CHAPTER 14: Academia

Jackson Armstrong arranged for Grace Newman to borrow a small red Toyota truck and, by the time she reached Terra Nova Restaurant in Seattle, the rain was coming down sideways. Inside the restaurant, exotic masks hung on whitewashed adobe walls decorated with plastic plants. Grace checked her outerwear and umbrella, tucked the receipt in the back pocket of her jeans.

In a corner booth with a view of a small garden of bright orange clivia minata, sat Paula Karmin of the Wildness Society and Michelle Harder of the Sequoia Club. They sipped Rogue Valley Chardonnay, leaned in and spoke in hushed voices. Above them hung macramé baskets dripping with faux spider plants.

“Paula, Michelle,” said Grace as she slid into the booth and set her backpack on the brown pleather bench. She smiled, realizing it was good to see people from her world again.

“We were starting to worry,” said Paula. Michelle nodded.

“Sorry!” said Grace. “I’m not used to driving in all this rain; took it slow. Have you ordered yet?”

“Just wine,” said Paula shaking her head and pushing her dark hair from her shoulder with a slim hand. “Everything’s good except the Norwegian salmon and Canadian cod. Surprising they’re even serving them. After all, this is Seattle.”

“We’ve already complained,” said Michelle.

“The whales,” said Paula.

“The seals,” added Michelle. “Boycotts are necessary."

While Paula and Michelle ordered, Grace sat guiltily on the coat check receipt for the beaver felt hat and sealskin coat she’d borrowed from the Armstrongs. She pondered boycotts by vegans who don’t buy animal products. Threatening with an unloaded gun? she wondered.

While they waited for their food, Paula and Michelle handed Grace a folder of white papers detailing their positions on Washington State forests. “OK to record?” Grace asked to nods. “Can you introduce yourselves?”

They did with Paula noting, “Michelle and I coordinate the implementation of strategic plans for the sustainable harvest of timber in the Pacific Northwest.”

“And globally,” added Michelle.

“Support?” asked Grace.

Paula smiled. “We have hundreds of thousands of members. We rely on donations, grants, from foundations and the government so we can work within a world-wide community of like-minded conservationists.”

Michelle nodded. “It’s important to ‘think globally, act locally.’” She smiled.

“In terms of resource extraction, can you save the spotted owl?” asked Grace.

“We have a recovery plan for the endangered spotted owl and a management plan for the invasive barred owl,” said Paula, “but these are indicator species in a declining ecosystem. We must minimize man’s footprint on Earth.”

Michelle nodded.

“Spots versus stripes,” said Grace, as their food arrived.

Michelle fiddled with her food and pursed her lips. Paula said nothing so Grace continued, “The spotted owl likes open space for hunting, right? So do you support creating openings in the forest, meadows? And how does habitat lost to fire compare to habitat lost to logging? With climate change, can you mitigate fire losses? Would mitigation include any thinning, logging followed by prescribed burns?”

Paula shook her head. “As long as logging is allowed, habitat is declining and the spotted owl is endangered,” she said.

“And yet, its kissing cousin, the barred owl, thrives in the same conditions? So much so that it is declared invasive and is to be aggressively and relentlessly culled?” asked Grace.

“All the other forest flora and fauna are at risk,” added Michelle. “Murrelets, salamanders, etc., plus logging destroys salmon stocks.”

“Hmmm,” said Grace. “Salmon runs were healthy decades ago when timber harvesting practices were appalling, right? Any thoughts?”

“It’s the dams,” said Paula, “and climate change.”

Grace asked, “Do you have an opinion on the core samples showing cyclical temperature changes in the Pacific, that these contribute to the bloom and fade of salmon, sardines, other fish stocks?”

“Yes, but dams and overfishing are contributing factors,” said Paula.

“Also mining, pollution and loss of wetlands,” added Michelle. “But the most destructive impacts come from logging. With climate change, it will only get worse. We’ve done lots of studies at the Wildness Society proving this.”

“Couldn’t help overhearing your discussion ladies. Truly fascinating. An issue I’ve been struggling to understand,” said a male voice from the booth behind them. He was in his late 70s, rail thin, with little left of his gray hair. He wore a starched white shirt under a thick wool vest woven with a pattern of autumn leaves. “I am Dr. Richard Smith, sociology professor, University of Washington.”

