The Terror of the Hawk

This site is about the wild parrots who live in one urban place known as Brooklyn. So it's not really a place to opine about the contemporary evils that afflict humankind: particularly the evils of fear -- no, make that terror -- that freeze our human hearts and shrink our spirits in immobilizing seas of drowning adrenaline. And yet, with the recent announcements about an imminent attack on New York's subway system, I feel compelled to write something about this fear, this terror.

Do wild animals feel terror? Do they watch helplessly as their fellow kind are slaughtered, knowing there is nothing they can do but hide, knowing the predators that stalk them cannot be fought?

Yes, they do. One might almost say that the life of a wild parrot in Brooklyn or in New Jersey is so imbued with terror that it becomes second nature to them: that they have assimilated terror into their very beaks and bones. For these are not birds of prey, but prey birds: builders of nests, not raptors. Lovers, not warriors.

Life in the wilds for these gentle creatures is cruel: there are hawks, cats, dogs, Con Ed and PSE&G trucks, and all manner of threats that cannot be fought by these humble birds. These threats cannot be defeated, only thwarted, by teamwork and eternal vigilance, and one is struck by the degree to which these creatures have evolved a response to the nameless threats that stalk them each waking moment of their lives. This response is called the "sentinel system" and it consists in one bird always being on watch to alert those who are feeding or foraging of the appearance of a predator. The system is not faultless but it is the best thing these creatures have. And it works -- most of the time -- enough of the time to let their species survive and move their generations through the lathe of eternity.

These wild parrots -- and they are not the only kind of bird that do this -- rely on their sentinels and the protection of their flocks to provide cover for the special gift they bring to this world. They are predated, reduced by beast and man, and yet they go on, loving life, preening, quarelling, making babies, singing, and squawking. Yes, they live in fear -- terror -- but they do not stop living and they do not stop loving. They do not tear each other apart. They watch for the hawk, but once it has passed, their spirits awaken, and they move again. They do not shut down.



Many times each month, I take the subway to inspect these remarkable creatures and show their strange magnificence off to my fellow New Yorkers, and I will do so again. If I happen to be blown up while doing so, then that's the way it will be. Until that time, I will draw peace from these creatures, who simply seek to live, love, and sing their raucous song to an indifferent world. I will draw comfort from their existence, which defies the narrow claims made by humankind, whether they are claims for a restored Celiphate or a Total Christian Victory.

Above all, I will resist the fear -- the terror -- that threatens to tear our human flock apart by an endless war whose escalating global violence will only end in our species' extinction. There must be another way, and it may seem balmy, but I believe that this way already exists in nature, if our poor human brains could only grasp it. Because the terror of the hawk cannot be fought by war, nor can fear and terror be banished from this world forever by any victory that is based on violence.

The future -- for all but the warrior: the hawk -- seems impossible. Yet there is hope. For these wild, peaceful parrots, terror is the price of freedom. No bird is guaranteed a tomorrow, and yet they stick together and watch each other's backs. Who taught them to do this? God? Charles Darwin? Does it really matter?

Listen to this flock. They may not have tomorrow, but they have each other -- now: in the only moment that ever counts, and it is enough. We have much to learn from these birds, so far from home, so poor, so despised, and yet so miraculously free, so alive, emerald wings beating against the sun -- even as the hawk circles high above, prowling for its next kill.