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/

This concept is nothing new, but it is high time we officially normalize it. Years ago in the early 2000s, during a brown bag session at Conservation International, I overheard a comment that caught my attention. These lunchtime sessions, where colleagues shared their work informally, were typically casual, and I was only half-listening. But between daydreams, heard someone refer to seafood as wildlife, and that single word choice jolted me. Like most people, I had until that point, always viewed seafood as a commodity- something extracted from the ocean, inherently abundant and endlessly available. But that comment nudged me to consider a different perspective. History, society and profit margins have unintentionally conditioned us to overlook the ocean’s inhabitants as wildlife, ignoring the complexity of their ecosystems and the impact of our actions on their survival? Cod, sardines, and tuna, in the eyes of the consumer, went the same way as iron, coal, and timber- resources to be extracted, rather than wildlife to be preserved.

To understand why this reframing matters, we need to start with definitions. Traditionally, wildlife refers to undomesticated animals that live in their natural habitats- wolves, bears, tigers, and so on. Ask your neighbor to name three examples of wildlife and I’ll bet you a dollar they answer one of those animals. These species symbolize the untamed world, and we have long rallied to protect them through legislation and public campaigns. Chickens and cows, however, penned in farms and served at the dinner table, are far from appearing in a NATURE documentary. Seafood, though caught in the wild, is defined as fish and shellfish intended for human consumption. This label places marine animals in a different category, often viewed through the lens of supply and demand rather than conservation.

This distinction may seem arbitrary, but it’s significant. We don’t refer to other wild animals primarily by their culinary potential; no one talks about tigers, wolves, or eagles as “landfood.” So why do we treat fish, shrimp, and octopus as consumables rather than as integral components of their ecosystems? This divide is likely rooted in our perception of abundance. Marine mammals, like seals or orcas, are typically seen as wildlife, worthy of conservation efforts. But tuna, salmon, grouper, and shrimp are abundant in our minds- a seemingly endless resource for the taking. Yet, these species are no less wild, no less integral to ocean ecosystems, than the iconic animals we associate with wilderness on land.

Rethinking seafood as wildlife isn’t about changing minds about what people should or shouldn’t eat. Rather, it’s about broadening the conversation and examining our assumptions. I Knowledge is power, and consumers, policymakers, and conservationists alike benefit from a fuller understanding of what’s at stake. If we began to see tuna as the ocean’s equivalent of wolves or grouper as akin to grizzly bears, would the general consumer approach marine conservation differently? Would we be more open to supporting robust marine protected areas and sustainable fishing practices?

Many people are uneasy about consuming animals that society has deemed precious or emblematic of the wild. For example, eating a bald eagle would be unthinkable to most, and using bear bile for medicinal purposes is widely controversial. If people were to view fish in the same light, as fellow creatures of the wild, it might lead to a shift in choices, both in consumption and in conservation. Similarly, if people who shudder at the thought of eating a wild cat were to view grouper or octopus through the same lens, they might pause and reconsider.

This is nothing impossible- we’ve been here before. For centuries, whale blubber was treated purely as a commodity, fueling the lamps of homes across the globe and powering the engines of a growing industrial society. The oil derived from this blubber, extracted from the thick layers of fat beneath a whale’s skin, became so prized that entire species of whales were driven to the brink of extinction. Whaling fleets scoured the oceans in search of this valuable resource, killing thousands upon thousands of whales to meet the relentless demand for oil to light streets, lubricate machinery, and even make soap and cosmetics. However, as society progressed and came to understand whales not as resources but as intelligent, social, and majestic creatures- integral to marine ecosystems and deserving of respect- a profound shift took place. Whales were no longer seen as fuel or raw material but as wildlife, invaluable for their role in the natural world. With this change in perspective, whaling was banned in many parts of the world, and new laws protected these animals, fostering a global effort to restore whale populations. Today, not even the most nostalgic person would consider lighting a whale oil lamp for tradition’s sake, and this evolution in understanding reflects how our values can shift dramatically once we recognize that some things should be preserved, not consumed.

