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La ricerca dell’ anello mancante: ciò che resta del legame evolutivo che unisce noi umani al resto degli animali, un legame dimenticato, interrotto e rimpiazzato da confini sempre più netti. Un viaggio ai confini tra riserve naturali e aree fortemente antropizzate, dove “civiltà” umana e natura “selvaggia” collidono. In un’epoca famelica di ordine e controllo, che non lascia spazio al selvatico, la convivenza genera conflitti, il mutualismo diventa domesticazione e mercificazione, e l’estinzione si traduce in “esaurimento scorte”, la domanda che supera l‘offerta. Anche gli sforzi di conservazione hanno i loro effetti collaterali, aggravando il peso di certi confini sull’evoluzione stessa.
Un racconto che non mostra buoni e cattivi, bianco o nero, ma un’ area di grigi in cui è difficile individuare il confine tra giusto e sbagliato, una linea sottile tracciata sulla sabbia, come quella tra tra la nostra libertà e quella del resto degli esseri viventi.
“La mia libertà finisce dove inizia la tua”. Ricordo questa frase come il primo vero codice di comportamento che si radicò in me. La trovavo equa. Delinea un confine ben preciso nel quale puoi muoverti, un confine netto, ma invisibile. Non ho mai ben capito dove fosse, in fondo non mi era molto chiaro nemmeno il concetto di confine, mi sono sempre chiesto che scopo avesse: contenere o proteggere, imprigionare o salvare? Il primo concetto di confine che capii fu quello tra vivi e morti, apparentemente l’unico confine netto, senza comunicazioni, senza ponti visibili. Il primo vero passo per comprenderlo fu grazie a degli animali estinti, i dinosauri. Osservavo le riproduzioni di queste creature dando per scontato che fossero veritiere. Anni dopo compresi che nessuno poteva conoscere come fossero esteriormente. Nessuna prova. Solo fossili. Questo marchiò a fuoco nella mia mente l’idea di confine. La perdita irreversibile, la fine di qualcosa che lascia solo ossa e immaginazione.
Oggi questo processo si sta ripetendo: sesta estinzione di massa e siamo noi umani, dalla vetta conquistata da predatore alfa, a spingere ogni forma di vita diversa da noi oltre quel confine. Da protagonisti poniamo il limite alla libertà o sopravvivenza di ogni altra creatura, tracciando linee di accettabilità da spostare a seconda della morale, della cultura, della convenienza o delle evidenze scientifiche. Selvaggio e addomesticato subiscono lo stesso confine: non più liberi di autodeterminare la propria condizione.
Dove finisce la nostra libertà individuale? La nostra libertà collettiva? La nostra libertà come specie? Dov’è il nostro limite? Abbiamo avviato questo progetto per trovare questi limiti insieme al legame che unisce l’uomo al resto degli animali selvatici e volevamo farlo prima che l’estinzione portasse via tutto ciò che di selvatico è rimasto. “Amnesia Ambientale Generazionale”. Uno studio del professore in psicologia dell’università di Washington, Peter Kahn, dice che stiamo perdendo la memoria di come fosse la natura: “Con ogni generazione successiva, la quantità di degrado ambientale aumenta, ma ogni generazione tende a percepire la condizione degradata come la condizione non degradata, come la normale esperienza.”
La ricerca ci ha ricondotti all’origine di tutti noi, in quei luoghi dove il sapiens ha per la prima volta mosso i suoi passi alzando la testa al firmamento, dove ancora oggi sopravvivono alcuni tra gli ultimi primati rimasti, i gorilla e gli scimpanzé, i nostri parenti più stretti, la nostra famiglia. Casa, insomma. Tornati alle origini abbiamo compreso qual era la vera ragione della nostra ricerca: volevamo riconnetterci, ricucire il nostro legame dimenticato, ricordare le nostre radici selvatiche, sentirci randagi. Ed è proprio vero. Diventa evidente una volta tornati alla quotidianità del mondo civile. Siamo scollegati, come ingranaggi distaccati dal motore centrale, sparati lontano dalla centrifuga delle nostre ossessioni. Fa male questo distacco. Mi spezza. Sento qualcosa di grosso che manca. Una memoria mancante. Un legame mancante.
