exploring cultural responses to environmental change
Views from Elsewhere 2019
This is the ClimateCultures monthly selection of Views from Elsewhere so far for 2019. Each month, editor Mark Goldthorpe adds new stories he’s discovered (most recent reads at the top for each month, rather than in order of original publication). This year’s stories come from Aeon, The American Geophysical Union, Atlas Obscura, BBC News, The Conversation, Ecosophia, Edge Effects, The Guardian, Green Letters: Studies in Ecocriticism, The Infinite Game, Inside Out, JSTOR Daily, The Los Angeles Times, Nautilus, The New Statesman, Quanta Magazine, ScienceDaily, Vox.
In 2018, ClimateCultures featured more than 80 stories from over 50 sources; you can find them here. For our 2017 selection — around 100 stories from over 35 sources — see here.
Christopher Preston writes for Aeon (6/5/19) that while the concept of the Anthropocene has familiarised us with the reality that no part of the earth is now free from the material signs of human activity elsewhere on the globe - "The chemical and biological signatures of our species are everywhere ... transported around the globe by fierce atmospheric winds, relentless ocean currents, and the capacious cargo-holds of millions of fossil-fuel-powered vehicles..." - what is much less appreciated is how we're altering the planet's processes. Preston cites two potentially powerful forms of engineering, at the levels of genes and of climate. "It is not just that human activities have stained every corner of the entire planet. The simultaneous arrival of a range of powerful new technologies are starting to signal a potential takeover of Earth’s most basic operations by its most audacious species."
Noting that "accidental changes are entirely different from deliberate ones," he suggests that "The crossing of this line represents radically new territory for both our species and for the planet. Nature itself will be shaped by processes redesigned and ‘improved’ by geneticists and engineers. We should call this transition the beginning of a ‘synthetic age’, a time in which background constants are increasingly replaced by artificial and ‘improved’ versions of themselves. This remaking of the metabolism of the Earth strikes at the very core of how we understand our surroundings and our role in them."
And as for how we imagine, talk about and try to either reshape or to live with such a transition? "An Anthropocene epoch requires one kind of psychological adjustment. A synthetic age demands something considerably more."
Claire Marshall writes at BBC News (15/5/19) that researchers have now mapped the "underground social network ... of roots, fungi and bacteria helping to connect trees and plants to one another" - quoting Professor Thomas Crowther, that 'It's the first time that we've been able to understand the world beneath our feet, but at a global scale.'" And the changing climate is impacting the types of mycorrhizal fungi found beneath different forests around the globe - which could itself accelerate climate change: "'The types of fungi that support huge carbon stores in the soil are being lost and are being replaced by the ones that spew out carbon into the atmosphere.'"
Joseph Weiss writes for Edge Effects (24/4/19) that "The 'new abnormal' isn’t very new at all for most of the communities living on this earth. They’ve been dealing with it for a very long time indeed and, most importantly, they’ve been continuing to build futures in spite of – and in relationship with – rapid, devastating, and unforeseen transformations in their lived social and ecological worlds. Without marginalizing the very real fears that come with climate change, I’d like to suggest that we don’t allow our own anxieties to blind us to the historical and ongoing realities of Indigenous and other marginalized communities. So too, we might start paying attention to the ways these communities have led the way in coping with the anxious ecological futures that we all share."
Taking the example of the peoples of Haida Gwaii - "a series of islands just off the west coast of what we now call Canada" - Weiss calls on the contemporary psychological condition of ecoanxiety as described by the American Psychiatric Association and associated with the planetary condition of the Anthropocene to look at historical (and ongoing) experiences of collapse or genocide brought to indigenous peoples by settler societies. Around 1870, for the Haida the 'new abnormal' arrived with the influx of disease, missionaries, colonial rule, deforestation and the appropriation of fisheries and other natural resources. "All this means that few, if any, Haida have the luxury of being 'anxious' about the possibility of ecological transformation. Instead, on Haida Gwaii, the apocalypse came to stay. ... Haida have been working throughout the last century and still today to continue to build different futures for themselves that push back against the idea that they, their culture, or the lands and seas upon which they live will disappear. And they do this work, each and every day."
