While Olympians are racing for gold in Rio, Zika virus is running rampant through the American tropics. A relatively mild illness that generally goes unnoticed even in those infected, Zika can be devastating to fetuses and expectant mothers, causing infants to be born with a severe developmental brain disorder known as microcephaly. Their plight makes us desperate: so desperate that Pope Francis has deemed contraceptives—usually condemned by the Catholic Church—acceptable to use in affected countries; so desperate that the World Health Organization is recommending that at-risk women delay pregnancy; so desperate that a massive diversion of resources has gone toward finding pharmaceuticals and vaccines to counter Zika, while efforts have redoubled to control its vector, the Aedes aegypti mosquito; so desperate, in fact, that some people are once again calling for the eradication of this species—and perhaps other mosquitoes as well.

As we run through the list of mosquito species on the chopping block, we must think more broadly about what the large-scale eradication of mosquitoes would mean for our ecosystems. There are about 3,800 mosquito species worldwide, and less than an estimated 3 percent of them transmit human diseases. Although we never come into contact with most of these insects, many are critical components of food webs that include other species we value.

For many species of birds, for example, mosquitoes are a dietary mainstay, and a dearth of the insects can lead directly to fewer hatchlings. Mosquitoes are also critically important to many species of bats, with single colonies capable of consuming literally tons of the insects each night. It’s unclear whether or not these bats would be capable of finding a substitute food source in a world without mosquitoes—but if they did, that switch could have severe and unpredictable effects, impacting moths and other important pollinators.

Additionally, many aquatic species, including a number of threatened frog species, rely on mosquito larvae for food. The mosquito larvae themselves feed on detritus and aquatic life, playing an important role in nutrient recycling, particularly in rarefied environments. Adult mosquitoes also act as pollinators. While the females ingest blood, males feed on nectar and other natural sugar sources, collecting and sharing pollen along the way. Although some people would counter that no important crops are pollinated this way— and in fact have argued that these examples provide little direct benefit to humans—time has shown that when species leave an ecosystem, their loss can have unanticipated ripple effects not only on us but on the environment as a whole, and its inherent resilience.

As a research scientist focused on disease-causing viruses, my explorations often take me to their roots in nature. My research in Thailand has shown that places with high overall mosquito diversity have fewer disease-carrying species. In 2008, my team collected more than 84,000 mosquitoes across a variety of habitats—from relatively undisturbed forests to much-altered suburban and urban communities—in central Thailand’s Nakhon Nayok province. We observed that mosquito diversity took a dive in human-altered landscapes, and troublesome invaders like Ae. aegypti became more common there. While it may seem counterintuitive, working to sustain biodiversity— including mosquito diversity—may be one of our best long-term defenses against the rise of mosquito-borne diseases

Maintaining biodiversity and immunizing mosquitoes against viruses—especially when we can do so using ingredients already found in nature, like Wolbachia bacteria—are certainly more sustainable and permanent solutions to combatting Zika virus than pursuing a revolving door of eradication efforts, targeting one species of mosquito after another. But the truth is, mosquitoes are only part of the problem facing us today. Consider that the impact of dengue and Zika continues to be most strongly felt in communities where humans are particularly exposed to mosquito bites. In these areas, access to running water is often limited, and mosquitoes have ample opportunities to breed in water-storage containers and in discarded objects near homes and communities. Dengue transmission in Mexico often stops dead at the Texan border, and it’s not because Ae. aegypti respects immigration laws, but rather because humans and mosquitoes come into contact far less in a typical air-conditioned Texas town than in neighborhoods and open-air markets in Mexico.

Not only does the rate of infection differ in different societies, but the degree of harm a disease might cause also varies widely. Because Zika is primarily a threat to unborn children, a major response has been to recommend delaying pregnancy in affected regions. And yet many of these same regions are culturally opposed to family planning or lack the infrastructure to support it either through education or supplies. Thus, the Zika epidemic has exposed deep societal inequalities, which differentially affect women in particular, including their rights and ability to control their reproduction. No amount of mosquito eradication will solve these disparities, but the Zika phenomenon has galvanized a watershed of much-needed social services that include support, education, and empowerment for women and their reproductive choices.

As we strive to meet the challenges of Zika and other mosquito-borne diseases, we can’t forget the human element—a vital part of the equation. In today’s global society, we move ourselves and other species around the planet on a regular basis, living cheek by jowl with invasive species. In doing so, we play a significant part in the emergence of infectious diseases. Thus, humans must be part of the solution. The answer lies in taking a hard look at not only how we live and structure our societies, but also how we live with nature; maintaining diversity, from microbes to mosquitoes and beyond, may be more important than we think when it comes to human health and well-being.