For decades, the panda has been an icon of the conservation movement, along with other majestic animals like the Siberian tiger, the mountain gorilla, the blue whale, and, most recently, the polar bear. These conservation superstars have a few things in common: They’re big, they’re mammals, and they’re pretty—earning them the label “charismatic megafauna.” But they’re obviously not the only animals in danger of extinction.

About 22 percent of all mammals are listed as endangered by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), but the percentage is significantly higher for creepy, crawly, backbone-less invertebrates, which enrich the soil, filter water, recycle nutrients, pollinate plants, decompose animal carcasses and waste products, play a vital role in the food chain, and inspire biomimetic creations.

What are pandas good for? Why are invertebrates (a group
that includes the three
most endangered groups of animals in the United States) seemingly absent from conservation
planning strategies, while the panda receives a great proportion of
our efforts and our concern, not to mention tens of millions of dollars for
captive breeding programs?

The
panda has
been called “possibly
one of the grossest wastes of conservation money in the last half century”
by conservationist Chris Packham, president of Britain’s Bat Conservation Trust.
In fact, he insists that he “would
eat the last panda” if the resources devoted to them could be transferred
to “more sensible things.”

Save the Charismatic
Megafauna!
At first glance, it may seem that the conservationists have let
emotion win out over reason, ignoring the suffering of the masses (and the
vitality of the earth) to save the cuddliest animals. But a closer look reveals
a different picture: The charismatic megafauna may get all the glory, but they
also bring in the bucks.

The
conservation movement has been exploiting the panda’s earning power since the World Wildlife
Fund—the most widely supported conservation organization in the world—made it
their symbol in 1961. “Kids love them, parents love them, the Chinese
government loves them, and yes, conservationists love them,” says Matt
Durnin of The Nature Conservancy in China. “From a marketing perspective, they’re a no-brainer.” The
panda’s ability to resonate so widely has earned it the role of “flagship
species” for its natural habitat, the fertile Yangtze River Basin.
Flagship species act as representatives of a defined environmental cause; they
are selected for their ability to raise awareness and, more practically, money.
The idea is that support for the flagship species will also benefit the many
other species that share the flagship animal’s habitat but lack that
sympathy-inspiring je ne sais quoi.

It
may seem like bringing people’s attention to as many endangered species as
possible would only help the cause. But as psychology experiments have
demonstrated over
and over
again, we’ve evolved to act on our emotions, not logic. A recent
study showed that the general public was willing to give significantly more
to save the charming Eurasian otter than to save the homely, but similarly
threatened, water
vole—and more for the otter alone than for the otter and the vole combined.

For
the Yangtze Basin, the panda has proved an effective
ambassador. Because of panda-centered conservation, China—a country with an abysmal
environmental record—is taking dramatic steps to protect their environment.
A logging ban has been in place for 10 years, former poachers now earn a living
as trackers for panda tourists, and the local people are recognizing the value
of the natural environment beyond its role as a source of meat and timber. By preserving the panda’s forest home,
conservationists hope to protect thousands of other species—including 100
mammals, 250 birds, thousands of insects—as well as the water supply for nearly 40 percent of China’s people.

The Other 99.9% of Life on
Earth

But
there is considerable debate concerning whether the use of flagship species as
cash cows is the best way to reach broader conservation goals. According to
Durnin, flagship species work, but they’re not perfect. “Hypothetically,
the strategy protects all inhabitants of the forest, but if the entire
management plan is devoted to the panda, no one really pays attention to what
happens to the other species. The Siberian weasel might start disappearing, but
it would be a while before anyone noticed.”

An
alternative strategy for managing the environment—one favored by many academic
conservation biologists—is to focus on preserving biodiversity and whole
ecosystems, thereby protecting a substantially wider range of species. Niles Eldredge,
a curator in the Division of Paleontology at the American Museum
of Natural History, claims says that the current extinction rate—approximately three species every hour—reveals that we are, which puts us in
the middle of our planet’s sixth mass extinction. (The fifth mass
extinction, 65 million years ago, claimed the last dinosaurs as
its most famous—and most charismatic—victims).

While
the panda and its fellow charismatic megafauna are magnificent beasts, our
preoccupation with them leaves little energy and concern for the greater
biodiversity crisis. But the general public’s participation and
financial support are vital to the conservation movement, and it’s difficult for the
average member person to emotionally connect with the nebulous concept of
biodiversity.

So
the flagship species strategy may be our best option—for now. But with the loss
of species accelerated by a warming planet and a burgeoning human population,
it’s unclear whether the panda’s earning power will be able to keep up. Instead
of using the panda to tug at heartstrings, perhaps conservationists should start
a long-term project to tackle the greater problem—lack of funding, political
and commercial indifference, and ignorance of the magnitude of the biodiversity
crisis.