"As dawn approached, Esaulov watched from behind his desk as a single ambulance raced down Lenina Prospekt from the direction of the plant. Its emergency lights flashed, but the siren remained silent. The driver took a sharp right at the Rainbow department store, tore along the southern side of the square, and then swung away in the direction of the hospital. A few moments later, a second ambulance followed, and it, too, disappeared around the corner."
Adam Higginbottom provides an extract from his book, Midnight in Chernobyl, for Atlas Obscura (22/4/19), drawing out the sheer ordinariness of life in Pripyat on the extraordinary day in 1986 that saw the world's worst nuclear accident at that time. "Across the city’s five schools and in the Goldfish and Little Sunshine kindergartens, thousands of children started their lessons. Beneath the trees outside, mothers walked babies in their strollers. People took to the beach to sunbathe, fish, and swim in the river. In the grocery stores, shoppers stocked up on fresh produce, sausage, beer, and vodka for the May Day holiday." It was an ordinariness that was immediately disrupted forever - at the same time as the authorities tried to paper over the cracks.
"It was the weekend, so it was hard to find doctors, and, at first, no one understood what they were dealing with: The uniformed young men being brought from the station had been fighting a fire and complained of headaches, dry throats, and dizziness. The faces of some were a terrible purple; others, a deathly white. Soon all of them were retching and vomiting, filling wash basins and buckets until they had emptied their stomachs, and even then unable to stop. The triage nurse began to cry."
Higginbottom's matter-of-fact prose delivers the unfolding disaster in an unflinching manner, and encapsulates within it what is perhaps a metaphor for our own times from the dying years of an archaic and inflexible system of governing society and nature. "Inside the fourth-floor conference hall, Vladimir Malomuzh, the Party’s second secretary for the Kiev region, took the stage ... 'Under no circumstances should you panic.'"
Witnessing some of the International Rebellion's artistic interventions in London this week, India Bourke writes in the New Statesman (15/4/19) that "one thing emerging from the movement’s brightly-coloured activities is Britain’s dynamic and resolute arts scene."
She reminds us that it's important to set this upwelling of creative energy not just against ecological and climate emergency but also against the programme of austerity in public arts and culture, with cuts of more than £100m of annual arts funding. "And it’s not just the big museums and galleries that have suffered; libraries are struggling; school trips and plays are dwindling. Local authority spending on culture has also declined by almost £400m since 2010... Finding the most inclusive and effective way to highlight climate change’s existential threat is no easy task – but in harnessing the power of spectacle, the movement is reminding the country of a cultural strength it cannot afford to lose."
Writing for Inside Out (April), Anthea Lawson examines the dilemmas involved in activist choices, as she considered how to join the Extinction Rebellion activities this week. "So in this dilemma I find myself weighing up two impossible-to-compare scenarios. The practicalities of childcare to cover a night in a police cell and court dates, against the possibility of halting the extinction of human and nonhuman life on earth. That’s what climate change and mass extinction do, once you take them seriously: they make everything else seem utterly ridiculous. And yet even as we’re trying to protect life in the future, we cannot entirely forget the life that we are living; I cannot leave a three and a six year old without care. Luckily there are many options for support I can give to others who are going to get themselves arrested, even if I don’t, so I will find a way to join in." She sees how activism brings dilemmas not just for participants but for the opponents to the changes activists are working toward, and for the actions' audiences.
"At the core of the Gandhian nonviolence that inspires Extinction Rebellion is the proposition that you can oppose and resist a system without dehumanising your opponents. Extinction Rebellion, a decentralised movement in which anyone can organise actions as long as they stick to the principles, is insistent on not blaming and shaming. Only by observing this principle can we avoid creating an ‘other’ on whom we end up projecting the unwanted, unacknowledged, perhaps less attractive parts of ourselves, since that route, as psychotherapists recognise, has always been the path to conflict. In Gandhi’s words, ‘It is quite proper to resist and attack a system, but to resist and attack its author is tantamount to resisting and attacking oneself."
