In the humid, subtropical forests of eastern Cuba, a slow and silent extinction is unfolding. Clinging to tree bark and nestled among damp foliage, a tiny, brilliantly colored creature once flourished in vast numbers. Today, it is fighting for survival. The Polymita snail, renowned for its strikingly vibrant shells that swirl with reds, greens, yellows, and oranges, is widely considered one of the most beautiful snails in the world. But that same beauty has placed it in grave danger.
Polymita snails are not just a symbol of Cuba’s rich biodiversity, they are also evolutionary enigmas. These terrestrial mollusks exhibit extraordinary color polymorphism — within a single species, individuals may display dramatically different shell colors and patterns, ranging from single-tone spirals to psychedelic streaks and candy-like bands. Scientists have long been fascinated by how such variation can persist in wild populations, especially given the forces of natural selection that often favor uniformity. But the survival of these snails is now threatened by forces far less subtle than evolution — habitat loss, climate change, and most of all, illegal trade driven by international collectors.
While these snails are endemic to a relatively small region in eastern Cuba, they have become tragically popular on the global shell-collecting market. Their shells, often sold as exotic ornaments or incorporated into jewelry, command high prices online. A quick search reveals sets of Polymita shells sold for over £160 in the UK alone. The appeal is obvious: no two shells look the same, and their kaleidoscopic aesthetics evoke admiration and awe. Yet every shell once belonged to a living animal that played a role in a fragile forest ecosystem.
Professor Angus Davison, an evolutionary geneticist at the University of Nottingham, has spent years studying the Polymita snail. “What drew me to them in the first place was simple: they’re mesmerizing. It’s like nature took a paintbrush and decided to go wild,” he explains. But as his admiration deepened, so did his concern. “The irony is that the very traits that make them so extraordinary have made them targets — for collectors, tourists, and even illegal traders.”
International trade of Polymita is prohibited under the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES), yet enforcement is difficult. While it is illegal to export these snails or their shells from Cuba without permits, there are few restrictions on selling them once they’re abroad. This legal grey area creates a loophole that is exploited repeatedly. In some cases, shells are smuggled out of Cuba in luggage and later sold through legal platforms in Europe or North America, often without buyers realizing they are participating in illicit wildlife trade.
Davison has partnered with Cuban biologist Professor Bernardo Reyes-Tur from the University of Oriente in Santiago de Cuba to launch a comprehensive conservation and research program. Their goal is to document, protect, and ultimately secure the future of all six known species of Polymita. While Davison and his team conduct genome mapping in high-tech laboratories in Nottingham, Reyes-Tur is engaged in the hands-on work of captive breeding and field surveys in some of Cuba’s most remote regions.
The contrast between the two work environments could hardly be starker. In Cuba, Reyes-Tur is often hampered by unreliable electricity and limited equipment. “We sometimes have to go days without power,” he explains. “That makes temperature control — essential for breeding and caring for snails — extremely challenging.” Despite these obstacles, he has managed to set up breeding enclosures in his own home, recreating forest conditions as best as he can. Though breeding success has so far been limited, the snails are showing signs of adaptation.
Captive breeding, however, is only one component of the broader effort. The team is also using molecular tools to understand the snails at a genetic level. By analyzing DNA from preserved tissue samples, they aim to determine not only how many genetically distinct species exist, but also what genes govern their extraordinary coloration. This data is crucial for conservation planning, especially when it comes to identifying isolated populations that may need targeted protection.
Beyond their allure and rarity, Polymita snails play important ecological roles. They are herbivorous decomposers that feed on fungi, algae, and plant matter, helping to maintain forest health. They are also prey for birds, lizards, and insects. Their disappearance would disrupt food webs and accelerate the decline of already vulnerable ecosystems. In many ways, Polymita is a keystone indicator — a visible measure of the forest’s integrity.
The forests themselves are under siege. Agriculture, logging, and road-building are fragmenting the eastern Cuban wilderness. Climate change adds another layer of stress, as shifting weather patterns and increasing droughts alter the moisture levels that snails depend on. Eastern Cuba’s forests, already limited in size, are shrinking — and with them, the habitat of Polymita.
The situation highlights broader problems in global conservation. Invertebrates like snails are often overlooked in favor of more charismatic animals like pandas, elephants, or tigers. Yet invertebrates constitute over 95% of known animal species and are vital to ecosystem functioning. The neglect of snail conservation is part of a troubling trend that undervalues small or “uncharismatic” organisms, despite their outsized ecological impact.
This oversight extends to public policy and funding as well. Conservation budgets are disproportionately allocated to mammals and birds, while the vast majority of species receive little or no attention. “If a brightly colored snail can’t capture the public’s imagination, then what hope is there for the plain ones?” Davison asks rhetorically.
To bridge this gap, Reyes-Tur and Davison are advocating for education and community engagement. In Cuba, they are working with schools, local officials, and community groups to raise awareness about Polymita’s importance. “We’re trying to replace the economic value of the shell with cultural and ecological value,” Reyes-Tur says. He hopes that if people see the snail as a national treasure rather than a collectible, they’ll be more motivated to protect it.
Ecotourism may offer part of the solution. Carefully managed tours that highlight Cuba’s endemic species — including Polymita — could generate revenue while incentivizing habitat preservation. “We’re not against people appreciating these snails,” Davison says. “In fact, we want more people to appreciate them — just not at the cost of their extinction.”
Another innovative angle comes from citizen science. Through mobile apps and local workshops, Cuban citizens are being trained to document Polymita sightings, helping researchers map population changes and potential threats. This grassroots approach not only provides valuable data but also builds a sense of ownership among local communities.
Scientific research is also turning up surprising insights. Some studies suggest that Polymita’s vibrant shells may serve functions beyond camouflage or mating — possibly playing roles in regulating body temperature or deterring parasites. Others are investigating whether the color polymorphism is a form of bet-hedging, giving populations better odds of surviving in unpredictable environments.
But much remains unknown, and time is short. Some populations have already vanished from areas where they were once common. Others are clinging to survival in increasingly isolated pockets of forest. In such fragmented landscapes, even short-term disturbances — a dry season, a small fire, or illegal collecting by a single individual — could push entire species over the edge.
Davison and Reyes-Tur are aware of the urgency, but they are also motivated by what’s still possible. They believe that with the right mix of science, policy, and public engagement, the decline can be reversed. Their partnership — crossing borders, languages, and disciplines — is an example of how conservation must operate in the 21st century.
At its heart, the story of Polymita is about more than snails. It is about how beauty can be both a gift and a curse in the natural world. It is about how our desire to possess nature can destroy the very things we admire. And it is about the quiet, persistent efforts of scientists, often working in obscurity, who refuse to give up on even the smallest species.
In a world facing biodiversity collapse on a planetary scale, the plight of a tiny Cuban snail might seem insignificant. But look closely at its shell — a swirl of lime green, flame blue, and golden yellow — and you may see more than just color. You may see a question that challenges us all: what kind of world are we leaving behind?
Polymita snails do not sing or roar. They do not fly, gallop, or soar. But they have something else — a silent splendor, a living canvas of evolution’s artistry. Their shells are not just ornaments; they are symbols of life’s diversity and fragility. To save them is to say that even the quietest corners of nature deserve a future.