This is the ClimateCultures selection of Views from Elsewhere 2018 so far, featuring stories from a range of sources:
Aeon, Aesthetica Magazine, Anthropocene, Artists and Climate Change, The Atlantic, Atlas Obscura,
Carbon Brief, Caught By The River, Centre for Human & Nature, The Conversation, Crap Futures,
The Dark Mountain Project,
eco/art/scot/land, Edge Effects, Ensia, ENTITLE, Environmental Research Web, Eurozine,
The Guardian, Guernica,
Hacker Noon, Humanities for the Environment, Hyperallergic
The Mail Online, MoBox, Musings,
Nature, The New Yorker, The New York Times,
Pacific Standard, Platypus,
the sea cannot be depleted, Science News, Skeptical Science,
For our Views from Elsewhere for 2017 (with around 100 good reads linked to over 35 sources) see here.
NB: These posts appear in the order I discover and read them (most recent at the top), rather than the original publication date.
- As people drive mammals into night, new problems appear-
Brandon Keim writes at Anthropocene (8/8/18) about recent Israeli research that could have implications elsewhere as many mammals become increasingly nocturnal in response to human activity. "There’s a certain poetry to the idea of night as a refuge in a human-dominated world — but ... researchers describe some of the practical and potentially unfortunate implications of this shift, which may render seemingly verdant habitats inhospitable to certain species." The work, led by ecologist Hila Shamoon of Tel Aviv University, monitored the movements of mountain gazelles and their primary predators, golden jackals, as well as Indian crested porcupines, red foxes, and wild boar. "In the protected areas and little-used vineyards, these animals were quite active. As human presence increased, however, the animals’ daytime movements diminished ... Foxes and particularly jackals thrived in this shorter, nocturnal window. Their numbers and presence increased dramatically in vineyards closest to human settlements. This squeezed out the gazelles, who in daytime hide from people and at night must hide from jackals. For them ... 'no low-fear temporal window is left.' Rather than having nowhere to go, they have nowhen to go" as a result of human-induced prey-predator behavioural changes.
- The ghosts of our future climate at Storm King-
At Hyperallergic (29/7/18), Louis Bury offers his well illustrated reflections on a wide-ranging exhibition of climate change art at Storm King art centre in New York. Indicators: Artists on Climate Change, he suggests, "implicitly asks what type of indicator visual art might be with respect to anthropogenic climate change" by analogy with economic indicators. Such measurements are classified as either lagging indicators (which change only after the economy as a whole changes), coincident indicators (changing at approximately the same time as the economy), or leading indicators (which change before the rest of the economy), so each type gives clues to the past, present, or future. From among the 20 or so artists on show, Bury selects examples of art that suggest the same relationships with our changing climate:
"A selection of artworks that point back in time evince a strong sense of historical conscience ... A spirit of defiant resolve animates many of these historically minded works ... The artworks that resemble coincident indicators also emphasize imaginative creation by putting twists on mimetic or documentary techniques. ... While many of the exhibition’s lagging and coincident indicators seek to prick the viewer’s conscience, the works that resemble leading indicators are rarely accusatory or moralistic. The emphasis in such forward-looking works is less on what has been lost to climate change and more on how our species might adapt to, and cope with, the coming changes. The result is a set of works that, though created in the present, speak in a peculiar future perfect tense."
- Defending degrowth at ecomodernism’s home-
Writing for ENTITLE (12/7/18) Sam Bliss shares her experiences of speaking at the latest Annual Breakthrough Dialogue. "I was to participate in a panel called 'Decoupling vs. Degrowth'. My role was the token 'degrowther' making my case to a majority 'decoupler' crowd. In this context, degrowth is the proposal to intentionally shrink the physical size of wealthy economies, whereas decoupling is the hope that growing economies will at last break free from growing resource use and environmental damage. The former renews environmentalism as a subversive political movement. The latter is firmly post-environmentalist, often associated with support for nuclear energy, industrial agriculture, and artificial technologies. With my mentor Giorgos Kallis, we’ve spent three years working together on a critical analysis of this post-environmentalism that emanates from the Breakthrough Institute and their self-styled ecomodernist friends."
It's a really interesting account of the meetings (and non-meeting) of minds located on radically different wavelengths on the 'environmental' spectrum. And worth reading, whatever your wavelength...
"I think I made a bulletproof case for degrowth. I learned lots about geoengineering, carbon capture, agricultural modernization, and other topics from brilliant thought leaders ... Talking with journalists and scientists who had never engaged with degrowth before made the Dialogues worthwhile. I expected to feel like a visiting team player in a hostile professional sports arena, but really it was more like being a foreigner who people are interested in but don’t always know how to interact with."
- Geology’s timekeepers are feuding-
Robinson Meyer reports for The Atlantic (20/718) on the recent decision by the International Commission on Stratigraphy - "the global governing body that formally names geological eras, associating each rock layer with a specific stretch of time" - to divide our current stretch of geological time, the Holocene Epoch, into three new.
"This is particularly noteworthy to the human species, as we have been living in the Holocene for the last 12,000 years. After this announcement, we still live in that epoch, but we also live in the youngest of these new subdivisions: the Meghalayan Age." It's a decision that has caused an unusual amount of controversy and high-temperature exchange in what might as easily be called the Twitterocene - because of the way the new sequence of ages within the Holocene interacts (or doesn't) with that other new age on the block: the Anthropocene. The Anthropocene (the age of humans as a planetary force) has not yet been formally adopted by the ICS, and maybe won't be despite the momentum it has gained in scientific and wider cultural circles. And now the Holococene - the time since the end of the most recent of Earth's many 'ice ages', and which "is everything for humans [and] encompasses all of human history and much of our prehistory: the flourishing of the first cities, the revelation of every major religion, and the invention of the rifle, the rice paddy, and the radio" - has three freshly-minted phases. The most recent of these, the Meghalayan Age, began 4,250 years ago. We are still in this newest of new ages - and will be until and unless the ICS adopts the ultra-new Anthropocene.
A fascinating read on many levels - on the science, on the turf war between different working groups of the ICS, on the wider cultural arguments for what the human influence on the planet means and when it started, and on the practical question of who needs these definitions anyway ... this article is a useful primer on looking for light within the heat.
- Roy Scranton: Some new future will emerge-
As Amy Brady points out in Guernica (10/7/18), ever since The Epic of Gilgamesh, written four thousand years ago, "writers have long faced the apocalypse ... Flash forward a few centuries, and Mary Shelley and H.G. Wells bring us their own visions of the end of the world," and many others since have carried on the tradition. "Each of these writers shares the idea that the end will come quickly, sparked by an event that tumbles the pillars of civilization like dominoes. It takes little to understand why visions of sudden apocalypse - as opposed to a long, drawn-out one - are popular: a quick and dirty end to everything absolves us from having had anything to do with it. If we never saw the apocalypse coming, how could it have been our fault?"
Brady interviews author Roy Scranton, whose latest book, We’re Doomed. Now What? Essays on War and Climate Change, is a "thoughtful and deeply moving collection" discussing two subjects "that aren’t exactly strange bedfellows. As Scranton says ... both engines of colossal destruction emerge from 'the basic structures of our existence.'" In the interview, Scranton suggests "You can only build a new future using the rocks of the past. Some new future will emerge, certainly, but we don’t have a lot of control over how that happens. What we can do is facilitate its emergence in a more peaceful and thoughtful way ... Our way of life is going to be very different in the future than the way it is now, though I don’t know exactly what that means. One of the complicated things about living through the end of the world as we know it is that the end doesn’t come about because of a single event. It’s actually just a day-to-day occurrence that’s going to take a long time. We’ll see transformation and degradation, an increase in violence and insanity, the breakdown of social order in neighborhood by neighborhood, then city by city. We’re watching it happen now.
"But there will be opportunities for joy and for living a meaningful life. It’s just that we won’t find those things by acting in ways we always thought we could. We have to learn to be more flexible, much more adaptable, and much more grounded in the present. That last part may seem like an odd thing to say, but living in the present means facing unpleasant facts, recognizing our fear and sitting with it, and accepting our sorrow and griefs and dealing with them. These aren’t things that we can just push aside in order to get to the next thing on our list. They are who we are."
- Introducing the HfE Observatories blog-
Joni Adamson of the Environmental Humanities Initiative, Arizona State University, kicks off a new series of blog posts from members of the Humanities for the Environment (HfE) network of Observatories (11/7/18), launched five years ago. "The term 'Observatory' was chosen to encourage humanists to think outside the limitations of traditional humanities research protocols, such as the single-authored monograph. New Observatories would work to pilot collaborative, interdisciplinary public-facing projects and publications ... Six “Common Threads” found on the HfE website connect regionally distinct Observatory projects and collaborations. These include 1) recognizing the role that humans have played in transforming Earth’s atmosphere, land surfaces and oceans; 2) re-envisioning concepts of intergenerational justice to promote multispecies flourishing and planetary health; 3) honoring the long history of arts and humanities disciplines in discussions of environmental risks and opportunities; 4) recognizing various ways of knowing, including place-based and indigenous knowledges; 5) tackling complex social and environmental challenges with humanities methodologies and content; and 6) considering diverse environmental literacies and knowledges as key to the broader objectives of Humanities for the Environment initiatives.
- Rewilding the novel-
Gregory Norminton kicks off a series by fellow novelists at the Dark Mountain Project (25/6/18) with this confession: "As an environmentalist and novelist, I have been puzzling for years about how to bring my concerns together. It troubles me that my chosen form appears barely cognisant of our ecological crisis. Yet is it reasonable to expect otherwise? Can a form that evolved alongside Humanism and the Enlightenment, and which primarily concerns itself with the inner lives and motivations of socialised humans, broaden its scope to add, in Richard Smyth’s phrase, ‘the non-human to the anthropocentric’? For decades, environmentalists have been wondering how our rapacious species can live enduringly with the planet that sustains it. Technological ingenuity on its own is not enough: in order to change our behaviour, we must widen the circle of our compassion to include the non-human ... In conservation, one response to this thinking is the concept of ‘rewilding’, whereby humans withdraw from parts of the planet to allow natural processes to play themselves out without disruption from our desires and narratives. Rewilding, as defined for many of us by George Monbiot in Feral (2013), begins with the ability to recognise that we have accustomed ourselves to our ecological impoverishment. We learn to look at our empty uplands and realise that they need not be barren, that only culture and habit (the great deadener) keep them denuded ...
