Stung

by William Deverell

  An additional culprit was that handy reason for all things dire, global climate change and its extremes: too much rain, too much drought, too much heat, too much cold.

  Added to that, honeybees were losing access to flower-rich prairies that once flourished across the globe. They must now struggle to survive on “monotonous diets of mass-flowering crops” like canola. He likened such vast tracts to a green desert that blooms only two weeks a year, so bees have no food source for the remaining fifty. “It is no wonder our precious Apis mellifera has fallen on hard times.”

  Wild bees “like our beloved bumblebee” also suffered from habitat loss. Forced to spend more time foraging, facing longer commutes to their nests, they had less time to feed and produce offspring. These factors contributed to the die-out.

  Dr. Easling spoke directly to the jury as he testified, and was rewarded with their rapt attention. He decorated his points with an occasional eloquent turn of phrase borrowed from his YouTube jousts. Arthur guesses that his self-effacing tendencies hide an overweening ego. That might be his weak spot.

  “We shall see,” he mutters to his half-eaten sandwich.

  Azra Khan looked distracted this morning as he put Easling through his paces. Arthur feels sorry for the prosecutor, who is looking more wan and depressed every day. Quite a contrast from his jaunty air, at their first meeting in the fall, with his assurances that these arrogant activists would get the max. But weighing on him now is his mother’s sudden, fast decline. She is in her final stages, and has been taken to a hospice in Richmond Hill, a long commute for him each evening.

  So he is incapable of giving his best to this case, and has confided he regrets having taken it on. That admission came today at the noon break, with a sigh, as he drew Arthur aside to ask if they could have a quiet tête-à-tête at day’s end. Arthur agreed, then Khan gathered his underlings and rushed off.

  However preoccupied he is, however lacking in gusto, Azra Khan is a professional, and once committed to a task will do his best. Arthur knows that, he knows his type — because that is Arthur’s type.

  And for Arthur to do his job he must, tomorrow, Friday, take a day away from Toronto and this trial. Who would have dreamed this case would see him trotting off to southwestern Missouri to meet with an apparently irascible ninety-three-year-old former judge named W.W. Squirely?

  He would have preferred not to abandon Nancy for the day but the weekend is unavailable. Margaret arrives on Saturday and woe to him if he jilts her once again.

  2

  Jerod Easling mounts the stand. The spectators and jurors settle in. Madam Justice Donahue muscles her way onto the bench. Arthur rises, and begins:

  “Dr. Easling, this morning you relied on various studies to conclude that the neonic family of pesticides should not be blamed for honeybee colony collapse. I’d like to direct your attention to events in the spring of 2008, after an outbreak of corn rootworm in Europe. You are familiar with the dire events that followed?”

  “Fully aware. In fact, I was retained to do some studies related to the outbreak.”

  “Retained by whom?”

  “Bayer Crop Science.”

  “Okay. Some of us here may not remember it, so let me quote from an article in The Guardian: ‘Dismayed beekeepers looked on as whole colonies collapsed. Millions of bees died. France, the Netherlands, and Italy reported big losses, but in Germany the incident took on the urgency of a national crisis. The government had to set up containers along the autobahn where beekeepers could dump their hives.’

  “Dr. Easling, that mass poisoning was found to have been caused by a neonicotinoid called clothianidin — you’ll be familiar with it because it’s a Bayer product — which is said to be ten thousand times more potent than DDT. So please tell us how that disaster of 2008 squares with your view that neonics are environmentally friendly.”

  Easling turns to the jury. “There is another side to that story that didn’t get as much press attention. Yes, European corn growers may have overreacted with excessive use of clothianidin, but from their perspective they were facing their own imminent disaster. Western corn rootworm is a hugely devastating pest and those little beasts have caused farmers billions of dollars of lost revenue. And by the way, Bayer generously compensated the European beekeepers even though it was not bound to.”

  “The upshot, I think you’ll agree, is that the European Community banned neonics five years later.”