The ladies recognized his name and introductions were made. “What’s the goal of the Wildness Society, Miss?” he asked.

“Our goal is to preserve nature, undisturbed,” said Paula.

“There is no such thing as nature undisturbed. Perhaps you mean nature undisturbed by man. So, how much nature, undisturbed by man, do you want?”

“Well,” she said. “We don’t put a ceiling on how much nature is too much.”

“You should. Do you want 30% 50%? 90%? Of the US? Of the world? What about land and sea for food production, providing for human needs?” he asked.

“Not our focus,” said Paula. “We are called the Wildness Society, after all.”

“And you, Miss,” he turned to Michelle, “What do you see as the future of logging?”

“At the Sequoia Club, we believe limited sections of the National Forests should be set aside for nonconsumptive use such as tourism, hiking or bird-watching,” said Michelle.

“Most of the land in the West is government-owned, not private, and the two units work together as a whole for logging and grazing. Many private parcels are too small, are surrounded by public land, there’s no way to get roads or infrastructure in without access. So you’re saying zero access, zero logging, zero grazing.” He shook his head. “Your plans are environmentally unsound, result in unmanaged, unhealthy forests and lands and it’s cruel since it annihilates towns full of skilled people and valuable ways of life that provide us with food and fiber.” He looked pointedly at the press kit, stuffed with paper, sitting next on the table. “Plus, isn’t it hypocritical for groups with such appetites for fundraising via direct mail paper pleas, for office space with conference rooms decorated with long wooden conference tables, to condemn loggers so vehemently?”

“It’s important to think long-term,” said Paula. “We can’t have a healthy forest by only focusing on short-term profits for timber towns, but we do currently support sales of certified product.”

He laughed. “Currently is the operative word. Ask the lobstermen how well certification worked for them. And short-term profits! An interesting phrase to describe operations owned by third and fourth-generation loggers working on 70-to-100-year management cycles. If such policies cause massive price fluctuations and a shift to imports harvested with abused labor and dreadful silvicultural practices overseas, would your groups support freeing up some of the government land for timber harvest?”

“Oh, no,” said Paula and Michelle together. Grace hid a smile, thrilled that her recording app was still running.

“The government should acquire more forested areas for nonconsumptive use,” said Paula. “To protect it.”

The waitress removed plates. “Coffee, please,” said Grace.”

“Just the check,” said Paula.

“Separate checks,” said Grace. The waitress nodded and left.

“So, ladies,” said the man, “I spent last week visiting another dying timber town, located next to one that burned last year. The unemployment rate in that town, as in many of the timber counties in this state, is over 40%. Children, surrounded by some of the most valuable stands of trees in the world, do not have enough to eat. Their parents are forbidden from harvesting the wealth around them. Tell me, what do you say to these people when your policies burn their towns or bankrupt them, then force them into jobs fighting burning trees instead of felling them? What do you say to these people when you treat them like itinerant laborers, pushing them from one part of the world to another?”

“We are sensitive to their plight,” said Paula. “The intensive logging practices of the past are over. We support worker retraining.”

“What will we train these people to be? Factory workers for factories forced offshore by air pollution standards so stringent they are moving to a zero-tolerance standard for CO2 emissions?  Or by water pollution regulations that make it illegal to pour a teacup of tap water into the bay? What are we training these people for? ‘Learn to code,’ they advise workers we all depend on for survival, at the same time dismissing coding skills as simple to master, even as media and tech jobs are slashed and replaced by AI and offshore data centers paying pennies!”

The waitress placed their checks on the table, filled a coffee mug for Grace and raised an eyebrow. Paula and Michelle did not notice. Grace did.

“No,” said Michelle. “That’s not what we mean.”

“No,” said Paula. “It’s not like that at all.”

“These workers currently have high tech jobs in highly mechanized mills,” he said. “We are tearing down vital industries and replacing them with eco-hotels surrounded by tinder. We are exporting opportunity. We are asking loggers and mill workers to wait tables and serve drinks to tourists visiting America with wealth made from industries we gave them. We are regulating the cleanest players in the world out of existence, teaching loggers that cooperating with government and science will put them out of business. The message received is, hurry, grab that quick buck while you can.”