"Yet ‘rewilding the novel’ means more, or should mean more, than adding a few mentions of animals and plants to anthropocentric narratives. It means acknowledging in our fiction where we come from, where we are going, and what we have lost and are losing on the way. It allows for abundance and jubilation but also desolation and loss. We could draw further parallels with the ecological idea of rewilding by allowing our stories freedom from the constrictions of narrative convention, from the enclaves of genre and ideology. The rewilded novel would absorb and reflect the repressed wildness in our natures; it should remind us that we are tellurian – of this Earth – and that what awaits us on a denatured planet is loneliness and grief, however sublimated by technology and the disorders of our politics. It must not be sentimental: the wild contains violence and horror, but also interdependence and a startling capacity for self-renewal."
- What this 19th-century poet knew about the future-
Reporting for JSTOR Daily (4/5/18) on research by anthropologists Richard Irvine and Mina Gorji, Matthew Wills writes that "the Anthropocene requires a new history to explain how humans transform the planet. The work of poet John Clare is a good place to start ... making no distinction between human and natural history."
To Irvine and Gorji, the radical novelty of the Anthropocene "necessarily calls for a re-visioning of the past. How did we get here? Where did the road to the present start? Is there any turning back? In approaching these questions, they call for merging the humanities with economics and biology and think the poet John Clare (1793-1864) is an excellent precedent ... 'These processes cannot be understood on a purely human level; in understanding humans as geological agents, we need to locate anthropogenic activity not only in social terms but as part of a wider system of relations with a physical and biological environment.'
"They note his intuitive sense of time beyond human lifespans ... and argue that Clare’s 'challenges to our dominant sense of value' ... 'may help us to think beyond anthropocentricism and to re-evaluate assumptions of economic progress.' ... "Clare had a fondness for weeds, which are, after all, just plants that aren’t wanted in a particular place. They appear to lack a use value, but that concept is anthropocentric. Irvine and Gorji value these alternatives to anthropomorphism. They conclude, 'from a non-anthropocentric perspective, looking at our actions with the recognition that we are geological agents, we might be startled to learn that we are the weeds.'"
- Explore the sound of islands that never existed-
Continuing the watery theme to round off this month's selection after my time at art.earth's Liquidscapes symposium, I was drawn to Sarah Laskow's account for Atlas Obscura (27/6/18) of composer Andrew Pekler's latest project. Pekler uses synthetic sounds to make music "that builds real-seeming places. With electronic instruments, he creates the sound of wind, waves, bird calls, and insects." His new online, interactive soundscape called Phantom Islands offers "a tour of islands that mapmakers once believed were real, but do not actually exist." In this map of imagined islands each, has its own fictional soundscape.
"When European ships were traveling the world during the Age of Exploration, the men on board would come back with tales of the islands they’d come across, previously unknown to their societies. Usually these reports would be accurate enough, but sometimes this system went awry. Ship captains would conjure up imaginary islands to please their funders; their senses miscalibrated by months at sea, sailors would report seeing land where none existed ... strange relics of a human attempt to better understand the world, with all the flaws that came along with that project." Pekler says: “These nonexistent places are connected with real stories of human avarice, bravery, piety, cruelty, fallibility, and arrogance”.
Take a tour "bubbling with uncanny sounds ... hopping from one island to another, imagining places that never existed."
- Rewilding London’s Rivers-
Kirsten Downer writes for Caught By The River (23/6/18) about efforts to bring London's 'vanished' rivers back to light and back to life. She starts with her own introduction to the river Quaggy, "one of the most engineered rivers in the UK", which rises just outside London, "wiggles its way through the suburbia of Bromley and Greenwich ... joins the Ravensbourne river in Lewisham and finally flows into the Thames at Deptford ... I was standing outside Aldi, waiting for my partner to finish his beer shopping, when a shock of brilliant aquamarine caught my eye at the edge of the carpark. I walked over, and on the other side of a concrete wall I saw a burbling stream. I realised that I just seen my first kingfisher, in the least glamorous location possible."
Kirsten relates a map which shows how "twenty or so mighty rivers, blue marks on the map, converge on London and the Thames and then suddenly vanish. Except of course, these rivers haven’t vanished. They run beneath our feet as ghost rivers, purdahed by planners who wanted the stench and filth that had been thrown into them to disappear. So culverts and roads were built over them and they became part of London’s sewage system. Post war, as London surged in size, planners constrained and corralled yet more rivers into concrete culverts, aiming to get them away from people as quickly as possible. They saw urban rivers as little more than troublesome drains."
But urban rivers "can’t just be dismissed. As well as harbouring our guilty secrets – plastic, wet wipes and fatbergs – they also have the potential to heal and rescue us from our city claustrophobia, if we just give them a little help ... Climate change, with its pattern of prolonged periods of drought, combined with intense periods of rainfall, can turbo-charge our rivers, unleashing their force in dangerous ways. And a natural river with a floodplain, vegetation and water meadows can cope with a sudden increase in water better than a concrete channel ... In some karmic way, the climate change we have created has forced us to finally respect the power of our rivers."
- Write fiction to discover something new in your research-
A great insight from marsupial biologist Amanda Niehaus, who writes in Nature (9/5/18) about her research into northern quolls (Dasyurus hallucatus): "For me, compressing science into academic journals simply isn’t enough. I’m frustrated by the need to reduce my ideas and experiments to publishable pieces while simultaneously ensuring that they are broadly relevant. I believe that the most exciting things happen at the fringe, the overlap, the moment we look at the same question through a different lens altogether. New ideas happen outside our comfort zone.
"In writing quoll biology into my novel and a short story, I discovered that artists and writers seek truth as much as scientists do. They embed facts with experiences to give them context and meaning. And stories deal not only with what is true, but also with what is possible. Through fiction, I may discover something about sex and death that my research did not tell me. Where to start? Take a workshop in creative writing, curate an online gallery of inspiring images or invite writers to your next symposium. Stories are there in every book, movie and conversation — so notice them, and harness their energy to share your work."
- The password-
More excellent water-writing in this beautifully written and illustrated essay, this time from Elizabeth Rush at Terrain (7/6/18), where she recalls her exploration of the wetlands of Rhode Island, which is also an exploration of language and the value of naming. "A month or two before I witnessed my first dead tupelo, and right before I packed up my apartment in Brooklyn and moved north, I found a scrap of language in an essay on Alzheimer’s and stuck it to my computer monitor, thinking it might serve some future purpose. It read, 'Sometimes a key arrives before the lock.' Which I understood as a reminder to pay attention to my surroundings. That hidden in plain sight I might discover the key I do not yet know I need, but that will help me cross an important threshold somewhere down the line. When I see that stand of tupelos I instinctually lodge their name in my mind, storing it for a future I do not yet understand ...I’ll be the first to admit that before I started coming to Jacob’s Point I couldn’t tell the difference between black tupelo and black locust, between needlerush and cordgrass. I would learn their names only after I realized the ways in which their letters on my lips might point toward (or away from) incredible loss. Then I became fascinated. Because unlike Descartes, I believe that language can lessen the distance between humans and the world of which we are a part; I believe that it can foster interspecies intimacy and, as a result, care. If, as Robin Wall Kimmerer suggests in her essay on the power of identifying all living beings with personal pronouns, 'naming is the beginning of justice,' then saying tupelo takes me one step closer to recognizing these trees as kin and endowing their flesh with the same inalienable rights we humans hold."
Her essay -- an extract from her new book, Rising: Dispatches from the New American Shore -- charts the threat to coastal wetlands as accelerating sea level rise shifts the processes that shape them. "I have written about communities affected by sea level rise. But my life has seemed so removed, so buffered from those events. At Jacob’s Point I am finally glimpsing the hem of the specter’s dressing gown. The tupelos, the dead tupelos that line the edge of this disappearing marshland, are my Delphi, my portal, my proof, the stone I pick up and drop in my pocket to remember. I see them and know that the erosion of species, of land, and, if we are not careful, of the very words we use to name the plants and animals that are disappearing is not a political lever or a fever dream. I see them and remember that those who live on the margins of our society are the most vulnerable, and that the story of species vanishing is repeating itself in nearly every borderland."
- Slow flow: a layered mapping-
One of the (many) highlights of my three days at the recent Liquidscapes conference in Dartington was the workshop offered by Iain Biggs and Luci Gorell Barnes: 'Slow flow: a layered mapping.' In the introductory talk -- which he has posted in full at Iain Biggs educator / artist / researcher (23/6/18) -- Iain says "Herman Hesse writes in Siddhartha that: 'the river taught him how to listen – how to listen with a quiet heart and a waiting soul …'. He’s right, listening to flowing water can remind us to listen to the world. Listen, perhaps, to a poet, a political geographer and a Greek philosopher – who tell us that: 'where we live in the world is never one place …', that '… space' is 'a simultaneity of stories-so-far', and that 'everything changes and nothing stands still'. What these three say can be unsettling, of course. It’s easier to lose oneself in the hypnotic flow, the running, restless energy of water that chimes with our assumptions about needing to ‘keep busy’, ‘move on’, ‘go somewhere’, all the assumptions that drive our increasingly frantic lives..." And Iain questions the tendency to focus on faster-flowing bodies of water -- or rather, he expands our awareness to take in bogs and mires and other slower flows.
"I think it’s connected to their being sedentary places, to the specific reveries they encourage. Reveries fed by quiet, slow, downward-oriented processes that, in blanket bog, result in the patient accumulation of layer upon layer of peat that’s central to carbon capture. This slow layering is a flow of a kind, but one that takes place in slow motion, gradually preserving a unique and irreplaceable archive of plant and animal remains. It archives time as a deposit, allowing us to trace the changing historical patterns of vegetation, climate, and land use. Walking in bogs, mires and mosses also invites patient attention to small-scale, undramatic, shifts of scale and emphasis, prompts us to notice what might otherwise be overlooked. For the most part, these are worlds of small, gradual, unspectacular happenings and low-key changes that echo the regular, often overlooked, sedimentations of our daily life; the mundane, taken-for-granted silt in which more dramatic events are embedded like bog oak in peat."
