Johan Eklöf - The Darkness Manifesto: How light pollution threatens the ancient rhythms of life

Translated from the Swedish by Elizabeth DeNoma

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First published by The Bodley Head in 2022

Copyright Johan Eklf and Natur & Kultur, 2020

English language translation copyright Elizabeth DeNoma, 2022

The cost of this translation was supported by a subsidy from the Swedish Arts Council, gratefully acknowledged

Published by agreement with Sebes Bisseling Literary Agency, Amsterdam Originally published in Sweden in 2020 by Natur & Kultur as Mrkermanifestet

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Cover image of fireflies Getty Images
Cover Design by Kishan Rajani

ISBN: 978-1-529-19341-1

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My torchlight sweeps over a demon painted black with bat wings and a snake for a tail. The creature looks like its throwing itself backwards, light radiating from its mouth, as if it has tried to swallow the light but can no longer contain its power. The creature of darkness is dying. I am in an eighteenth-century church in Sweden, painted with biblical themes, and far at the back you can find the most horrific devils and demons, put there to remind us of the torments of hell. But perhaps the church painter also wanted to tell us that we can overcome the dangers of darkness. From the churchs perspective, bats are the Devils minions, filthy animals that represent both literal and philosophical darkness, in opposition to the light of God. So its a bit ironic that churches have so often become the nesting places of these creatures.

I continue exploring the church, climbing up a flight of stairs and stepping through a little door into the attic. On the old wooden floorboards are piles of guano and severed butterfly wings, a clear sign that the church is inhabited by the brown long-eared bat. The dusk flickering between the roof slats grows weaker, and outside the sky turns navy blue. The humid night air entering the attic carries a pleasant smell of freshly cut grass, tar and sun-warmed wood. The bats are unwilling to come out from under the eaves this early in the evening, so I go outside to meet them in the cemetery as they alight into the summer night.

One after another they take off headfirst from the roof and go straight to the nearest tree and its protective shadows. In a fitful dance, they glide, inaudible to the human ear, by the red-painted wooden church, alongside the hedges and around the treetops, searching for insects. Soon the bats will be gone, swallowed by the night.

Swedish churches and their outbuildings have largely been tended in the same way for centuries and have grown to be important havens for animals and plants in an ever-changing world. Year after year, long-eared bats have moved into turrets and attics in the early summer to give birth to new generations. In the 1980s, two-thirds of churches in Vstergtland had their own bat colony. Today, forty years later, research Ive done with my colleagues shows that this number has decreased by a third because of light pollution and other factors because the churches all glow like carnivals in the night. District after district has installed modern floodlights to showcase their architectural pride. All the while, the animals which for centuries have found safety in the darkness of the church towers and for 70 million years have made the night their abode are slowly but surely vanishing from these places, maybe completely.

Sitting in the cemetery in the July night, Im not only in the company of bats. I can see a hedgehog, beetles making their way up through the grass towards the starry sky and, above the headstones, caddisflies dancing like spirits. I start to relax in the shady environment, as all the impressions of the day give way to more subtle experiences and my eyes slowly acclimatise to the night. Ive entered another dimension that few others ever take the time to visit.

It is not just the bats and me who enjoy the darkness. Most mammals are more active at twilight, like the hedgehog that keeps me company at this late hour. Half of the insects on this planet are nocturnal, and for the last couple of years we have been drowning in alarming reports regarding their disappearance. Forestry, environmental toxins, large-scale farming and climate change many causes are mentioned but little is said about light, even though the light-sensitive moth belongs to one of the most affected categories. Moths looking for nectar in the darkness are easily confused by all the lights. Either they dont fly at all, believing that dawn is about to break, or theyre caught in the beams of light when trying to navigate by the moon. Exhausted, they die or get killed by predators, without having fulfilled their nocturnal mission, and in that way fewer plants are pollinated. Many of us have probably seen the phenomenon out in our gardens or under a streetlight the brighter the lights, the greater the attraction. The light lures insects from forests and villages, from the countryside and cities, depleting entire ecosystems.

Mossebo Church may lack floodlighting, but some light still reaches this place. Alongside the walking paths there are a few lights, and in the sky a faint orange glow can be seen coming from the nearest villages. This is light pollution a collective term used for light that can be regarded as superfluous but still has a great impact on our lives and our ecosystems.

The term was coined by astronomers but is today used by ecologists, physiologists and neurologists who study the effects of the disappearing night. It is no longer just a question of stars and insects. It is about all living things, including we humans. Ever since the birth of our planet, day has been followed by night, and every cell in every living organism has built-in machinery working in harmony with that rhythm. The natural light calibrates our inner circadian rhythm and controls hormones and bodily processes.

Up until about 150 years ago, when the light bulb was invented, these processes were allowed to develop slowly and without disturbance. But today there are ominous signs of how streetlights and floodlights supersede natural night light and disturb this ancient circadian rhythm. The artificial light, the polluting light, is now dominant the light that causes birds to sing in the middle of the night, sends baby turtles in the wrong direction and prevents corals mating rituals, which take place under the light of the moon.

Humanitys desire to illuminate the world makes the earth, viewed from space, glow in the night. Every city and every street is visible a long way out into the cosmic darkness, which is perhaps one of the most obvious signs that we have entered a new era: the Anthropocene, the time of humans. Beneath the illuminated sky in the illuminated cities we have created, we can no longer see any stars, and many of us dont remember what the Milky Way looks like. We are missing out on one of natures grandest treasures the spectacles of the sky with its breathtaking perspectives, its falling stars and, on occasion, its strikingly beautiful northern lights.