Radial Altruism

Spicy peregrines, ambushed ravens, and holding the center

Spicy Peregrine, Watercolor and Pencil on agave paper, 2024

Last Sunday, I was helping out one of my conservation partners with brown-headed cowbird abatement and ran out to a local diary in between two cloud-busting spring storms. The sun was shooting through wispy clouds above me, but to the west the sky was brooding. I got through my task as quickly as I could, listening to a book and paying little attention to much else.

After popping out my earbuds and shaking the cord out my hair, I heard something familiar. I knew I should know what it was. It sounded like a memory. I tilted my chin up, cocking my head in the direction of a bird’s harsh complaint. Then I saw its silhouette and the rest of my memories flooded back. A big female peregrine was powering in my direction hot on the tail of a raven.

I hunted with my male peregrine, Anakin, for ten years in my 30s. The furious wingbeat and fever pitch of raucous calls brought back a thousand moments in the field. Anakin was rather hot tempered in the sky and this wild female was putting his idea of a tantrum to shame. The raven she was chasing looked a bit concerned, but two of his buddies were on their way to close in the flanks. The dogfight that followed was impressive.

It's hard to imagine any species of bird outflying a peregrine falcon. Every detail of their physique is sleek, aerodynamic, and powerful. One by one she drove off four ravens, ringing above them in sky-cutting wingbeats and then folding into a guided missile. The two remaining ravens settled on the corral pipe, perhaps thinking the row would be over if they just bowed out. They were wrong.

I watched her body language and pulled out my phone to get some video. She wasn’t going to kill them, but they were about to have a very bad time. She drove them to the ground with one steep dive after another. At one point she glided above me, preparing to make another run, and glared down at me. I recognized that affect too. “Are you going to help me out or what, useless human?”

“But I don’t know what you’re angry about,” I yelled up at her, looking around to see if a raven had stolen her meal or committed some other crime, but there was a good chance they were only guilty of being ravens.

When her task was accomplished, the land cleared of the black scourge, she landed in the recently plowed alfalfa field and shook out her feathers. I wished I had my good camera with me for moment and then was glad that I just taken it all in without the restriction of a lens.

I had just gotten to watch something that as a child I thought I would never see. I was just grateful to be reminded that 60 years ago, we thought we might lose the peregrine in North America forever. It wasn’t just a show of nature’s finest. It was a reminder that there are success stories in conservation. The impact of these successes is more than just a healthier ecosystem. It is also moments of awe that could have been lost to us forever. How do you even quantify that?

I read an article in Wired this week about the philosophy of effective altruism and something I had never understood as a fundraiser for conservation clicked in my head. I know there is a contingent of wealthy philanthropists who believed in only giving to causes overseas while ignoring their own and nearby communities. I didn’t realize that they were making these decisions according to statistical “evidence” on what investments of philanthropy will have the greatest impact on immediately lessening suffering and saving the most lives.

Don’t get me wrong. The societal issues they concern themselves with are some of our biggest. The problem is that effective altruism assumes metrics solve problems. Certainly, metrics can demonstrate barriers and needs, but they don’t tell the story of the people. Those relying solely on metrics are also assuming that strangers have the best solutions and the best understanding of what the people really want.   

I thought about this as I was drawing the art for this week’s Written Bird and mused over how difficult it is for me to quantify the conservation work of myself and my colleagues. We can count the peregrines. Where there were only 324 nesting pairs in 1974, today there is thought to be over 7,000. We can count the acres, the carbon sequestration, and the better air quality. Yet, how do you count the number of little girls who look into the sky, their eyes following a peregrine into their future. How do plot the peace wild places impart on a soul. How do you chart the impact of a deeply meaningful and encouraging moment of awe on an exhausted middle-aged woman.

If you asked me, I guess I would say my philosophy is radial altruism. It starts where you stand. It is the work and support we give to make our own communities better whether they are connected by geography, culture, or shared passion. It is the story of our lives and we aren’t just there to be the hero, but for the unintended consequences of our efforts and then solving those together as well. Radial altruism creates a ripple effect and a web of connection that cannot be mapped with metrics but has the potential to grow exponentially. I hope the next trend in philanthropy starts here.

Who knows? Maybe all it takes in the beginning is the widening gyre of a peregrine and a woman at its center who refuses to loosen her hold.