And so indeed, our mapping workshop encouraged us to attend to "the ‘muted and marginal’ within ourselves. ... Our maps will value what is subtle and slight, because the experiences we have are often not stories as such, but more like little floating particles, memory fragments of people, events and places, lodged in our memories like photographic slides. We will pay particular attention to our relationship with water in these landscapes, be they streams, ponds, bogs, oceans or puddles, and we will use water imagery to focus on the ‘slow flow’ of sedimentationin our lives, and how and what ‘deposits’ we have laid down over time."
- Welcome to the quiet zone-
Following on from a podcast about the eco soundscape, a BBC Radio 4 series (11-15/8/18) about the strange area of the USA that is "The National Radio Quiet Zone - 13,000 square miles of radio silence, just a few hundred miles from Washington DC. No Wi-Fi; no cell phones; no radio signals. Designated a radio wave free area in the 1950s, the area is home to two giant listening stations. One listens to deep space, as far back as milliseconds after the Big Bang - the Green Bank National Observatory; the other is Naval Communications, the NSA listening ear. Taller than the Statue of Liberty, the Green Bank Telescope is the world's largest moving land object. It has the sensitivity, says Mike Holstine, 'equivalent to a billionth of a billionth of a millionth of a watt... the energy given off by a single snowflake hitting the ground. Anything man-made would overwhelm that signal.' Hence the legal requirement, for a radio frequency free zone."
Five 15 minute episodes, first broadcast in 2015, all available on the BBC website and Radio iPlayer.
- Soundscape ecology with Bernie Krause-
It's sometimes better to listen in than just read on, and occasionally Views from Elsewhere features a podcast or radio feature. Here is a good one, and one that focuses on listening to the soundscape that is integral to the natural and cultural environment. For the Guardian science podcast (15/6/18), Ian Sample talks with soundscape ecologist Bernie Krauss. "For half a century, Bernie has travelled the world, recording the noise of nature. His collection is now one of the oldest we have and as a result, it is a hugely valuable tool in documenting how we’ve changed our planet. For example, when Bernie returned to some sites, the environment has changed so dramatically, it is now silent." And there is a link to an excellent earlier Guardian piece on Krauss' work, from 2o12, which examines that silencing of that natural world by human activity. The podcast includes many audio clips from Krauss' personal archive of soundscape recordings.
Thanks to ClimateCultures Member James Murray-White for pointing out this episode.
- How does plastic pollution affect marine life and how can we reduce it?-
Although blogs on commercial sites aren't my usual reading material, here's a quick and no-nonsense guide to marine plastics pollution from Anna Kurcirkova at MoBox (6/6/18). A timely reminder that, although "it’s hard to imagine life without plastic products [and] Everywhere you look, plastic is rearing its ugly head ... there are ways to combat this, though. Slow down, take a breath, and consider the ways you can fight plastic pollution in the ocean. Take time combing your local beach to pick up litter that may have made its home in the sand, get involved with an organization that’s dedicated to fighting the battles of water pollution, and make tiny changes in your daily routine (like cutting out plastic completely) in order to be the difference the oceans need."
- What are average global temperature targets hiding?-
Writing for Anthropocene Magazine (12/6/18), Sarah DeWeerdt picks apart what 'average' temperature rises at a global level mean for local impacts -- and what's implied by targets such as the Paris Agreement aim "to limit global warming to 1.5 °C above pre-industrial levels". "By 'warming,' scientists and policy makers mean an increase in global average, or mean, temperature. But this average hides a lot of complexity, and scientific papers – let alone broader climate change discussions – rarely spell that out."
In reality - and in the models that climate scientists use to project possible future changes - "the effects of a given average temperature increase depend on the pathway we take to get there, as well as how climate averages and extremes change in different regions." For example, in models that indicate a global average temperature of just 1.5 °C, the coldest nights in the Arctic are likely to be 7 °C warmer, and could be 8 °C warmer than pre-industrial temperatures. "So, even if we meet the Paris Agreement goal, there could be much more extreme impacts for some people and regions. How we get to 1.5 °C – and how fast – also matters ...Many climate models that predict this level of warming in the year 2100 include a substantial probability of “overshoot” – that is, global average temperature will breach the 1.5 °C threshold sometime this century, before falling below it again by century’s end ... Overshooting the 1.5 °C goal even temporarily could lead to permanent loss of some species or ecosystems. It would essentially mean faster warming – less time for species to move to areas that are now suitable for them, and less time for people to build adaptation infrastructure ... Finally, computer climate models are probabilistic. So a 1.5 °C scenario is actually one in which global average temperature in 2100 has, say, a 66% probability of remaining below this threshold. In other words, even if we hew to the emissions limits specified in a '1.5 °C' model from this day forward, there’s still a one-in-three chance that warming will be more extreme."
- Web of possibility-
In a short piece for Center for Human & Nature blog (29/5/18), illustrated with her own photographs, naturalist and writer Kelly Brenner reveals how a diagnosis of autism at 39 has helped her reflect on her fascination with nature and the career she has made, as well as the effects of being nature for her wellbeing. "Through my four decades of life undiagnosed, I had found ways to cope with an autistic life. ... I often feel the need to go for a walk in the forest, look for dragonflies in the wetlands, or go explore the shoreline at low tide. It’s a familiar tug. Sometimes when that claustrophobic feeling begins to creep in, I realize I haven’t been on a good walk for a couple days. Over the last few years I’d begun to recognize just how important and essential time spent out in nature is for me ...
"When I’m outside — listening to birds, a river running, wind blowing through trees, or especially the sound of rain — I feel calm. I’ve sought and found some of the landscapes in the city that either drown out or obscure city noises. When I visit the shoreline, the sound of the water is soothing and often masks the general noise of traffic and other racket. The inner areas of forested parks are often quiet because trees filter out a lot of sound, and fewer people venture deep into the woods ... I’m also learning that people on the spectrum are often good at understanding and recognizing patterns and can excel at processing information visually — both of which are excellent traits for a naturalist, which is what I am. I don’t know if these traits led me to a lifelong fascination with nature, or if I excelled at being a naturalist because of these traits, but it’s worked out well for me."
- Andreas Weber on ‘Matter and Desire’-
A wide-ranging interview by Rhonda Fabian at Kosmos (8/5/18) with biologist Andreas Weber, who considers poetry as "the forgotten side of biology." Weber addresses the erosion of an intimate link between humans and other species as "the predicament of our civilization ... I am convinced that every living being is able to understand on a very basic level what it means to be alive and that’s being alive as a sentient and feeling body. We need to look at the history of our idea of making a better world, of dominating that which is not human in order to grant humans or humanness a better place."
Fabian suggests that Weber's book, Matter and Desire: An Erotic Ecology, shows of "how nature speaks to us in every moment in a language both familiar and forgotten", and Weber picks up the theme: "It’s a language which ... we are able to speak from the beginning because we are living bodies as all the other beings are living bodies and at the same time ... I’d say we are taught that other living beings are machines or computers at best or dead matter or mechanisms and normally we don’t really believe ourselves when our senses and our sensitive skin and our desire for a way to get into contact with others tell us that there is a communication happening.
"I really tried to show that everything visible and physical and palpable and graspable has not only an outside but also and always has a meaningful inside and through the world isn’t just a place where stuff is happening but the world is always also an interior and a stage for meaningfulness."
- A history of the Anthropocene in objects-
In what could be a companion to our own A History of the Anthropocene in 50 Objects, this piece by Gregg Mitman, Marco Armiero and Robert Emmett for Edge Effects (22/5/18) reminds us of a 2014 event at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. "Artists and anthropologists, historians and geographers, literary scholars and biologists from around the world gathered in the playful, performative space of an 'Anthropocene Slam' to shape a cabinet of curiosities for this new age of humans ... What objects should it house? Which issues should it speak to? What emotions might it evoke? And what range of meanings and moral tales might it contain? ... To collect objects of the Anthropocene is to register the diverse emotional responses — loss, grief, hubris, humility, anger, and pain, among others — evoked in a climate of change and uncertainty."
A new book, Future Remains: A Cabinet of Curiosities for the Anthropocene, combines photographs and essays, "driven by a sense of intrigue and curiosity, inviting the viewer to imagine and explore the past, present, and potentially future meanings of these fossils." And here at ClimateCultures our own growing collection of objects offers further testimony to the emotional power of both objects and the trajectories they offer through the Age of Human.
- For a terrestrial politics-
Another interesting interview -- this one from a couple of months ago, with philosopher / anthroplogist / sociologist Bruno Latour by Camille Riquier for Eurozine (6/2/18). Latour takes another well-aimed swipe at modernity with his analysis of nation states' failure to address climate change. "Since the end of the Second World War, there has been a tragic separation between the social question ... and external nature. Political ecologists have fallen into the trap set up by the modern constitution, written in stops and starts throughout the eighteenth century, a constitution that distinguished the politics of humans from the politics of nature. For thirty years now, I have been arguing that non-human beings are not part of a nature that is exterior to society; that they too form part of the collective ...
"In November 2017, Le Monde ran a headline saying, ‘Tomorrow will be too late’, in a 60-point typeface – the size that would be used if the headline were ‘North Korea bombs Washington’. And yet, this sort of headline has no effect: the very next day they were talking about something else. It is enough to drive you crazy. On the one hand, a threat, of the greatest possible gravity, trumpeted by fifteen thousand research scientists; on the other, a complete lack of action. I am becoming more and more interested in the psycho-social aspect of this indifference. We are bombarded with news, but we do not have the emotional, aesthetic or mental equipment to deal with it. That is the main reason for the return to a mythical definition of the nation. When it comes down to it, this attitude is understandable: if we are going to have to experience a catastrophe, we might as well stay in the gated community we are familiar with, or keep ourselves safe behind a wall. Large and small adopt the same strategy: the wealthy flee to their offshore havens, the common people head for the nation-state of yesteryear ...