“You are far too pro-logging,” said Paula.

“I study cultures which includes the utilization of, and relationship to, natural resources. The anti-timber campaign is one of my favorite case studies in human stupidity.”

“Well, we can agree to disagree,” said Paula as she and Michelle stood to leave.

“Coming, Grace?” asked Michelle.

“Not yet,” said Grace. “I’ll finish my coffee, check messages.”

“Call us,” said Paula.

“We’ll do dinner,” added Michelle.

“Absolutely,” said Grace. “I look forward to it.”

The ladies smiled politely, then scowled at Dr. Smith as they left.

“Well, they didn’t look too happy,” said the waitress. “More coffee, Miss?”

“Yes, please, fill ’er up,” said Grace.

The waitress refilled Dr. Smith’s mug and said, “My uncle’s a logger.” She frowned. “An unemployed logger. Trying to learn programming. He detests it. Hates the city, misses the forests. So thank you again for what you said. Can I get you both a slice of berry pie with ice cream, on the house?”

Dr. Smith looked at Grace. She nodded. “Absolutely. Thank you.”

Grace said, “Loved your TED talk, Dr. Smith. Mind if I join you?”

He smiled and said, “Please do.”

As she settled into his booth, he asked, “You’re a Los Angelina?”

“Pasadena, born and bred. My Dad teaches history at USC, Byzantine era. His parents immigrated from Rimini, Italy, where my grandfather was a fisherman in the Adriatic, to Rockport, Maine where he took up lobster pots in Penobscot Bay. My dad was born there, my brother, too. My brother still lives there, detests California.”

“Your mother?” he asked.

“Historical fiction, heavy on French and Italian culture. Her mother was French, her father Italian, originally a boatwright on the eastern coast in Ravenna, just north of Rimini. He worked in Italy, France and Ireland where he finished his life restoring river barges. My mother was born there, in Ireland, and that is where my father met her one fine summer.”

“A truly American journey,” he said. “I’m a Seattleite. Four generations, bit of timber, some fishing in there, a handful of gold miners.”

They thanked the waitress as she set down their pie slices and he continued, “I taught for a decade at the International School of Resource Management in Brussels. Saw a lot of Europe then, including fabulous Ravenna, visited Dante’s tomb there, of course.”

“Yes,” she said. “Italy is just steeped in history. My mother swears they’re going to live there one day.”

He was quiet for a moment and then said, “Dig too deeply into timber politics and you might find yourself blacklisted like Dante, a pariah. He dipped his toe into politics in Florence in the 1300s and was exiled for 20 years! Adrift in Italy, settled in Ravenna. Without which, he would never have written Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso, never given us his Comedy. And the world would be a poorer place.”

“I love that,” said Grace. “Ravenna was conquered so many times it’s hard to keep it all straight. It’s all so temporary, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is. Temporary. Fleeting.”

They chatted over their coffee and pie and then he said, “I have to get to the university soon. You’ll be interviewing forestry experts while you’re here? Anyone I might know?”

“Dr. Gordon at the Forest Service has been recommended,” said Grace.

“That hack!” laughed Dr. Smith, counting out small bills to cover the check and tip. “Would you like to meet with Dr. Martine? I can arrange it,” he offered.

“I’ve read some of his work. Yes, I’d appreciate that.”

He called Dr. Martine who agreed to give Grace 15 minutes that afternoon. Dr. Smith hung up. “All set. Shall we share an Uber?”

“I have a truck,” she said.

“Even better,” he replied.

They collected their gear from the coat check and he raised an eyebrow at her sealskin. “Lovely coat,” he said. “Shame we never see them anymore.”

“It belongs to the family where I’m staying in Silvercreek,” said Grace. “The Armstrongs.”

“Lucky you,” he said. “That family has some history, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said. “It does.”

“I hope they can create more. Here. There. Somewhere on the planet.”