  “With little reported success, Mr. Beauchamp. Insect populations have still not recovered in any marked way. So I will have to say, if you’ll forgive me, the jury is still out on that issue.” Laughter all round.

  The exchange did not work out as Arthur had hoped: he merely gave this fellow a megaphone. Easling’s clever evasions and his manner of amiably lecturing the jury will have to be curbed.

  “Let’s see if we can find common ground on the basics, Dr. Easling. Neonicotinoids target the central nervous system and as a result bees lose their homing ability and their sense of direction, yes?”

  “Those are often among the effects, but toxicity levels vary, depending on how much the bees are subject to chronic long-term exposure—”

  “Thank you, but let’s go one step at a time. The nicotine agent in these products can cause overstimulation and paralysis that leads to death?”

  “While that is so, there are many other factors that effect the mortality of various species of bees.”

  “Dr. Easling, we’ll speed along much faster if you just respond directly to my questions.”

  “I’m only here to help, Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “Of course. I don’t mean to be brusque or discourteous.”

  “That never entered my mind.” Big, sunny smile. “I’m too habituated to giving lectures, I guess, so please be patient with me.”

  “Okay, we have established that neonics cause our already busy bees to buzz about aimlessly and then they drop dead. But this nicotine-based substance has other qualities — for instance, it’s water soluble, correct?”

  “Neonicotinoids are water soluble.”

  “And they remain potent in soil and wet areas, do you agree?”

  “Yes, though we don’t know for how long they persist. May I add to that?”

  Arthur waits too long, and Donahue intercedes: “Oh, just let him.”

  Easling grins — it’s all a game to him. “As yet, I haven’t heard of any unwanted effects on habitat as a result of neonics’ long-term presence in the ground or anywhere.”

  “Dr. Nadia Tsvetkov, at York University here in Toronto, found spillover effects from treated crops in wildflowers, clover, dandelions, even maple trees. Have you read her report?”

  “That may be a very recent report. I’m not in a position to dispute it, but, ah, maple trees? That might take some convincing.”

  “I’ll make sure you get a copy of her report. Now, you relied on eight separate studies in support of your claim that neonics should not bear the brunt of blame for mass deaths of bees.”

  “I’m sorry, what studies were those?”

  Nancy hands Arthur a marked document. “The ones in your written opinion, Exhibit 143, page forty-seven, footnotes thirty-three, thirty-five, and forty-five through forty-seven.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “And will you also agree that seven of those eight studies were financed by agrochemical giants: two by Syngenta, two by Bayer, three by Monsanto?”

  “I have no doubt they were. Major corporations have a duty to ensure the safety of their products, and spend many hundreds of millions doing so.”

  “To little effect, I suggest, given Monsanto has been sued for billions because its infamous bestseller, Roundup, was proven to cause cancer—”

  “Ob-ject,” says Khan. “My friend is wandering very far afield.”

  “In my quest for fl
owering crops,” Arthur says. Even Judge Donahue smiles. The merriment buoys Arthur. “I’m sorry, my mind has been on my untended, weedy garden back home.”

  “The sooner we finish,” says Donahue, “the sooner you’ll be getting your kohlrabi in.”

  She continues to confound Arthur. Is this ice lady melting, showing ordinary, warm human traits?

  “Dr. Easling, surely you will concede that these studies are tainted by corporate funding.”

  “No, because the strict practice of sponsors is to hire respected, independent scientists, then to back off completely. Totally arm’s length.”

  “These respected scientists get paid very well, I assume.”

  “To get the best, you have to pay the piper.”

  “I think the expression goes, ‘He who pays the piper calls the tune.’”

  Easling reddens. “My bad. Touché. My point is a research team has no incentive to fudge data or tweak the graphs. A contract has been signed. Payment is guaranteed even if they give a damning review.”

  “But wouldn’t a damning review disincentive Syngenta, say, or Chemican, from hiring that scientist again?”

