What's the first rule of any military operation? You don't commit vital resources to a mission without a clear, achievable objective and a realistic assessment of the risks. So let me ask you this: what is the actual strategic objective of de-extinction? My opponent will likely talk about correcting past wrongs or restoring ecosystems. But from a tactical standpoint, those are vague, sentimental goals that ignore the operational reality. We're talking about pouring massive amounts of funding and scientific capital into resurrecting a handful of individual animals. Even if we succeed, what have we built? A zoo exhibit. A genetic curiosity. Think about the logistics. A resurrected species has no natural habitat left. Its ecosystem is gone, changed by millennia of evolution and human development. Where do we deploy this asset? Releasing a de-extinct creature into today's world is a massive ecological risk—it becomes an invasive species by default, because the world it was adapted to no longer exists. That's not restoration; that's introducing an unknown variable into a complex, already-stressed system. And the cost is staggering. The funds and brainpower required for de-extinction are resources diverted from the front lines of conservation today. We have a clear and present battle: protecting the critically endangered species and habitats we have right now. De-extinction is a distraction, a tactical misallocation. It's like trying to rebuild a ruined castle while the city walls are actively under siege. This isn't about whether we can do it scientifically. It's about whether we should. The mission parameters are flawed. The objective is unclear, the risks to existing ecosystems are high, and the opportunity cost is unacceptable. Our priority must be securing the biodiversity we haven't yet lost, not chasing ghosts.

My opponent makes a compelling case on principle, arguing for restitution and a duty to repair. I can respect that intent. But in any campaign, good intentions don't win battles; sound strategy does. And the strategy here is fundamentally flawed. You frame this as an appeal, a correction of injustice. But tactically, what does "justice" look like? Releasing a handful of genetically similar animals into a world that is no longer theirs? That’s not justice; it’s a potentially catastrophic experiment. You mention the passenger pigeon and the woolly mammoth as key species. But their ecosystems have moved on. The niche is occupied, the climate is different, the flora has changed. Introducing them isn't restoring a balance—it’s disrupting the current one. You’re deploying an untested unit into a live theater without understanding its interactions with existing forces. And that’s the core tactical error: the massive diversion of resources. You acknowledge the costs but dismiss them as secondary to the principle. In a resource-constrained environment, that’s a fatal miscalculation. Every dollar and researcher committed to de-extinction is a direct withdrawal from the active defense of currently endangered species and habitats. We are losing the war on biodiversity right now. This project is a long-range, high-risk reconnaissance mission while our forward bases are being overrun. The objective is not clear. Is it a single breeding pair? A viable population? A fully restored ecological function? The mission creep is inevitable, and the costs will balloon. We have a defined, achievable objective in front of us: prevent further extinctions. De-extinction doesn’t advance that objective; it jeopardizes it by siphoning away focus and funds. So while the moral appeal is strong, the operational plan fails. The risks to existing ecosystems are unacceptably high, the objective is nebulous, and the opportunity cost is a direct threat to our current standing forces in the field of conservation. We must secure the present before we attempt to resurrect the past.

My opponent keeps returning to this idea of justice and correcting a past wrong. But I have to ask: is the goal of justice served by creating a biological artifact that can never truly go home? You talk about reinstating a known variable, but that's the critical flaw. The variable isn't known anymore. The world it knew is gone. The climate, the plant life, the microbial environment—it's all different. A resurrected mammoth wouldn't be stepping into its old role; it would be a novel organism in a novel ecosystem. That's not correction; it's a new intervention with unpredictable consequences. You argue the tools developed help current conservation, creating a false dichotomy. But that's a tactical misdirection. In the real world, funding and scientific talent are finite. A major de-extinction project becomes a flagship program that draws resources and public attention away from the less glamorous, ongoing work of protecting habitats and stopping poaching. It's not that the science can't be useful; it's that the mission itself becomes a resource-intensive distraction from our primary objective: preventing extinctions that are happening right now. And let's be brutally honest about the endpoint. Even if we succeed, we're not creating a self-sustaining, wild population. We're creating a captive population requiring lifelong, intensive human management. That's not restoring a species to its rightful place in nature; it's creating a permanent, costly welfare project. The objective has shifted from "ecological restitution" to "perpetual curation." So the strategic assessment stands. The mission parameters are still vague, the risks of ecological disruption are real, and the opportunity cost is a direct threat to more viable conservation efforts. We have a clear and present battle to fight. We shouldn't divert our forces to chase a symbolic victory that could undermine the entire campaign.