Stories of Sea Lice Science

Welcome to the 10^th international sea lice conference!  I was in Portland, Maine earlier today, where I gave a keynote at this event.  It's a gathering of about 200 ecologists, parasitologists, and geneticists, all interested in that uncharismatic species, Lepeophtheirus salmonis (better known as sea lice).  They've come from all over: the United States, Norway, Canada, Scotland, Ireland, Chile � wherever there's a salmon farming industry.  They very kindly invited me to speak to the group.

Sea Lice -- ugly but interesting

 This parasite is of interest to these folks because it costs the salmon industry about 300 million Euros (400 million dollars) every year.  It has also been a central object in controversies about salmon farming over the last two decades.

I've been studying the history of salmon aquaculture science (including the science of sea lice) for a few years: it's a great example of the complicated relations between science, environmental change and controversy.  But my talk � Science, Salmon, and Sea Lice: Understanding the Persistent Debate� wasn't just a straight history.  Instead, I wanted to present on a question that would be of immediate interest to those attending.

So my talk was about the persistence, for more than twenty years, of a scientific debate, involving the question of whether sea lice from salmon farms damage free-ranging salmon (in British Columbia and Europe), and sea trout (in Europe) populations.  There has been argued since the late 1980s.  There's also been a great deal of research on the question, but no resolution.

I framed my talk in terms of a wider phenomenon: the persistent inability of science to solve contentious environmental controversies, such as those involving genetically modified foods, contaminants, or climate change.  There are many reasons for this failure: among them are the tendency to use scientific objects as surrogates in political debates, or to debate the science rather than the issues that are really at stake.  The various distortions often evident in science that is applied in public debates have also been a factor.

So, to jump to my conclusion: I presented three explanations for this persistent debate: first, the complexities of the local environments in which sea lice research is done, which makes it hard to arrive at definitive conclusions; second, the diverse scientific perspectives at work in sea lice science (ecology, oceanography, fish physiology, among others), which generate different ideas about what counts as reliable methods and evidence; and third, the divergent social views of sea lice (as either a manageable problem, or a deadly threat to free-ranging salmon), which often magnify the scientific debate.

And finally, there's the persistent pattern of aquaculture scientists being expected to answer not only limited, workable scientific questions, but bigger and less-defined questions, about balancing aquaculture and other coastal activities, and other complicated issues.  These are questions that scientists can't answer, and attempts to define them as scientific questions only prolongs debates.

My talk got a good reception, with lots of discussion, and scientists telling me they found my talk helpful.  As an experiment in presenting environmental history to scientists, I think it worked well.  Perhaps the experience illustrates one way in which environmental historians can contribute to environmental debates, including those that involve scientists: by putting in context � both historically and conceptually � the struggles that scientists engage in as they try to make sense of the world, while navigating complex ecological and social systems.