At The Infinite Game (7/4/19) Stephen Woroniecki and Niki Harre explore the power of asking "What would it mean to act as if we are already living in the world we hope to create?" Is this a form of 'complacent hope', an empty question that risks inaction? Or does it open up possibilities for our imagination to move beyond the obvious problems to what change could look like? They suggest that such imagination "instead acts in the spirit of prefiguration: leaping ahead of the game and thereby helping to change it."
Offering a sketch of four approaches - "a kind of edgework that sees cracks in current modes of practice and tries to prise them open ... aligned with a renewed interest in speculative fiction and the promise of artistic and performative methods for reimagining sustainability" - they invite our reactions to the idea that we might: assume that those we encounter want a world that promotes wellbeing for all; act as a guardian to our land, among other guardians; act as if we have time; as best we can, practise the future we imagine.
What if ... "people we label as [...] or [...] have a contribution to make and perhaps they talk as they do because they are locked in the same us/them game that we are? ... instead of striving to be the next hero of the hour, we were to uncover and highlight existing place-based commitments to restorative work that cast a legacy of collective worth? ... we had time [to] care for the other – their knowledge, their experience and their right to dissent? ... sustainability was not a promised land but a journey into unknown territory?"
Steve Westlake at The Conversation (11/4/19) writes that, although the decades-long debate and will continue to rage over whether personal actions or political change offer the greatest prospect of tackling climate change, his own research "supports the arguments that this is a false dichotomy: individual action is part of the collective ... doing something bold like giving up flying can have a wider knock-on effect by influencing others and shifting what’s viewed as 'normal'."
Taking the example of making a personal decision to fly less, he interviewed some of the people who'd been influenced by a 'non-flyer'. "They explained that the bold and unusual position to give up flying had: conveyed the seriousness of climate change and flying’s contribution to it; crystallised the link between values and actions; and even reduced feelings of isolation that flying less was a valid and sensible response to climate change. They said that 'commitment' and 'expertise' were the most influential qualities of the person who had stopped flying." At the same time, of course, "suggesting that everyone should fly less, which may seem the implicit message of someone who gives up flying because of climate change, can lead to arguments and confrontation" - and those who advocate low carbon policies but clock up huge air miles of their own open up the 'fly less' argument to charges of hypocrisy, which prominent 'no flyers' can counterbalance.
And then there's the question of inequality. "In the UK, around 15% of people take 70% of the flights, while half of the population don’t fly at all in any one year. As emissions from aviation become an ever increasing slice of the total (currently around 9% in the UK, 2% globally) this inequality will become harder for everyone to ignore."
For Quanta Magazine (21/3/19), Elizabeth Preston interviews ecologist Jennifer Dunne, who explains that "'when ecologists do consider humans, they often treat us as an external factor causing something like climate change. Throughout history, however, we’ve been enmeshed in the planet’s networks of life-forms eating one another.'" Through analysing food webs that include humans alongside other species - both in the world today and in past times - she and colleagues have proposed a new form of web; "not a food web, but a web of use ... [looking] at six populations of preindustrial or nonindustrial humans, cataloging every way that people interacted with the species around them: pelts for clothing, wood for shelter, leaves for medicine and so on. To visualize the results, the researchers map a culture’s five or six most-used species onto a circular plot, along with a 'taxonomy of uses.' The result resembles a thickly woven dreamcatcher."
Dunne explains that "'It’s providing new kinds of species-interaction data centered around humans, which give us access to this slew of interesting ecological, cultural and socioecological questions. And it gives us a new way, I hope, to think about sustainability. We’re studying some systems that had bad environmental outcomes, like species loss and environmental degradation, and also human cultural chaos or breakdown. Are there lessons for thinking about sustainability, now and into the future?'"