<><><><> 

In Dr. Smith’s office at the University of Washington, a large desk next to the window took advantage of the light. Shelves overflowed with books and reports. Hand-carved ivory pieces were displayed prominently around the room. Pictures were plentiful. There were shots of a young Dr. Smith with native people holding various fish and game, pictures of him receiving awards, photographs of snowy vistas and timberlands. Grace studied a photo. “Is this you on a whaling ship?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Back when I had hair. A Norwegian vessel. I was studying cultural use of marine mammals.”

“But,” said Grace, “the International Whaling Commission outlawed whaling ages ago.”

“No,” he said. “Norway filed an objection so it was never legally bound by the ban, but for political reasons they stopped the hunt for seven years, waited for the scientific committee to collect data and establish quotas for a sustainable hunt. The counts came in, showing abundant stocks off Norway, but the non-whaling majority rejected any level of take on moral and ethical grounds. Whose morals? Whose ethics? asked Norway, a common question at these meetings where the votes are controlled by countries with nothing on the table. A free green vote. The IWC scientific director quit in disgust.” He pointed to a small and battered leather couch. “Please, have a seat,” he said. “The West prefers whales and seals in theme parks, marine mammals as cartoon characters, a totem. For many cultures on this planet, they’re food, oil, clothing. The conflict is over the right to continue the practices of their ancestors, maintaining control over their lives, freedom, respect. They want to eat their whale meat in peace.” He sighed. “The campaigns to stop whaling and sealing set the stage for today’s timber battles. It’s all about what can be sold to the biggest markets, isn’t it?”

“You mean propaganda,” said Grace.

“Or maybe it’s just entertainment,” he said. “We do love threats, enemies, black hats vs. white. But you’re up here investigating timber, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Option 9 and its impacts.” Grace held up her phone. “OK to record?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said.

She set the phone down and started recording, with the date, location, his name. “I’ll get your bio off the Internet,” she said. “Can you outline the history of, and conflicts over, forests on the Olympic Peninsula?”

“That’s a big bite,” he said. “Let’s take a nibble. Where to start? The climate of the Northwest favors extremely high growth rates for the forests. The coastal location means raw and finished product can move up and down the West Coast and overseas via relatively inexpensive ocean transportation, a big advantage over inland forests. Long ago, the scales of control and use of resources were tipped by social standing and access to capital. The present battle has been evolving since the turn of the 20th century when ‘utilitarian conservationists’ found themselves at odds with ‘aesthetic preservationists’. These two groups stopped being allies, moved toward separate philosophies, conflict grew. The modern battle has reached a fever pitch. Resource communities seek access to a steady supply of timber to provide lumber to a well-established network of consumers. In contrast, preservationist groups are heavily financed for advocacy, messaging for policy changes to lock up renewable resources. Then there are others who benefit financially from area closures, reductions in production and barriers to trade.”

He paused, then continued, “Half of Washington State is timber lands, about 22.5 million acres, with most of the volume in the wet Western region. Some of this is owned privately, some communally by the state or federal governments. By the early 1970s, almost 30% of the federal land available for timber harvest was withdrawn for National Parks with 10% designated wilderness. The National Forest Management Act of 1976 prohibited commercial harvest on another 30% of federal timber lands. The Forest Service’s Forest Management Plans reduced this by another 9% and critical habitat for the northern spotted owl took another bite, about 12%. The Clinton administration’s Option 9 decision reduced that by fully 75% and locked commercial harvests out of virtually 100% of the federal lands on the Olympic Peninsula.”

He stacked some papers on his desk, then continued, “In a nutshell, out of 22.5 million acres of Washington’s timber lands, commercial production is allowed on about four million acres of private land, two million of the 5.6 million the state owns, and on about three million of the 10.3 million the feds own.”

“So, four million private acres, plus two million state acres plus three million federal acres—nine million total acres out of the 22.5 million acres of Washington’s timber lands—pay for management and government services via utilization?”

“Right,” he said. “Then there’s Oregon and California and forests in Canada—similar issues.”

“But it all needs management, doesn’t it?” asked Grace. “The federal land is managed with tax dollars, right?”