"It is not a matter of deciding whether you are on the Left or not, but whether you are terrestrial or not: ‘Have you thought about the material nature of a soil upon which nine or ten billion of us must live?’ It is in this context that the question of migration intersects with the question of climate. People who do not think that the question of climate is important, or who deny that question’s existence, can still see the question of migration perfectly clearly. It is one that is decisive in every country, election after election, and it is driving people back to focusing on national frontiers at precisely the moment when these are least suited to dealing with either the question of climate or of refugees."
- Crowdsourcing the songs of sand-
In a fascinating interview by Jennifer Gersten at Guernica (7/5/18), artist Lotte Geeven reveals the inspiration and process behind her latest work -- bringing the world's 'singing sands' to our attention. Gersten explains that "Singing sand, a rare variety of sand that emits a thunderous hum as it slides down certain dunes, is a phenomenon exclusive to the planet’s nooks and crannies: spots in Nevada’s Mojave Desert, Chile’s Copiapo, and Mongolia’s Gobi Desert, among others. For The Sand Machine, Geeven, in collaboration with two French acousticians, will assemble twelve machines to amplify the sounds of twelve types of singing sand, allowing these typically distant musics to resound in public for the first time, with an exhibition planned for the Hague."
Accompanied here by audio samples of her singing sands, Geeven says: "We live in a systematical world where everything is explained and organized. Beneath this man-made system, there are wild, chaotic forces of nature that choreograph our behavior. While we are inclined to control and explain these forces, I try to see how we can relate to them in a different manner. I find that through art, literature, or poetry we get a deeper, non-intellectual understanding of this unstable world and our place in it ... I have always been fascinated by how a natural sound is able to transport us to an atmospheric mental space disconnected from logic or reason. Whenever such a sound has a debatable or mysterious origin, like those sounds produced by the singing sand, the vivid friction between reason and fiction comes into play. The sounds emitted by the deserts are perfect examples of something that can trigger the process of storymaking. It is so strange and impressive that everywhere around the world, many stories arise from sand or a hole in the earth; trying to give meaning to the unknown. How we attribute personal and cultural meaning to these natural happenings speaks to the way we relate to the abstract unknown."
- Coming to terms with a life without water-
Rosa Lyster, writing in The New Yorker (3/5/18), picks up on the theme of Oliver Morton's latest book, Being Ecological, which has a direct resonance with her own experiences in the prolonged South African drought. When a friend of hers got married in the family garden, "many of the guests were British, and they could not stop remarking on the fineness of the weather. It was a startling reminder that some people still relish hot days with no possibility of rain, that not everyone looks upon February in the Western Cape as something to be endured." But the bride's stepfather had had persistent dreams about the watering of the garden for the event, and Lyster felt "the cold thread of worry that vined its way up the back of my neck, spread out along my collarbones, and settled there. I don’t know why it dawned on me then that the water crisis wasn’t a temporary problem, or that 'crisis' is probably the wrong word for something that is never going away. Perhaps it was the grim specificity of the stepfather’s dream, which contrasted with the whirling happiness of the day. Perhaps it was the slightly too on-the-nose reference to W. H. Auden’s Musée des Beaux Arts that I was only just able to prevent myself from making ('how everything turns away / Quite leisurely from the disaster'). I don’t know why I felt it then, and, a year later, I still don’t know how to describe it. Something like: ... We’re all going to have to be scared about this, every day, forever."
As Lyster points out, Morton's Being Ecological "argues that humans must find 'a way of feeling ourselves around the age we live in, which is one of mass extinction caused by global warming.' It is an arrestingly horrible requirement to have to meet. I don’t want to think about the implications of the latest U.N. World Water Development Report, which concludes that, by 2050, around three billion people could be living in 'severely water-scarce areas. I want to avert my gaze at the cinema when the trailer for An Inconvenient Sequel comes on."
- Recovering a narrative of place - stories in the time of climate change-
In its 'Friday essay' series, The Conversation (27/4/18) republishes this powerfully evocative essay by Tony Birch (originally published in First Things First, the 60th edition of Griffith Review). Birch recalls a powerful incident from his 1970s childhood, when a friend in his crowded Melbourne inner suburb took him on a long bike ride to his 'secret location' beyond the city. It was a billabong -- a lake cut off from a meandering river; in this case, a much polluted and violated river -- and this encounter was "the first time in the life of an Aboriginal 'slum kid' that country had spoken to me." Although it was a place he wanted to call 'beautiful' he found he had little vocabulary to express this. "After all, at the time, we thought of ourselves the budding kings of a concrete jungle, and taking aside the romance of a life of thuggery, we lived in a world where violence was rarely threatened but often practiced. If I forgot about the billabong for a time, I now believe that amnesia came from having been denied the language to speak of it, to know it."
Birch uses this experience to draw out his later encounters with children and adults in other parts of Australia and around the world, where he works to draw out often marginalised people's connections with the natural world. As part of a project to engage school students with climate change, he asked them to respond through their own creativity, after an introduction to the basic science. "What I discovered in speaking to students was that while they were in no way 'anti-science', headline-grabbing climate change scepticism had impacted on their faith in their own ability to understand science, highlighting what I’ve always believed to be the motivation of sceptics: the undermining of our own confidence to think and grasp ideas. It also took me little time to realise that, in general, the students felt badly let down by some adults: politicians, sections of the media and, to an extent, their own parents, who they felt had neglected an issue that would soon impact negatively on their adult lives."
It was only when he remembered his childhood encounter, walking along the river again, that he came up with his way forward. "I began that morning’s class with a simple prompt: 'Tell me about your river.'" And what he uncovers in our love of place is both a way to break the disengagement of people with the ideas and experiences of climate change and to address the historical and ongoing project of colonialism that fuels climate change and the wider separation of peoples and of 'human' from 'nature'.
- The sea cannot be depleted-
My reading this month has brought some great listening -- and I was captivated by this spoken word piece from The sea cannot be depleted. Wallace Heim's project on the military exploitation of the Solway Firth tells us that its tides "are among the most turbulent around this island, a fast sweep from the Irish Sea into the soft sands of the rivers Esk, Eden and Nith. A line across the blank blue of a map etches the division between Scotland and England" -- and then that "the UK Ministry of Defence fired at least 30 tonnes of artillery shells containing Depleted Uranium into the Solway Firth, to test those munitions on behalf of an unnamed ‘Customer’. The firings began in the 1980’s from the Kirkcudbright Training Range in Dumfries and Galloway, and on land at Eskmeals in Cumbria. The date of the latest confirmed firings is not certain, possibly 2011 or 2013, and the license to test fire may be continuing beyond that date. The MOD have justified this illegal dumping of radioactive waste into the sea as being ‘placements’."
Heim's project "sees the firings as episodes in the interlocked mesh of relations between the military, the nuclear industries, the arms corporations, capital, colonialism and political desires for international status. Uranium makes the situation timeless and without location." The website includes the project's research journal and a performance of the final audio piece, which features the thoughts of a man looking at the estuary from Scotland, a woman watching from its English shore -- and a diver within the watery body of the water itself. These short passages illuminate their thoughts:
The sea never sleeps. Why should I.
Why should I? Because, my fleshy mammal body craves it. Take away my dissolution into dreams, and I dry up. I lose my elements.
But tonight, I just can’t fall into it. These sleepless hours have no numbers.
Get out. Get the dark around you. Imagine it.
The monument is already in the soft, salty cells of our own human bodies.
The sea cannot be depleted. But we can.
What do we do while this place changes us?
What is it that we just can’t learn?
Leave these thoughts to that endless blue.
I need to touch an animal. I need to feel its breath on my hand.
I want to know this sea like the haaf-netters do, the men who fish with their bodies, standing in the waters with their nets, reading the surface for what’s coming. The slightest change and they know what’s moving beneath, how the sands are shifting. Their animal bodies know how to keep them safe.
How do you keep safe?
The Military devised tests to prove these firings were safe for humans. They measured sea weed and crabs and grit and urine.
What they forgot was the sea.
They forgot the turbulence, the planetary forces of gravity pulling oceans across a chiselled bed. They forgot the curiosity of the tender animal, too small for any net. They forgot that some humans are pregnant women.
- There are things more interesting than people-
When Kevin Berger interviews novelist Richard Powers for Literary Hub (23/4/18) -- exploring the inspiration behind his new novel, The Overstory -- he asks "after 11 novels, ... why trees? 'I wanted to bring in the plants,' Powers says. 'Those previous 11 books were very much human-centric books. They were about human exclusivity and human independence.' ... Powers wants The Overstory to immerse readers in the world of trees and pierce them with injustice as timber companies bulldoze them. He wants to show that fiction can be about a lot more than omnipresent bipeds with big brains.
"The challenge Powers set for himself in writing The Overstory, he says, is nothing less than what now faces humanity. Treating plants and trees solely as materials to sate our appetites doesn’t fare well for humans in the long run. It also diminishes us in the short one. 'A huge part of human anxiety is fomented by what psychologists call ‘species loneliness,’ the sense we’re here by ourselves, and there can be no purposeful act except to gratify ourselves,' he says. 'We have to un-blind ourselves to human exceptionalism. That’s the real challenge. Unless forest-health is our health, we’re never going to get beyond appetite as a motivator in the world. The exciting challenge is how to make people plant-conscious, make them realize happiness depends on understanding and reintegrating into this astonishingly complicated and robust way of being that we have exiled ourselves from.'
"That’s an incredible challenge, I say. How do you even begin? 'Start looking,' Powers says."
- Back to the wild!-
Isabella Tree writes in this excellent piece for the Mail Online (20/4/18) about her and her husband's experiences of rewilding the Knepp Estate in Sussex. In passages adapted from her new book, Wilding: the return of nature to a British farm, she provides an exhaustive and inspiring list of the wildlife that has returned to their 3,500 acres — "Cuckoos, spotted flycatchers, fieldfares, hobbies, woodlarks, skylarks, lapwings, house sparrows, lesser spotted woodpeckers, yellowhammers, woodcock, red kites, sparrowhawks, peregrine falcons, all five types of British owl, the first ravens at Knepp in the past 100 years — the list goes on and on. The speed at which all these species — and many more — have appeared has astonished observers, particularly as our intensively farmed land was, biologically speaking, in dire condition in 2001, at the start of the project.
