ILLUSTRATIONS: ISRAEL G. VARGAS
By GREGORY BARBER
Ocean creatures soak up huge amounts of humanity's carbon mess. Should we value them like financial assets?
YOU ARE SEATED in an auction room at Christie's, where all evening you have watched people in suits put prices on priceless wonders. A parade of Dutch oils and Ming vases has gone to financiers and shipping magnates and oil funds. You have made a few unsuccessful bids, but the market is obscene, and you are getting bored. You consider calling it an early night and setting down the paddle. But then an item appears that causes you to tighten your grip. Lot 475: Adult blue whale, female.
What is the right price for this masterwork of biology? Unlike a Ming vase, Lot 475 has never been appraised. It's safe to say that she is worth more than the 300,000 pounds of meat, bone, baleen, and blubber she's made of. But where does her premium come from? She has biological value, surely—a big fish supports the littler ones—but you wouldn't know how to quantify it. The same goes for her cultural value, the reverence and awe she elicits in people: immeasurable. You might conclude that this exercise is futile. Lot 475 is priceless. You brace for the bidding war, fearful of what the people in suits might do with their acquisition. But no paddles go up.
Ralph Chami has a suggested starting bid for Lot 475. He performed the appraisal six years ago, after what amounted to a religious experience on the deck of a research vessel in the Gulf of California. One morning, a blue whale surfaced so close to the ship that Chami could feel its misty breath on his cheeks. "I was like, 'Where have you been all my life?'" he recalls. "'Where have I been all my life?'"
Chami was 50 at the time, taking a break from his job at the International Monetary Fund, where he had spent the better part of a decade steadying markets in fragile places such as Libya and Sudan. "You become fragile yourself," he says. When he saw the whale, he sensed her intelligence. He thought: "She has a life. She has a family. She has a history." The moment brought him to tears, which he hid from the others on board.
That evening, Chami fell into conversation with his hosts, who told him the unhappy tale of the seas. The ocean, they explained, has been left to fend for itself. Trapped between borders, largely out of reach of law and order, its abundance is eroding at an alarming rate. The water is warming and acidifying. More than a third of fisheries are overexploited, and three-quarters of coral reefs are under threat of collapse. As for whales, people might love them, might pass laws to ban their slaughter and protect their mating grounds, but people also love all the things that threaten whales most—oil drilled from offshore platforms that pollute their habitat, goods carried by cargo ships that collide with them, pinging sonar signals that disrupt their songs.
Chami had always loved the water. Growing up in Lebanon, he toyed with the idea of becoming an oceanographer before his father told him "in your dreams." As he heard the researchers' story, something awakened in him. He sensed that the same tools he had used to repair broken economies might help restore the oceans. Were they not a crisis zone too?
Chami's hosts sent him scientific papers, from which he learned about the whale's role in the carbon cycle. She stored as much as 33 tons of carbon in her prodigious body, he calculated, and fertilized the ocean with her iron-rich poop, providing fuel to trillions of carbon-dismantling phytoplankton. This piqued Chami's interest. In a world economy striving to be greener, the ability to offset greenhouse-gas emissions had a clearly defined value. It was measured in carbon credits, representing tons of carbon removed from the atmosphere. While the whale herself couldn't—shouldn't—be bought and sold, the premium generated by her ecological role could. She was less like an old painting, in other words, than an old-growth forest.
So what was the whale worth in carbon? It appeared no one had done the calculation. Chami loaded up his actuarial software and started crunching the numbers over and over, until he could say with confidence that the whale would pay dividends with every breath she took and every calf she bore. He concluded that the whale's value to humanity, on the basis of the emissions she helped sequester over her 60-year lifetime, was $2 million. A starting bid...
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https://www.wired.com/story/seagrass-humble-ocean-plant-worth-trillions/
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