Extinction is rarely a moment. It is a process that unfolds offstage, marked by missed sightings, thinning records, and the slow reassignment of hope to footnotes. Discovery, too, is rarely a moment. It is a process of comparison, argument, and waiting—years spent persuading other experts that what you are seeing is, in fact, new. A year-end review of nature tends to move between those two tempos. One is the closing of accounts. The other is the opening of drawers. In 2025, a small group of species crossed a final bureaucratic threshold and were formally listed as extinct on the IUCN Red List. For science, the change was technical. For everyone else, it read like a set of obituaries that had been delayed for decades. At the same time, hundreds of organisms were described for the first time in the scientific literature—some collected in recent fieldwork, others hiding in plain sight in museum collections, misfiled by earlier assumptions. Between those bookends sits the human work: the people who tried to slow the losses, and the institutional decisions that made progress possible in some places and failure likely in others. In my own corner of this story, 2025 was a year of memorials. I wrote more than 80 short obituaries for people who spent their lives protecting parts of the Earth. The volume was not a badge of productivity. It was a measure of how many lives are spent holding the line—and how often the line keeps moving anyway. The losses that became official…This article was originally published on Mongabay

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