"The key to Knepp’s extraordinary success? It’s about surrendering all preconceptions, and simply observing what happens. By contrast, conventional conservation tends to be about targets and control, and often involves micro-managing a habitat for the perceived benefit of several chosen species."
- Warm Data - contextual research and new forms of information-
"Information can come in many forms, depending on what is being studied," Nora Bateson reminds us at Hacker Noon, in a post from last year (28/5/17). "There is a need now for a way to gather and impart relational information when what we need to study is relational in nature. Warm Data is a category of information to develop in tandem to existing forms of data. This kind of information is a slippery mess of variables, changes, and ambiguities. It does not sit nicely in graphs or models, and it takes longer to produce. Since Warm Data describes relational interdependencies it must also include the necessary contradictions, binds (double-binds and more), and inconsistencies that occur in interrelational processes over time. Warm Data is the delivery of these multiple descriptions in active comparison, usually in a form that permits and even encourages the subjectivity of the observer within which it is possible to make meta connections."
Drawing and building on the work of her late father, Gregory Bateson, Nora emphasises the need to bring "not only context, but multiple contexts into the inquiry process" - a need more urgent than ever when, today "it is nearly impossible to get through a day without contributing to the destruction of our world. By lunchtime most people have participated in: further disruption to the ecology, an increase in the wealth gap, the demise of social justice, and the vengeful division between cultures ... Yet these harmful practices have been approved by the institutional authorities of science and society. How has it come to this? And how can new patterns of interaction in our societies be encouraged to emerge? Our social deference to authorized institutions in the interest of collective safety has evolved over centuries. But that safety has been contaminated, along with our trust in the institutions that are supposed to provide truth and justice. How can science evolve to contribute to greater trustworthiness of our socio-economic institutions? How can sense be made of this tangle?"
- Helen Mayer Harrison (1927-2018)-
Writing at eco/art/scot/land (3/4/18), Anne Douglas and ClimateCultures Member Chris Fremantle pay tribute to the artist Helen Mayer Harrison who died recently. With Newton Harrison, Helen produced Greenhouse Britain: Losing Ground, Gaining Wisdom. In his email to ClimateCultures, Chris commented that "their commitment to collaborative work and to do only work that benefited the ecosystem perhaps obscures Helen's role as a key artist and inspiration for generations of artists who have turned to creating work in relation to the lifeweb." With this tribute at eco/art/scot/land you can also watch a short video in which Helen talks about empathy, and how with it "the world becomes a different place."
"It was through Greenhouse Britain that they first talked about the ‘form determinant’ which later became the ‘force majeure’: “We suggest that the existing plans for greenhouse emissions control will be insufficient to keep temperature rise at 2° or less. In this context, the rising ocean becomes a form determinant. By “form determinant” we mean the ocean will determine much of the new form, that culture, industry and many other elements of civilization may need to take.” (Greenhouse Britain, 2007)
"We heard Helen read from the end of their magnum opus, Lagoon Cycle, many times, in meetings and at events and performances. She read,
And the waters will rise slowly
at the boundary
at the edge
redrawing that boundary
moment by moment
all at once
It is a graceful drawing and redrawing
this response to the millennia of the making of fire
And in this new beginning
this continuously rebeginning
will you feed me when my lands can no longer produce
and will I house you when your lands are covered with water
so that together
we can withdraw
as the waters rise
(Lagoon Cycle, 1984)"
- A new mourning: Remembrance Day for Lost Species-
For Undark (10/4/18) P K Read offers a moving account of a Brighton ceremony for Remembrance Day for Lost Species, an event marking the extinction threats to pollinators which turns personal for her. "One thing I’ve learned is that real spectacle starts where tamed emotion ends. At the pollinator procession, people aired their grievances, and all of the complaints began with anger. Isn’t anger at an original insult, at a profound loss, the very cornerstone of grief? That might be why, in spite of being there as an observer, I heard my own voice rising with those around the sunflower in Brighton, lamenting a recent loss of my own: an old cherry grove lost to suburban development where I live in rural France, and the numerous birds’ nests in the unfinished house walls that had been smashed one day in early spring. There was a murmur of sad disgust as I finished my story, a moment of shared silence while I pictured the grove in its former glory, rich with birdsong, thick with bees, heavy with summer cherries."
"Grieving is never going to get easier," she reminds us, "but it can be shaped. It’s no surprise that the RDLS ceremony was a loose wobble of lament, humor, and ashes. It’s a new approach to a new phenomenon. Of course we should all be doing what we can to prevent habitat loss, to prevent extinction where we can, in whatever way we can. The extinction wave right now, unchecked by immediate human action on a vast scale, will affect and afflict everyone in unpredictable ways. Pretend it’s not happening or acknowledge that it is, the wave is already crashing, and the horizons are changing. It’s time to figure out what kind of ritual raft will keep us afloat."
- Time reconstrained-
Writing at the Crap Futures blog (19/3/18), James Auger considers how time is implicated in our (mis)understanding of our energy choices and their consequences. The ideas underpinning their current design exhibition in Barcelona - indicating "a shift away from quick, thoughtless consumption of ancient resources, towards visible, tangible, real-time consumption" - make for interesting reading, especially alongside the piece below by Lara Trang, on Curating the Anthropocene.
"A piece of coal provides roughly eight kilowatt hours of energy per kilogram, which in one sense is extremely efficient. But the coal takes hundreds of millions of years to form. This almost unimaginable quantity of time is consumed with the flick of a switch, or at the press of a button - all dissipated, all devoured in an instant, to light a room or power a computer. When time is factored in, therefore, fossil fuels actually provide surprisingly low efficiency, low yield in terms of a time-energy ratio. A gravity battery, while seemingly of negligible energy storage value compared to fossil fuels, becomes much more powerful when time is factored into the equation." Before rethinking energy on such timescales is "dismissed on grounds of impracticality," he continues, "it is worth noting that our everyday relationship with energy is also a dream, an illusion of through-the-wall magic. It is unsustainable, based on a fantasy of unlimited supply, when in fact it has long been operating on a system of sleight of hand and perpetual deferral ... Even the generic and ubiquitous electrical sockets in our homes are anything but harmless. The apparent banality of the plug and socket has masked a century of unprecedented environmental destruction. By hiding energy, we have made it seem free of both limitations and consequences. A temporal convenience such as a hot bath or a flash of light releases potential (stored) energy irreversibly. Buttons, switches and plugs conceal enormous infrastructures and exploitation of existing resources on a truly sublime scale."
- Curating the Anthropocene: fearsome or romantic?-
In a very brief post at the University of Toronto's Musings museums studies blog (23/3/18), Lana Tran describes the concept of the Anthropocene as a "curiously circular thing – an age of human influence, conceived and ruminated by humans themselves ... From artistic representations to academic conference themes, the Anthropocene is becoming a term for people of varied fields in academia and beyond to circle around." And, observing that museums are increasingly "addressing the topic from a huge array of perspectives," she asks if there are correct and incorrect ways to curate the Anthropocene?
"In actuality, teasing apart the issues that confound the Anthropocene concept – such as anthropocentrism, capitalism, colonialism…(the list goes on) – is not a task easily accomplished in a series of displays alone. Indeed, the Anthropocene concept is a conspicuous platform from which museums are challenged to communicate with the utmost nuance." And, appropriately, Tran curates a short reading list, with links, for the reader to explore.
- When you give a tree an email address-
This is an old one but it only just came my way, via Twitter (in a fortnight that's been full of stories of Sheffield Council's contractors felling so many street trees in the face of large scale public protests). It's from The Atlantic (10/7/15), where Adrienne LaFrance reports that in Melbourne, Australia, "officials assigned the trees ID numbers and email addresses in 2013 as part of a program designed to make it easier for citizens to report problems like dangerous branches. The 'unintended but positive consequence,' as the chair of Melbourne’s Environment Portfolio, Councillor Arron Wood, put it to me in an email, was that people did more than just report issues. They also wrote directly to the trees -- everything from banal greetings and questions about current events to love letters and existential dilemmas.
To: Algerian Oak, Tree ID 1032705
2 February 2015
Dear Algerian oak,
Thank you for giving us oxygen. Thank you for being so pretty.
I don’t know where I’d be without you to extract my carbon dioxide. (I would probably be in heaven) Stay strong, stand tall amongst the crowd.
You are the gift that keeps on giving.
We were going to speak about wildlife but don't have enough time and have other priorities unfortunately.
Hopefully one day our environment will be our priority.
"Some of the messages have come from outside of Melbourne -- including this message, written from the perspective of a tree in the United States:
To: Oak, Tree ID 1070546
11 February 2015
Just sayin how do.
My name is Quercus Alba. Y’all can call me Al. I’m about 350 years old and live on a small farm in N.E. Mississippi, USA. I’m about 80 feet tall, with a trunk girth of about 16 feet. I don't travel much (actually haven’t moved since I was an acorn). I just stand around and provide a perch for local birds and squirrels.
Have good day,
And La France says some of the human correspondents have even received replies, as in this exchange between a person curious about biology and a willow leaf peppermint:
To: Willow Leaf Peppermint, Tree ID 1357982
29 January 2015
Hello Mr Willow Leaf Peppermint, or should I say Mrs Willow Leaf Peppermint?
Do trees have genders?
I hope you've had some nice sun today.
30 January 2015
I am not a Mr or a Mrs, as I have what's called perfect flowers that include both genders in my flower structure, the term for this is Monoicous. Some trees species have only male or female flowers on individual plants and therefore do have genders, the term for this is Dioecious. Some other trees have male flowers and female flowers on the same tree. It is all very confusing and quite amazing how diverse and complex trees can be.
Mr and Mrs Willow Leaf Peppermint (same Tree)
Maybe Sheffield Council just missed the memo from the trees?...
