Changing Climates, Deep Doo Doo, and Pickles

This will be a long post, but I've got a lot to get off my chest, and it's my 100th for the Farm, so I'm indulging myself. And because of the impending ice storm, I've got the afternoon off--which may seem ironic, given the subject at hand, but at the moment the weather's behaving appropriately for the season.

The news about the future of our planet, despite the generally upbeat tone of political news at the moment, seems to be getting grimmer and grimmer. Bill McKibben's latest piece for Foreign Policy "Think Again: Climate Change" (reprinted in the Dallas Morning News on Sunday, the 25th, as "Past the Boiling Point") reminds us that it's already too late for some remedies, and is rapidly getting to be too late for many others.

What we generally see in response to what seems to be a growing body of agreement is either band-aid approaches (Ten Ways You Can Help Save The Earth) that include recycling all of the unnecessary packaging on the stuff we buy that we don't really need, or abject denial (as I read in local blogger Denise McNamara's recent post "Dallas Morning News: Burn After Reading"): "there are multitudes of scientists who disagree, and as earth prepares to enter a period of solar maximum, the consensus is that man does not cause climate change; the sun does. Oh, and right now the earth is experiencing global cooling" she claims, despite evidence to the contrary. See, for example, the consensus list posted on LogicalScience, or the article in Science (Dec. 2004), or Joseph Romm's critique of the opposition, "The Cold Truth About Climate Change" in Salon.com from a year ago. Just today, Jim Giles writes in New Scientist that "Human emissions could bring 'irreversible' climate chaos."

As anyone who's studied geology can tell you, climates do in fact fluctuate like crazy (although change usually takes place over millennia). Yes, we do experience periods of heating and cooling and interglaciation. And other factors, like earth's wobbly axis, can cause things to change more quickly, as they did back in the Mesolithic to generate the dessication of the Sahara region. But even somebody who's never taken a geology, biology, or physics class in his or her life should be able to see that something's going on, and we are in fact blowing all manner of particulate matter into the atmosphere at an unprecedented (at least before the Industrial Revolution) rate. There's a simple equation in play here: more people + more stuff = more emissions. The upshot is crappy air that can't be taken care of by bio-absorption because more people and more stuff are in part the result of cutting down our own built-in bio-filters: forests all over the world. And, of course, the few glaciers left are melting apace.

The exact consequences and even the exact mechanisms aren't perfectly understood because there are simply so many factors involved that the computer models can't keep up with them, and we sure as hell don't have the experience to help us figure out processes occurring too quickly to test or predict with any real facility.

So what's a conscientious, non-denier to do? I mean, if you're already doing all ten of the "simple" things you can do to save the earth, what's next? Or if you've been a tree-hugger since your hippie days, what else can you embrace? Especially when you throw in the current economic crisis, lost jobs, and the prospect of worsening economic conditions before they get better (we hope--remember?). Every new thing we don't buy, every workman we don't hire, every meal we eat in, every television show we don't watch impacts the economy. The old one, that is.

If we're going to do anything about climate change, it seems to be intricately connected (as all systems are) with consequences somewhere else along the line. In the end, I think this calls for some radical rethinking of the economy we've been living in for the past fifty years, and perhaps looking backward for some ideas about living well with less.

Of course I'm talking about William Morris. And I'm trying not to be a Luddite. But the man was right; we need to examine philosophically how it is we might live, and take steps to create that world for our children. It means examining the way we live now very critically, especially in terms of quantity versus quality. We get too much information. We drive too fast. We use too much of everything and pay too little for it to sustain the people who make it for us. We know too little about the world, but use too much of it, disregarding the consequences of every liter of gasoline, every kilowatt hour of electricity, every gallon of water we consume.

We also need to re-imagine the concept of work. In addition to considering Morris's distinction between "useful work and useless toil," it would be helpful to examine what "work" has come to mean in the twenty-first century. Howard Gardner's article from 2007, "An Embarrassment of Riches" points out that "The accumulation and cross-generational transmission of wealth in the United States has gone way too far. When a young hedge-fund manager can take home a sum reminiscent of the gross national product of a small country, something is askew. When a self-made entrepreneur can accumulate enough money to, in effect, purchase that country, something is totally out of whack. It’s impossible to deny that market fundamentalism has gone too far." He goes on to suggest limits to personal wealth, which would, of course, cause volcanic eruptions on the right (and probably on the wealthy left as well). But the real impact of his critique lies in the nature of that wealth: the kind of "work" involved in acquiring it.