  Again Khan, who is unusually active today, objects. “Calls for speculation.”

  “Let me put it this way, Dr. Easling — a researcher could not be blamed for softening his or her opinion when contemplating the prospect of further big paycheques—”

  Donahue: “Can we move on, Mr. Beauchamp? I think the point has been made, for what it’s worth.”

  “Let us turn, then, to studies reflecting data from organic, sustainable growers. I must assume, Doctor, you have read the written opinion by Dr. Ariana Van Doorn, which is . . . yes, Exhibit 156.”

  “I did. An admirable work by an emerging leader in the field, though I respectfully take issue with several of her analyses and conclusions.”

  “Hopefully not this one — after scouring hundreds of research papers she concludes that growers enjoy healthy profits and lower costs when spurning chemical-based pesticides. You have no reason to disagree, I assume.”

  “Nor do I have reason to agree, Mr. Beauchamp. I haven’t analyzed her data. Many of the studies she relies on haven’t been widely reported.”

  “Doubtless because you can barely hear them whispered behind the blare and clamour from agrochemical lobbyists. Organic growers don’t spend millions on full-page ads and Super Bowl TV spots.”

  “Objection. My learned friend—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Khan, objection allowed.”

  “My point is, Dr. Easling, that the agrochemical giants abhor an approach that reduces pests naturally, organically, and safely. That cuts into their bottom line—”

  “Argumentative,” says Khan.

  “I’ll move on.” Arthur pauses to catch his breath. He is not making great headway here, instead is coming across as stubborn and preachy. The jury is giving away nothing — it’s as if they’re waiting for one or the other combatant to deliver a knock-down blow.

  “Dr. Easling, you seem to put great store in the prospect of growers agreeing to set aside tracts of farmland for bee-friendly plants. I hope you will agree that the big industrial farms have snubbed that approach — less arable land, less income.”

  “I don’t agree. The state of Bavaria, bowing to public demand, has just passed a law setting aside ten percent of green spaces into wildflower meadows. The idea is spreading across Germany and Europe and in my belief will soon be accepted worldwide.”

  Arthur dares not look at Nancy, or his clients or, especially, Rivie Levitsky, for fear of seeing their discomfort. He hadn’t heard about this Bavarian initiative. “My point is that factory farms have refused to act voluntarily, so governments are being forced to create habitats for the bees.”

  That wasn’t his point at all, but sometimes one has to bluff. “Dr. Easling, there was a study last year that found numbers of flying insects, pollinators, had fallen by three-quarters in twenty-five years.”

  “I have read it. Dr. Dieter Hoff led it. Brilliant scientist — I’m in awe of him.”

  “Then you’ve also read his best-known work? De-Pollination: Why Chemistry May Kill Life on Earth.”

  “More than once.”

  “And do you agree with his thesis that agricultural chemicals may indeed kill life on earth?”

  “I suspect Dieter doesn’t believe in it himself. There is an element of hyperbole in that title that I’m sure helped him sell more books.”

  Chuckles in the gallery, grins in the jury box. Arthur must soft-shoe away from Dr. Hoff, whose plagiarism of his student’s words may soon embroil him in deserved scandal.

  “Following the 2008 disaster, Dr. Hoff became one of many in the scientific community who urged the European Community to ban neonics. That’s fair to say?”

  “He made submissions to the Commission tasked to review the matter.”

  Arthur recalls Rivie confiding that she keeps score during these fencing matches. Her card must show Arthur losing badly on points. He decides to follow Nancy’s advice: test Easling’s objectivity, expose his role as a mercenary for the agrochemical industry.

  “You also made submissions to that Commission?”

  “Yes. I believed then, and still do, that the moratorium was short-sighted and was imposed without a scientific raison d’être or due regard for the rights and the welfare of the EU’s farming community.”

  “Not to mention the welfare of the powerful agribusinesses you represented at those hearings.”