Looking at predominant economic systems today, she observes how "'You get this perverse anti-ecological dynamic. In an ecological system, as something becomes rarer and harder to find, its ecological value goes down. That’s why predators prey switch: They have to expend too many calories to try to get that prey, or it’s too dangerous. But in a luxury market, all of a sudden you get the perverse incentive to hunt more because it’s worth more and more money. A bluefin tuna was just sold recently for more than 3 million dollars, a new record ... It’s destabilizing — not just for bluefin tuna but potentially for the whole food web. The tuna are embedded within a whole network of interactions. And that’s part of the point of doing food web research, or interaction research. You pull out one node, you pull out one interaction, and it’s not just about those species. It’s about impacts that can potentially ripple throughout the whole system, and often in unexpected ways.'"
Sheila Cannon writes about system change for the Conversation (15/3/19), drawing on demands that in order to fight climate change we need to change our political and economic systems. Social movements such as the school climate strikes sparked by the activism of Greta Thunberg are founded on a realisation that profound change is needed. "But," Cannon asks, "what is system change? How do entire systems change? When we see 'save the planet' initiatives, they often look like individual decisions that don’t cost much, like switching to a bamboo toothbrush or washing containers before you recycle them. By all means, do these things, but don’t confuse them with system change." Token gestures, she points out, can even reinforce the system that's perpetuating the problem they intend to counter. In this case, Cannon suggests, the system that needs to change is capitalism.
Part of the problem, she explains, is that we look for familiar structures to help shape 'solutions' to 'problems' such as climate change, because these structures help create the meaning through which we understand our situations. "People create meaning, follow rules and reproduce structures ... based on assumptions of what is right and proper. ... Because we are part of these meaning structures, we reproduce existing norms and beliefs and resist change. System change happens when we don’t take our assumptions for granted, which allows more and more people to question the status quo." She offers a 'Three Horizons Framework' approach to illustrate how systems can and do change: "Horizon one is business as usual – the status quo – and the outgoing institution in times of change. Horizon three is the new institution – with newly legitimised structures and beliefs. The space between them is horizon two, which is occupied by people focused on social change – who lead the transition from an old system to the new."
Glimpses of horizon three can already be glimpsed within the current system ('the future', famously, 'is already here; it just hasn't been evenly distributed'). "When aspects of horizon three appear – glimpses of a more sustainable system – they are usually rejected as illegitimate or too radical ... [but] if the climate strikers can continue to grow their movement and sustain momentum, their leadership could be an important part of society’s transition to a more sustainable system in horizon three."
In an opinion piece for the Guardian (15/3/19), Rebecca Solnit writes to "all the climate strikers today: thank you so much for being unreasonable. That is, if reasonable means playing by the rules, and the rules are presumed to be guidelines for what is and is not possible, then you may be told that what you are asking for is impossible or unreasonable. Don’t listen. Don’t stop."
Solnit reminds younger generations that "The world I was born into no longer exists. The role of women has changed extraordinarily since then, largely for the better. The entire Soviet empire collapsed suddenly 30 years ago ... I saw apartheid fall in South Africa, and a prisoner doing life become its president ... I saw wind and solar power go from awkward, ineffectual, expensive technologies only 20 years ago to become the means through which we can leave the age of fossil fuel behind. I have seen a language to recognize the Earth’s environmental systems arise in my lifetime, a language that can describe how everything is connected, and everything has consequences. Through studying what science teaches us about nature and what history teaches us about social forces I have come to see how beautiful and how powerful are the threads that connect us."
Acknowledging the unexpected power of school children such as Sweden's Greta Thunberg to change the popular landscape of possibility on climate change and mass extinction, Solnit says that "The rules are the rules of the obvious, the easy assumptions that we know who holds power, we know how change happens, we know what is possible. But the real lesson of history is that change often comes in unpredictable ways, power can suddenly be in the hands of those who appear out of what seems to the rest of us like nowhere. I did not see Thunberg coming..."
