Founder’s Briefs: An occasional series where Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler shares analysis, perspectives and story summaries. When researchers began cataloging dragonflies in Guainía, a remote region in eastern Colombia, the scientific record contained only about 10 species. By working with Indigenous communities, they’ve found nearly 120. “When we started, very little was known,” Yiselle Cano, biodiversity leader of the Dragones Guainía project, told contributor Manuel Fonseca for Mongabay. “I think we must be close to 120 species by now,” Cano said. “It’s a hugely diverse group, because it includes dragonflies native to the Orinoco, Amazonas, and dragonflies that are endemic to the Guiana Shield.” The diversity makes Guainía a hotspot for dragonflies and damselflies. It may also provide insights on what is happening to the region’s water. These insects depend on healthy freshwater ecosystems, and their aquatic habitats are coming under growing pressure from mining, deforestation, poorly managed waste, and rapidly expanding tourism. Cataloging the insects was only part of the work. Once the researchers had begun filling gaps in the scientific record, they held workshops to share their findings with local communities. There they encountered another gap: the language of biology meant little to people whose understanding of the landscape had been formed outside scientific taxonomies. Some participants didn’t speak Spanish at all. Community leaders invited everyone, from young children to elders who retained ancestral knowledge. As researchers displayed the dragonflies found around puddles, streams, and rivers, participants tried to identify them in their own languages. “This is…This article was originally published on Mongabay

Twenty years ago, scientist and Mongabay board member Debby Ng joined a team documenting life at Terumbu Bayan, a coral reef south of Singapore that was about to be reclaimed. There she encountered a pair of false clownfish living in an anemone. The mother was unusually aggressive, even for a species known to be feisty. She repeatedly charged Debby, a diver thousands of times her size, biting her several times. Then Debby saw what she was protecting: a brood of eggs. She could already see tiny eyes through the thin membranes. Eyes of the brood of false clown anemonefish. Photographed by Debby Ng in 2006. Soon an alarm sounded, calling Debby and the other scientists out of the water. From the dive boat, they watched the first barges tip rock and fill directly into the channel, sending a plume of sediment through the shallows where they’d been swimming minutes earlier. The team had salvaged some of the hard corals and a tiger-tail seahorse, but there was only so much they could move. The smaller animals, including shrimp and nudibranchs, had to be left behind along with topshells that sat in crevices and cowries with eggs attached to the reef. Debby still remembers that clownfish. False clown anemonefish parents. Photo by Debby Ng. I first wrote about the dive last year in Requiem for a Clownfish. It resurfaced for me recently after The Woke Salaryman adapted the account into a comic. In August, Prime Minister Lawrence Wong announced that several islands…This article was originally published on Mongabay