AT AN AERODROME outside Hobart, oversized images of the orange-bellied parrot peer down at me from the walls of the departure lounge. Nature books on the check-in desk are full of the photogenic species, and our pilot enthuses over the prospect of sighting the birds during our impending visit to the south-western corner of Tasmania.

Anyone unaware of the orange-bellied parrot can’t avoid learning about it before they set foot on the plane. The passengers who disembark at the remote outpost of Melaleuca an hour later make a beeline for the purpose-built birdwatching hut. Together, we settle into curved-back chairs and sip hot tea while waiting hopefully for flashes of orange and green to settle on the feeders outside the wide glass windows.

There are several critically endangered bird species in Tasmania. But in the competitive world of Tasmanian ecotourism, the orange-bellied parrot outshines all others. Compare the tiny King Island brown thornbill, for example, which is almost unknown in its home state despite carrying the unfortunate prize of being the next Australian bird species most likely to succumb to extinction.

So, why is it that some animal species monopolise our attention while others struggle? And what does this mean for biodiversity more broadly?

WESTERN SOCIETIES ARE spending less time than ever in contact with the natural world. Since the early 1980s, the amount of time we spend in nature-based recreation – camping, bushwalking or visiting national parks – has declined by approximately 25 per cent in what ecologist and author Robert Michael Pyle calls an ‘extinction of experience’. Today, many people opt to compress their direct contact with nature into tailored ecotourism ventures – such as birdwatching tours that maximise the chance of seeing a rare and colourful Tasmanian parrot – or substitute the experience with digital alternatives via television, video games and the internet.

All this means we’re increasingly reliant on the images and information we encounter in commercial advertising and popular media to inform our understanding of the natural world. However, the past seventy years have seen a steady decline in both references to nature and the diversity of species represented within these sources. Song lyrics, movie storylines, children’s literature, news stories, social media and ecotourism offerings are now largely populated by a subset of cute mammals and colourful birds. Even in media we could reasonably expect to be less biased – such as wildlife documentaries – mammals and birds continue to dominate. The richness and diversity of life, particularly of invertebrates, is curiously absent from the sources on which we increasingly rely for information.

As a result, most American adults can now identify more corporate logos than native plant species, and primary schoolchildren in the United Kingdom can name more Pokémon characters than species of British wildlife. Robert Michael Pyle warned that this type of collective ignorance can lead to collective indifference: ‘What is the extinction of the condor to a child who has never seen a wren?’ If people no longer value biodiversity or see it as relevant to their lives, they’re less likely to advocate for its protection.

THERE ARE STRONG links between public opinion and the direction of scientific research, conservation funding and legislated policies, meaning that biases in the way we communicate about species within popular culture have tangible effects: the most favoured species receive the bulk of our research efforts, conservation initiatives, academic publications, ecotourism visitors and threatened-species listings. At a time when global biodiversity is rapidly declining, then, these trends raise concerns for at-risk species that don’t enjoy a prominent or positive public profile.

People are drawn to animals that are recognisable and relatable – usually species that are large-bodied, long-living, and biologically or behaviourally similar to us (what environmental philosopher Ricardo Rozzi has labelled a type of ‘taxonomic-evolutionary narcissism’).

In recent history, animals displaying these characteristics have been amplified by editors and marketing managers making assumptions about the species most likely to appeal to target audiences: elephants, pandas, tigers, gorillas and the like. They’ve become known as the ‘charismatic megafauna’, an elite club of ‘poster-species’ guaranteed to trigger concern, attract attention and drive engagement.

Charismatic megafauna have been widely adopted as emblems of broader environmental issues to help raise awareness and financial support. Images of the polar bear, for instance, have become proxies for the melting polar regions. Used this way, animals act as flagship species: visible centres of attention and stimulants to action for an entire ecosystem. But narrowing our communications to these megafauna implies that other species are less important – and may ultimately elevate the role of charisma in deciding our conservation priorities.

IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH, most attention is currently directed towards a small subset of warm-blooded vertebrates. Of all the animal species known to science, about 95 per cent are invertebrates. Yet, on average, more than 50 per cent of published academic papers focus on mammals and birds alone. All other species groups receive considerably smaller portions of the publishing pie. Insects, for example, account for roughly 13 per cent of published papers, while the category of ‘other invertebrates’ – commonly used to encapsulate the broad sweep of biodiversity that makes up all invertebrates other than insects – makes up just over 5 per cent.

One long-term effect of this bias in research effort is likely a reduced ability to discover, understand and mitigate risks to less popular species. Bias in the division of funding, and in allocation of threatened-species listings, creates a dangerous loop in which conservation efforts are often fed back to species that are already relatively well understood, making it difficult to identify when under-represented species become threatened or extinct.

Academic bias may be somewhat influenced by pressures to publish (the infamous ‘publish or perish’ maxim); some researchers may even be encouraged to focus on species that are more appealing to funding bodies, academic editors and mastheads. However, the rise of the internet has opened avenues for scientists to communicate their work directly to audiences and bypass these traditional gatekeepers of information. Scientists and science organisations are increasingly adopting social media campaigns in their efforts to adapt to declining rates of research coverage and science journalism in traditional news media. Today, scientists and science organisations use social media as a tool to exchange information, find potential collaborators and broaden the size and diversity of their audiences. In fact, contemporary audiences with an existing interest in science prefer the internet to traditional sources of science information such as museums, news media and books.

WE NOW KNOW that non-taxonomic variables (including text, colourful or novel material, and interesting behavioural or physical traits) can influence audience engagement with animal-related content online: peacock spiders, with their beautiful colours and endearing dance moves, are capturing the attention of audiences and encouraging them to engage with a group of animals traditionally feared and rejected by Western society; a 2021 search for the most Instagrammable bird found that ‘interestingness, idiosyncrasy, and situational context all play their part in the aesthetic appeal of bird photos to the human observer’.

For a species to be an effective flagship, they need three things: they should be familiar (or able to be made familiar) to audiences, they should be important within a given cultural framework, and they should have a declining population. The flexibility of these criteria is an asset: it creates opportunities for a broader range of species to be considered flagships.

Take, for example, the bogong moth, which is an important food source and pollinator in Australian alpine ecosystems. In recent years, the plummeting population of this relatively nondescript species has led to recognition of its ecological and cultural significance and a strong public push for its conservation. This example demonstrates that what we traditionally consider charismatic or publicly popular is not set in stone but is influenced by cultural context. Audiences will, in fact, accept and adopt a wider range of biodiversity than has been offered to them for the past half century. At a time of unparalleled decline and extinction, these opportunities are important.

AN EPISODE OF the popular children’s program Bluey offers hope that this type of change may already be underway. In an episode called ‘Slide’, when a series of bugs interrupts Bingo and a friend playing on a new waterslide, they make an adventure out of it. The girls are protective of these creatures and adamant they ‘can’t squish them!’ (despite both agreeing their grandmothers would have done just that).

Direct contact with nature, particularly during childhood, fosters an improved understanding of, and willingness to, support biodiversity. However, as tangible experiences of nature are increasingly overtaken by vicarious or digital experiences, some have argued that Pyle’s ‘extinction of experience’ should be reframed as a ‘transformation of experience’, defined by new representations with potentially positive impacts. For example, natural history films can increase public interest in a diverse range of species and generate levels of engagement comparable to dedicated conservation campaigns. Talking about the environment or reading nature books can positively impact children’s attitudes towards biodiversity. And a five-year-old fictional red heeler can be a role model for how we approach nature around us.

Improving the diversity of species represented within popular media is both critical and urgent. These kinds of broad, positive portrayals may allow us to begin rebuilding our curiosity, open-mindedness and appreciation for biodiversity – until our next adventure into the real world.

^{Image credit: Max Muselmann via Unsplash}