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Our Mediterranean environment is not a primeval space. For over a million years, the first hominids have passed through these lands, leaving behind the mark of a species uniquely capable of transforming the places it inhabits.

That is why our landscapes are the result of both the primordial nature that shaped them—geology, climate, biology—and the decisions made by our ancestors at different points in history.

Fire, construction, and hunting have all left their mark on the landscape. But so have large herds of herbivores, epidemics, floods, and earthquakes, each steering the course of history in different ways.

This is why, in places like this, we often speak of cultural landscapes. In Menorca, thousands of kilometers of dry-stone walls built by human hands coexist with ferns and wild shrubs. Ancient floodplains, now drained, shelter remarkable wildlife.

The island’s skies are enriched by the soaring presence of red kites and kestrels. Fences gain new significance when they frame an ancient megalithic site. The coastline becomes even more captivating when a shag dives beneath the waves or a fishermen’s song drifts across the breeze.

But we live in an era where fast profit seeks to dominate. Where people are encouraged to focus only on the short term. Where empty rhetoric is spoken from influential pulpits. Where we are losing the ability to appreciate the details.

The Port of Maó is facing this very process. Subtleties are being erased in favor of a single-use vision. There are never enough berths, never enough piers or docks. The port is seen as a space for intensive exploitation rather than the historic, nature-rich harbor it truly is.

Yet, in the last remaining untouched corners, young fish still find refuge before venturing into open waters. Shellfish thrive, cuttlefish glide, crabs seek shelter… The cliffs, adorned with vegetation, have witnessed Carthaginians, Romans, Turks, and Christians. They have seen the blood of corsair battles and heard the cries of enslaved souls.

The stoic little waterfront houses that remain once welcomed families coming to swim and spend the long summer days. There are still spots where traditional wooden boats used to dock. Some corners still seem to long for the gentle movement of a lateen sail cutting through the water.

The world evolves, no doubt. But recognizing and preserving what holds true natural and cultural value should be a fundamental goal for the institutions that manage our heritage—even in its most humble expressions.

It is time to understand that uniformity leads to impoverishment. That our economy should be built upon the unique characteristics that define us, rather than their destruction.

Perhaps it is time for grassroots action to prevent the spread of a homogenization that strips everything of its identity. To stop the endless copies that erase what makes us who we are.

Wasn’t that the whole point of being a Biosphere Reserve?