“But you can’t possibly save all the starfish,” says the boy. “What difference does it make?”
--
But since the minimum viable population size of starfish was 1000 individuals and the man could only save 25, they all died anyway.
--
As it turns out, this species of starfish needs at least a few hours on land every day to strengthen its exoskeleton and oxygenate its tissues, and all of its mating happens on land. The starfish the old man never got to lived long and happy lives. The ones he threw back in the water died.
--
The starfish flew through the air, landing in the ocean with a plop. It gloried in its return to its natural home, pulling water through its tube feet and preparing to seek out a tasty mussel for dinner.
And then one of the sea turtles migrating past the beach that day snapped it up. The turtles lingered by the beach for a few hours, enjoying the star-shaped snacks that fell into the water at regular intervals.
--
As the old man picks up the next starfish, it stings him. “Ow!” he says, looking in shock at the starfish. “What did you do that for?”
“How dare you pick me up! You’re infringing on my freedom. This is America, you know!”
“But...you’ll die if you stay here on the beach. I’m trying to get you back into the water.”
“Ha!” gasps the starfish, struggling weakly in his grasp. “Sounds like socialism to me! I demand bodily autonomy. You…” *gasp* “...won’t make me…” *gasp* “...comply with your rules!”
The starfish stops moving.
The old man sighs, drops the starfish, and picks up another one. “OW! Why did you sting me?”
“I…” *gasp* “...heard what the other starfish said. Freedom!” *gasp*
Suddenly the evening air is suffused with gasping, wispy cries on the ocean breeze.
“Freedom!”
“Freedom!”
--
The old man’s hands are suddenly grabbed from behind, his arms pinioned at his side. “Hey! What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to cease and desist your activity immediately.”
“What? Why?” he asks the solemn man in the dark suit restraining him.
“The starfish attract plastic waste as they die and are pulled back into the water. That makes the beach more pleasant for my clients.”
“Your...clients?”
“Yes. I work for the Sparta Corporation. This beach is a favorite vacation spot for our CEO and his family.”
“But...all these starfish are going to die. Sparta Corporation is the biggest manufacturer of single-use plastic in the world. Surely, if your CEO is concerned with plastic pollution on the beach, the best solution would be to find alternatives that are more environmentally friendly, instead of forcing all these starfish to died of suffocation.”
“No, sir. You see, the starfish clean the plastic for free. Retooling our manufacturing would cost a lot of money and cut into the CEO’s stock returns. This is the much preferable solution. Now, move along, or we will remove you by force.”
The next time the old man comes to the beach, a sign at the entrance proclaims that pursuant to a recently passed town law, it is illegal to throw stranded starfish back into the ocean.
--
The boy and the old man hear a soft snort from behind them. Turning, they see another man glaring at them. “Is something wrong?” asks the old man.
“Great way to get more stranded starfish,” the man says with a glare.
"I beg your pardon?”
“Saving those stranded starfish. What good will it do? They’ll just breed more starfish that will get stranded just like they are. All you’re doing is increasing the number of starfish who are too lazy to crawl back into the ocean on their own. You should just leave them. They’ll survive if they’re willing to work hard and pull themselves back to the water.”
“But the only reason they’re here is because we’ve dredged out the sandbar where they usually live so the bigger boats can get by. Starfish help keep the algae and seaweed and invasive mussels under control so they don’t foul the boats, and they feed the birds and other wildlife that sustains our tourism industry.”
Another snort. “That’s the problem with you bleeding-heart starfish savers. You have no long-term vision. If you save these starfish now, what’s to stop us from having to support dozens of other kinds of marine life in the future? Once they know we’ll throw them back in the water if they get stranded, they’ll have no incentive to try to stay in the water where they belong. If they can’t survive without our help, they don’t deserve to survive.”
“Well, in that case,” pipes up the boy, “will you sign my petition to end the sandbar dredging and come to the town council meeting tomorrow night to oppose increasing the dredging? That would help the starfish stay in the water and not get stranded, so they don’t need help!”
The man looks at the boy disdainfully. “Are you kidding me? I might have a boat some day, and if we don’t keep dredging, I won’t have anywhere to sail it!”
Two weeks later, the man complains to his wife, “Ugh, what is that smell?”
“Rotting starfish,” she replies. “They all got washed up on the beach after the last high tide and couldn’t get back into the water.”
“Serves ‘em right,” says the man.
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