- Extending the glide: an interview with Jim Bendell-
For The Dark Mountain Project (19/3/18), Dougal Hind speaks with Jim Bendell, Professor of Sustainability Leadership at the University of Cumbria. Bendell has been developing an agenda he calls Deep Adaptation and, in a fascinating interview, he describes how this came about through his inaugural professorial talk in 2014 "at a big literary festival in Cumbria. I’d already become aware of some of the latest science on climate change, so I decided to frame sustainability as an adventure – to say that we have to let go of our incremental, non-ambitious, conformist approaches. I gave a speech about that, because it was a frame that could be palatable to my colleagues, my employer, my academia and my audience. But I was coming down with the flu during the speech. And for the week after, I was in bed ill. There’s something emotional about a conclusion – that’s what you do in an inaugural lecture, you try and synthesise twenty years of your work, and by summarising, you’re also concluding it. So I spent that week in bed, with a fever, not doing much apart from reading scientific papers and watching traumatising videos from the Arctic. And I actually went into despair. It took years before I became more deliberate and public about this, and in a way it’s taken me until now to realise that I’ve been going through a professional catharsis which goes back to March 2014.
"Looking back over the last few years, I didn’t really know what to do about this realisation that we can’t fix climate change, that so much of the impact for our civilisation is already locked in. I didn’t know how to work on that. And I realised that one of the reasons was the lack of a framework to get your head around all this. So I thought it might be useful to come up with a map for people who are climate experts, policymakers, researchers about what this might mean. A map that would sound approachable, but would actually be the thin end of a wedge, in terms of where it would take them ... I called it Deep Adaptation. I introduced the three ‘R’s: Resilience, Relinquishment and Restoration... So Resilience is ‘how do we keep what we really want to keep?’, Relinquishment is ‘what do we need to let go of?’ and Restoration is ‘what can we bring back to help us through this?’"
- The right way to remember Rachel Carson-
Writing in The New Yorker (26/3/18 issue), Jill Lepore regrets that so much of Rachel Carson's earlier writing on the sea has been eclipsed by her last, and classic, work -- 1962's Silent Spring. She sees how this has come about though: “'Silent Spring,' a landlubber, is no slouch of a book: it launched the environmental movement; provoked the passage of the Clean Air Act (1963), the Wilderness Act (1964), the National Environmental Policy Act (1969), the Clean Water Act and the Endangered Species Act (both 1972); and led to the establishment of the Environmental Protection Agency, in 1970. The number of books that have done as much good in the world can be counted on the arms of a starfish. Still, all of Carson’s other books and nearly all of her essays concerned the sea. That Carson would be remembered for a book about the danger of back-yard pesticides like DDT would have surprised her in her younger years, when she was a marine biologist at the U.S. Bureau of Fisheries, writing memos about shad and pondering the inquiring snouts of whales, having specialized, during graduate school, in the American eel." In fact. it's perhaps surprising that Carson's career - as a writer and scientist - should be founded in a passion for the sea, when Lepore notes that "She herself could not swim. She disliked boats. In all her childhood, she never so much as smelled the ocean." But, as a shild "she tried to picture it: 'I used to imagine what it would look like, and what the surf sounded like.' All creatures are made of the sea, as Carson liked to point out; “'the great mother of life,' she called it. Even land mammals, with our lime-hardened skeletons and our salty blood, begin as fetuses that swim in the ocean of every womb." Carson's story is a remarkable one, this is a moving tribute to her.
- How to change the course of human history (at least, the part that's already happened)-
This essay by David Graeber and David Wengrow for Eurozine (2/3/18) is mind-expanding and well-argued challenge to the standard, prevailing narrative of human prehistory and history. "Almost everyone knows this story in its broadest outlines. Since at least the days of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, it has framed what we think the overall shape and direction of human history to be. This is important because the narrative also defines our sense of political possibility ... There is a fundamental problem with this narrative. It isn’t true."
The apparent inevitability of 'inequality' as the cost of 'progress' is "a dismal conclusion ... for anybody who ever wondered if there might be some viable alternative to the status quo", and one that disempowers our imagination. "But on one thing we insist. Abandoning the story of a fall from primordial innocence does not mean abandoning dreams of human emancipation – that is, of a society where no one can turn their rights in property into a means of enslaving others, and where no one can be told their lives and needs don’t matter. To the contrary. Human history becomes a far more interesting place, containing many more hopeful moments than we’ve been led to imagine, once we learn to throw off our conceptual shackles and perceive what’s really there." Packed with arguments and examples, this is an enlightening and encouraging read.
- The top 10 most pioneering art/sustainability initiatives in the UK-
For Artists and Climate Change (8/3/18), curator Yasmine Ostendorf gives her personal "Top 10 list of my favorite art organizations talking the talk and walking the walk" on engaging artists with environmental and climate change. Read about the work of Open Jar Collective, Invisible Dust, Creative Carbon Scotland, Grizedale Arts, Centre for Contemporary Art and the Natural World, ONCA, Deveron Projects, The Morning Boat, Scottish Sculpture Workshop, and Arts Catalyst.
"Back in the days when I was still working for Cape Farewell in London, the appetite for artistic engagement with climate change seemed to be everywhere, including in the big cultural venues: from Ten Billion, the shocking science-lecture-performance at the Royal Court, to programs at the Science Museum and the Tate ... Ambitious productions, touring and attending conferences and Biennale all over the world – greening our own practice was just as (or even more) important as raising awareness about melting glaciers. And here the amazing ladies (mostly ladies) of Julie’s Bicycle jumped to help. Since 2012, all cultural organizations that receive regular funding from Arts Council England are required to report on their environmental impact, using Julie’s Bicycle Creative IG tools – advanced carbon calculators designed specifically for the cultural sector. This has made Arts Council England the first arts funding body to recognize the environmental role that the cultural field can play. Museums, theatres, festivals, tours, galleries and productions started to reduce their carbon emissions (as well as water use and waste) as it was made fun and clear how to do so."
- Analysis: UK carbon emissions in 2017 fell to levels last seen in 1890-
Writing for Carbon Brief (7/3/18), Zeke Hausfather reports on that organisation's analysis of newly released Department of Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy (BEIS) energy use figures, which "shows the UK’s CO2 emissions from fossil fuels fell by 2.6% in 2017, driven by a 19% decline in coal use. This follows on the heels of a larger 5.8% drop in CO2 in 2016, which saw a record 52% drop in coal use. The UK’s total CO2 emissions are currently 38% below 1990 levels and are now as low as emissions were back in 1890 – the year the Forth Bridge opened in Scotland and Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray was published."
Adding that BEIS will publish its own CO2 estimates in late March and that Carbon Brief's "estimate of carbon emissions from fossil fuels using this approach may differ slightly from official greenhouse gas inventories due to different sectors included and assumed emission factors ... the results are generally within 1% to 3% of total reported non-land-use CO2 emissions for prior years." They also add the hugely important caveat that "this analysis using the latest government data is unable to calculate the UK’s “imported” emissions. Carbon Brief covered this topic last year and found: 'Even though domestic emissions have fallen 27% in the UK between 1990 and 2014, once CO2 imports from trade are considered this drops to only an 11% reduction.'" (Mention of The Picture of Dorian Gray might perhaps offer an unfortunate analogy?)
- Animal agents-
In an excellent article for Aeon (26/2/18), Amanda Rees asks can animals shape their own lives, and maybe the course of history? "It's time to reconsider the significance of animal agency. Plato’s attempt 2,500 years ago to define the human as ‘a featherless biped’ had to be swiftly qualified –‘with broad flat nails’ – when Diogenes presented him with a plucked chicken. Many subsequent attempts at human self-definition have faced similar problems in relation to exceptionality. Yet lately, scholars have begun to conclude that while the difference between humans and other animals is great, it is one of degree, not kind. "
Drawing examples from literature (an interesting companion-piece to Gregory Norrinton's article for Resurgence - see below) as well as from science, Rees sets out how we have tended to view "the difference between agency and consciousness – and between agency and subjectivity, or agency and individuality. Humans have the capacity to act as agents, because they are considered to know what they are doing and why they are doing it. But even though nonhumans possess individuality and consciousness, too, the absence of self-consciousness among them has generally been taken to preclude agency."
Against this assumption of human uniquesness, both ecology and ethology have taken "the first steps towards being able to see what it might mean to be an agent in an animal’s world ... By adopting a new approach to animal agency, we can develop new ways of thinking about multiple, distributed agencies and the way that they are remaking the world. In the age of the Anthropocene, we cannot afford to assume that these changes will always and forever be under conscious human control."
- We need to rewild the novel-
Writing for Resurgence (March/April 2018), Novelist Gregory Norminton asks how can the novel - "a form that evolved alongside humanism and the Enlightenment, and that primarily concerns itself with the inner lives and motivations of socialised humans" - broaden its scope to ring in the more-than-human? "Legend tells that Orpheus, ‘the father of songs’, who perfected the lyre (from which we derive our word ‘lyric’), sang so sweetly that wild beasts, forgetting their hunger, lay down to listen ... Lyric poetry is of the Earth – it is rooted. The novel, by contrast, has foundations – it is of the city.
"As a novelist and environmentalist, I have been puzzling for years about how to bring my concerns together. It troubles me that my chosen literary form appears barely cognisant of our ecological crisis ... For decades, environmentalists have been wondering how our rapacious species can live enduringly with the planet that sustains it. Technological ingenuity on its own is not enough: in order to change our behaviour, we must widen the circle of our compassion to include the non-human. We must, deep ecologists argue, dethrone ourselves, shedding our illusions of superiority to acknowledge our kinship with the rest of Nature." And Norminton evokes the conservation concept of 'rewilding', which "begins with the ability to recognise that we have accustomed ourselves to our ecological impoverishment. We learn to look at our empty uplands and realise that they need not be barren, that only culture and habit (the great deadener) keep them denuded ... "Novels that make no space for Nature – that are inattentive to landscape and the non-human – are perpetuating what ecologists call ‘shifting baseline syndrome’, whereby we mistake our self-impoverishment for the natural order of things. Yet rewilding the novel means more ... than adding a few mentions of animals and plants to anthropocentric narratives. It means acknowledging in our fiction where we come from, where we are going, and what we have lost and are losing on the way. It allows for abundance and jubilation, but also desolation and loss."
