Arcadiana

A Blog about Literature, Culture and the Environment

Tag: Climate Change

  • Commodified and Digital Airscapes: Reflections on sensing and breathing air in the 21st century

    Commodified and Digital Airscapes: Reflections on sensing and breathing air in the 21st century

    The LA fires that wreaked havoc in Hollywood earlier this year were only one instance of many over the past years when wildfires ravaged communities and polluted the air. Apart from catastrophic wildfires, industry and vehicle emissions are sources of pollution many people experience on an everyday basis. With increasing levels of air pollution in the world’s biggest cities, it is perhaps no surprise to see the emergence of commodified and digital air as a new frontier of commodification and extraction: air domes, air purifiers, bottled mountain air, and digital air quality index applications (AQI-apps) are only a few examples of the ways in which society has responded to worsening air quality. But what do these developments mean in terms of the ways we inhabit and sense air?  

    On a smog-infested January day in Beijing, a user on the social media platform Sina Weibo writes: “AQI app shows 400!!! I’m inside with the air purifier on.” In another time and part of the world, in a sweltering June, a Reddit user writes: “The smoke from the wildfires has reached New York. It is apocalyptic outside, and I’m blasting the air purifiers. Feels fine inside.”

    Although the fate of these two social media users with their air purifiers is unknown, we may safely assume they survived the apocalypse, which stands in stark contrast to William Delisle Hay’s science fiction novella, The Doom of the Great City, from 1880.1 Like the apocalyptic scenes described by the social media users’ of today, Hay’s fictional London is covered in a toxic soot blanket. But only a single person survives to tell the tragic story as the rest of Londoners suffocate to death. Needless to say, there are no air quality apps or air purifiers in this fictional London. And if there were – would it have made a difference? Can technology save us from air pollution? Probably not. But it can do a great deal of other things. 

    In fact, these two social media comments exemplify ways in which technological and digital equipment have entered our relationship with the air. Not only that, these devices also have profound effects on how air is experienced. In these short descriptions, the outdoor and indoor air become different entities due to the air purifiers, which create a secluded and, allegedly, pure airscape indoors, as opposed to the apocalyptic scenes outside that are physically sensed and mediated through the AQI-numbers. The notion of airscapes suggests the construction and conceptualizations of different forms of air that we come to inhabit. These airscapes can be conceptualized simply by our sensual understanding of air, the report of others, digital and other types of technical equipment, or a combination of all the above. The question is what happens to our understandings of air when our experiences of air are increasingly mediated by digital devices? 

    Bodily senses and airscapes

    Seventy years before Hay’s novel, the London air is also a topic that vexes Mr. Woodhouse, a character in Jane Austen’s Emma from 1816. When learning about the many colds his eldest daughter and grandchildren have recently experienced, Mr. Woodhouse immediately finds the villain of these ills – the London air. 

    “Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be. It is a dreadful thing to have you forced to live there! so far off!—and the air so bad!”2  

    In his assessments of the London air, Mr. Woodhouse is not in the wrong. Historical records estimate that the city experienced a rapid worsening of air quality from the beginning of the 19th century, the presumed time frame in which Emma is set.3 Yet, unlike us, Mr. Woodhouse couldn’t know this through sensors, satellite imaging, or AQI-apps, providing the latest updates and forecasts. No, he used his senses or relied on the sensual experiences of others. Presumably agreeing with Mr. Woodhouse’s assessment of the London air, the family doctor has prescribed another type of air as a remedy for the illness-prone family – sea air and its salty winds. In Emma, air is thus categorized as the healthy rural air, the healthy sea air, and the toxic London air, forming airscapes based on bodily and emotional sensations of the air. 

    Skip forward 200 years, and similar airscapes to the ones in Emma are artificially produced for consumption. There are air humidifiers and purifiers simulating sea-air for preserving health; there is bottled mountain air promising the consumer up to 160 breaths of fresh air, and let’s not forget about city air domes – a bubble like, inflatable structure of PVC fabric which pumps air into a designated area, protected from pollutants outside.4 These are artificially created micro-airscapes, presenting a controlled and limited airscape for those who can afford it. Moreover, they are formed regardless of our bodily sensations – they are based on someone else’s definition of air. The bottled air is proclaimed to be fresh and healthy; the air purifiers are certified to create beneficial sea air. In short, these artificial airscapes come with established ideas of air, and they are furthermore part of a larger invisible network of actors and their inbuilt understandings of air; notions which users may come to internalize. 

    Of course, our bodies have not disappeared in the 21st century, nor have they been replaced by technological devices. Indeed, understanding the air through our senses and experiences is not a practice isolated to the 19th century. Timothy Choy describes in his ethnography on contemporary environmentalism in Hong Kong how his interlocutors first and foremost speak of air in terms of feelings, experiences, and health, illustrating the centrality of the body in assessing air: foul air  smells, gives headaches, and irritates lungs. Air also carries other smells: of flowers, sea, autumn, and of afternoon tea in one’s favourite chair – perhaps comforting and healing properties in themselves.5 But in the Anthropocene, the body is a site where the terraforming of our environments by different means, including the employment of technological innovations, is manifested and negotiated.6 And in regard to air, digitally and technologically mediated experiences of air increasingly mix with our bodily perceptions. Simultaneously, this also shapes our conceptions of the environment. 

