Why Kill Bugs Needlessly?

I have always been loathe to kill insects. I am not, however, strictly black-and-white in my approach, as some are. I would do my damnedest to achieve mass destruction if they were in entirely the wrong place at the wrong time, like roaches that have invaded a kitchen. For me, that becomes a matter of hygiene, a concern for the humans also using the kitchen. Unfortunately, though, there are far too many times when my species will kill the wee creatures indiscriminately, using as their justification the statement, "It's just a bug." The assumption of vast intellectual superiority to the members of the six-legged world is made by most, who declare that insects are not conscious.
Being a big fan of the dictionary, I have looked up the word conscious to be sure I understand what it is they so vehemently declare insects to be lacking. It tells me that to be conscious means to be "aware of one's own existence, and surroundings; to have fully active mental faculties". To pronounce insects unaware of themselves and their surroundings is a huge pronouncement to make, indeed, because it begs the question, how do we know such a thing? It is only one more example of the incredible arrogance with which so many humans treat the other species with whom they share the earth.
I was pleased to find out this week that this is not just a mountain I am making out of a molehill. There are some rather illustrious types who are sitting with me on my side of the fly swatter. They include the likes of Nicholas Strausfeld a neurobiologist at the University of Arizona at Tucson, and Christof Koch, a neuroscientist at Caltech. According to the article "Consciousness in a ... Cockroach?", in the January 2000 issue of "Discover" magazine, Strausfeld and his students have probed the brains of cockroaches, water bugs, velvet worms, brine shrimp and other invertebrates and found to their satisfaction indication of higher cognitive functions in insects. Says Koch, "Most people say, 'For heaven's sake, a bug isn't conscious.' But how do we know? We're not sure anymore. (emphasis my own)"
As I said, I was intrigued reading about the experiments Strausfeld conducts, but I didn't need to know about them in order to have a great respect for the life that each one of these creatures is. Simply because they are alive, they are special, and deserving of respect. That is a belief I have spent many years teaching, to my own children and to every one of the young people who were in my classrooms. The latter sometimes had some interesting results.
One year when I taught kindergarten, some ants got into our room. I saw several boys gathered about the back of the room one Monday, and they were all quite involved in what was going on there. It included some pretty lively "stepping" so I went to investigate. I found them jostling each other to be the one who stepped on the most ants. I stopped them and took them to our storytime rug to sit and talk with me. I asked them if the ants were alive. They all agreed they were. I asked them if they could kill the ants. They all agreed they could. Then I asked them which one of them could restore a life after having destroyed it. Silence was their answer. I asked them to explain to me how the ants were harming them. I challenged them to give me a good reason for killing the ants, a reason better than simply their ability to do so. None of them could give me a reason. I did not try to tell them that they should never kill again. I only asked them to think carefully, very carefully before they did kill again.
The result that arose from this situation became apparent a month or so later. It was snacktime and one of the little ones involved in the ant episode was seated with his best buddy, munching on his treat and declaring loudly to his friend that he had been unhappy on the weekend. "Killing, killing, killing," he said, "the killing never stopped." Wondering what this could be about, I made a note to myself to let his mom know what I had heard when she came to pick him up.
At home time, his mother came right over to me before I could say a word and said, "I think I have to thank you for some interesting developments at our house on the weekend." Puzzled, I asked for details and she told me that they had found ants in their kitchen. When she and her husband began stomping on them, their son stormed up to his room and refused to come out until they had promised him that they would look into a way of ridding themselves of the unwanted guests that did not include wholesale insecticide. They went to a store that dealt in eco-friendly products and were advised to spray a vinegar solution liberally around the entrance the ants had used. They were also told to search for the anthill and leave an open jar of honey close to it on the same day as they sprayed the vinegar.
The mother told me that she and her husband had been angry at first about their son's reaction and that they had both agreed she should admonish me for my part in it when she came to pick up her son that day. She went on to tell me that they had changed their minds after listening to his explanation about how "being alive is very important, you know, even to a bug". His words had made them see the situation and the ants in a different light. Then she added that their first instinct had been to rush out and buy a can of Raid, but that she was glad they had ended up instead using something that would do no harm to them or their son.
The second classroom scene that arose from my encouraging kids to rethink already entrenched assumptions of the right to kill "lower" life forms happened at the other end of the age range in the school, when I was teaching grade eight. It was a rainy day and the kids were inside during recess. I was walking up and down the lower hall on recess duty until the bell rang. When I came back upstairs to my room, it was to find a number of the kids clustered around a window that was just being closed by one of the boys. I asked what had transpired to bring them all together there and he told me, "We saw a spider on the floor and (a classmate) said he was going to step on it. I reminded him what you say about respecting life and then I got a piece of paper. I picked up the spider on it and put him outside on the window ledge. I saved him for you."
That boy's little speech brought tears to my eyes. I thanked him profusely for saving a life and told him he hadn't just done it for me. I told him his action had been for himself, too, and that I was sure he would always remember it and feel good about what he had done. I know I felt good getting to see in both cases that my words had reached receptive minds.
If I were still in that grade eight classroom, I would still be teaching a respect for life, even down to its six-legged forms, but now I would add a quote from a neuroscientist. I would tell them how Christof Koch says, "I don't kill bugs needlessly anymore."