Writing in Nautilus (7/3/19) Paul Dobraszczyk draws on visual artists' depictions of far future cities to distinguish the power of our own imagination from that of technical projections in helping us understand what adapting to climate change might entail. Part of the problem in using scientific data about possible futures to engage present-day decisions is that, "grounded in empirical evidence, they are nevertheless essentially predictive, laying out a whole host of possible futures that rely on our ability to imagine those futures, even with the help of a welter of facts and figures." What is required in the first place is the imagination. "The overwhelmingly future-oriented language of climate change is perhaps the principal reason why it has been and continues to be so difficult to find common agreement as to how to act in the face of such fundamental uncertainty."
"In both literary and visual depictions of submerged urban futures, the intention is clearly to engage our imaginations in thinking through a radically different kind of future urban life." And, after surveying a range of imagined futures from the past and present, Dobraszczyk lands on one recent painting - Alexis Rockman's ironically titled Manifest Destiny - to illustrate how imagination can bridge the gap between possible futures and current realities.
"Even though the painting transports the viewer to a barely conceivable 3,000 years into the future, it nevertheless spells out clearly the connections between our own time and this long jump forward. The painting breaks down the entrenched humanist distinction between natural and human history -- in Manifest Destiny, both the future of the city and of nature are thoroughly intertwined. As such, the painting clearly flags up the need to think through those connections today and to recognize that they are already putting us on the road to the future envisaged in the painting. However, as its ironic title suggests, such a future is not inevitable; rather, Manifest Destiny invites us to consider how our own small actions are interwoven with the world and how they might be changed to co-create a more sustainable future."
In his op-ed in the Los Angeles Times (27/2/19) David Wallace-Wells briefly lists the five things he thinks we commonly misunderstand about climate change. These include: that somehow it's binary and either will or won't happen, depending on the actions we take now; that it happens slowly, and is mostly a legacy of the Industrial Revolution; that it's mostly about sea level rise and so of greatest concern to those living on coasts; and that two degrees of global warming is the worst case scenario, which we can and must avoid. But the fifth delusion, he suggests is the "misapprehension ... that science is even capable of containing and describing the sum total of the assaults. In fact, the indirect effects may be even more profound: on our psychology, our culture, our sense of place in nature and history, our relationship to technology and to capitalism. Not to mention our geopolitics."
As for the first four delusions, he asserts that: far from being on or off, "climate change is a function that will get worse over time as long as we continue to emit greenhouse gas"; climate change is fast and mostly recent, with "according to my research, more than half of the carbon exhaled into the atmosphere by the burning of fossil fuels ... in the last 30 years"; far from being a coastal threat, "if warming continues unabated, by the end of even this century, no life will remain untouched"; and limiting the global rise to 2oC "is a best-case scenario that, at this point, will be almost impossible to achieve."
These may be Wallace-Wells' own judgement calls, but what seems a safe bet is his suggestion that "We have already exited the environmental conditions that allowed the human animal to evolve in the first place, in an unplanned bet on just what we can endure." And, returning to his fifth delusion, there is the open question: "We have reshaped the world’s climate ... How will climate change reshape us?"
Writing in The Conversation (27/2/19), Phillip James points out the stark contrast between the unseasonable weather Britain is experiencing this February and the same time last year. Then, the 'Beast from the East' brought a minimum temperature of -11.7°C in Hampshire, and a maximum of only -4.8°C in Cumbria; now temperatures have reached 21.2˚C in south-west London: "the warmest winter day since records began. In February 2019, bumblebee queens were out looking for nest sites, adult butterflies were emerging from their winter hibernation and blossom appeared on some trees and shrubs."