- How to spot the fossils hiding in plain sight-
"Traces of prehistoric life are everywhere," Jessica Leigh Hester points out at Atlas Obscura (23/2/18) - and Ruth Siddall, a geologist at University College London, offers her tips on how to spot fossils in the urban environment. "Region-specific guides ... may help you target your search. Siddall’s observations are the backbone of London Pavement Geology, an app and website, and she has guides on her blog. Paleourbana maps finds in Madrid, Buenos Aires, Salt Lake City, Doha, Bogotá, Moscow, and more, and David Williams’s book Stories in Stone: Travels Through Urban Geology reads like a prehistoric road trip across America. Search for a resource specific to your area. A local university’s geology department might be a good place to begin, too.
"Your best bet for finding urban fossils is to identify limestone. 'Many limestones, but not all, are fossiliferous, Siddall says. And adjust your expectations. While there’s a romance to finding some magnificently preserved specimen that everyone else missed, the odds are against you. You’re much more likely to spot shells and corals than bones or leaves ... Limestones frequently form in marine environments, where shells and and reefs are the most abundant fossil candidates." Oh, and "train yourself to think in two-dimensions."
- Anthropocene began in 1965, according to signs left in the world’s ‘loneliest tree’-
Chris Turney, Jonathan Palmer and Mark Maslin report in the Conversation (19/2/18) on how their recent research identifies one candidate to mark the start of the Anthropocene. "On Campbell Island in the Southern Ocean, some 400 miles south of New Zealand, is a single Sitka spruce. More than 170 miles from any other tree, it is often credited as the 'world’s loneliest tree'. Planted in the early 20th century ... the tree’s wood has recorded the radiocarbon produced by above ground atomic bomb tests – and its annual layers show a peak in 1965, just after the tests were banned. The tree therefore gives us a potential marker for the start of the Anthropocene ...
The 1960s is a decade forever associated with the hippie movement and the birth of the modern environmentalism, a sun-blushed age in which the Apollo moon landings gave us the iconic image of a fragile planet framed against a desolate lunar surface. It was also a time when the world was fast globalising, with rapid industrialisation and economic growth driving population expansion and a massive increase in our impact on the environment." The researchers ask, "Should we define the Anthropocene by when humanity invented the technology to make themselves extinct? If so, then the nuclear bomb spike recorded in the loneliest tree on the planet suggests it began in 1965."
- The Nubecene: toward an ecology of the cloud-
In a fascinating post for Platypus - a blog for discussion on anthropological studies of science and technology as social phenomena - (14/2/18), Steven Gonzalez introduces a new term, the Nubecene (following the Latin root for cloud – nubes) as a means to capture and make visible the "imprints of computing ... etched into the surface of the earth. Fugitive traces remain captive in its lithic tissues, its waters, and the very air we breathe. Roiling in the most abyssal depths of the seas, coursing through fiber optic cables thinner than human hairs, the amorphous Cloud and its digital ganglia enshroud our planet. By way of its sheer magnitude and complexity, the Cloud eludes human imagination. It is ... a market fantasy of infinite storage capacity, immateriality, and feel-good “green” slogans like 'go paperless.' While envisioned by many to be ether, suspended above matter, the Cloud remains a material ensemble of cables and microchips, computer servers and data centers, electrons and water molecules, cell towers and cell phones, spindly fiber coils undersea and underground that firmly tether communities and consumers to the ground, not the sky."
"The Nubecene is a set of narratives about ecological and political entanglements. Its settings range from dangerous lithium mines in the Global South, to the offices of NGOs whose purpose is to bring rural people online for the first time, to subterranean data centers housed within Cold War era bunkers. It even extends to the remote consoles of bitcoin miners, who expend colossal energy to perform cryptography in the pursuit of wealth."
- Redefining plastics: unprecedented possibilities-
Aesthetica Magazine (8/2/18) reports on a new design publication, Radical Matter, whose authors - Kate Franklin and Caroline Till - address the unparalleled impact of human beings on the Earth’s ecosystems in respect to waste, "whilst offering an optimistic, alternative vision of the future through practitioners who place sustainability at the heart of their work. Till recognises that the time has come to act and strive towards a closed-loop, zero-legacy future: 'We are now equipped with more information than ever, digital communication means that provenance behind material sourcing can’t be ignored anymore.' Practitioners highlighted ... include Will Yates-Johnson (b. 1986), who creates objects which can be infinitely reused. By breaking household items down into fragments and subsequently repurposing them, the designer creates colourful, eclectic products that draw attention to their own physicality. These new creations – collectively named Polyspolia after the ancient Roman philosophy of repurposing building resources – make visual the process of recycling, embodying a sustainable ethos whilst playfully referencing the popular 'terrazzo' aesthetic. The method requires no external energy, and incorporates the whole of the previous iteration, avoiding waste entirely. Till expands: 'Yates-Johnson’s project takes a very systemic approach. It’s about how we use materials, highlighting where they’re coming from and the process of transformation we put them through. It’s an example of thinking of a substance in a continuous cycle. He’s an advocate of inspiring people to think about what will happen to the object after use, taking a playful, accessible approach to quite an academic topic.'"
I'm grateful to ClimateCultures Member Julien Masson for sharing this article.
- Rambling through time-
In this opinion piece for the New York Times (27/1/18), Peter Brannen invites his readers on a walk 500 million years into the past, "with each step representing a century back in time ... The world is old beyond comprehension, and our story on it is short. The conceit of the Anthropocene, the supposed new epoch we’re living in, is that humanity can already make claims to its geological legacy. But if we’re to endure as a civilization, or even as a species, for anything more than what might amount to a thin layer of odd rock in some windswept canyon of the far future, some humility is in order about our, thus far, infinitesimal part in the history of the planet." In whatever city or other place you choose to start such a back-in-time trek - his choice is New York naturally - "we can’t even get to the sidewalk before all of recorded history — all of the empires, the holy books, agriculture, the architecture, all of it — is behind us."
"In the next few decades we will decide whether humanity’s legacy will be a sliver of clay in the limestone strata — a geological embarrassment accessible only in remote outcrops to eagle-eyed geologists of the far future — or an enduring new epoch like the reign of dinosaurs. But even if it’s the former, and we collapse almost as soon, in geologic time, as we got started, the record in the rocks of the extinctions we caused will remain, as eternal as the schist in Central Park."
- Why we need to rethink climate change, with Timothy Morton-
This Guardian Books podcast (13/2/18) is a fascinating and wide-ranging discussion between Timothy Morton and Sian Cain. Sian introduces Timothy with the conventional label, 'philosopher'. Timothy introduces Timothy as an 'absurd clown, holding open the door.' (Which does sound like something we could do with having more of.)
"When you first hear some of philosopher Timothy Morton’s ideas, they may sound bizarre. He argues that everything in the universe - from algae and rocks to knives and forks - has a kind of consciousness. That we need to scrap the concept of “nature” as being distinct to civilisation. And, he says, we’re ruled by a kind of primitive artificial intelligence: industrial capitalism ... but sit down with Timothy for five minutes and they start to make sense. His latest book, Being Ecological, explores the relationship between humanity and the environment and why the world’s current approach to climate change isn’t working. We don’t need endless ''factoids' or 'guilt-inducing sermons', he says, we need to radically change how we think about nature – and stop distinguishing between humans and non-human beings."
- Part of monster sewer fatberg goes on display at London museum-
Mark Brown reports for the Guardian (8/2/18) that the Museum of London has unveiled one of its more unusual displays: "The sample was part of a sewer-blocking fatberg that made headlines last year, weighing 130 tonnes, the equivalent of 11 double decker buses and stretching more than 250 metres, six metres longer than Tower Bridge ... Its aroma was once a mix of rotting meat and a toddler’s nappy that had been left out for months, but it has now, mercifully, calmed down ... The solid calcified mass of fats, oils, faeces, wet wipes and sanitary products tells us something about how we live."
- Ancient kids’ toys have been hiding in the archaeological record-
Bruce Bower writes at Science News (6/2/18) of a number of rounded clay disks, each pierced with two holes, which have mystified investigators for nearly a century. "Unusual finds in Israel dating to around 3,000 years ago ... represent children’s early attempts to mimic adult craftwork ... After passing a string through both of a disk’s holes and tying the ends together, a youngster could swing the string to wind up the toy and then pull both ends of the string to make the disk spin." The article includes a clip showing a replica spinning disk in action, showing a leaping deer, and evidence "that more than 10,000 years earlier, people in France and Spain made similar spinning disks decorated with animals that appeared to move as the toy twirled."
- The Lost Words campaign delivers nature ‘spellbook’ to Scottish schools-
In the Guardian (10/2/18), Patrick Barkham and Alison Flood report on how a book created to celebrate the disappearing words of everyday nature -- from acorn and wren to conker and dandelion -- is fast becoming a cultural phenomenon. "Four months after publication The Lost Words, a collection of poems by Robert Macfarlane and paintings by Jackie Morris, has already shipped 75,000 copies and won two literary prizes. Now the book, aimed at reviving once-common 'natural' words excised from the Oxford Junior Dictionary, will be discovered by a generation of children after a crowdfunding drive to place a copy in every school in Scotland. Jane Beaton, a school bus driver and travel consultant from Strathyre, Stirling, was moved to raise £25,000 to give the book to all 2,681 schools in Scotland after 'a spur of the moment' commitment on Twitter.
The book’s poems, which Macfarlane likens to 'spells' to conjure wild things, were already being adapted as a choral work by a children’s choir, while a theatrical performance will debut at a summer festival before touring schools. The text is also being stitched into embroidered braille and there are plans for celebrity readers to whisper the words through the trees of the National Forest in Derbyshire."