Why is it that those who do the worst work--the people who pick up after us all, for example (garbage collectors and sorters, maids, busboys, dishwashers, building maintenance people), who do the dirtiest jobs, receive the smallest wages? Why do people who do really important work (like taking care of our children while we're off "working," elementary and secondary educators, caretakers in homes for the elderly) "earn" so much less than guys who sit in plush leather chairs and spend other peoples' money? Why can't a farmer earn a decent living and maintain the family farm without mortgaging him or herself silly in order to stay afloat? I know I've ranted about this before, but it seems all the more relevant now that people who could count on their jobs at places like Home Depot--a company you'd think would be doing fine because people are beginning to opt to do it themselves rather than hire someone to paint their houses and such--are now being laid off.

There does seem to be some hope embedded not only in the new administration, but also in the growing realization of parents in this country that if something doesn't give, those precious little kiddies they've been hovering over are going be stuck in deep shit. And since these kids don't even know much about poop or where it goes or how it's processed (somebody else cleans it up, after all), they're also going to be in a pickle. And they don't know where those come from, either.

When I was writing More News From Nowhere, I wondered about what people would leave out of their new world if they had a chance to start afresh. One of the first things to go, as it turned out, was electricity. The people in the story carefully examined all of the consequences they could think of engendered by the use of a fairly simple technology: everything from sleeping patterns to how much they used their bodies to accomplish tasks.

Now, I doubt seriously that anybody's going to give up their light bulbs any time soon (and what use would there then be for my pretty switchplates?). But thinking and learning about systems and how they interconnect, and how they impact the way we live on the earth is a step toward imagining a different economy.

Why don't we make by hand more of what we truly need? Why do only relatively wealthy people get to afford good, locally-grown produce? Why do we have to use a car to go everywhere? Why do we think we need to be able to stay up all night to work or study or play games? What ever happened to sitting around eating, talking, enjoying the company of friends without going to a noisy bar and watching a big screen TV all at the same time?

Signs of change like the Slow Food movement and Community Supported Agriculture are laudable and offer some reason for optimism. Efforts on the part of the government to retrain workers and keep jobs at home may help, too, but the jobs have to be thoughtfully conceived rather than simply be re-hashed ideas that involve manufacturing more unnecessary commodities.

But I also think that there needs to be a national conversation about what kind of world we should make, as opposed to what kind of world we've become accustomed to. It might begin with thinking about what we would save if we could (or had to) start all over again, and what we can do without. We don't have the option to really throw it all out and begin again, but a thought experiment like this might help us realize something about the value of the world itself, and what our continuing presence here might mean to those who come after us--of all nationalities, ethnicities, and species, not just our own.

One thing that comes to mind, on a practical and individual level, is to look at what we already have in terms of what we think we need. For example, I live in a drafty house that I've done about as much to insulate as I can, and so I keep the thermostat down at 60 degrees and use lap-rugs to stay warm while working or reading or watching the telly. I need another one, because the coziest throw we have isn't really big enough for two of us. I could go out and buy one of those nice fleecy things I saw on a browse through Tuesday Morning not long ago (the second time in recent memory that I'd been in there and not bought a blessed thing). They're cheap (probably cheaper than they should be) at about $20. But they're made out of synthetic fibers (the manufacture of which spewed who knows how many pounds of carbon and other gunk into the air), and it would be, after all, One More Damned Thing.

So today, since I'm pretty much caught up with the week's lectures, I'm going to gather up all the old bits of wool I've had squirreled away in the Museum of Unfinished Projects, and start knitting up a new blankie: hand crafted, possibly pretty (I've got some granny squares already finished and they actually look rather nice; I'll join them up with some strips of knit-one-purl-two and see what happens), and it won't cost me anything I haven't already spent.

I've already started a "finishing up what's in the freezer/larder" project that involves making peasant soups at least once a month using odd bits of veg, rice, pasta, and tinned foods, and an occasional chunk of meat. So far they've been wonderful, and I'm now making room for stocking up on home-made bread and other staples that I can make in batches and then freeze. Come summer, when I should have recovered enough of my stamina to garden energetically, I'll have room on the shelves for jams and chutneys and pickles galore.

Maybe I'll invite some children to help me, so they'll see how it's done.

Images: The charts are from Global Warming Art. Hundreds of high-quality diagrams and charts are available, created by really smart, creative people. The picture of Morris at 53 is from Wikimedia Commons.

Rolling Up Our Sleeves and Darning the Sheets

The nice picture that appeared on all the news shows and in the paper this morning (not the one I've used above), of Barack Obama sans jacket, calling world leaders from his new office was kind of inspiring. "Get to work," it seems to say. "Now."

