For three months in 2012, we had bed bugs. It was bloody horrible

An entomologist feeds bed bugs on his hand. Image: Getty.

Some years ago, a friend left a bag at my flat after a party. Not long afterwards, we finally found out why it was we couldn’t stop itching.

The next time I was due to meet my friend, I offered to bring his rucksack with me. "No," said his girlfriend. "Don't bring the bag back. Keep the bag."

Bed bugs, she knew, can travel in luggage. That was probably how we got them in the first place.

*****

For weeks we'd known that something was biting us, but we couldn't work out what. We suspected fleas. We suspected mosquitoes. But no change in our behaviour, no amount of cleaning, reduced the extent of the itching.

The man from the council's pest control department identified our symptoms immediately. Our bites came in clusters of three; and there were blood splashes on the sheets, where an unfortunate pest had got itself squashed, mid-meal. He diagnosed us with bed bugs, a parasitic insect species that’s been nibbling at humanity for as long as history records.

At first, this was almost a relief: at least we had a plan of action at last. But as the days went on, having a name for the problem became less and less of a comfort. When you’ve grown used to changing outfits every time you switch rooms, to minimise the risk of the problem spreading; when you’ve taken your furniture to bits, and the component parts have been drenched in foam; when you've spent a week acting the part of human bait, sleeping in separate rooms to lure the bugs out of their hiding places to where the poison might get to them... When you’ve done all this, and still the bites keep coming, you can’t help but think: What if this isn’t working? What if our bugs are resistant to the pesticides? What if they never go?

You search the internet, searching for reassurance that this is a minor problem; that it’ll be swift and easy to solve. You don't find any.

*****

There’s plenty of fevered commentary surrounding bed bugs. How widespread a problem they are. How hard they are to shift. But – and I now feel I can say this, because, after less than three months, our bed bugs did go – it's not clear how much of this is a factual description of an unpleasant reality, and how much of it is just, well, hysteria.

Let's start with the facts. Bed bugs are round nocturnal insects that subsist on a diet of blood. Most of the time they're thin and slightly see-through; once they've eaten, they're fat and brown. They can snack on other mammals, but given a choice, they prefer us. Consequently, they've got very good at hiding in our houses. In our beds; in cracks in the paintwork; in electrical fittings – anywhere, in fact, where they can get close to us but stay out of sight.

Not so long ago, bed bugs were basically everywhere, but heavy use of pesticides after the War all but finished them off in the West. As a result, most of us have never encountered any. You can grow up without even realising that the rhyme that begins “Night night, sleep tight” actually refers to a real and specific species of insect.

At some point over the last 30 years, though, they began to make a comeback. One theory is that the banning of DDT, which was doing some pretty horrible things to the wider environment, made homes less inhospitable to the bugs too. Another is that it results from the changing nature of international travel. We fly more often, and to less developed countries: in parts of the world, the bugs have never gone away, and globalisation has given them ample opportunities to hitch a lift to pastures new.

At any rate, numbers started to increase. In Sweden, in the years between 2002 and 2006, the number of recorded interventions by pest control doubled. In London, between 2000 and 2006, they quadrupled. In Australia, a study comparing the periods 1997-2000 and 2001-04 found that interventions were up 700 per cent.

A bed bug nymph, feeding on a host. The transparency makes the baby bugs hard to spot. Image: CDC/Harvard.

The place most frequently associated with bed begs, though, is New York. By the end of the last decade, the city had seen infestations in locations as diverse as theatres, department stores and office blocks. A city of condos and apartment blocks, with so many people living literally right on top of each other, gave the bugs ample opportunities to spread unchecked.

By 2009, the problem had grown serious enough for the US Environmental Protection Agency to hold its first ever Bed Bug Summit."In recent years," the agency’s official advice still says, "public health agencies across the country have been overwhelmed by complaints about bed bugs." At time of writing, the phrase “bed bug pandemic” brings up over 1.1m hits on Google.

*****

Bed bugs aren't dirty; bed bugs don't spread disease. They move slowly; they can't fly; they even, with a certain generosity of spirit, anaesthetise you when they bite. I, like a majority of the population, am lucky enough not to have any significant allergic reaction to the little sods: in the most literal sense, bed bugs can’t hurt me.

And yet – I know this sounds melodramatic, but it's true, nonetheless – living with them is one of the most unpleasant experiences I've ever had.


For one thing, it was an inconvenience. To prevent the bugs from spreading, our pest control expert had told us, we were to wear different clothes in the bedroom and the living room. No guests were to come into the house; no bags were to leave it. We were less than three months from our wedding, and these restrictions were, at the very least, a pain.

More damaging was the sense of violation. Your bed is supposed to be the place where you are most completely and utterly safe. The knowledge that something is waiting somewhere inside it, purely so it can feast on you while you sleep, is deeply unsettling.