“Yes, tax dollars for logging or firefighting or a combination of both. Decisions on federal land management are made in DC so good luck with that. Most management decisions end up in court.” He raised an eyebrow. “It all gets managed. Somehow. By man or nature. It’s paid for in cash and taxes collected on wood sales or by other tax dollars taken from the treasury.” He laughed. “We could say, currently, there is a lot of cash going up in smoke.”

“Was the spotted owl ever under threat of extinction?” asked Grace.

“Extinction or mutation?” he asked. “I think the difference in DNA clocks in at about 13%, but breeds of dogs vary by almost 30% and we don’t call them different species. After all, they can interbreed. The spotted owl is most likely a variant of the common barred owl, also known as the hoot owl and by several other names. Currently there are more owls with stripes than those with spots so the spotted owl is a novelty, a totem to some. We do love our totems! Charismatic megafauna.”

He sighed. “The Pacific Northwest is easily one of the world’s most-studied forest production areas. It’s the last place we should have such conflict.”

“And yet we do,” said Grace. “Solutions?”

“I don’t see any,” he said. “The current balance of power is weighted in favor of the preservationists who have created a new social economy. Conflict raises money for them while it drains financial resources from timber communities. Unlike logging interests, the preservationists have secured tax benefits for their businesses and don’t have large capital investments to pay for or insure, no large numbers of workers demanding better wages. They have honed legal skills, a remarkable control of the media and while they are definitely not forestry experts, they are perceived as such. They have won the hearts of the vast urban population. Meanwhile, conflict creates risk and risk creates capital flight. Oh, a few of the large corporations embracing ruthless investor-driven forestry—REITs, TIMOs and their tree plantations—will survive in the Pacific Northwest, but overall, without a radical change in policy, today’s local forestry businesses and their timber towns, will go up in smoke—excuse the pun.”

“If Pacific Northwest loggers want a future in timber, what should they do?” she asked.

“The US has increased imports and Southern pine production,” he said as he fumbled around on his desk, opened a report. “This Forest2Market report says:

The US South has attracted producers from areas such as the US Pacific Northwest and Canada. Restrictions, increased costs and higher risks from wildfires prompted many companies to move operations to the Southeast.

He paused, then continued, “But the US is not the world. If I were a young logger, I’d avoid anywhere practicing digital-totemism—spotted owls in the Pacific Northwest, red-headed woodpeckers in the Southeast, totems, packaged and sold to urbanites for profit. A natural life is finished here and in a lot of the world. Regulated out of existence. We’re infested with parasites and they’re now consuming the host. If I were a young logger, I’d look for a place harvesting lightly over a large area, somewhere with sensible local regulations, a place with small towns connected to a varied and working landscape. If I were a young logger, I’d find that place and take my chances, hope it lasts, try to defend it.”

“Does that exist?” she asked.

“Might be hard to find,” he said, “but worth the search.” He leaned back in his chair. “Closing thought: Given US natural resources and intellectual capabilities, if we, the richest nation in the world, are unable to care for the forest, sustain wood production and meet our consumption needs responsibly, then global sustainability is unlikely.”

He smiled and handed her his card. “Contact me anytime, but go now. I have a report I have to finish for a client. I’ll text Dr. Martine that you’re on your way. Go give him a hard time,” he said, laughing.

<><><><>

Four stories below Dr. Martine’s office window, half a dozen protestors' walked in circles carrying signs and chanting, “Save Our Forests!” “Stumps Suck!” “Ban Clearcuts!”

“Hey, hey, ho, ho!” blasted one with a megaphone.

“Clearcuts gotta go!” they chanted in response.

Dr. Martine felt the pressure of a migraine building behind his left temple. He closed the window and opened the door to the outer office. “You the reporter?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Grace, rising to her feet. “Grace Newman, L.A. Tribune.”

“I’d prefer you come back tomorrow, Miss,” he said.

“I only need a few minutes, Dr. Martine,” said Grace, trying to look as harmless as possible.

“Come in,” he said reluctantly. Grace thanked him and they moved into his office. It smelled of dust and paper. They exchanged cards and he gestured to one of two straight-backed chairs in front of his utilitarian metal desk. Grace sat and the noise from the protesters floated up. “OK if I record you?” she asked.