- As climate changes, we need the arts more than ever-
As Richard Heinberg says in this opinion for Ensia (1/2/18), "Anthropologists and historians rightly argue that society’s major transformations have emerged not from the arts, but from our relationship to our environment — for example, our shift from hunting and gathering to agriculture, or from using firewood as our main energy source to using fossil fuels. Nevertheless, artists’ efforts help shape the terms by which society adapts to such transformations and their consequences. And this can be a big deal. Think of how Beethoven marked the beginnings of modern democracy, the Romantic Movement in poetry and philosophy, and the nascent Industrial Revolution with music that shattered the aristocratic formalism of previous generations. Or how Hollywood writers and directors galvanized massive support for the U.S. war effort during the early 1940s." And, turning to the future and the impacts of climate change, "artists will have the opportunity and duty to translate the resulting tumultuous human experience into words, images, and music that help people not just to understand these events mentally, but also to come to grips with them viscerally."
- Our stories bind us-
For Pacific Standard (26/1/18), Kevin Charles Fleming reports on new research on "how far back the evolutionary roots of storytelling go - and how powerful a role storytellers play in society ... The impulse to use narrative to understand the world is perhaps our most irreducibly human quality. Apes rival us with their tool making, ravens with their playfulness, ants and bees with their altruism and collaboration, but no species makes meaning of experience like homo sapiens. Religion, nationhood, currency: Few of our most important cultural constructs hang together if we stop believing our own stories about them ...
"From our earliest days as a species, we've had to coordinate everything from child rearing to food sharing to coalition building. Cooperation can seem like a losing evolutionary strategy—why concern myself with others when I could be thinking about myself?—and, the authors note, even in situations where everyone stands to gain, attempts at cooperation are often plagued by 'free riders' and failures of coordination (see, for example, the Paris Agreement). Critical in such situations is 'meta knowledge,' or a belief about how someone else is likely to act. 'In other words, it is not enough to know how to act in a given situation,' the authors write. 'Individuals need to know that others also know how to act.'"
- How climate change inspires monsters-
"As spring slipped into summer in 1816, something very strange happened. The months went by —April, May, June, July — but summer declined to show up. In May, the Eastern United States was beset by frost, killing crops ... Across the Atlantic, harvests failed throughout Britain and Ireland. Even further afield, in China, India, Japan, and Russia, crops were damaged, water buffalo perished, and torrential rain caused fatal floods." For Atlas Obscura (23/1/18), Natasha Frost recounts the story of how 'the year without a summer' may have inspired not just Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and an early vampire novel, but illustrates how our monsters might shapeshift as our climate changes.
"Scientists now think that the stormy 'summer' that influenced these two texts was caused by a volcano eruption thousands of miles [away] in Indonesia.In April 1815, Mount Tambora spurted out nearly 40 cubic miles of ash, killing at least 71,000 people. It is often described as one of the most deadly volcanic eruptions in recorded history. This eruption sparked a climate event, with tons of sulfur injected into the atmosphere. This in turn formed a kind of veil of sulfates, sprayed into the air as if by a gigantic aerosol can. Under this invisible veil, the earth’s climate went bonkers ... Across the world, millions of people woke up, day after day, and waited for a summer that wasn’t coming.... As the earth changes, monsters real and imagined will come crawling out of the darkness. Some, like Godzilla, will be fictional. Others, like an explosion of seemingly immortal jellyfish, will be real. Even our most popular cryptids will be forced to change their lives, with hotter weather forcing them from their lairs. If the Loch Ness dries up, its monster will have nowhere to live. When the snow melts, Big Foot and the Yeti will have to pack up their caves and head down the mountain."
- Scientists home in on a potential Anthropocene ‘Golden Spike’-
Environmental Research Web (24/1/18) reports that the Anthropocene Working Group has reviewed the potential settings where a global geological 'reference section' for the Anthropocene - "the clearest, sharpest, and most stable signal in strata that might be used to define the Anthropocene as a formal unit of the Geological Time Scale" - might be searched for. "The group has found that a broad range of potential physical, chemical and biological markers characterise the Anthropocene, the clearest global markers being radionuclide fallout signals from nuclear testing and changes in carbon chemistry through fossil fuel burning – these in particular show marked changes starting in the early to mid-1950s.
Professor Colin Waters, who led the study, said: “This study considers those environments in which the very short history of the Anthropocene is best recorded. In addition to ... traditional geological strata, we have also considered human-generated deposits, sediments accumulating in lakes, estuaries and deltas, peat bogs, cave mineral deposits and even biological hosts such as corals and trees. The presence of annual layers or growth rings within many of these provides geologically unprecedented accuracy in the placement of the primary reference marker, wherever this might be ultimately chosen.” ... Professor Mark Williams said: “The range of environments we are working with is remarkable – from polar ice and snow layers to deep lake and sea floors to the skeletons of reef corals and stalactites in caves. The fact that signals of the Anthropocene are so sharply visible in all of these shows just how pervasive human impact has been on the planet in post-war times.”
- We’re climate researchers and our work was turned into fake news-
"Science is slow. It rests on painstaking research with accumulating evidence," Michael Grubb reminds us at the Conversation (25/1/18). "This makes for an inherently uneasy relationship with the modern media age, especially once issues are politicised. The interaction between politics and media can be toxic for science, and climate change is a prominent example ... After we published a paper in the scientific journal Nature Geoscience, in which we concluded that there was more headroom than many had assumed before we breach the goals of the Paris Agreement[, w]e found ourselves not only on the front page of the main British newspapers, but globally, as far-right website Breitbart ran with a story that a small band of buccaneering scientists had finally admitted that the models were all wrong – a fiction rapidly picked up by the more rabid elements in the media. The essence of good science is to continually update, challenge, improve and refine, using as much evidence as possible ...
Unfortunately, while good science embraces uncertainty, politics abhors it and the media seems confounded by it. That in turn pressures researchers to simplify their message, and treat existing estimates – often, from a range – like a position to be defended. It is a risky trap for scientists, however eminent and well-intentioned, to wield overnight reactions to parry months of painstaking peer review and refinement that lie behind analyses published in leading journals. So how should science respond? The climate policy implications are easy: nothing significant has changed. We have but one planet, and both the physical and economic processes that are driving climate change have enormous inertia. If a big ocean liner were steaming into dense fog in polar seas, only a fool would maintain full speed on the basis that the technicians were still discussing the distance to the first big iceberg."
- Ten ‘stealth microplastics’ to avoid if you want to save the oceans-
As Sharon George and Deirdre McKay explain in this piece from the Conversation (17/1/19), "all plastic ends up tiny. And it persists, no matter what its size. In the ocean, even the largest and most resilient bits of plastic are broken up and degraded by the waves and sunlight until eventually these chunks measure less than five millimetres across – about the size of an ant – and they are classed as 'secondary microplastics'. This type of plastic, that started out as drinks bottles, fishing gear, disposable cutlery and so on, is much more abundant than 'primary microplastics' that started out small, such as the microbeads found in toothpaste. Microbeads are among the most familiar sources of tiny plastic pollution, but this means there are other less obvious sources of microplastics in everyday use." Among the 'stealth microplastics' they discuss are the residues from our everyday use of tyres, synthetic clothing, cigarette butts, glitter, wet wipes, paint, plastic cups and tea bags.
- Evaluating biases in Sea Surface Temperature records using coastal weather stations-
As Kevin C says at the start of this short and clear post on Skeptical Science (8/1/18), "Science is hard. Some easy problems you can solve by hard work, if you are in the right place at the right time and have the right skills. Hard problems take the combined effort of multiple groups looking at the problem, publishing results and finding fault with each other's work, until hopefully no-one can find any more problems. When problems are hard, you may have to publish something that even you don't think is right, but that might advance the discussion." We've been measuring sea surface temperatures for a long time; inevitably, this means that the technologies and methods we've used have changed markedly over that time. "The calculation of an unbiased sea surface temperature record is a hard problem. Historical sea surface temperature observations come from a variety of sources, with early records being measured using wooden, canvas or rubber buckets, later readings being taken from engine room intakes or hull sensors, and the most recent data coming from drifting buoys and from satellites. These different measurement methods give slightly different readings, with the transition from bucket to engine room observations during the second world war being particularly large: this represents the single largest correction to the historical temperature record, and reduces the estimated warming since the mid 19th century by 0.2-0.3 C compared to the uncorrected data". And different national science agencies adopt different methods to reconcile these changes ... all of which makes for a scientific detective tale, and a fascinating insight into the processes by which we reach for an always imperfect understanding, while increasing our confidence in this knowledge.
- The secret to creativity – according to science-
Valerie van Mulukom writes at the Conversation (3/1/18) that "Imagination is what propels us forward as a species – it expands our worlds and brings us new ideas, inventions and discoveries. But why do we seem to differ so dramatically in our ability to imagine?" She explains that there are two phases to creative thinking: divergent and convergent thinking: a fast and automatic mode that brings in a wide variety of ideas, drawing on intuition; followed by a slower and more deliberative evaluation, to analyse these ideas. To select the right idea, "research suggests that the first requirement is actually exposure and experience. The longer you have worked and thought in a field and learned about a matter – and importantly, dared to make many mistakes – the better you are at intuitively coming up with ideas and analytically selecting the right one." And Valerie suggests that we deploy both 'fantastical imagination' - "probably best predicted by your fantasy proneness and imaginative immersion" - and 'episodic imagination', "which helps individuals to better imagine alternative pasts and learn from their mistakes, or imagine their futures and prepare for them."
- Cornerstones - Flint-
In the first of a new sequence in BBC Radio 3's The Essay, author Alan Garner "sparks with flint, the stone that, perhaps more than any other, has enabled human civilisation. It's a stone that has featured in some of his novels, such as Red Shift, where the same Neolithic hand axe resurfaces across different times to haunt his characters. And it is time and evolution that he looks at in this essay: 'My blood walked out of Africa ninety thousand years ago. We came by flint. Flint makes and kills; gives shelter, food; it clothes us. Flint clears forest. Flint brings fire. With flint we bear the cold.'" Listening to Garner read his thoughts on the deep time of cosmology, geology and biology, and how he taps into the workings of the Jodrell Bank radio telescope he can see from his home, and into the long history of human handling of the stones he has dug out of the Bronze Age settlement in his garden, is to capture faint echoes of a past that is not wholly past.
This is the ClimateCultures selection of Views from Elsewhere 2018 so far. For our Views from Elsewhere for 2017 see here.