    Digitally mediated airscapes

    As we are encountering numerical, comparable, commodified, and artificially constructed air, it is not a surprise that our relation to nature has been described as increasingly mediated through digital technologies, influencing our perceptions of the environment and, by extension, our airscapes.7  Research of people’s interaction with AQI-apps in the US and China illustrates how the numbers and the bodily experiences sometimes diverge: the AQI-value proclaims decent air quality, but bodily reactions to the air indicate otherwise, creating confusion around what one experiences.8 This prompts the question of how one combines and makes sense of bodily sensations and the information of AQI-apps?

    The increasingly popular AQI-apps construct airscapes based on air quality scores (AQI-values), and not bodily sensations. Measured levels of nitrogen dioxide, ozone, sulphur dioxide, carbon monoxide, PM2.5 and PM10 generate a particular idea of air as constructed of mainly four gases and two particles deemed adverse to human health9. A specific understanding of air is manifest already in the chosen measured components; air is stripped of smell, sound, breeze, humidity, feelings, and of other scientific gases such as oxygen or carbon dioxide. Furthermore, the AQI-apps rank the best/worst air in the world, blending and connecting geographical areas, or sometimes separating them, based on the AQI-values of different locations. Some days, places like Beijing, New Delhi, Cairo, and Sarajevo share a common airscape, regardless of geographical boundaries, smells, breeze, or memories. Other days, neighbouring cities couldn’t be placed further apart, creating a sense among AQI-app users of air as comparable – a  competitive gaming entity.10

    As digital and artificially produced airscapes increasingly influence our experiences of air, how we live, feel, and create our airscapes emerge as central issues to explore. What kind of airscapes do we inhabit? Who gets to breathe what kind of air, and how is it constructed, simulated, and understood? Instead of succumbing to the dreariness of simulated sea air or caged air domes in lieu of the real air, the notion of airscapes provides a viewpoint from which we can critically ask who gets to breathe and inhabit a certain air and take measures to change the situation. Moreover, while toxins nowadays dominate narratives of air, Emma and Choy’s interlocutors remind us that air is composed of different atmospheric experiences and entities – smells, breeze, memories, power, feelings, and sounds. The multitude of contemporary airscapes can act as sites from which we learn and understand – the broken, the hopeful, the hidden, and not least, our more-than-human relationships. 

    Works cited

    1. Hay, W. D.  The Doom of the Great City. 2025 (1880) West Virginia University Press. ↩︎
    2. Austen, J. Emma. London: Penguin Classics, 2009 (1816) p.129. ↩︎
    3. Ritchie, H. “What the history of London’s air pollution can tell us about the future of today’s growing megacities”. 2017. https://ourworldindata.org/london-air-pollution ↩︎
    4. Li, Y. “Dome sweet dome.” 2014 https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/848220.shtml2014 ↩︎
    5. Choy, T. Ecologies of Comparison: An Ethnography of Endangerment in Hong Kong. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011. ↩︎
    6. Fjalland, E. Terraforming. In Krogh, S. (Ed.) Connectedness: an incomplete encyclopedia of the Anthropocene. Strandberg Publishing, Copenhagen. 2020, pp. 360-363. ↩︎
    7. Goldstein, J., & Nost, E. The nature of data: infrastructures, environments, politics. University of Nebraska Press, 2022. ↩︎
    8. Graminius C., & Haider J. (preprint) Anticipating airpocalypse: air quality apps and implicit modes of anticipatory practices. Futures. https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4952462 ↩︎
    9. Graminius C., & Haider, J. (2018). Air pollution online: Everyday environmental information on the social media site Sina Weibo. Journal of Documentation. 74(4), pp.722-740.
      ↩︎
    10. Ibid. ↩︎

    About the author:
    Carin Graminius is a researcher in environmental communication who received her PhD in Information Studies from Lund University, Sweden, in 2023. Her interdisciplinary research spans the fields of environmental humanities, cultural studies, environmental communication, and sinology, with a particular focus on eco-aesthetics, climate fiction, affect, and practices of anticipation and datafication.

  • Waterwork: The Clash Between Social Rights and Fossil Capitalism in Norwegian Fiction

    by Karl Emil Rosenbæk Reetz

    Norway – a nation where oil production was born at sea – is by far the largest producer of fossil fuels in Europe. The second largest, the UK, is distanced by a factor of 2.3 according to the EIA (disregarding the Eurasian fossil mastodon of Russia).[1] To zoom in on Norway is therefore an obvious way to grab the question of the so-called green transition championed by Western and especially European nations by its horns and scrutinize the black, extractivist foundation on which it often stands. In this sense, the political discourse of sustainability can be boiled down to an unrealisable fantasy of a green transition without real transformation of any sorts. Here, I will show how ‘roustabout narratives’ from Norway – stories depicting the absurdly profitable offshore oil enterprise of this nation – display how the green paradox is closely related to a long socialist history of class struggle and worker rights.

