Homo sapiens on Campus
H. sapiens is the
largest, most numerous, and the least
present of all of the mammals on campus.
This species blindly scurries between buildings, between classes,
between meetings, oblivious not only to the rest of the living, breathing,
moving, growing, writhing, dying organisms all around it, but even to the
members of its own species jostling along in streams of unconsciousness,
clutching coffee cups whose contents bring no awakening, glassy eyes focused
crystal screens, seeing and hearing only internal, custom-created isolated
little worlds. It has created a parallel
external world as well, one with little room for its fellow organisms.
But those other creatures are more at home in our home than
we, spiders aware of the texture of brick, swallows soaring in mathematical
arcs on the thermals rising from a parking lot, squirrels and grosbeaks well-versed
in the uses of exotic tree species with thick bark and plentiful seeds.
What would it take, to bring awareness back to our
species? Should we genetically engineer
saber-toothed tigers to stalk unwary students from the rhododendron thickets, require
all administrators to chant the names of at least thirty species of beetle and
bacteria, have faculty begin classes with intonations of the eight parts of
non-human speech?
Or take the lead from the chickadees, and simply begin using
contact calls as we move through our days, asking, “Are you ok?”