He describes how the science of phenology is uncovering the shifting responses of plants, insects, birds and animals to our changing seasons - and how species that depend on each other can go out of synch. For example, "As the days get longer and warmer in the northern hemisphere, bird species such as the barn swallow follow these natural cues to depart for British habitats, where they nest and rear their young. These insectivorous migratory birds time their breeding season to coincide with insects being present in sufficient numbers to feed their young ... An early spring means that insects could emerge and breed before migratory birds arrive. Once in the UK, the birds may find there are fewer insects to eat and this results in fewer chicks fledging, which leaves their predators, including the sparrowhawk and the stoat, with less to eat. The disconnect between the arrival of insectivorous birds and the abundance of insects ripples through the ecosystem, affecting other animals and plants that at first sight may not seem linked to this seemingly benign change."
"Many people have worried about the unseasonable warmth and spring-like conditions of February 2019. As unseasonably mild weather brings about changes in plant growth that could accelerate climate change and widen the disconnect between elements of ecosystems, this unusual week may leave an even more worrying legacy."
ScienceDaily (25/2/19) reports research by Katherine Sainsbury and others showing how "the status of Britain's native mammalian carnivores (badger, fox, otter, pine marten, polecat, stoat and weasel) has 'markedly improved' since the 1960s," and that "the species have largely 'done it for themselves' - recovering once harmful human activities had been stopped or reduced." It was human activity that caused sharp declines: "Hunting, trapping, control by gamekeepers, use of toxic chemicals and destruction of habitats contributed to the decline of most predatory mammals in the 19th and early 20th Centuries, but as Dr Sainsbury says, "unlike most carnivores across the world, which are declining rapidly, British carnivores declined to their low points decades ago and are now bouncing back."
The exception to this good news is the wildcat, now restricted to small numbers in isolated parts of the Scottish Highlands. "Some estimates suggest there are as few as 200 individuals left. Their decline has largely been caused by inter-breeding with domestic cats, leading to loss of wildcat genes." And, as the report states "the status of stoats and weasels remains obscure."
In another thoughtful and thought-provoking blog at Ecosophia (20/2/19), John Micahel Greer picks up on an interesting case of a so-called invasive species asserting the power of nature to counteract humans' own invasive acts. About 30 years ago, a Russian freighter emptying its bilge tanks into the Great Lakes also released zebra mussels into those highly polluted water. Lake Erie had long been declared biologically dead. "What had once been a beautiful lake full of fish had become a gigantic open sewer, and very little even tried to live there when the zebra mussels arrived, but this didn’t stop the mussels. Within a fairly short time they had colonized the formerly dead lake en masse ... What’s more, as they did what zebra mussels do, the lake began to recover. As filter feeders, zebra mussels strain organic material out of the water, eating what they can and packing the rest into biologically inert 'pseudofeces' which drop to the bottom and are entombed in the sediment. As they fed, the lake water slowly became clear again, letting light down to the lower levels of the water column and permitting other species to return."
For Greer, things get interesting where modern industrial civilisation fails to learn from this natural 'invasion'. "The human reaction was all-out panic, followed by frantic attempts to exterminate the zebra mussels, or at least stop them from getting to other badly polluted lakes, of which there are of course no shortage in that region. To be fair, the mussels have certain habits humans find understandably annoying. They like to fasten onto the outflow pipes for industrial waste, sewage, and heated water from nuclear power plants, blocking the pipes solid and forcing factories and utilities to spend huge amounts every year to bore the pipes open again so they can keep on polluting. (Don’t try to tell me that Mother Nature doesn’t have a wicked sense of humor.) ... If you want to keep on doing business as usual when zebra mussels are present, in other words, it’s going to cost you."
It's an example of humans failing to understand that we're in conversation with the rest of the natural world. "We said 'pollution,' [Mother Nature] quipped 'zebra mussels;' we said 'internal combustion engines', and she smiled and said 'coastal flooding.' We can listen to her responses and learn from them — or not, and find out the hard way what else she has to say."