So I'm going to go back to preaching about profligacy and superficiality, while I work at trying to find ways in which those of us who live in this still-the-wealthiest-nation-on-earth can live better. Not "better" in the sense of "getting more stuff with less money," but in the sense of "intellectually richer" or "more in tune with the rest of the natural world." That is, when I'm not trying to stockpile enough PowerPoint lectures to get my sub through the Spring quarter.

The Dallas Morning News has started to run a "Dollar Wise" feature in its Guide section, and the January 11 edition ran Nancy Visser's "Confessions of Consumer Dropouts," which (on the surface, anyway) seemed to echo the theme of Judith Levine's book, Not Buying It (about which I wrote back in my December post, "Waste Not"). Visser's pledge is not to not buy anything for a year--it's just to not buy anything new. Well, that's noble enough, I thought. "So, in 2009, we will buy nothing new except food, toiletries, and home-improvement items." This represents the renewal of a vow made in 2007, which resulted in a few changed habits, a raised consumer consciousness, and that "helped define our values." She doesn't explain what that means, but I didn't read the original article (if there was one).

Her advice on how to accomplish these goals comes under a sub-heading, "Consumer Zen." Copywriters really do need to start paying attention to what they say, because what follows has nothing at all to do with Zen.

Visser's rules are simple enough, and laudable for the most part. For example, she points out that when you don't spend time shopping, you have more time for other pursuits--like reading the whole paper instead of just the ads. One really helpful observation is that one can learn to live with what one has; as soon as you stop thinking about buying stuff all the time, you no longer seem to "need" new counter tops, or a new rug. But her pledge to not buy anything new includes some odd subterfuges: like stockpiling toiletries before you begin (she didn't actually do this on purpose; she just took advantage of rebates out of habit and ended up with nearly a years' supply of deodorant and such). If you're like me--someone who refuses to buy shampoo laden with questionable chemicals--you don't get rebate coupons. It occurs to me to suggest that if you're not spending all that time shopping for rebatable cosmetics, you could probably make your own out of really simple, safe, organic ingredients.

And here's a hint for her: a one-time purchase of a washable furnace filter will save you from having to replace them. Forever. And it's possible to find recycled tile for the entry hall (according to Visser, "used tile isn't an option." Why not?). If you want to save money on that sort of thing, shop salvage yards and your nearest Habitat for Humanity Re-store.

My point here is not that there's anything nefarious going on; it's just that there's no Zen. The reasons for not buying new things should be bound to the same reasons as for not buying more stuff at all. Only buy what you need. And when you do so, think of the consequences. Sometimes it's better to buy new: like purchasing a low-emissions car that gets better fuel economy instead of an old gas guzzling fume-spewer. When you have to buy new bedding, as Zisser insists she must ("No used bedding for us!"), save up for high-quality, organically-grown, fair-trade bedsheets that will last a lifetime. Personally, I relish sleeping on the few pillow cases I still have that were lovingly embroidered by my great grandmother, and quite a number of people seem to be happy to purchase "antique" linens (as long, I guess, as they're from France, where the heirlooms of countless French farm wives are being sold off to the great glee of English and American high-end consumers). And whatever happened to darning the sheets (even if you don't have Roman slaves to do it*)?

Real economy isn't just about saving money or uncluttering our lives. It's about rethinking how we live. The new President touched on this in is inaugural address, when he noted the following:

That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age.

The hard choices will involve the Big Items like what kinds of automobiles we manufacture, what kinds of fuels we use, how we treat our croplands (and what we grow), how we treat our poor and our sick, and what becomes of our immigrants.

But the choices also include how we live. Nancy Visser's effort at getting a handle on how she spends her money is commendable in many respects; but like many such efforts, it doesn't really address the fundamental question of need versus want. She admits to coveting new stuff, and expresses the following hope: "May the recession end before we have to swear off used stuff, too."

Yes, Mr. President; we do have some hard choices to make. And we need some education of desire to help us make them.

*This is an obscure reference that only fans of the old BBC comedy, Up Pompeii!! will get; the protagonist-slave, Lurcio, complains about most of his tasks--including darning the sheets.

Image credit: Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin, The Laundress, 1735. Owned by the Hermitage, available at Wikimedia Commons.

One Giant Weep for Mankind

Well, maybe not so much. But it's certainly been an emotional morning. I decided to watch today's inaugural ceremonies with my laptop in front of me, and this is what came out:

As cranky as I can get about all manner of events, I am a real sop for historical events.

