Our ties to kinship as humans can be simple, surface-level, and easily traceable – kin is the family I came from and continues through the family I create through partnership, marriage, procreation, or adoption. It is the family tree we sketch for a simplified visual representation of the relations of our small network of kinship – completed by filling the names of parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins on leaves connected by a network of branches. But for anyone who has ever gone down the rabbit hole of questioning their ancestry, our understanding of kinship can quickly become incredibly complex.
I recently came across research that suggested major climatic changes occurring 800,000-900,000 years ago caused a major bottlenecking of our ancestors which left less than 1100 reproductively-active individuals as the progenitors of the human race (ah, another reaffirming example of inevitable events of collapse in human societies). My mind produces an image of an unbelievably complex web of relationships I will try to describe here:
I once again picture the branches connecting family members on those simplified family trees. There’s a layer of complexity added to these webs of kinship when we consider the Mendelian genetic components of these trees, in which each branch traces the flow of our unique DNA as it was synthesized from that of our parents, grandparents, and maybe their parents and even their parents through life’s robust desire to create more diverse life. Any semblance of simplicity diminishes as we zoom out from these clusters – upon wider inspection, there are billions of them. Each small branching cluster links up entire networks of humans through common ancestors for thousands of generations in continual convergence until we find ourselves near what seems to be the base of a wide and sturdy trunk. I see that these clusters are not trees at all; rather, they are the tendrils of an ever-expansive root system of a larger, old-growth, great ancestral tree. There, up near the base, just under 1100 roots collect – less than 2^10 individuals responsible for holding and passing on the ancestral genes to survive and pattern this current form of humanity. This image leaves me awe-struck, intimately aware of my connection to the web of human kinship I come from, the common ancestors responsible for carrying on this human form of kinship.
Environmental scientist and activist, sister Rosalie Bertell boldly stated,
“Every being who will ever live on Earth is here now. Where? In your ovaries and in your gonads and in your DNA. And the choices that you make now have a lot to do with whether they’ll have a chance to be born, sound of mind and body.”
While any discourse that involves choices and birth might understandably stimulate a very personal and politically fraught cascade of thoughts for some readers, I encourage you to tend to your nervous system and read that again. When held apart from politicized discourse, this is a type of wisdom that my mind loves to dance with – these words reveal an undeniable truth that transcends the clouding scale of limited human lifetimes. Taking in this view, I see an undeniable importance in investing in the web of human kinship I am responsible for contributing to in this very moment.
I wonder though, is our awareness of kinship limited to recognizing the common ancestors by which we share our human genetic components? The intricacies of our interpersonal relationships are complicated enough, making it tempting to ignore all of the other overlaid webs of connective tissue that bind us to the more-than-human world surrounding us. To sense into an even deeper, wider layer of truth, I invite you to dive back underground with me to unearth even more complexities amongst the sprawling roots of the Great Tree of our common ancestors.
Each growing tendril of this complex root network depends on the resources available to it, whether they be passed down from our ancestors through the root system itself, or absorbed through the environment of resource-rich soil that surrounds it. While the ancestral resources are essential for the existence of that living tendril, as life cannot be generated spontaneously from nothing (despite previous assumptions), the soil resources are absolutely necessary to the survival and propagation of that tendril as it branches out from the greater network. And what then, we must ask, ensures that the surrounding soil is equipped with the resources and nutrients essential for maintaining life? A better question might be, what doesn’t?
All of the environmental elements that we interact with, both animate and inanimate, contribute to the richness of life circulating within an ecosystem we are entirely dependent on for our existence and also continually influence through existing. The seemingly inanimate soil which surrounds us is irrefutably alive, teeming with complex microbiomes full of living insects, fungi, bacteria, and countless microorganisms. The health of that living soil is dependent on the interactions and exchanges within the ecosystem – as resources circulate, they can be (and often are, by humans) extracted and exploited for accumulation and profit, used to manipulate the ecosystem in unsustainable ways, or processed in a way that produces incredible amounts of waste. While I’m compelled to honor the intrinsic value of living elements, I can also make a more anthropocentric argument: When we fail to properly care for the more-than-human living world, we humans also undeniably suffer. A prime example of this, relating directly to the soil metaphor is the Dust Bowl of the 1930s. Often regarded the largest human-made ecological disaster, the mismanagement of soil through poor farming practices (a product of displacement of peoples indigenous to those lands and their knowledge of and reverence for those soils) caused immense suffering and death for thousands of humans, and the toll on more-than-human life is immeasurable. Our ability to survive in the ecosystem depends on an acknowledgement of our place and role within it. We cannot survive without the living world because we are part the living world.
While the theory of common ancestors may not be as easily applicable in these more-than-human networks of kinship, it may be helpful to recognize the genetic overlap between human and non-human life. There is a reason research labs use certain species as model organisms for experiments that may eventually find insights applicable to advances in human medicine (whether or not we have any right to do so with an understanding of our kinship to these organisms is another question). The genes which pattern our human functioning are shared widely with the non-human life existing alongside us; the same robust biological processes we use to survive the ecosystem we both navigate are used by them, too. Perhaps, if we had the capacity to zoom out of these root networks even further, we may see convergence with the ancestors of our more-than-human kin.
Modernity has largely succeeded in instilling the myth of separability in us by enforcing various levels and types of human supremacy. While this has the effect of severing our sense of kinship with the more-than-human world, we cannot help but feel the ache of its loss. Something is missing. When we detach ourselves from the life that surrounds us, we feel lonely. When we pour our living energy and love into screens and high-technology, consumption, and resources accumulation, we are dazed and dissatisfied. When we reserve our care for ever-smaller circles of human kin, we suffer. We suffer because so little of our energy is being recycled into the ecosystem. Worse, our energy is often directed in ways that extract from and harm the living world, depleting the very source of life upon which we rely on for survival.
As I sit pouring my energy into a screen while I transfer my thoughts into words for this newsletter, my dog enters the room and rests her head on my knee. In a communication I’ve come to understand over the six years of experiencing the world together, this can mean many things: “Hello, remember me? I’m still here and some attention would be nice,” “HUNGRY!”, “Mama your energy is feeling particularly unsettled and I’d like to ground you back into your body for a minute” or “Outside in the next 20 mins or else I make a mess on the floor.” I look for clarification. When her little nub of a tail is wagging, or she follows up with a good yawn and stretch, it’s usually the first option. A lick of the lips indicates the second. Climbing up onto my body is a clear sign of the third. And looking into her eyes will show me any sign of discomfort, assuming the fourth option. I cannot deny that this incredible furry being is kin. We may not have an easily traceable common ancestor (although we do share 84% of our DNA), but as we move through the living world together in constant exchange with everything around us, it is so clear how interconnected we are to a greater living ecosystem.
Recognizing our kinship with the life that surrounds us is the first step. Moving into relationship with those elements is the next. As humans, we have an active responsibility to consider our more-than-human kin just as much as we would all the human kin on our family trees. In fact, considering those humans and their futures requires that we actively work to support the living world that they all exist within and depend on. Human kinship is only one nested network in a greater web of interconnectedness with the more-than-human kin that surrounds us. This understanding releases us from the myth of separability modernity relies on to continue its tirade of extraction and exploitation of the living world, and asks us to reassess or re-image our human roles as conquerors, stewards and/or citizens using the lens of kinship.