Category Archives: Topics

Systems Thinking, Death, and Love

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This class helped me put my actions within a larger context and taught me that death allows me to love the world more deeply. I was part of the Save the Orcas action project where my group and I created Instagram posts for their campaign. Although spending time with my group members and working together towards a common task was fun, I feel that my work did not substantially help the orcas. Even so, as activists, it’s important to celebrate the intermediate steps whenever we feel like we haven’t advanced our goals enough (Mary & Johnstone 223). While I did not feel like I helped orcas, this project taught me how to present information in consumable small bites and how to communicate in a visual manner. In this modern world where information flows at a rapid rate, to catch people’s attention I will need to communicate in an attractive and digestible manner. The result of my action project is not the end point but fits into my larger conservation journey.

One of the quotes that resonated with me the most is in In Praise of Mortality, Barrows and Macy say, “with only a short time remaining to the cities we have built… there is no other act but loving this world more deeply” (10). In the context of death, everything I have and everyone I love will be gone one day. It is because I know that painful time will come that I want to treasure and love them more deeply while I still have the time to. I don’t want to take anything for granted anymore and will treasure what I do have rather than continuously pursue something more. In the context of the Anthropocene where there is geological, atmospheric, and political disorder, perhaps this is exactly the time where I need to love the most. Because it is love that makes me treasure the falling cities at all. Love helps me look through the disorder and reminds me why I am fighting to better the world because I love this world so much in the first place. I will face death with love. I will face the incoming Anthropocene with love.

In the zombie apocalyptic video game “The Last of Us”, the two main characters admire a herd of giraffes that now roam within the fallen city. Journey’s End by Orioto.

 

Death Anxiety as a Barrier to Climate Action

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Death acceptance is a valuable tool for building a more sustainable future. If humans overcome death anxiety, prioritizing natural systems and far out goals for the future become easier. This is because environmental movements often deal with long time frames and forward-thinking. Terror Management Theory suggests that humans intrinsically avoid death reminders. How can we think about climate change without envisioning a world in which we don’t exist? Thinking critically about sustainability means thinking beyond our own lifespans. 

In daily life, humans don’t often choose to think outside of our 100 years. Even though, geologically, 100 years is practically insignificant, our lifespan feels long and monumental. To think beyond 100 years is to perceive mortality. Humans disregard sustainability because it forces them to contemplate their own mortality. To live for the future is to acknowledge that you are acting to benefit a future that does not include you. Sustainability is hard because we don’t want to think about that. 

My experiences during our group’s action project directly counters this fear of mortality. By having conversations with people I normally wouldn’t speak to about death, as interviews for our video project, I opened the conversation to denial of death, personal beliefs, and our collective fears of the idea of not existing one day. What initially seemed like a rough conversation quickly began to ease my uncertainty and helped me form stronger bonds with the people I interviewed. 

While death anxiety may encourage us to limit our thinking in terms of sustainability, conversations about death give us room to process our emotions without falling into the false belief that we’re alone in our thinking. As we learned through Terror Management Theory and in this course, humans seem to internalize fears of death in similar ways. Discussing death directly addresses the elephant in the room. I found that after having a conversation about death, rather than spiraling in my mind, I was less adverse to thinking about large-scale worldly issues, like climate change. 

Death conversations increase humanity’s tolerance to mortality as a whole–a state we must reach to survive. We are mortal beings. Denying this drives us to ignore a future without us. Throughout history people even like to feel like they’re “building a better future” for next generations. To accept death is to open conversations about planet Earth in the coming centuries and prioritize protecting our natural resources for future generations. 

What Did I Learn This Quarter?

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While my action project experience in this class could have been better, I am able to recognize the valuable lessons I learned from it – primarily about the importance of having a group leader. If we had one person taking charge, I think we could have gotten a lot more done. Regardless, I am proud of how we came together in the end to create engaging and informative content, despite our busy schedules.

In the context of our class, I found that our project, promoting the passage of legislation aimed to revolutionize plastic recycling in Washington, perfectly represents political ecology. We live in a system where we elect individuals to make environmental policy decisions on our behalf, and this recycling bill relies on them to pass it. I don’t want to say that my group’s action project was worthless (because I think there is a lot of value in public education), but we should acknowledge that a social media campaign will likely have a limited impact on the decisions made in Olympia.

Honestly, that is the reality of political ecology in the Anthropocene.

As far as the other action projects, WashPIRG’s Save the Orcas campaign was what finally allowed me to understand what our class was about. I could see that, like my group’s, theirs hinged on the actions of legislators, and that Senator Cantwell’s refusal to support breaching the dams might be motivated in some way by her fear of dying. Relatedly, the Ernest Becker group was contributing to the study of conceptions of death, which is beneficial in helping us to predict whether future environmental reforms might be possible in the face of climate disaster, given that Terror Management Theory explains our actions in response to death reminders. As this group mentioned in class, they were frustrated at the constraints they were given by the people in power over them, which is exactly what the ICA is for. This last group’s action project was directly investigating the political ecology of UW in the Anthropocene and trying to get our Board of Regents to follow through on their fossil fuel divestment commitments, again relying on people in power.

