Contemplating the Return of the Moa

This endeavor, laden with ecological, ethical, and societal considerations, finds a particularly illustrative example in Aotearoa with the Moa, a clade of flightless birds that once roamed the whenua. As a company specializing in Pacific Island languages and the strong cultural attributes they conjure up, we recognize that the dialogue surrounding the moa’s possible return — an engaging intersection of science, heritage, and the persistent human relationship with the natural world — requires a depth of understanding that is in tune with our company’s core expertise.

Moa, which used to count nine distinct species when humans first arrived in Aotearoa in the late thirteenth century, varied significantly in size and distribution. Their extinction, generally understood to have occurred within two centuries of regional human colonization, is a narrative primarily constructed from skeletal remains, eggshells, and other physical traces. However, this scientific account is not the sole repository of knowledge. Kōrero tuku iho, the Māori oral tradition, speaks of ancestral knowledge and direct experiences with the giant flightless bird, locally known by names such as kura(nui) and te manu pouturu (the bird on stilts), conceivably extending to the end of the seventeenth century. These traditions, inextricably linked to the terrain, with local toponyms recalling interactions like Te Toremingamoa (where swamp moa were driven and killed) and the presence of Poka (trap pits), furnish a dimension to the moa’s history that complements and sometimes questions purely paleontological interpretations.

Recent discoveries, such as a short trackway of fossil footprints in the Kaipara region, provide further avenues to understand these ancient avians. These prints, likely formed around one million years ago during the Early to Middle Pleistocene, grant glimpses into the locomotion and behavior of a moa species whose conspecifics may have encountered early human inhabitants. The footprints themselves, preserved as convex hyporeliefs and a single concave epirelief, recount a history of a relatively small individual — or a subadult of a larger species — walking at a gentle pace of approximately 1mph across what was likely a now submerged littoral margin of the Kaipara Harbor.

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The analysis of these tracks, involving meticulous 3D scanning and landmark measurements, allows for estimations of hīkoi (stride length, mean 634.4 mm), whetoko (pace length, mean 330.8 mm), and even the trackmaker’s hip height (approx. 814 mm). Such data, when compared with skeletal remains, suggest a trackmaker with a tarsometatarsus distal width broadly similar to the adult Moa Mōmona (Emeus crassus) but with digit lengths comparable to Moa Ruarangi (Pachyornis geranoides). These physical traces, carefully retrieved and conserved in collaboration with Ngā Maunga Whakahī o Kaipara, constitute Taonga (treasured possessions) that maintain a connection with the land and are made accessible for teaching and research.

The technological toolkit for de-extinction is varied. 'Back-breeding' involves selectively breeding existing species that retain some genetic heritage of an extinct relative to recreate ancestral-like forms, a method being explored for the aurochs. Somatic cell nuclear transfer (SCNT), a form of cloning, entails transferring the nucleus from a preserved cell of an extinct species into an enucleated egg of a close living relative. The resulting organism would be a genetic chimera bearing nuclear DNA from the extinct species and mitochondrial DNA from the host egg.

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Perhaps the most discussed technique is genome editing, particularly using CRISPR-Cas9 systems, to alter the DNA of a living relative to incorporate genetic traits of the extinct species. For example, Colossal Biosciences, a bioengineering company based in Dallas, Texas, aims to edit the Asian elephant genome to create a functional proxy for the woolly mammoth, focusing on genes conferring traits like cold tolerance. They have identified 60 such genes. Similarly, their dire wolf project involved editing 20 sites on 14 genes in the gray wolf genome to introduce 15 purported dire wolf variants and focus on morphological characteristics.

However, these approaches are not without their limitations. The resulting organisms will likely be "proxies" or "functional versions" rather than exact replicas of the extinct species. Even with a complete genome, recreating the epigenetic influences, microbial symbionts, and complex learned behaviors that shaped the original animal is a high barrier to transcend. The term "de-extinction" itself can be misleading, as the product is often a genetically modified existing species rather than a true resurrection.

Now, a common intuitive response to de-extinction is that it is "unnatural". While some argue that all human actions are, in a sense, natural, a distinction can be made based on the degree of technological intervention and variance from processes that occur without human involvement. Back-breeding might be seen as less interventionist than SCNT or extensive genome editing. However, even selective breeding, a practice millennia old, has been criticized for its interference with nature and its consequences. The "unnaturalness" objection can be framed in deontological terms if we focus on the intrinsic nature or intent of the action, or consequentially, concerned with potential negative outcomes. One perspective treats "natural" as a "thick concept" that expresses both fact and value. From this standpoint, the method of creation affects the value of the outcome. A de-extinct animal might not hold the same value as one shaped by evolution, much like a digitally recreated painting differs from an original masterpiece.

