In three of my five classes, the lectures and readings have recently turned to the issue of our ever-increasing human population and its impact on the environment in which we live.

I’ve listened to arguments from all sides of the equation, from advocates of sustainability who say that the number of humans is not as relevant as how we all live, to people who say that it doesn’t matter how we live — if the number of people on earth exceeds the earth’s carrying capacity, then we’re doomed.
Science has proven that our population is growing exponentially, and the mathematical diagrams derived by science show that this growth will continue until it peaks. Then the population will crash in a manner reminiscent of Wile E. Coyote hitting the ground after being tricked off the cliff by that silly Road Runner.
Now, I believe that human choice is the second most wonderful thing in the world, behind love, but I don’t believe that it is possible that all humans would choose together to live in a sustainable manner. We, as individuals, are just too self-centered, too focused on our own well-being rather than the health of our neighbors, to make a choice that would benefit everyone instead of just ourselves. It’s hard to admit we’re killing ourselves, so let’s try something else.
Let’s imagine that there’s this beautiful pristine pond, and in the middle of it is this perfect little island with emerald green grass, flowering plants, nitrogen-rich soil and a population of flightless birds that, much like Canadian geese, mate for life, but like penguins have only one or two eggs. The birds have no predators on the island, and they outcompete all the other organisms living there for resources.
These birds are weight conscious, so they only eat what they need to survive. Their chicks, which have a very low hatchling mortality rate, are kind of a pain in the butt, so the birds don’t usually have more than one or two.
Life is so good on this island that the birds usually live a long time, and often four generations are alive on the island at once. Because of this, with each new birth the island gets a little more crowded.
Soon, one family of birds is living right next to another, and before long they are trying to figure out how to stack their nests vertically to make room for the next generation. And even though each bird is eating only as much as it needs to survive, there is less grass to go around simply because there are more beaks to feed and the nests are taking up areas where the plants used to grow.
The birds, who are now living on top of each other and stealing food from the beaks of the neighbor chicks, were taught, as hatchlings, not to defecate in their own nests, and since where they used to go has been converted into nesting for the less fortunate birds, they are forced to start using the water bank as a bathroom.
Before they know it, their water is contaminated with excrement, so that when they try to drink it they get giardiasis, which causes them to poop even more, which in turn makes the water situation worse.
Next, the rainy season comes. The rains used to be an asset, but now the plants are gone so the soil along the bank has no anchor, and all the high ground away from the water’s edge has been taken over by the healthiest birds leaving no place left for anyone else to go. The rains cause a landslide that takes with it 78 percent of the nesting grounds, and all the chicks that were still in those nests — they all die.
Because most of the island just washed away into the dirty pond, when the rain finally lets up there is even less growing area for food, and the birds who were squatting up on the high ground now have no homes, no chicks and no food. Most of them just give up and die.
The few remaining birds are forced to spend their days scavenging the barren island for single blades of grass while trying not to step in the droppings of their deceased neighbors. It’s not pretty, but neither is the direction we’re heading as a population.