“Fine,” he replied. He was in his early fifties with olive skin and dark graying hair. “Email me the scientific sections of your article and I’ll review them for accuracy. Clear any quotes attributed to me.”

“Will do,” she said. “So, looking at the timber issue from a global, long-term perspective, how will US timber needs be met in the future? If you were to build a mill anywhere in the world, where would you put it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No questions about spotted owls? Fragile ecosystems? You are an environmental reporter, aren’t you? Or are you writing for the business section?”

“Environmental,” replied Grace. “But this story goes beyond spotted owl habitat in the Pacific Northwest, don’t you think? I am hoping you can help me understand the global context.” 

“Hmmm,” he said. “So, where to put a mill? Forests cover 30% of the world’s land mass and the US is the biggest market for wood products with, in spite of the internet, a voracious appetite for paper, toilet paper and boxes for eCommerce.” He grinned. “There’s rapid growth in Mexico, Central and South America. New Zealand and Chile are making great strides in developing pine plantations, however immense areas in Southeast Asia have been cleared of forests and converted to palm oil plantations—all for inexpensive plant-based cooking oils.” He shook his head and continued. “As far as timber sourcing, the Northwest has some of the best all-purpose softwoods in the world, Doug fir. The Northwest had a highly developed framework for management, cutting, milling, and distribution, but that infrastructure is now in decline.”

The room was stifling. “Air’s out,” he said, opening the window. The noise from the protesters filled the room. He made a face and quickly shut it.

“Where were we?” he asked. “Oh, yes. Global view. Mexico and Central America face issues. I am sure you read the report from the University of Guadalajara?”

“Yes,” said Grace. “If memory serves, illegal logging is Mexico’s new growth industry, 70% of cuts lack proper permits. Heavily controlled by the cartels; major market: China.”

“Very good,” he said. “Demand for avocados is triggering forest clearing too.”

“Avocado toast,” said Grace.

“Very funny,” he said. “There are some interesting cloning experiments by Central American tree plantations that merit watching. Canada’s large reserves are logged using practices long outlawed in the US but government subsidies for rail freight give them an advantage. That said, an epidemic of beetles are ravaging Canadian timber. Fire fodder.”

He paused. “Hmmm,” he said. “Africa and parts of Southeast Asia have some beautifully managed tree plantations, lovely mahoganies. But vast areas in these regions are almost bare of trees. Poverty, drought, war and infrastructure problems further complicate the scene.

“Southeast Asia, Indonesia, South America have great untapped resource wealth that are transitioning from a basic extract/export model to incorporating value added locally. Big discussions now about interdependencies, national security, sovereignty. These questions need to be addressed if we want to continue with a growth agenda, to fuel the world economy for expansion. You can see this reflected at the World Economic Forum, the World Bank, articulated for the public in the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals, treaties, trade bans, SDGs.”

He thought for a moment, then said, “Russia controls about 20% of the world’s timber, but more importantly, over 50% of the global softwood supply, an excellent all-purpose wood. Russia’s positioned to supply timber economically to global markets in China, Asia, the Middle East, Europe. US-Russian/Siberian-owned timber ventures have been operating for decades. So, to answer your question, I would suggest a mill in or very near Russia—with appropriate risk insurance, of course. The Ukraine conflict complicated that equation so I suggest Romania for your fictional mill.” Dr. Martine leaned back in his chair. “Is that enough?”

“A question: for supplying the American market—US producers have advantages, geographical and technological. The costs of transporting Romanian lumber to the US marketplace would negatively impact profits.”

“Good point,” said Dr. Martine. “But we are talking global sourcing trends. Again, you’re an environmental reporter?”

Grace nodded and the noise from the protesters grew under the window. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I apologize, but I am finding it hard to concentrate. I recommend we call it a day and suggest you study the Net International Investment Position for the United States.”

“May I contact you with more questions?” she asked.

“Anytime,” he said, smiling wanly. “Just not when protestors target us and the air conditioning is out!”

Grace thanked him, took the stairs to the street, feeling anxious and unsettled as she walked around the noisy demonstrators.

It’s more than just the protesters, she thought. It’s like something evil is floating over this place. Evil and powerful.