TC and I arrived in Skipton, Yorkshire (UK) Tuesday to live for a while near her twin sister Lisa. On Thursday an urgent pounding on the door revealed an anxious Royal Mail man gingerly holding a box of 10,000 loud bees that we had ordered from Abelo in York. He did not stay for the congratulatory selfie.
We introduced the bees into their box nestled into the hawthorn hedge bordering the canal behind Lisa and David’s home. The honeybees were a nucleus 5 frame hive of Buckfast bees, a distinctive species developed at Buckfast Abbey by Brother Adam after many years of careful breeding.
I noticed some difference from my Italian-Americans in the Carolina’s. My home bees dispatch a line of sentinel bees to the opening, lift their rear ends high in the air and fan the scent of the hive to help its missing members find their way home. The Buckfasts maintain a very British dignity with no anal display at all. But within an hour all the bees that had been in the delivery box were enjoying their spiffy new hive with lots of room for new sisters and, eventually honey.
As if to welcome us and the bees, David Attenborough posted the very same morning about the ancient practice of “telling the bees.” He noted that “beekeepers in 18th and 19th century Europe and America believed that bees were not just insects—they were members of the family, messengers between this world and the next. And like any family member, they deserved to be told when something significant happened.
“When a loved one died, got married, or even when a child was born, the head of the household—or more often, the “goodwife”—would walk solemnly to the hive, knock gently, and whisper the news. They’d say the name of the person who had passed or wed, and even drape the hives in black cloth during mourning. Why?
“…it reflected a powerful belief that bees could feel joy and sorrow, that they needed to be included in the life of the household. The practice likely finds its roots in Celtic mythology, where bees were seen as spiritual couriers, able to travel between the worlds of the living and the dead. Seeing a bee after someone passed away was interpreted as the soul in flight.”
I’m a Baptist-Druid, which rounds out to being Celtic, so this all makes perfect sense to me. It is why a friend suggested I should tell the bees that the young experiment with democracy in the Colonies was dying.
The bees already know. For what democracy could survive in a culture willing to poison itself? The bees are not the vulnerable species here. They’ve survived many, many times longer than humans and seem certain to last millennia beyond us.
They are an untamable species without rulers, which is why they are smart. Dr. Tom Seely, the epic honeybee scientist from Cornell wrote Honeybee Democracy that documented how all major honeybee decisions are made after transparent deliberation of comparative data. (Here’s his great lecture.) Seely says that there is no boss bee expected to know everything. Male humans back to Aristotle thought the biggest bee ruled the hive who they assumed to be King. She is not a King or, really a queen. Despite her size and crucial role (birthing babies) she makes no more decisions than anyone else in the hive. It is a pure democracy so sophisticated we lesser species can’t figure it out.
No bee would imagine a process as flawed as American “democracy” in which fear of one deeply flawed person disables the thinking of millions so that he would not just be obeyed, but enriched with more honey than 1,000 hives could ever consume. They bees don’t need to be told about the death of this dumpster fire; they have seen it coming.
Not many humans in this part of England need to be told, either. They have seen actual kings, not the trashy American knock-off. They, like the bees, know about the certain suffering that follows from elevating one human so far above the others, wrapping them in layers of stultifying privilege and then letting them decide anything. They become stupid and then dangerous. The one in the gilded bubble inevitably make horrible decisions that damage and impoverish everyone. And then they, of course, go down, too as the consequences of their folly roll out.
The English Magna Carta and closely linked tradition of habeas corpus were evolutionarily necessary for the human species to survive. They first established that nobody—certainly not the king—was above the law. The second established that no human could be judged without a fair trial. No human society that violates these can survive. Trust dies first, then facts, marked by random decisions that fuel greed, fear and loss of every certainty. There is no way to navigate or talk: nothing but raw violence as the single ruler and the tiny group he depends on run us all off the cliff.
It would be so convenient if it was possible for one person or a tiny group to manage all the vast interwoven complexities of life on this wild earth. Democracy is messy, inefficient and slow. But letting one person, especially a man decide things is dumber than any insect could survive.
The English figured this out about a thousand years ago, so this can’t be considered a “secret sauce.”
We don’t have to tell the bees. We should ask them.