Biodiversity needs neurodiversity, says insightful new book

Neurodivergent, by nature
Joe Harkness (Bloomsbury)

We start with genitals of butterflies. Joe Harkness planned to write a book on the “interests of the nature of niche”: environmentalists, naturalists and environmentalists with dark passions for Woodlice, or taxidermia, or yes, the examination (for identification purposes) of the genitals. Then, a suggestion of an editor put it on a new track: could some of these interests in the nature of niche cross with neurodivergence?

Harkness had himself been diagnosed with ADHD shortly before. It was not, he wrote, “the biggest shock” to learn, to return to his interviewees, that many of them had received a diagnosis of autism or ADHD, or had been diagnosed with one of the conditions starting with “dys” (dyslexia, dyspraxia, dyscalculia).

What follows Neurodivergent, by nature: why biodiversity needs neurodiversity is a timely and interesting study of the value and meaning of “nature” with neurodivergen personalities and a rigorous study of the way in which neurodiversity is adopted in the United Kingdom industry.

We quickly encounter a striking and unexpected contrast. On the one hand, Harkness and his interviewed people characterize the wilderness as a “safe space”, a place of “non-judgment” which can offer stimulation without overload, somewhere (as a national trust ranger says) seems “a more manageable, logical and simple place”. On the other hand, it quickly becomes clear that most of Harkness’s subjects make their lives in an intense competitive industry, where high barriers and low wages are the norm. “You cannot ignore the exploitation that occurs if obviously in this sector,” explains Harkness. And it is even before the neurodivergent conditions were taken into account.

Pinking precise definitions of the neurodivergente experience is, of course, a dangerous and perhaps reckless business. Harkness is happy to keep things open. A key concern in his book is that “unique neurodivergal skills” of many conservation workers are not recognized and unused.

He chooses an intense concentration, an increased sensory consciousness, a model spot and “a moral compass which only points in the sense of the natural world”. But it is also aware of the drawbacks: hyperfocus goes with unnecessary hyperfixation, thinking laterally with thought too literally, and, although “we could be incredible to analyze the data, if you do not understand my spreadsheet, you are an idiot”.

Harkness also recognizes a tension that many neurodivergent environmentalists will always have to negotiate: “We prefer to spend our time with the thing we want to keep it safely than people who are wreaking havoc.

If the book seems to move away from its premises – as when Harkness engages with the problems encountered by women, young people and people from ethnic minorities – it is a salutary reminder that neurodiversity believes with a multitude of social, economic, political and environmental concerns. Very little here is clear.

Harkness is a talkative and enthusiastic guide to an area he knows well, and he speaks with a large number of people, all with lighting stories to tell. These can be inspiring, sometimes overwhelming and often funny, although I would have liked to know more in their own words.

If a part of the personality is lost later, where Harkness breaks down the hiring policies and the work culture of certain conservation organizations from a neurodiversity point of view, it is always a fascinating and necessary work. Our climate and eco-crises need all hands on the bridge.

Richard Smyth is a writer and a crossword compiler for the new scientist

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