What Did I Learn This Quarter?

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.

Parallel to Climate Politics

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

Chocolate and Chip

During our most recent contemplative practice, which Professor Litfin recorded for us to listen to over Thanksgiving break, I took some time to reflect on where my holiday meal came from.

My aunt hosted our annual family dinner this year, so we were incredibly lucky to enjoy potatoes, green beans, eggs, and various fruits straight from her farm. But some of our food, like the turkey, needed to be bought from the grocery store. That turkey is what (or who) I thought most about during the contemplation exercise. Specifically, I considered what that turkey’s life must have been like before it ended up on our table. The article we read last month about slaughterhouses (Working Undercover in a Slaughterhouse: an interview with Timothy Pachirat) had a profound impact on my thought process.

As the article points out, death is widely normalized in our culture, but, at the same time, we all take great care to willingly ignore it. Deep down, I’m sure my family and I all understood that the turkey on our table had suffered for most of its life. It probably lived in awful conditions in a factory farm, where it was forcefully fattened up and bludgeoned to death, all for some family to eat in celebration of a holiday whose origins are rife with much of the same exploitation and violence. This reality is not one that many of us want to think about, but it’s one I forced myself to confront to help me be more appreciative of the (unwilling) sacrifice that animal made.

(Photo by Win McNamee/Getty Images)

After gaining this clarity, I found myself thinking back to Thanksgiving morning, when President Biden officially pardoned Chocolate and Chip at the White House (pictured right). When I was watching this event, I felt joy that these turkeys would go on to live happily and healthily for many more years. However, I’ve realized instead that our country has this tradition of sparing the life of one or two turkeys every Thanksgiving merely to obfuscate those we’d rather not see.

In closing, I am thankful for the many insights I have gained throughout this quarter from our weekly contemplative practices, and as this class comes to an end, I am beginning to realize the positive impact they have had on me. Setting aside some time to just sit with my thoughts is something I plan to do more of in the future.

Fear: Friends and Foes

Organisms die, mountains erode, and as stars cease to shine, even the universe will experience heat death. The commonality of finitude unites humanity with itself and that which it exists alongside. Unlike the forests or the mountains, however, humans have evolved an awareness of their impending expiration. This awareness enables the emergence of death anxiety, the suppression of which, as argued in The Worm at the Core, catalyzes the development of fundamental pieces of human culture. Uninhibited death anxiety would hinder any degree of progress, yet through religion, ritual, and art, the severity of death was lowered such that humanity would come to strive. Despite this victory in our battle against fear, death anxiety still holds authority over much of our lives. Just as this lingering influence stops us from stepping into a busy street, so too can it be attributed to the conflict between ourselves. 

Terror Management Theory poses that the fear of death reinforces bonds amongst the in-group while severing them with those in the out-group. While for early humans, these groups may be easier to define, contemporary society has come to broaden the scope of what defines the in and out-groups. Grouping formed based on race and religion litter our historical records of conflict, but as a desire for further groups develops out of pressure from death anxiety, we see that such groupings can develop out of even minute differences, as suggested in Sigmund Freud’s theory of narcissism of small differences.

For many, walking the streets at night is an unnerving activity, triggering thoughts of our potential death. This death anxiety induces our Terror Management Theory groupings so strongly, that we come to view other people in our vicinity, especially those larger than ourselves as a threat. In recent weeks, however, reminders of our mortality have been ever-present. The numerous killings of students mere steps away from campus and the nightly ringing of gunshots have ignited even deeper levels of fear. Friends who live just a block away have now begun to ask for company on the way home, citing these recent events as factors for their greater distrust of people out at night. In reality, it is incredibly more likely that others outside are similar to ourselves, but our death anxiety grows so intense that anyone beyond ourselves is framed as an outsider and as a threat.