All in all, while it wasn’t my own group’s action project that led to me discovering the true meaning of our class, it was the action projects of our class in general that helped me to understand what it means to survive the political ecology of death in the Anthropocene.

How then shall I live?

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My major takeaway from this course regards how I want to proceed with living my life.

We have learned that death anxiety rules our lives and decisions, and that we cope through various forms of terror management. This constant fear drives our species to war, industrialization, colonization, exploitation, and now to the brink of a planetary climate disaster.

One of our contemplative practices asked us to consider three mindsets. Where 1) the world is generally getting worse, 2) the world is generally getting better, and 3) the world is how it is. I find the 3rd mindset to be the most realistic and empowering. In this view, we see the world as it is without sugarcoating it or focusing purely on evils. In this view, humanity has agency. We can sit back and continue our trajectory toward a terrible future, or we can choose to collaborate, innovate, and save our species from collapse.

With this mindset of agency, I am struck by the question: “how then shall I live?”

I need to start with my forms of terror management. Before this course, my management consisted of spree online shopping to fill a non-existent gap in my life and constant distractions because silence allowed intrusive thoughts to run rampant. These are unsustainable strategies.

Professor Jem Bendall in his video about Deep Adaptation asks viewers to cherish what they have. To enjoy life in the short time that we have it. Though I talk about why I dislike Bendall’s perspective in another blog post, I have come to accept this concept when taken alongside the strategies presented in Active Hope, the relief and fulfillment of volunteer work like my action project for WashPIRG’s Save the Orcas, and the hope that humanity still has agency to change.

Image Credit: Syracuse Peace Council

To answer the question “how then shall I live?,” I must adjust my terror management. Rather than needlessly consuming, I can focus on being grateful for what I already have. Rather than constantly distracting myself, I can spend more meaningful time with friends and family to feel reassured that I have people I care about who also care about me. I can take part in local efforts that better my community and environment. I can make changes like being better about recycling and using my purchasing power to favor local, sustainable businesses. I can choose to live with hope.

There are easily implementable things I can do to live a more conscientious and sustainable life without drastically changing my lifestyle. I don’t know if this is enough, but I hope that between collective individual action, death anxiety harnessed by corporate inventors to find technological solutions, and global politicians trying to one-up each other, we will find a way to persist as a species.

Fear Within our Anthropocence and How We Can Over Come It

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My biggest takeaway about the political ecology of death in the Anthropocene is that people are ruled by fear. Political leaders, religious leaders, everyday people, and everyone in between has some amount of fear in their lives. Fear of our death, fear of failure, fand ear of how our world is being run.

This poem by Shakespeare speaks of fear:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50428/song-fear-no-more-the-heat-o-the-sun-

Fear does not have to be a negative influence. Letting fear control you allows for it to have power over you. But, acknowledging this fear creates a new opportunity. An opportunity for love, desire, hope, and a life full of adventure.

The Worm at the Core states “Why not depart from life as a sated guest from a feast” (Solomon) and I agree. Why not take our life for everything it has to offer. Living in the depths of despair does nothing for for anyone. This class has shown me that yes, our world is dark, has several demoralizing issues, and needs some fixing-but the beautiful thing is that we have the power to change this. We can be the light in our own world.

My action project was built around WashPirg’s Save the Orca Campaign with the goal of breaching the Lower Snake River Dam to allow more salmon to be available for the Orca’s to feed on. This is a passion project, and as I reference in my paper all passion projects are a way of coping with death anxiety. Passion projects to me are a positive way of working through personal death anxiety on some level. Being a part of something greater than oneself is an incredible feeling, and to me gives the feeling of hope.

Hope is stronger than fear, but when paired together can create opportunities to better our world

Shakespeare’s poem talks about how we will all come to rest as dust eventually (Shakespeare), and The Worm at the Core talks about how we are no more valuable to this Earth than a lizard or a potato from a biological perspective (Solomon), so then what is the point of being riddled with anxiety. This ay be a blindly optimistic point of view, but with how things are currently going… What do we have to lose by giving our best effort to enact change?

“I thought death would smell worse”: How Death has Crawled into Every Crevice of Society… and my Attic

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One of the main takeaways I got from this course is that death lives everywhere in society; if we take Terror Management Theory and Ernest Becker at face-value, everything we do, whether directly or indirectly, is to manage our own death anxiety. When I first heard that, it seemed a little convenient. Of course something that all humans experience was at the root of all our social, political, and environmental problems.

However, upon reflecting more upon the ways that death has influenced my own life—from trying to be remembered, to “doing good,” and more—I recognize that, in someways, it makes a lot of sense. Death has invaded pretty much every aspect of human life. And then, it invaded my attic.

I always thought I’d be able to tell if something had died in my house; if not by sight, then by smell. I never thought I’d spend more than three months living under death—and before you freak out and think there’s a dead body in the attic, there’s not—but, it seems like, similar to the way death operates in our society, it’s actually pretty easy to live under death if you have no idea it’s there. Until, of course, things start going wrong.

