by SADIAH QURESHI
Technologies of preserving and reviving organisms are already redefining the meaning of life, death, and extinction itself
In 2003, a unique baby goat lived and died. In doing so, she might be regarded as the first species to have endured the indignity of going extinct twice.
The Pyrenean ibex, also known as the bucardo, was once native to the mountainous regions of Spain. By the mid-20th century, hunting had severely depleted populations. By 1999, only one survived, named Celia. When she died a year later, the bucardo was declared extinct.
While she was alive, tissue samples from Celia’s ear were collected, and frozen in liquid nitrogen. Encouraged by previously successful techniques for cloning animals, a team of Spanish, French and Belgian scientists hoped to bring back the bucardo. They cultured the harvested cells to isolate bucardo DNA, and transferred cloned genomes to domestic goat eggs with the nuclei removed. A total of 208 embryos were transferred to surrogate mothers: either Spanish ibex (a still-living, related species) or hybrids of Spanish ibex and domestic goats. Seven pregnancies resulted, but only one goat carried to full term. That goat gave birth to a bucardo kid by caesarean section.
The tiny Pyrenean ibex was genetically identical to the last living bucardo, making her a direct clone. But while the kid appeared healthy until birth, she never took a breath. The desperate team tried to help her breathe, but she was declared dead within a few minutes. An autopsy on her miniature body identified a defective lung.
The story of the cloned bucardo kid can be told in many ways. Was this a rare double-extinction? Perhaps. More cautiously, we might suggest that the experiment was never a successful de-extinction at all, because the kid was never able to perform the same ecological function as the lost species. But there is also a more provocative telling: that neither happened, because the bucardo never went extinct in the first place.
In recent years, some advocates of de-extinction technologies have argued that if an animal’s tissues and cultured cells persist in a state of cryopreservation, it is not extinct, but ‘evolutionarily torpid’. In other words, the death of the last living animal is not an ending, merely a pause.
This reframing isn’t merely semantic – it reshapes the meaning of conservation. If frozen cells forestall extinction, when do we declare a species lost? And if genetic material assuages our guilt that a ‘way of being’ survives, why invest in protecting living animals? The question cuts deeper: what distinguishes being alive from existing as dormant genetic material?
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