In a lengthy but highly readable and well-developed essay for Green Letters: Studies in Ecocriticism (13/2/19), Kelly Sultzbach writes about her work in and out of the classroom with students whose growing awareness of environmental crisis leads them to ask "what they could do and ... what we as a class would do. How do we begin to frame our response? ... In the humanities, I have been better equipped to craft a syllabus of readings that provoke interlacing questions and multiple interpretations than to articulate solutions or a list of action steps ... The humanities have trained us to enable students to see the impact of invisible power dynamics of privilege, to process feelings that are part of the human condition, and to adopt multiple perspectives that germinate a creative imagination."
As she discovers with her students, "it is easy to feel overwhelmed and alone facing the questions of the Anthropocene age, when in fact, there is a deep history of hope-as-work and a wealth of inter-generational mentors." And in addressing this tension between overwhelm and practical hope, her account of the value of environmental humanities shows how, "just as important as a broad sense of ‘environmental texts’ is a generous conception of environmental ways of reading – ferreting out rhetorical revealings and concealings, unexpected psychological shifts, markers of economic ‘health’ – that must be brought to bear on a range of genres: literary, scientific, and social." Such reading can increase our appreciation of uncertainty and the multiple perspectives it generates in any choice about the future. "Those ambiguities can’t be too hastily turned into answers; that back-and-forth of people finding different ways of responding to shared problems is part of the tensile swaying strength of a surviving river or a tree that will outlast a storm."
In this fascinating piece for Inside Out (14/2/19), Caspar Henderson writes of the enduring fascination with labyrinths across human cultures around the world and from ancient times to modern times. He quotes neuropsychologist Paul Broks: "the universal fascination with the image of the labyrinth suggests some fundamental psychological significance, that perhaps it holds the power to captivate and transform the mind in some way. It’s been suggested, for example, that threading the spirals of a labyrinth works to loosen the grip of rational, analytical, ‘left-brain’ styles of thinking, thereby opening the mind to more intuitive, spiritual, ‘right-brain’ modes of experience and the imaginal reality of ghosts and gods." And Henderson draws on this possibility and the ambiguity of popular representations of labyrinths to suggest this ability to loosen the group of habitual ways of seeing the world might be essential resources for getting to grips - mental, social, political - with wicked problems (or, better in my view, predicaments) such as the crises of climate change and the Sixth Mass Extinction.
"How to think and feel?" he asks. "What to do? ... The environmental crisis is a wicked problem, and most of us are implicated in it by the basic privileges our societies have afforded us ... But it is not impossible that the appetite and ingenuity that have delivered so much well-being by means that are ultimately destructive can be turned to good ends. And this brings me back to the labyrinth ... To make a more beautiful human labyrinth in a larger non-human world we will need (among other things) to think about re-integration ... of human and natural richness."
In an interesting echo of ClimateCultures Member Nick Hunt's series of posts from his book, Where the Wild Winds Are, Livia Gershon writes at JSTOR Daily (2/1/19) about early modern Europeans' beliefs on illnesses that they attributed to the winds they encountered on their travels. Reporting on the research of Vladimir Jankovic, she describes how "As Europeans travelled within and beyond the continent during the early modern period, they found strange and deadly winds. French scholar Chardin described victims of the African samiel wind, which was said to separate victims’ limbs from their bodies. Another killing wind, khamsin, left bodies warm, swollen, and blue. On the other hand, the dry African wind called harmattan parched the skin but cured fevers, smallpox, and diarrhea. The sirocco wind, which blew through Gibraltar and Naples, had a depressing effect. It also stopped digestion and killed over-eaters."
"In the mid-nineteenth century, Jankovic writes, medical scholars began trying to define the medical properties of the winds in measurable, scientific terms. Perhaps, some thought, atmospheric electricity related to the wind’s ozone content might throw off some bodily functions. Others proposed that the real role of a wind might be simply bringing in different kinds of weather. A south wind often ushered in heat and humidity, which could promote epidemics. Northeasterlies were known for their chill, bringing croup, sore throats, and swollen glands."
