Snoring puddle frog

Full text: The purpose of this paper is to hold a biological mirror in front of ourselves, the nuclear energy community, and to suggest that the reflection we will see there will help us both professionally and as members of a broader society. Let us start with sex. For sex to function as a means of reproduction, a male and a female of a particular species have to recognise each other and mate. The important terms here are 'particular species' and 'recognise'. Within most species, extraordinarily precise mate recognition systems have evolved. The precise frequency of the croak of a particular species of frog; the precise seasonal coloration of a particular species of salmon; the precise length of the tail of a particular species of bird; each is recognisable instantly to a prospective mate, though not to untrained human ears or eyes. 'The Recognition Concept of Species' (1985) is a monograph that has become something of a 'classic' in annals of evolutionary biology. Its author, HEH Paterson, suggests that a species can be defined as a group of organisms that share a common mate recognition system. Mating is an exchange of genes, and creatures that do not recognise each other do not exchange genes. A mate recognition system closes off the gene pool and may increasingly isolate its participants from even their nearest relatives. Biological evolution has numerous links and parallels with the evolution of human cultures. Some of our recognition systems seem to have a knack for drawing everyone in - American popular culture, for example, is now inescapable. Other recognition systems repel all but a few - take, or rather don't take, the Hell's Angels or the Ku Klux Klan. We, as members of the nuclear energy culture, are members of a closed and even repellent gene pool. We share a recognition system by which we perpetuate ourselves from generation to generation, from Hiroshima to Chernobyl. Outsiders do not understand our language: terms like 'credit for fission products', 'sub-criticality', 'neutron poison' and such-like all serve to isolate us. We seem to live in darkness, only to be seen when there is something to fear. Then we croak our incomprehensible nuclear song and vanish again behind high security gates, name tags, formal press releases and the words 'no comment' and 'acceptable risk'. In some parts of the world, the slightest of differences in interpreting a holy book is enough to get one killed; such is the human tendency to be suspicious of cultural recognition signals that are not very precisely one's own. No wonder journalists hunt us down, looking for ways to stop us reproducing amid the dark mysteries of radioactivity. But there is hope. The biologists tell us, rather dryly, that few sub-species are totally isolated. It may still be possible for our exclusive little cultural gene pool to merge with the rest of humanity. In order to offer recognition signals that the rest of the world can not only understand but also respect, we need to abandon the pose of being nuclear communicators and just be ourselves on our best behaviour. We need to help the media and thence the public to get to know us. If they were to spend time with nuclear scientists and technicians, they would see for themselves that members of the nuclear sub-species have human children whom they love and protect; that they have a deep and personal interest in sustaining our planet; that they are intelligent, responsible people who would hate to risk harming anyone. We also need to find symbols to convey these attributes; symbols that cut through our jargon. These symbols do not necessarily have to be words. Live, self-evident symbols, such as the wild fauna and flora that flourish around our power stations, or the cheerful healthiness of the people we employ, may constitute our best recognition system. Our true moral high ground lies in our ordinariness, our sharing of common values with the rest of society. It is here that we will find our best route to strong, healthy and positive relationships with the media. (author)