Dear Earth Carer, AI is taking my Lonely Conservationists’ voices away.

Dear Earth Carer,

Let me begin this letter by asking you a question. My dear Earth Carer, pray tell, what do you think the value of these letters are? My letters to you are not factually sound, with a robust list of references at the end. They are not written by anyone with any writing qualifications or professional esteem, and even worse, they are grammatically eclectic. They are not written with any formal structure; rather, I prioritise speaking to you in the way I would speak to anyone else. But despite all of this, people still read these letters- in which I am extremely grateful for, by the way.

If you are anything like me, dear Earth Carer, you read these letters because you like relating to and understanding the perspectives of others. Maybe you enjoy the way I write and the way I use turns of phrase like “pray tell” or reference you personally as I am speaking to you. For me, reading people’s writing feels intimate. I feel connected to people through the way they write because I get to hear their thoughts, ideas, expressions, and exclamations. Often, I even glean a glimpse of the author’s country of origin through how they structure sentences or select words to convey their point.

Growing up, I definitely left a paper trail. My friends all had folders of letters that I had written to them, never answering the phone, but always leaving little surprises in envelopes in their letterboxes. Shockingly, a friend at school let me read his diary, allowing me to understand that people can be more candid in the written word, more authentic, raw, and intentional. Often, if I can’t have a conversation to address an issue, I will write an email to someone so they have time to process it, and in doing so, I have the capacity to intentionally choose what I want to say. More than any of this, gestures like hand-written cards and letters always carry something special with them, a moment taken to put pen to paper for someone. That is definitely a love language, I am sure of it.

If you haven’t guessed, I also love reading. I am on track to read 52 or more books this year, a book a week. I have half a book to go with a week to spare. Non-fiction or fiction, it doesn’t matter. I love hearing the tonal changes and writing styles of different authors. The intimacy still finds me even in curated text as I get to hear each author’s personal voice and ideas. Bruce Pascoe and Tyson Yunkaporta, Australian Indigenous authors, stand out to me as having writing styles that echo the rawness that I love about LC blogs. The style of non-linear yarning is comforting to me, especially when you listen to the audio versions of Tyson’s books and hear all of his exclamations in all of their glory, or read about the day-to-day goings on, on Bruce’s property. The more I read, the less I feel as if my writing needs to be perfect or that I need to be someone of note to be worthy of writing. I am, as I feel most people are, inherently curious. It doesn’t matter who you are or what your story is, but I have a human urge to know the intricacies of your life and see how even the most mundane parts of your day show exoticisms in comparison to my usual ways of being and doing.

All of this to say, Lonely Conservationists blogs and these letters to you were designed to feel like an intimate sharing of experiences, thoughts, and knowledge that aim to bridge the gap between members of our shared community and bring us all closer together. They are born to be imperfect and encourage us to show others who we really are, for real, on the inside. The world has so many examples of polished and curated pieces, and these texts are supposed to be different, filling a special niche for those who need them. A respite from the clinical, and a reassurance that we are all just humans doing our best to communicate our truths.

SO. With all of that said, you can imagine my devastation to find that almost all of the Lonely Conservationist blogs I have received this year have been riddled with em dashes and may as well have said beep boop I have been written with Chat GPT. After reading one sentence of perfectly curated English, in every case, without hesitation, I email the author back and urge them to please re-submit their story in their own voice. In my emails, I promise the authors that I don’t care one iota about their language skills or grammar, but I do genuinely care about seeing THEM in their words.

You see, over the hundreds of stories that have been submitted to me, one of my favourite parts of reading them has been that the way they are written says something about how the author talks, emotes, and exclaims. Moreso, I love the geographical and cultural differences in turns of phrase, how sentences translate in meaning and structure, and how non-English speakers have done more than I ever could in curating a readable story in a language that isn’t their mother tongue. Most of the heavy AI use comes from non-English-speaking authors, which is understandable. I imagine that many professionals in their careers have preferred polished sentences that increase writing comprehension, formality, and reduce the need for heavy editing by whoever the publisher is. For some, ChatGPT may be a godsend tool to help non-English speaking writers communicate and contribute to publications, but I can’t help but notice the tinge of racism that shrouds this tool.

I understand that many LC authors are also academics, burdened with colonial expectations set by their educational institution, with writing formalities set to be adhered to and limited opportunities for publications outside of the English language. This is problematic on its own; however, the rampant use of a tool that standardises speech for writing beyond academia feels as if this colonial pressure is being applied more liberally to written texts. Thanks to this technology and societal pressures to publish in clean, formal English, we are saying goodbye to the beautiful linguistic diversity of authors everywhere and settling for a rigid, empty monoculture of sameness.

It is for the societal pressures and colonial expectations that I need not mention the water or energy use of AI in this letter to you. Though these extreme resource usages are not in line with Lonely Conservationist values or even the values of Earth Carer Care, we cannot condemn the usage of a tool for those who may have been encouraged or pressured to use it for the prosperity of their career in times where their work would otherwise not be considered. As a native English writer and speaker, I could not travel to India and write academic papers or even casual blogs without at the very least using a translator app, which would definitely botch the grammar and miss local tones and colloquialisms. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the players I am annoyed at, it’s the game.

Receiving stories that are void of character does lead me to wonder how many facets of our written world are turning into a monoculture of proper English. I dread to think of our AI-generated future, and the plethora of content in our lives that is further stripped of diversity, colour, and cultural expression- as if we need more reductionism and whitewashing in our lives. Some may argue that publishing houses have always whitewashed publicised voices; however, language models don’t have the discerning choice of an editor to make that decision intentionally.

I honestly believe that if Lonely Conservationists was filled with polished AI-assisted stories, the blogs would not have the appeal or profound impact that they currently do. Honestly, Earth Carer, it would be a bit creepy to have stories from all over the world available to us and when reading them, see that they are all written in exactly the same way. I don’t care if I need to spend some time editing a story that was written by someone in Nepal whose English is their second or third language. In fact, when I do edit the blogs, I don’t mind keeping in an imperfect sentence or two that conveys that this isn’t a native English speaker writing, because dear Earth Carer, it’s impressive. I wish I could write imperfectly but understandably in another language; these skills deserve celebration, not covering up.

So to anyone thinking of publishing your story on Lonely Conservationists, please know that I deeply and profoundly want to share your story. I want to share it in the way you write, and I want to get to know you through your words, emotions, and lived experiences. We may never have met, but just know that I care deeply about you being valued for the wisdom that you bring to the table, and your advocacy in shedding light on the experiences of conservationists that are just like you. The industry may have never let you know that you are worthy of sharing, or that your work or voice is valuable, but Earth Carer, I am here to say that it is, and you are.

Whether I share one or fifty of your stories, each of the blogs that I share is the most important thing that I do with my platform and time. So much has changed over the past eight years, but one thing has remained steadfast: I value the voices of conservationists and Earth Carers everywhere. I get SO MUCH joy from connecting with others through their written word, and having strangers normalise my experience and the experiences of others. I hope I get to share stories, blogs, and letters with and by people in my community forever. I hope our words outlive us and that we are part of sharing the realities of what it means and meant to care for our natural world in this era. In a way, we are documenting history, so let’s tell it how it is with our mistakes and mannerisms and all, the way our fingers intended as they danced across our keyboards.

So dear Earth Carer, here is your permission to be unabashedly you, as we all should be to maintain global written diversity. As a former ecologist, I heard that diversity is actually quite important.

With care and support,

Jessie