verging on repulsive to the warm-blooded Homo sapiens. Their
startling otherness makes it all the more remarkable that we were
here tonight in their defense. Amphibians offer few of the warm
fuzzy feelings that fuel our protection of charismatic mammals that
look back at us with Bambi’s grateful eyes. They bring us face to
face with our innate xenophobia, sometimes directed at other
species and sometimes directed at our own, whether in this hollow
or in deserts halfway around the globe. Being with salamanders
gives honor to otherness, offers an antidote to the poison of
xenophobia. Each time we rescue slippery, spotted beings we
attest to their right to be, to live in the sovereign territory of their
own lives.
Carrying salamanders to safety also helps us to remember the
covenant of reciprocity, the mutual responsibility that we have for
each other. As the perpetrators of the war zone on this road, are
we not bound to heal the wounds that we inflict?
The news makes me feel powerless. I can’t stop bombs from
falling and I can’t stop cars from speeding down this road. It is
beyond my power. But I can pick up salamanders. For one night I
want to clear my name. What is it that draws us to this lonely
hollow? Maybe it is love, the same thing that draws the
salamanders from under their logs. Or maybe we walked this road
tonight in search of absolution.
As the temperature drops, single voices—clear and hollow—replace
the keening chorus: the ancient speech of frogs. One word
becomes clear, as if spoken in English. “Hear! Hear! Hear! The
world is more than your thoughtless commute. We, the collateral,
are your wealth, your teachers, your security, your family. Your