Getty Images

 

When The Bee Stings

credit: Ryan Haskins

I have a facts-based, biological view of mortality and existence, which I think is what has allowed me to find peace. I’ve accepted the simple fact that when I die, the same thing will happen to me that happens to all organisms on our planet: my corpse will be feasted on, and I’ll be turned into energy for other living beings.

As far as why I exist, I recognize that an organism’s singular purpose in life is to reproduce and contribute to evolution. Yes, this seems like a depressing outlook (especially because I’m gay), but it has led me to pledge to use my time here on Earth to “maximize what [I] can get out of life and minimize the harm [I] do to others” (Solomon et al. 224). Maybe this is emblematic of Terror Management Theory at work.

I’ve found it useful to apply that same ‘hard place’ worldview to my thoughts about living in a time of so many uncontrollable crises. I’m afraid of where America’s current struggles with capitalism, democracy, and international peacekeeping amidst the Anthropocene might take us. However, it motivates me to try to make a difference (however small), even when it seems futile. I choose what I get out of this life, so I am going to make the most of it and do my best to make society better for those who will come after.

When I started reading The Worm at the Core, I’ll admit that I had doubts about Terror Management Theory’s explanation of why people behave the way they do. In some ways, I still do. The book focuses almost solely on Western countries in experiments, ignores different gender perspectives, and overgeneralizes some claims without evidence. However, upon finishing the book and reflecting on some of my life decisions, I can see how TMT played a role, especially regarding my worldview.

As I review our other (sometimes quite bleak) course materials, I try to stay committed to my ‘hard place’ worldview and remember that change is possible if we envision it. I think this is why I’ve particularly enjoyed “The Ecomodernist Manifesto” and The God Species: Saving the Planet in the Age of Humans. When the bee stings and my time here on Earth is up, I may not have fulfilled my animal purpose, but I am confident that I will have fulfilled my human one.

What A Piece Of Work Is Man

Anthropocene – A word describing our planet’s current geological age, in which human activity is the dominant force on our climate and the environment.

When I signed up for this class, I was unaware that humanity had surpassed all natural Earth systems in becoming the primary influence on our biosphere. It is daunting to think that we – ‘we’ being relative, since only a small subset of our population has the power to combat the world’s worst polluters – no longer inhabit this planet but control it. Unfortunately, however, the state of our Earth is of second importance to so many, due to another human-caused disaster: heightened inter- and intra-national political conflict that seems to constantly bring the world to the brink of nuclear catastrophe.

Thinking about these compounding realities often lands me in feelings of despair and loneliness. But what brings me comfort is the knowledge that modern-day people are not much different from those of the medieval day. I have found that historical literature always helps me to feel grounded and motivated in my quest for societal change. One of my favorite passages about humanity, which almost perfectly sums up my own thoughts, is the following monologue Shakespeare wrote for Hamlet:

Quote from Act 2, Scene 2 of Hamlet: The earth seems to me a sterile promontory. This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire – why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god: the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust?

Shakespeare, William. Hamlet. Edited by David Bevington, Bantam Books, 1988. 

In this, Shakespeare (through Hamlet) is describing the world’s beauty and humanity’s strengths, while also revealing his true feelings of distaste for them. I find the phrase “What a piece of work is man” especially significant because it represents to me this duality. In the context of the monologue, the phrase appears to celebrate God’s masterpiece of the human being. However, the contemporary “piece of work” insult is my preferred interpretation. Yes, there are great qualities of humankind – our resiliency and our intelligence – but it’s difficult to overstate the extent of our failings.

When I signed up for this class, I didn’t understand the true extent of our climate emergency, but I do believe that, despite our failings (perhaps even because of them), our society can adapt to the ever-changing circumstances and emerge stronger than before. The tragic story of Hamlet does not have to prophesy our own.

Nature Is My Religion

Recently, I have begun to see myself as a piece of the earth rather than a being separate from it. This is something I began to feel not only in thought but as part of my soul. From skiing pillows in remote British Columbia as snow dumped onto us for days, to watching seals cover themselves with sand for protection from the sun on the shores of the Redwood Forest, I began to truly believe that the God I worship is mother nature and my religion is the natural world we live in.