Note biografiche
Spinto dalla passione per la natura selvaggia, Andrea Boccini (Firenze, 1989), è un fotografo documentarista che ha fatto della conservazione della fauna selvatica la sua missione. Completati gli studi scientifici e artistici, ha lavorato in diversi settori: dal teatro alla video produzione, dalla grafica editoriale a quella pubblicitaria. Nel 2015 le prime mostre collettive a Milano e Recanati. Nel 2016, inizia il progetto fotografico indipendente in corso, “The Missing Link”, un documentario che lo ha portato a lavorare come volontario per la conservazione di specie a rischio ed ecosistemi vulnerabili in tre continenti nei luoghi più remoti. Dal 2019 il progetto è entrato nelle selezioni vincenti dei concorsi “Life Framer”, “International Photography Awards”, “ND Awards”, “Annual Photography Awards” e “Luganophotodays” ed è stato esposto a Pollenza (MC), Città di Castello (PG), Cortona (AR) e Perugia. Nel 2022 ha conseguito la qualifica di “Padi Coral Reef Restorator” operando come volontario per la conservazione delle barriere coralline dell’Oceano Indiano con l’associazione Reefolution. Dal 2024 è reporter per ND Magazine.
Instagran: @andreatheboch – @the_missing_link_doc
Villetta Barrea, Abruzzo, Italy, 2015. Daily interaction in the urban area located within the Lazio Abruzzo and Molise National Park. The only case in Italy of such close and constant coexistence over time, the risk of accidents in the area is very high. The animals have developed a certain understanding of road traffic and an unnatural familiarity with roads and vehicles, trusting in the particular respect that motorists reserve for these animals.
Turin, Italy, 2015. The gray squirrel is an animal native to North America. It was imported in Italy as a pet, today it is widespread in many parks and urban areas. They colonized the territories historically inhabited by the native red squirrels. These squirrels are larger, more active and more resistant to diseases than the native ones, competing on the same resources, the gray has ended up supplanting and replacing the reds, for this reason they have entered the list of the 100 most invasive species. Protection actions have not yet been initiated to protect the red or containment for the gray, on the contrary, citizens and tourists seem to love these squirrels enough to bring them nuts and seeds purchased in the park.
Shanzu, Mombasa, Kenya, 2017. “Opportunity makes the thief”, and the same is for the monkey. Vervet monkeys residing in the peripheral areas of Mombasa spend most of their time looking for food of anthropic origin. The reason is not the greater flavor of our food, but the convenience and ease of finding. The rapid urban expansion has drastically reduced the sources of natural food, and the monkeys have adapted: they study daily routine, waste, supplies and even the systems that man adopts to defend them. They raid houses and shops without fear. Furthermore, processed food, although poor in nutrients, is a high-calorie resource: a single raid of this food provides more energy than natural food that can be harvested in an entire day. A perfect mix to thrive in comfort.
Sudan, last male northern white rhino, with his guards, Ol Pejeta Conservancy, Kenya, 2017. Sudan died in March 2018 at age 45, having spent 43 years in captivity. When he was caught, just 2 years old, there were about 700 specimens left, the year of his death there were 3: him, his daughter and his granddaughter. Captivity was his salvation and his condemnation. Exposed in a zoo to an unfavorable climate, he has been employed for reproduction, in 34 years, only 3 successful matings. From 2009 to 2018 he returned to his habitat, perhaps late, but still in a far from natural environment: 9 years surrounded and monitored 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, by armed guards, like in a bank vault. His closest bond was with humans, the animal that drove him to extinction. This is how the end of a species looks: a very silent event, hidden from view, a moment of pure solitude, of extreme isolation.
Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage, Nairobi, Kenya, 2017. Since 1987 the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust has successfully rescued and raised 316 orphans, 176 of whom have been released from which were born 55 babies. Elephants are among the most sensitive and deeply connected animals. The bond with their family is everything. When they lose an elderly family member, they lose their history, their compass, their knowledge. Although, according to biologist Richard Ruggiero, they are “aware of the ongoing genocide”, they know how to forgive people, they even grow attached to their guardians, they know that not all people are the same.
Stuart highway, Australia, 2018. Despite little traffic on the highway that cuts through the Australian Outback from north to south, there are hundreds of kangaroo carcasses along the way. Evolving in the desert without natural predators, kangaroos are the largest and fastest animals, therefore not very attentive to danger. This low caution in movement makes them very vulnerable to vehicles. The growing traffic of ever-faster vehicles traveling the outback roads poses a serious risk to their survival.