The science of conservation underscores that the ocean is in crisis. Overfishing, pollution, climate change, and habitat destruction are devastating marine biodiversity. But because fish and shellfish are seen as commodities rather than part of our wildlife heritage, conservation policies often fall short of what’s needed. When land animals face population declines, we often act swiftly to protect them. Extending that same concern to marine life could have a transformative impact on conservation policy. Normalizing fish as wildlife would allow us to view marine protected areas not merely as regulatory zones but as havens for vital, wild creatures.

This rebrand could also lend new weight to the concept of marine protected areas. Terrestrial protected areas serve to conserve wildlife in part by creating spaces where they can live free from exploitation. When fish and other marine animals are seen as wildlife, it becomes easier to advocate for similar protections in the ocean. The debate then shifts from simply regulating a food source to preserving an essential part of the natural world.

Suggesting that we normalize seafood as wildlife doesn’t mean launching a campaign or advocating for dietary changes. Instead, it’s a quiet nudge, a subtle reframing that could reshape the conversation over time. Small shifts in language can have lasting impacts on how we think, act, and legislate. This isn’t about making moral judgments on what people eat; it’s about helping people see the ocean’s creatures with fresh eyes, as part of our shared wildlife heritage.

Just as our colleagues in conservation have redefined the “ocean” as one interconnected system, we can slowly see the impacts of our language ripple across the globe. Perhaps by collectively and consistently recognizing fish, shellfish, and marine life as wildlife, we can help foster a more unified approach to ocean conservation- one that sees marine life not as commodities to be taken but as wild species to be protected, respected, and preserved. After all, reframing how we talk about the ocean and its inhabitants may be one of the simplest, most powerful conservation tools we have.

Giacomo Abrusci, Executive Director, SEVENSEAS Media

Giacomo Abrusci, Founder and Executive Director, SEVENSEAS Media

As the world responds to the results of this recent U.S. election, we at SEVENSEAS Media spent the last hours reminding ourselves of the power of resilience and unity. A new Trump presidency will present serious challenges to environmental policies both in the United States and globally, but it’s crucial to remember that the strength to protect our planet and our communities lies within each of us. In times like these, our collective commitment becomes even more essential. Through action, education, and unwavering dedication, SEVENSEAS has long been committed to elevating ocean conservation and environmental awareness- and this will continue, no matter the political landscape.

A Trump administration will likely affect key environmental protections. In his previous term, over 100 environmental safeguards were rolled back, including those protecting air quality, water resources, and public lands (source: “Trump Administration’s Major Environmental Deregulations,” Harvard Law School’s Environmental & Energy Law Program, 2020). This pattern is expected to continue, impacting public health, biodiversity, and climate resilience in the U.S. and beyond. With the potential rollback of clean energy investments and reduced regulations, the United States, one of the largest greenhouse gas emitters (source: “Global Greenhouse Gas Emissions Data,” U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, 2023), may once again step back from its critical role in mitigating global climate change.

While climate policy could face setbacks, this moment also serves as a call for resilience across all pressing issues. We remain hopeful for a future free from war, for an end to the toll on human suffering, and for progress on the many challenges our world faces. Environmental issues are interconnected with these broader struggles, and we continue to advocate for a peaceful, equitable, and sustainable world.

SEVENSEAS Media has always believed that true environmental protection does not rely solely on government action. Much of the environmental movement’s power and progress come from individuals, donors, and dedicated volunteers. We have inspired hundreds of thousands to take meaningful action for our oceans and ecosystems, and we will continue to do so. The work we do, whether with environmental restoration, educational outreach, or global conservation partnerships, bridges the gaps where policy may fall short, demonstrating that collective passion and commitment can drive real change.

To those feeling overwhelmed by the challenges ahead, know that your focus on personal impact and areas of passion can help prevent burnout. Environmental work doesn’t mean addressing every issue alone; rather, it’s about building a resilient community of advocates dedicated to specific causes. Our strength as a global community has always come from our willingness to come together, support one another, and stand up for what matters. We encourage everyone to maintain their health, happiness, and purpose as they support the causes that resonate most deeply with them.

SEVENSEAS Media remains committed to inspiring, educating, and supporting the global environmental community. We have spent years bringing hope, knowledge, and action to protect our oceans and the world’s diverse ecosystems. As we look forward, we know that with your help, we will continue to make an impact. Together, we will stay resilient, purposeful, and hopeful in our journey to protect and nurture the world we share.