Clouds above a mountain peak over looking a frozen lake.

Summit of Alpental after 4 inches of fresh snowfall.

With this spiritual discovery came the painful awareness that the things I saw and experienced are in danger of disappearing or being irreversibly altered by the effects of global warming. Less rainfall means shallow streams and Salmon not being able to make it to spawning grounds, wildfires destroying thousands of acres causing ash to rain from the sky states away, and homes being brought out to sea by extreme hurricanes doesn’t even begin to describe the effects that climate change has had on our planet. 

So, I took this class. Because how can I see the earth as my mother without understanding how to grasp my own mortality as humans continue to kill it? Can we save it? If I ride my bike and take short showers, does that manage the terror I feel for the future?

Sunlight breaking through fog over the trees on the shore of a beach covered in large mossy rocks.

Early morning where the freshwater river enters the oceans on the California coast in the Redwoods National Forest.

In class, we talked about systems theory in the context of understanding that we are living in the world rather than on it. I resonated a lot with this because it forces people to see something as a makeup of parts and how those parts function together to make a whole. Which is what the Earth is and how we participate in that system.

However, I think that it is important to see the interconnectedness of everything that works together to create the environment we live in, but Deep Adaptations provides a pessimistic view of climate change that not only seems to perpetuate an idea that the Earth cannot be saved from the harm that has been caused to it. This seems to embody the extremes of terror management theory that we have discussed in class and come to understand through various educational materials that show the extremes resulting from being reminded of our own mortality. In this case, the extreme of believing there is no reason to have hope.

Sources and References:

https://www.npr.org/2019/09/13/760599683/were-all-gonna-die-how-fear-of-death-drives-our-behavior

lifeworth.com/deepadaptation.pdf

youtube.com/watch

How to Triage Humanity

As we look forward into the Anthropocene, and our estimated trajectory within it, I find myself thinking about the morality and judgment of humanity.

On Tuesday, October 4th, we discussed as a class the very real possibility of a mass die-off event in regards to our species. The prevailing idea was that it would be caused either by our own nuclear destruction, or by a serious lack of resources to sustain our still booming population.

The UN published a statistic that the world population will reach 8 billion on November 15th, 2022. The Earth has a maximum carrying capacity of 9-10 billion people, and the UN has estimated that the world population will reach at least 10.4 billion in the 2080s if current patterns continue. I find this to be a terrifying thought. Before I die, the Earth and its resources will no longer be able to support the entirety of humanity, let alone the other species on this planet. 

So then what? Let’s assume the current models are correct and we run out of resources to harvest. What do we do then, when we still have 10.4 billion people to keep alive? The short answer is that not everyone will survive, and that’s where the morality of humanity will come into play.

This diagram is the current system from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services for medically triaging adults.

The basic definition of triage, according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary is ‘the sorting and allocation of patients according to a system that will maximize the number of survivors’. Triaging is a subjective activity that is heavily influenced by a person’s morality, and there is never a ‘right’ answer. So how do we decide on a system when it comes time to distribute our limited resources? Who gets to decide? Who gets to play God with not only humanity, but with all life on Earth? Do we choose the youngest to live? Do we choose those with the skills to help us survive in the future? Do we choose based on economic class or profession? Will this become a genocide of a people or culture? Will minorities or those with disabilities be further exploited and abused and left to the side to die?

To be brutally honest, however this triage of resources happens, it won’t be fair. One group of people will have the power to decide and the rest will just have to hope they are chosen to live. And that thought is terrifying.

Inspirations and Citations for this post:

The UN article “World Population to Reach 8 Billion on 15 November 2022

The diagram for triaging adults

Playing God” a podcast by RadioLab released in 2016

DON’T PANIC by Hans Rosling