Worst of all, though, is the lingering fear that you will never, ever get rid of them. Bed bugs breed quite ludicrously fast: one adult can produce as many as 500 children, and there's evidence that a single, fertilised female can be enough to infest an entire building (you'd think the in-breeding would cause them problems, but no). They can't grow or breed without eating, but you can't just take a holiday and let them starve: the bugs can happily go for months without food. Make it a waiting game, and you will lose.

This would be fine if the standard pest control strategies were guaranteed to work, but they’re not. The pesticides that have historically done the job are getting less and less effective. Some bugs have evolved exo-skeltons that prevent the poison from penetrating; others don't allow it to bind to the nerves, or break it down into harmless chemicals. The fact there's more than one strategy in play makes it all the more difficult to overcome the resistance. Oh, and we haven't invented an effective new pesticide in over 20 years.

"I'd get rid of all those books if I were you," he said. "First place they'd hide."

All this we learnt as we trawled the internet, seeking reassurance that we would find a way to evict our itchy new housemates. We learnt of "bed bug sniffer dogs", trained to locate the bug's nests using their sickly sweet scent alone. We read of homes in America with infestations that had proven immune to every treatment imaginable, and gazed in dumb horror at images of unfortunate people, covered from head to toe in large, red welts. We read internet forums with headlines like "Bed bugs won't go away", which contained helpful responses like, "Fake your death, use the insurance money to GTFO to another house". After discussing things, we decided we wouldn't rule this out.

"In New York, they tell you to just burn everything," an American friend told me. "Just give up and start again."

*****

It's clear that the bed bug problem is worse than it once was. Exactly how much worse, though, is surprisingly hard to say.

You can't, after all, count every bed bug: we're reliant on observational studies, based on those cases reported to housing authorities and pest control. That makes the figures prone to both under-reporting during periods of ignorance, and over-reporting during those of hysteria.

To make matters worse, most of the numbers that make it to the public domain are produced by the pest control industry: a group of people who have an economic interest in our being very, very scared. And, with the best will in the world, most of these “studies” are not exactly peer-reviewed. Some conflate “reported” cases with confirmed ones; others, absolute numbers with per capita ones. In 2011, one report ranked New York as the most bed bug infested city in America; another had it in seventh place.

The lack of hard data makes it hard to know for sure, but it’s just possible that, at some point in the last couple of years, the bed bug pandemic may actually have started to wind down. Figures from the New York Department of Housing Preservation & Development have shown a steady decline in interventions since their peak in 2010. Tighter requirements for landlords to take action the moment a bug is spotted seem to have helped; so, too, does greater awareness of what to look out for.

But while the past few years have seen numerous reports warning of the growing bed bug pandemic, surprisingly few have appeared suggesting that the crisis has passed and we can all sleep safe in our beds. This is not a story that the people who have the data necessarily want to tell.

An adult bug at work. Image: CDC/Harvard.

As the weeks went on, and the bugs showed no sign of abating, our nerves grew increasingly shredded, and my fiancée and I took it in turns to lose it while the other talked us down. With our wedding looming, and our flat still effectively out of bounds, we began to investigate a more radical solution.

The “heat treatment” involves covering the doors and windows of a building with plastic, then using industrial heaters to warm the interior up to 45 degrees centigrade, until everything in it is dead. It works; but it’s cripplingly expensive, horribly disruptive, and does untold damage to anything with wiring. I thus remain eternally grateful to the private pest control contractor who point blank refused to take my money, and chose instead to calm me down. "If the council's using pesticides it will get sorted," he told me. "Just give it time."

The council's own pest controller was rather less reassuring. "I'd get rid of all those books if I were you," he said. "First place they'd hide."

And then, one day, it stopped: we've not seen a bug since. In retrospect, given that we never found a nest and saw a grand total of three bugs during our three month occupation, it's probable that we were never that seriously infested in the first place. We were lucky.

But the experience has given me something akin to a phobia. I panic at unexplained itches; I panic when I spot something moving out of the corner of my eye. For three months of my life I itched, constantly, and all over, not because I'd been bitten, but because I couldn't be sure I hadn't. I've itched for the entire time I've been writing this, too.

All I'm really saying here is: don't get bed bugs. Trust me on this. You really won't like it. 

 
 
 
 

In New Zealand, climate change is driving an eco-nationalist revival

The green and pleasant land of the South Island. Image: Getty.

“Ten years ago I would have called them settler f*****g land squatters,” Mike Smith, Maori-dom’s most tenacious activist, said last November as he reflected on the agriculture industry’s central role in driving climate change. “Now I have to try and get these people on board.”

Smith is infamous for taking a chainsaw to Auckland’s most prominent tree on a damp October night in 1994 in protest of the “Pākehā” – or white European –dominated government’s fiscal envelope restraining treaty settlements. Now he’s turned his hand to another cause close-to-home for the Maori, New Zealand’s indigenous population: the environment.