When the Berlin Wall came down, I called my children in from their bedrooms to watch the exuberant crowds on TV, wielding sledgehammers, picks, and even their bare hands. Tears rolled down my cheeks as the chorale from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, "Ode to Joy," was played over and over.

I cry when I vote. I've mentioned before that ever since I can remember, the act of voting has choked me up, to the extent that poll watchers regularly hug me and assure me that I'm not the only one.

I guess I'm not. Last night when I was watching the MSNBC news shows, I noticed how frequently Keith Olbermann (an even crankier person than I am) and Rachel Maddow found themselves becoming verklempt over the significance of what would take place the next morning.

This morning.

As I type, it's 9:30 EST, and the crowds around the inauguration venue are already almost at capacity. Although the colors of faces vary as they always do, it's amazing and wonderful to see how many African Americans have made their way from all over the country to witness this singular moment. It's even more poignant because it takes place only one day after the Martin Luther King national holiday, when we were reminded that Dr. King was only four years off when he predicted a Black president within forty years.

The people who seem least fazed by all the hoopla are the Obamas themselves: elegant, cool, composed--presidential. It will be interesting to note if a tear escapes either of them during the swearing in. And the rituals begin: the trip to the church, the arrival at the White House for coffee with the Bushes, and then the trip to the Capitol for the swearing in ceremony.

Newsfolk are positively giddy. After all, "If you're a civics dork," says Rachel Maddow, "this is bigger than Christmas." That's probably understating things a bit, because even those who don't get excited by many occasions (like my Beloved Spouse) will be watching the ceremony with their students and absorbing the moment. I doubt if a more appropriate point could be made to a class full of social and political philosophy students than to see the first Black president inaugurated on their first day of class. I'd be interested to learn how many of them weep through it all, because the intensity of the moment is always enhanced by fellow-feeling.

Of course, the opposite could happen. My husband's college is located in a Republican bastion, and this generation seems to be more sentimental about celebrities than about polititians. Even my own children, coerced into watching the Berlin Wall tumble down all those years ago (has it really been twenty years?), saw little to fuss about. They hadn't been around when it was built, though, and had little sense of its significance to the Cold War (they had never had to "duck and cover"). On the other hand, few of today's kids have been completely untouched by the Iraq war or the failing economy, so perhaps they will participate in the sense of promise being displayed on the Mall in Washington.

More than one person has mentioned the distance we have all traveled from the time when white people owned black people, when slaves were transported in the holds of ships during the Middle Passage, and when we allowed people of color to serve in the armed forces, but didn't allow them to hold office, or even vote. This moment doesn't belong to a race, it belongs to human beings who, by electing this one man in this one country to this one office, have finally come of age. We've grown up symbolically, even though it might still be generations before its full impact takes effect.

As Barack Obama appears through the door (it's after noon, so he's already officially the President), the effect is pretty spectacular. Flags wave, chants of "O-ba-ma" erupt, and cameras pan over millions of smiling faces. Obama himself seems nonplussed, and everyone's probably wondering (as the Newsies all are) what he's thinking.

Aretha Franklin gets up to sing "My Country Tis of Thee," which I find amusing, because its tune is "God Save the Queen." At least it's not "God Bless America" which has become the alternate national anthem since 9/11, but it might better have been "America the Beautiful." Since it's Aretha, though, she makes it swing. I didn't get weepy here, but might later when the Navy Sea Chanters sing the "Star Spangled Banner."

Before the actual oath we get a variation of Aaron Copland's variation of the Shaker hymn "Simple Gifts," arranged by Star Wars Boy, John Williams, and performed sweetly and lovingly by Itzak Perlman, Yo Yo Ma, Gabriela Montoya, and Anthony McGill. The quartet is as multi-racial as the audience and the new administration.

And here it is: a bit of a muff (Obama seemed to know the text better than Chief Justice Roberts did), but an oath nonetheless, and as predicted, tears everywhere (except on the podium).

Good speech, too. It didn't make me blubber, but it did give me hope, and I think children in the future will memorize it if the promise this presidency engenders comes to fruition. I can go back to work now, having spent the morning well, and witnessed an historic moment with fewer tears than expected. Maybe that's a good sign--that I haven't been overcome with sentimentality but rather with sobriety. Reverend Lowery's image of transforming tanks into tractors was a great parting shot. Amen, indeed.

Image credit: Since there weren't any photos to upload, I thought a shot of Lincoln's inauguration would be appropriate: "Abraham Lincoln's first inauguration which took place in Washington, DC. Lincoln stands underneath the covering at the center of the photograph. The scaffolding at upper right was being used in construction of the Capitol dome." Wikimedia Commons.