My roommate got severely ill almost a month ago, and it became clear that something in the house was causing it. She hired a mold inspector and, upon our exploring our attic, he found something that was admittedly much worse than mold. The wet spot on her ceiling wasn’t a water leak, and he didn’t think it was mold, either. No, he thought it was rodent urine. There were rat and squirrel nests in the attic. And carcasses. So. Many. Carcasses.

Immediately, he told us to be on the lookout for any kind of symptoms for illnesses we struggled to say and/or spell—oh, and ammonia poisoning. Leave the house if you get a headache. With one trip to the attic, it felt like our house had crumbled around us. We realized that this space that we had started to make a home could be killing us.

In the same ways that talking about death anxiety altered the way I view the world and those around me, the rat carcasses altered the way my roommates and I saw our home. We were no longer safe, and everywhere we looked we saw death.

Manhattan Wildlife Stock Illustration - Download Image Now - Rat, Cartoon, Death - iStock

“I am not my body. My body is not me”

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CW: Sickness/illness

I refuse to be the sum of my parts.

Monday, November 13th was a day like any other. I went to class, drank one too many coffees, procrastinated my homework. I fell asleep curled around a book.

Tuesday, November 14th, I woke feverish, teary-eyed, shaking. I fell asleep clutching a thermometer that read 103 degrees. 

I can’t remember November 15th, or 16th, or 17th, or 18th. I know my partner helped me write emails to my Professors explaining absences. I know my fever did not break 103 degrees until Friday night. I know I received three rounds of treatment. I know, almost a month later, I am still recovering.

It’s in moments like these, I find myself aligned with death apathy. In the obliterating pain and sadness, I become resigned to the prospect of death, probably because it feels so intimately close. In moments like these, it is extremely hard to remind myself I am more than the body that is making me feel this way. 

The awareness icon for my disease.

Our conversation last week regarding what we conceptualized as our “I” continues to resonate with me. My classmate, Ryan’s, comment about the view of their body and mind being inherently linked struck me. Why did my body so viscerally reject this statement? Why did I feel so disconnected from so many of my peers? Why didn’t I feel the connection between my body and my Self? 

Because my disability lives in my body, whatever form it chooses to manifest in is physical. While it continues to facilitate the degeneration of my body, it cannot touch my mind, my spirit, my soul. These aspects of me – despite feeling physically exhausted – feel so alive. If we were truly just our bodies, this would be incompatible – at least, to me it would be. 

Despite the yearly, monthly, weekly breakdown of my body, I feel stronger than ever. I frequently combat anger, frustration, and feelings of unfairness due to my disability, but that does not hinder my ability to feel generative, creative, and as I said before, alive. I don’t write this post to try to change anyone’s mind, but write it to explore how our lived experiences and identities shape how we talk about ourselves and relatedly, our future deaths. How do you think our  conceptualization of our “I” fosters death anxiety/death apathy? Do our personal identities and experiences help us create our conceptualization of our “I”? 

Parallel to Climate Politics

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Walking around a room with 18 other people, eyes on the floor, lights off, mind adrift in thoughts of death, climate change, and politics, was a confounding experience.

My takeaways from this strange contemplative practice did not become clear until days later. In the moment, the practice seemed somehow ironic and meaningful, yet I could not understand why. I now see my experiences in this practice as almost representing or paralleling the politics of climate change.

Mindfulness among the masses. Image Credit: Unknown

With our eyes on the ground, I felt overwhelmed. Listening to Karen’s descriptions of the world, I felt helpless in the face our extensive problems. There is so much to unpack, not enough time, and I don’t even know where to start. Amongst all these other shoes walking around the floor, how can anything I do be significant? How can I sway people to my side if we all come from different backgrounds, have different priorities, and live in a polarized playground where everything is black and white, or so gray in between that it is unintelligible? This overwhelming feeling is matched in the politics of climate change. It is such an extensive issue that leaders and individuals have no idea where to start or how to help. This overwhelmingness is dangerous because it can lead to stalling on solutions, and inaction which could effectively cause voluntary human extinction.

When we lifted our eyes to acknowledge each other I struggled to remain serious. I found the reality of 19 of us aimlessly wandering the tiny classroom, trying not to hit each other, while listening to poems about death funny. Sort of a “laugh because otherwise you’ll cry” response. This reaction is similar to how many people handle the climate crisis—they don’t take it seriously. They laugh because it is a wild idea that humans could unintentionally cause so much destruction and death while wandering the earth industrializing. They ignore it, because if they believe that there is nothing they can do, then it is better to laugh and cherish what they have while they are alive, rather than to get lost in a spiral of despair waiting to die.

In this practice I felt myself putting on a face for my peers. I couldn’t just acknowledge them with an honest expression of my feelings because that would have been too vulnerable. I felt like I had to smile, exaggerate my expressions, and communicate a false narrative. This, too, is similar to the politics of climate change. World leaders go to climate conferences and exaggerate their actions and intentions, project their virtue and strength, and hide their vulnerability and honest reality of confusion and disaster. We want to die with pride, and for our largely old politicians, acknowledging a problem would mean dying guilty.

Bonn, Germany Climate Conference. Image Credit: UNFCC