just doesn’t care about the Great Lakes. Maybe she’s too busy with work and life to obsess over these things like me. I bet she’s in tune with other important issues, environmental and otherwise, that I’m completely ignorant about.
But, ever the communicator, I explained to my new friend that Asian carp could potentially change the Great Lakes as we know them.
And then I never called her again.