Chris Rapley, Professor of Climate Science at UCL, has written on the American Geophysical Union blogosphere (28/1/19) about his experience using theatre to build audiences' confidence in discussing climate change. "I knew from focus group studies carried out during the design of the £4.5m climate science gallery ‘atmosphere’ at the London Science Museum (where I was Director and gallery Head of Content) that even members of the ‘Alarmed’ and ‘Concerned’ segments of society are generally hazy about the climate change narrative. As a result, they tend to be reluctant to discuss the topic. This is especially so if a ‘dismisser’ is present."
He wrote and performed in '2071', a play commissioned by the Royal Court theatre in London and the Deutsches Schauspielhaus in Hamburg. Writing this as a 'fireside chat' and presenting it as an 'expert citizen' rather than academic "allowed me to weave in anecdotes, express emotions, and to frame climate change in terms of its social, ethical, economic and political implications, in addition to the science, and the technological advances that offer hope ... Unexpectedly, some members of the ‘Cautious’ and ‘Doubtful’ segments who attended were apparently persuaded to change their positions."
Many thanks to ClimateCultures Member Lucy Davies, Executive Producer at London's Royal Court, for alerting me to Chris Rapley's post. You can read Lucy's ClimateCultures post about the recent Artists' Climate Lab she helped create here.
Writing for Vox (31/12/18), David Roberts questions the question he's often asked about climate change: "Is there hope?" It's the wrong question, he says. "When people ask about hope, I don’t think they are after an objective assessment of the odds. Hope is not a prediction that things will go well. It’s not a forecast or an expectation. But then, what is it exactly?" he suggests that what people are looking for in 'hope' is more like 'fellowship': not being alone in facing up to the daunting odds that climate change is going to go (even more) terribly wrong.
Roberts thinks that 'hope' is a malformed question. Climate change is already a reality and it will get worse whatever we do. The emissions we've already released are working their way through the atmosphere-ocean-ice-land-life systems. We're committed. "In a sense," he says, "we’re already screwed, at least to some extent ... But we have some choice in how screwed we are, and that choice will remain open to us no matter how hot it gets. Even if temperature rise exceeds two degrees, the basic structure of the challenge will remain the same ... Two degrees will be bad, but three would be worse, four worse than that, and five worse still."
Roberts sets out the case for pessimism and optimism on us not exceeding 2 degrees (this century) and settles for a mix of the two. And, in the end, he seems to row back on his dismissal of hope because rapid change is possible. In both technology and in politics, "there are 'tipping points' after which change accelerates, rendering the once implausible inevitable ... Relying on them can seem like hoping for miracles. But our history is replete with miraculously rapid changes. They have happened; they can happen again. And the more we envision them, and work toward them, the more likely they become. What other choice is there?"
We begin the new year of our Views from Elsewhere feature with this piece at The Conversation (10/1/19). Sharon George and Deirdre McKay consider the carbon and materials pros and cons of the different ways we now listen to our music, given that physical media such as vinyl records are experiencing a revival. Downloading and streaming music electronically remain the most popular media. And you might think they give better environmental performance because of their nonmaterial nature and the lack of transport and disposal they require.
"Modern records typically contain around 135g of PVC material with a carbon footprint of 0.5kg of CO₂ ... Sales of 4.1m records would produce 1.9 thousand tonnes of CO₂ – not taking transport and packaging into account. That is the entire footprint of almost 400 people per year." And, like CDs, vinyl records can't be recycled. Against that, however, "if we listen to our streamed music using a hifi sound system it’s estimated to use 107 kilowatt hours of electricity a year, costing about £15.00 to run. A CD player uses 34.7 kilowatt hours a year and costs £5 to run." Downloading music and storing it locally to play, of course, has a lower energy requirement each time you play it. So the answer to the question of which option is the greener "depends on many things, including how many times you listen to your music."
[If you want to find out something interesting about the history of vinyl recording and playback, and the key role of one woman inventor played in how we came to enjoy high quality music in our homes, check out another site from ClimateCultures creator Mark Goldthorpe: Marie Louise Killick.]