  “Businesses also have rights and legitimate concerns, Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “You’ve testified at many other governmental hearings and inquiries relating to the licensing of neonicotinoids, correct?”

  “Scores of times, on behalf of the producers, sellers, and users of such products. As an aside, I wince every time I am referred to as a hired gun for those I represent. In fact I favour strict control of all guns — except spray guns, of course.”

  That gets a laugh, though to Arthur it sounds scripted, a tired joke he must often trot out at banquet speeches.

  “Chemican, Bayer, Dow, DuPont — you’ve advised all the big ones.”

  “In my area of expertise as an entomologist, yes.”

  “And what were your average annual earnings from them over, say, the last ten years?”

  “I don’t sit around staring at balance sheets, Mr. Beauchamp. I wouldn’t dare to guess.” A resentful glance at Khan, then Donahue, inviting them to cut short this intrusive line of questioning. But financial bias affects credibility, and both judge and prosecutor are biting their tongues to avoid opening up avenues of appeal.

  “Twenty million per year, would that be about right?” Prompting a gasp from the Bee-lievers in the back.

  “That is wildly inaccurate.”

  “Then what is accurate? Please help me, Dr. Easling.”

  “I’m not going to hazard a guess. All I can say is I’m paid for my time, abilities, and expertise, sir, just as you are.”

  “I’m not even getting my expenses covered, Professor. How much are you getting paid for testifying here?”

  “I shall submit a bill to the proper authorities in due time.”

  “Are your fees being topped up by Chemican-International?”

  “Of course not. I appear as an independent witness. I am not on anyone’s payroll.”

  “Are you not? Chemican does pay you an annual retainer, isn’t that so?”

  “Several firms do. I couldn’t be sure about Chemican. You would have to ask my agent.”

  “You have an agent?”

  “Rolfe Morgan Associates. Everyone in Los Angeles has an agent.” This effort at humour clongs. People are no longer finding him funny and chummy.

  Nancy, who looks relieved to see Arthur upping his game, hands him a thick volume of financial statemen
ts that has Chemican’s logo on the cover. “Professional fees . . . here we are, Rolfe Morgan Associates. So on page thirty-eight, we see a nice round number of ten million dollars — that would represent your annual retainer with Chemican-International? Less agent commission, of course.”

  “Okay, I’m not going to quibble about fees. I’m well paid for the work I do. Because I’m well paid does not mean I’ve been bought. I have a reputation for the truth, and am damn proud of it.” His voice quivering.

  Easling is used to testifying before boards, not courts, and especially not criminal courts, with their more zealous and often cutting cross-examinations, and he has finally allowed Arthur to get under his skin. Khan knows that, a message he conveys to Arthur with a weary smile.

  “This morning, Professor, you listed climate change as a factor in colony collapse.”

  “Bees don’t like unpredictable weather any more than we do — storms, floods, smoke-filled skies, sudden freezes, all take their toll.”

  “It’s odd to hear you say that, because wasn’t it just six years ago that you proudly called yourself a climate change denier?”

  “All the evidence wasn’t in.” His body language — shifting, tugging at a lapel — announces that this topic is no more agreeable than the implication that he pimps for Big Agro.

  “So you are no longer among the one percent of scientist deniers.”

  “As of several years ago I felt that claims of man-made global warming were not supported by data. I’ve modified my position. I assume you’re about to refer me to my controversial op-ed for the Los Angeles Times.”

  “Yes.” Arthur picks up the clipping. “In which you scorned the California government’s support for solar and wind solutions. Quote: ‘It is both shameful and idiotic to base public policy on a cocktail of iffy science, half-truths, and apocalyptic fear-mongering.’ You also wrote that a study warning about species extinction was ‘typical alarmist anti-corporate drivel.’”

  “I wrote that from the point of view of a biologist not a climatologist. At the time insect populations were not seen as threatened.”

  “To be clear, Doctor, half a dozen years ago you denied this planet was undergoing climate change and global warming?”