I was never a huge fan of beetles. Years ago, Lady Beetles would fill the old, weathered window sills of my childhood home, excreting stinky beetle farts and leaving teeny yellow stains wherever they went. Once, I nearly ingested a Pale Green Weevil while snacking on dry cereal. The crunch between my molars and the bitter taste of its entrails still haunt me today. I’ve spent many summer evenings hiding indoors out of fear and disgust. It should come as no surprise, then, that I would eventually snap.

A few weeks ago, I was lounging in my yard when I noticed an unfamiliar sight. Dozens of Japanese beetles were congregating in my wildflower bed – particularly enjoying the evening primroses. In my adult life, I’d never had any serious pest issues save an occasional gluttonous squirrel. But this – this was a personal attack.

I acted swiftly and ruthlessly, dragging the doggie pool across the yard and placing it at the edge of the flowerbed. I gently bent each primrose stalk over the pool and successively karate chopped in such a manner that launched every last beetle into the dirty dog water below. Their slow reflexes and lack of grip strength ensured that each pesky bug hit the water with a satisfying plunk. By the end of my rampage, the water shimmered with sweet beetle iridescence. I left them there, trapped and slowly drowning.

I eventually returned to the scene of the crime out of curiosity a little while later. I’d just expected the beetles to sort of float there, accept their fate, and succumb to their environment. Instead, they had begun congregating again – each beetle desperate to find another beetle to climb atop and drown to save themselves. As I watched, the clumps grew bigger, creating rotating beetle clusters that would temporarily drown those under the surface and give those on top a moment of relief. These death clusters spun and spun for what felt like an eternity as I watched in horror. Then, one beetle made a break for it and escaped from his cluster. He began breast stroking toward the edge of the pool where at least he had a chance. Within seconds, he was chased down by a former comrade who was now trying to use him as a living life raft. How could they do this to each other? Moments ago, they were feasting and procreating like deities of the Greek pantheon, and now it was every beetle for themselves. 

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Moments ago, they were feasting and procreating like deities of the Greek pantheon, and now it was every beetle for themselves.

samantha kobs

My mind jumped to the audiobook I’d been listening to earlier that day. It was a call-to-action piece focusing on the impact of big tech and e-commerce giants. Despite knowing little about macroeconomics and global supply chain disruption, I had felt fired up by the stories of immoral billionaire CEOs and corrupt politicians. Shame on them, I’d thought. But now here I was, sitting by a doggie pool watching beetles fight to the death all because I didn’t like the sight of them on my flowers.

Could I blame these beetles for choosing such an exquisite flower to nest upon? Hadn’t they worked together as a beetle family to feed themselves and sustain their numbers like any species might? I might not take trips to outer space in a personal rocket or deny thousands of employees basic fundamental rights through the intentional dismantling of union protections, but I was being a real big jerk. I had single-handedly created this environment that turned them into cold-blooded monsters, and it was my responsibility to make it right. 

I exhaled, grabbed the doggie pool by its rigid edge, and dumped the struggling beetles into the yard. I knew they’d make their way back into the flower bed eventually, but it was a sacrifice that had to be made for the greater good. We had more in common than I thought, after all. We were all just trying to survive.