Varanasi, India, 2018. Unlike the rest of the world, cows in India have been considered sacred animals. However, in ancient times the sacrifice and consumption of cattle was permitted. This changed when they began to run out of livestock: “Once, when there was a great famine, King Prithu took up his bow and arrow and pursued the Earth to force her to yield nourishment for his people. The Earth assumed the form of a cow and begged him to spare her life; she then allowed him to milk her for all that the people needed”. Forests were converted into grazing grasslands, farmers became shepherds and began producing milk and dairy products. Cattle assumed a fundamental role in the Indian economy, so much so that their slaughter was stopped and are now protected by the constitution. Today there are more than 5 million stray cows perfectly integrated into the Indian urban landscape, protected and fed by passers-by and temples.
Taj Mahal, Agra, India, 2018. This Wonder of the world is one of the most visited and popular monuments. Protected as unique, tourists are prohibited from bringing drones and dangerous objects, liquids are strictly prohibited, and protective shoe covers are provided to avoid soiling the floors. At the same time, in that same place the macaques are allowed to move and live their daily lives without limits. Built to be exclusive, protected from human contact, the Taj Mahal is home to a significant population of macaques, who, unaware of its importance, live among thousands of tourists every day.
Leuser National Park, North Sumatra, Indonesia, 2018. Orangutans and humans are part of the same family, “Orang – Utan” in the local language means “man of the jungle”, one of the closest relatives we have, we share with them 97% of our DNA and with it also the same diseases. Pathogens transmitted by contact with tourists can be lethal for entire families or groups. Fragmented and isolated by the deforestation of their habitat, many orangutans have found themselves forced to compete with farmers for the same food resources. Over time the locals began to feed them, to attract tourists, making them dependent on humans and accustomed to contact. Once released into the park, this habit was passed on to new generations, irreversibly changing their behavior. Even today, to satisfy the growing demand for “selfies” from mass tourism, locals exploit and consolidate these behaviors. In many cases guides are forced to give food in order to avoid retaliation from the more aggressive orangutans.
Antelope Park, Zimbabwe, 2019. Researchers call our current era “Anthropocene” that means we are now the Alpha predator of planet Earth. Once at the top of the food chain, humans’ first act as alpha predator was to impose their control over all other predators, either by eradicating or domesticating them. The animals we feared in the past, are our present pets. Today, lions are bred to keep their numbers above safe. These tamed lions are called “ambassadors”: a lucrative tourist attraction sacrificed to finance the conservation of their species. Lions raised to be in full contact with people, cannot be released into the wild because they are too confident with humans. They spend their entire lives in captivity, used to raise funds and awareness about their condition. Conservation is a duty, too often a business and not always a salvation.
Antelope Park, Zimbabwe, 2019. Sedated and ready to be transferred to a larger facility, this specimen is one of 200 adult lions being bred to prevent their extinction and keep their numbers above safe levels. This kind of conservation is a real business. Once overpopulation has been reached, and enclosures get overcrowded, some adults are sold to larger structures and with greater tourist revenue to be better exploited. These lions are retired tourist attractions, no longer suitable for direct contact and therefore resold. The big cat trade is one of the most profitable of all. According to the CITES Trade Database from 2010 to 2019, over 22,065 lion specimens have been traded, 72% of them captive-sourced and 26% wild-sourced. The primary use for these traded lions is trophy hunting (38%), and kept in so-called “canned” hunting facilities. In a world governed by money, their best chance of survival is to be a good investment: controllable, breedable, packageable and sellable. Thus the former king of the savannah falls to the rank of a commodity, an ordinary slave, and his kingdom is compressed into a narrow enclosure.
Villetta Barrea, Abruzzo, Italy, 2021. A fox that wanders among the chicken coops and vegetable gardens of the town.
Cingino, Italian Alps, 2021. Human architecture has managed to change the natural morphology of the mountain and with it the behavior of wildlife. A small helicopter platform has become the most popular and hard-fought livelihood destination between Ibex. Greedy for saltpeter, a mineral transported by the rain that settles on the concrete surface, they fight each other for the right to feed on it.
Diani Beach, Kenya, 2023. Larry is a resident now. Larry is a green turtle and they usually like to live in the shallow waters of the coral reefs. This area of the Kenyan coast was once rich in corals. Now it is almost empty, a sandy desert. The main reason: fishing. Until a few decades ago, they used to fish with dynamite, blowing up almost the entire coral reef, and with it the essential nurseries for the fish to grow. Reefolution, an international organization operating in restoring marine ecosystems is now building coral nurseries to plant new corals into artificial structures anchored on the sandy bottom of the coast. Larry found the new settlement interesting, so has now settled down in this coral nursery, and like him also many schools of fish find this renewal attractive.