“We’re super vulnerable, like we are to anything,” Smith says. “When it comes to climate change it’s like the poorest people in the world are going to be hit the hardest first, and that’s a lot of us.”

Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern appears, at least rhetorically, the most sympathetic leader to his cause in a decade. In her campaign launch speech late last year, she made the future government’s position clear: “Climate change is my generation’s nuclear free moment.”

This message should resonate with followers of her Labour party: the NZ left has long nurtured an environment-orientated “culture-of-protest”. So Ardern’s call to arms was bound to gain her loyal support among children of the 1960s and ‘70s, who led the march against nuclear ship visits, spurring on the government of the time to wriggle out from the US nuclear umbrella, and place a ban on foreign nuclear ship visits.

Now, it is to the tycoons of deep sea oil exploration they aim to close NZ’s ports.

In this, Smith is not short of support locally, with marches run by grassroots organisations and international animal welfare funds beginning to gain traction with every day New Zealanders. In this, Ardern’s prediction is correct: the Coal Action Network Aotearoa (CANA), is reminiscent of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), an earlier cluster of left-wing pacifists and nature lovers who drove the creation of the nuclear free zone.  

In December, 15,000 passionate protesters marched through the capital. And with the government’s recent ban of offshore oil exploration projects, Jeanette Fitzsimons, former Green party co-leader and the head of CANA, is optimistic about similar change to the energy and farming sectors.

The Labour-NZ First-Green party coalition seems focused on setting a new global precedent, weaning NZ away from a United States which has jettisoned the Paris Agreement. The move replicates another 20 years ago, when New Zealand’s anti-nuclear movement was central to an upsurge in New Zealand nationalism. Now, the same sense of going it alone on foreign policy is apparent both locally and in Parliament.

Dr. Gradon Diprose, a senior lecturer at Massey University, argues that this echoes an older expression of colonial nationalism, that saw “New Zealand as a land of natural abundance”. This: “eco-nationalism” is centered on “protecting certain visions of picturesque landscapes and unspoiled natural beauty”. The slogan “Clean, green New Zealand” is prevalent in popular culture and tourism marketing. The public seems to have latched onto it too, and ranked keeping NZ’s waterways “clean and green” top of a recent survey of of kiwis’ top concerns.

Three decades ago, it was the 10 July 1985 sinking of the Greenpeace flagship Rainbow Warrior that thrust local activists’ fears into the public eye, resulting in an almost nation-wide expression of climate-protectionism.


The bombing, a French intelligence operation sparked by Greenpeace’s calls for an end to foreign nuclear testing in the Pacific, galvanised a great deal of change to New Zealand’s overseas defence policies. A lack of censure from New Zealand’s Western allies drove Wellington to distance itself from the United States, while the shock of seeing a friendly nation violate NZ’s sovereignty left many at home seething.

Thirty years on, the foreign policy split throughout the Anglosphere, regarding Russian-Western relations, globalism, and the old international rules-based order, is becoming wider. Climate change is just the tip of the iceberg.

Most Kiwis you talk to will shake their heads in disapproval at US president Donald Trump’s scandalous outing last year in Helsinki. But US defiance of internationally brokered climate resolutions is something they can see clearly reflected in rural communities across the country.

The country saw records broken at both ends of the extreme weather spectrum last year. As 2018 kicked off, Kiwis sweltered through the hottest summer on record, while in Golden Bay, a small inlet near the northern tip of the South Island, residents endured the largest flood in 150 years. So, when President Trump tweets “So much for Global Warming”, the majority of New Zealanders look back fondly on NZ’s 1985 decision to boycott the “ANZUS” treaty, putting New Zealand at odds with its war-time ally America on defence legislation.

Public calls to take the same track on environmental regulation have become louder in the wake of Donald Trump’s election. The former US Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson, received a frosty “unwelcome” while on a flyby to the capital in 2017, with the New York Times’ Washington correspondent, Gardiner Harris remarking: “I’ve never seen so many people flip the bird at an American motorcade as I saw today”. Protests against President Trump’s stance on climate change are beginning to gain greater traction further still, with the hundred-strong “march for science” setting the tone for the new government later that year.

New Zealand certainly isn’t afraid of radicalism, and its activists are persistent. It’s already banned single use plastics in supermarkets. Plenty more is to come, Smith says.

And yes, reform is going to inhibit sometimes vital industries: “It doesn’t matter which way you spin the dice on this, whatever’s being done is going to hurt. People who are looking for a painless way of mitigating climate change, [but] I don’t think there is one.”

But among Smith’s troupe of climate agitators, the feeling is that, without drastic change, “the land”, the heart of the Maori ethos, is going to be hurt far more.

Back in Auckland, NZ’s financial hub, an electric scooter craze is gripping the city. This, too, has gained the support of local environmentalists. In New Zealand, a national sense of pride is always coupled with a certain eccentricity. In a country this size, change always starts small.