Further ethical dilemmas arise concerning species integrity. Some argue that creating transgenic organisms by mixing genes across species boundaries is problematic, though this is countered by noting that genetic modification is routine in agriculture and medicine, and that interspecies hybridization occurs in nature (albeit without direct human moral agency). Feelings of repugnance, sometimes dubbed the "Frankensteinian" argument, can also surface, driven by perceived abnormalities or violations of bodily integrity. While disgust can be an unreliable guide to morality, it can also signal underlying concerns that merit careful examination, especially as de-extinction decisions do not necessitate hasty action.

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Consequentialist concerns often revolve around ignorance of the effects of new technologies. The history of introducing species, even with good intentions, is replete with unforeseen negative consequences, as exemplified by the work of Acclimatisation Societies in New Zealand. Releasing de-extinct species, which are in practice novel organisms, into environments that have evolved in their absence, carries risks of invasiveness, disease transmission, or disruption of existing ecosystems.

Now, beyond the immediate ethical and ecological questions, de-extinction initiatives are increasingly scrutinized through a postcolonial lens. Critics argue that de-extinction can function as a "neocolonial technoscientific apparatus", reproducing historical colonial patterns of resource extraction and power imbalance. Western institutions often lead and finance these projects, extracting biological materials (like thylacine specimens from Tasmania or the wooly mammoth from Siberia) and data from historically colonized or marginalized regions, which then flow to centers of scientific innovation in the Global North. These initiatives sometimes promote a "saviour narrative", positioning biotechnology as a means of reparation for past ecological destruction, some of which was a consequence of colonialism itself.

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However, this narrative can obscure the underlying emphasis on advancing biotechnology as a form of geopolitical control and can perpetuate the exploitation of local communities and environments. For instance, the extraction of mammoth tusks in Siberia often relies on the poorly compensated labor of regional workers operating under harsh conditions. The reintroduction sites themselves can become contested territories, raising questions about land rights, particularly for Indigenous populations, and conceivably leading to "exclusionary conservation" models that benefit external actors at the expense of local people. Engaging stakeholders across these complex geopolitical and cultural terrains necessitates astute communication and a clear understanding of local perspectives, a challenge many international operations face.

The discussion of de-extinction, especially for species like the moa with notable cultural weight, requires a thorough engagement with Indigenous perspectives. In the context of sedimentary ancient DNA (sedaDNA) research in Australia, Indigenous peoples have ancestral connections to lands and biota spanning millennia, encapsulated in the concept of "Country", which includes culture, language, spirituality, and identity. Traditional Knowledge, often transmitted through oral traditions, contains time-honored understandings of ecology, genetics (evident in traditional marriage systems), and environmental management, such as cultural burning practices and songlines in Aboriginal Australia.

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For any de-extinction project touching upon Indigenous heritage, genuine partnership is not only advisable but an ethical imperative. This involves recognizing Indigenous data sovereignty, ensuring free, prior, and informed consent, and empowering Indigenous communities to have direct input into research design, decision-making, and even veto power. The AIATSIS Code of Ethics in Australia and guidelines developed in Aotearoa for genomic research involving Taonga species like Īnanga (whitebait) and Māori provide frameworks for such engagement. This means respecting that Traditional Owners may define benefit differently from academic researchers and that they have the right to control research on their heritage. Returning biological samples and by-products to their home in culturally appropriate ways is also a component of respectful practice and often requires translation of intent and protocol.

In the case of the Kaipara moa footprints, the collaboration with Ngā Maunga Whakahī o Kaipara in the protection, retrieval, and ongoing care of the fossils exemplifies such a partnership. It ensures that the Taonga remains connected to the Whenua and accessible to Mana Whenua. This approach differs from historical practices where Indigenous artifacts and remains were often removed without consent.

The progression towards possibly recreating species like the moa is however far from straightforward. It is a path paved with extraordinary scientific ingenuity but also shadowed by serious ethical questions, the legacies of colonialism, and the necessity of honoring Indigenous rights and knowledge. The allure of bringing back what was lost is powerful, yet it must be tempered by a clear-eyed assessment of the consequences: For ecosystems, for surviving species, and for human societies. Will de-extinction divert resources from conserving currently endangered species? Can we truly recreate an organism, its ecological role, and its cultural importance? And who gets to decide?

As our understanding of ancient DNA, genomics, and the long history of human-environment interactions grows, so too must our capacity for inclusive dialogue and responsible innovation: They are processes where clear understanding across linguistic and cultural divides goes a long way. The history of the moa, and indeed all species considered for de-extinction, is not solely a scientific undertaking but a cultural and ethical deliberation with implications that ripple through time. The future of these endeavors may lie in the labs, but also in the collaborative spaces where different knowledge systems meet, where respect is foundational among stakeholders, and the echoes of extinction are listened to with discernment and humility. The conversation is ongoing, and its conclusions remain unwritten.