Currents We Refuse to Follow

I discovered very early on that I didn’t quite fit. It was always there—a quiet but insistent sense of distance between myself and the world around me.

Growing up queer in a world that doesn’t reflect you forces a kind of vision. You graduallty learn to navigate both the hostile currents of society and the not-so-easy-to-tame winds of your own identity. You learn to read the weather—every subtle shift, every sign of an incoming storm. That vigilance sharpens your senses, not only for survival, but for lucidity. And you distance yourself from society, through this questioning gaze.

The model we’re offered—rooted in consumption, domination, and disconnection—feels not only alien, but violent. It flattens difference. It silences complexity. It insists there is no alternative, burying all other paths beneath aggression, fear, or indifference. But queerness is living proof that another direction is always possible, no matter the obstacles.

As I was put aside by societal norms, I grew more attuned to the non-human world—to its ambiguity, its fluidity, its refusal to be boxed in. My path became obvious when diving allowed me to discover the marvels and vulnerability of life underwater.

Today, I study the connectivity of ecosystems, the cetaceans’ distributions and the multifaceted anthropogenic pressures that fracture them. Through simulation tools, we try to understand how other species inhabit our common world. We try to glimpse the shared patterns of survival. And in doing so, we confront the damage our species generates.

Conservation, to me, is not just about protecting species. It’s about acknowledging the vast diversity of modes of existence in our world, and resisting a death-driven logic of extraction and disposability. It’s about rejecting a worldview that sees forests, oceans, and identities as resources to be consumed. It’s about care. It’s about remembering that every life is entangled with others, and that no victory is solitary.

I may not spend as much in the field as I wished I did, but I am part of the resistance—tracing patterns, exploring relationships, challenging the illusion of separation. Whether I am modeling cetacean habitats in the Mediterranean or questioning the narratives of progress we’re sold, the work is the same: to reveal, to connect, to defend.

Being queer and being a conservationist are not separate paths. They are the same longing, the same refusal. The same belief that we are not condemned to drift, that we can steer towards this whole new course.

About the Author

My name is Victor, I’m 30 years old and I’m from France. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been curious about perceptions and reality. I thought I’d become a neuroscientist to explore the human brain. But then I was struck by the harsh realization that we were destroying our planet ever more rapidly and thoughtlessly. So I changed careers afterwards, and found myself drawn to this other realm that we know so little about: marine ecosystems, a whole different reality. So far, I’ve worked on cetacean conservation and exploration, and on the mitigation of anthropogenic pressures, both in the Eastern Caribbean and in the Mediterranean. Although it’s sometimes hard to keep the faith, I do everything in my power to make things happen. My dream job would be helping (diving!) in the field to restore natural habitats while acting to reduce the pressures, both locally and globally.

Connect with me on Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/victor-gauducheau-627a36140/