              Focussing on two recent novels, I urent farvann (2020; In Muddy Waters) by Sidsel Mørck and Puslingar (2019; Mannikins) by Atle Berge, I showcase how they register aspects of offshore austerity related to a corporate trend of cutting expenses in a globalised economy. Cutbacks, untrained personnel working at a lower salary, postponements of regular safety reviews, and use of expired equipment as well as other sorts of measures to ‘trim the fat’ and push the limit, constitute what I term a North Sea peripheralisation of safety. In that sense, these Norwegian offshore petrofictions are best understood as additions to a long tradition of fossil fuel working-class literature from the Global North where issues of safety have surfaced repeatedly as a signifier of class struggle.

    “WE RUN A BUSINESS, NOT POLITICS”

    First, let us look at Sidsel Mørck’s novel I urent farvann. In this bildungsroman about social mobility and national oil development, we follow the protagonist Ole Viktor. Ole Viktor is the only child of a working-class family with firm connections to the labour union. In the beginning of the novel, his father works at a steel nail factory and often goes to after-hour meetings in the local trade union. Later, the father works as a roustabout on a drilling rig at the Ekofisk field in the North Sea, and the father’s background as a factory worker hired under collective agreement comes forth again. When he is onshore, he often talks about the ‘wild west’ security issues offshore and about how he and his fellow roustabout Lars are working on unionising the workforce. But before this ambition of oil labour organisation is ever materialised, he is involved in an accident that crushes his right shoulder. Following the accident, he receives some insurance money and then lives the rest of his life on cash benefits provided by the Norwegian state.

              The timespan of the novel – from the late-1960s onwards – corresponds to the development of Norwegian oil, and further, Ole Viktor’s adulthood, growing up to be an oil engineer, is organised as a tour de force through real Norwegian oil developments, incidents, and scandals both domestic and international. Following Ole Victor’s white-collar employments, I urent farvann, however, focusses on the management level rather than that of roustabouts employed on oil platforms. In this way, the novel registers a socioeconomic and cultural move away from a locally oriented working-class perspective to a globalist middle-class stance. In the novel, this shift is furthermore connected to a decreased social-democratic collectivist position replaced by a liberalistic individualised concern about career and self-fulfillment. “We [run] a business, not politics,” Ole Viktor says, whenever there are problems. Societal concerns and moral conundrums are simply outside the scope of multinational oil enterprises in the neoliberal zeitgeist, the novel asserts.

              Furthermore, as Ole Viktor grows up and gets involved in the oil industry as an engineer, his father functions as an idealistic figure calling him up whenever there is an oil-related accident urging Ole Viktor to do something. Invalidated, the father cannot live out his own ambition of unionising the offshore workforce and consequently the burden is put on his son to reform the oil business. Yet, Ole Viktor quickly begins to pivot towards another stance altogether. The father’s class struggle orthodoxy begins to feel burdensome to Ole Viktor and an instance of cultural patricide can be observed in his life choices. Slowly he turns away from the collectivist ideal and towards becoming what he himself terms “a company man” with a conservative, unapologetic slogan of capitalist reality: “That’s how the world is, take it or leave it.”

              The novel is driven forward by exactly this blue-collar/white-collar dichotomy. Central to the plot is the clash within the family constellation of two distinctive perspectives. On the one side; collectivism and social politics, and on the other side; individualism and capitalist necessity. As such, the novel takes shape as a small chamber play between father and son reflecting larger societal alterations in both the labour market and the national debate over the Norwegian offshore oil enterprise.

              I urent farvann is saturated by a defeatist ethos when it comes to believing in changing the oil enterprise substantially. However, this overall tone of capitalist surrender is suddenly upended on the very last pages of the novel. Throughout the novel, Ole Viktor’s daughter Vera has disarmingly been called “Vesla” (meaning ‘the little one’) by both father and grandfather. But now, instigating her own much more outspoken generational rebellion, Vera tells Ole Viktor that she will study “green economics.” With this rebellious choice and some harsh words against her father’s complicity in the emission of greenhouse gasses, Vera seems to personify the environmentalist aura of Greta Thunberg and the green youth movements more generally as she argues for an alternative study of economy. The ideology that has guided Ole Viktor’s life is confronted and his ‘apolitical’ self-image is being revealed as a highly political stance. Still very much in its infancy, then, the novel ends up suggesting that a new world order could be on the rise driven by the next generation. Just as Ole Viktor himself was part of a massive social, economic, cultural, and political transformation in his time.

    RURAL OIL

    Puslingar by Atle Berge is also structured as a bildungsroman following the child Marita from 1980 till 1991. Marita lives with her parents in a rural neighborhood adjacent to the port city of Bergen where the area’s oil-industry is centred. Throughout the novel an identity-conflict between the urban city and the rural surroundings emerges, but the main story of the book concerns the real Norwegian event of the offshore capsizing of the oil platform Alexander L. Kielland (March 27, 1980) and its traumatic influence on Marita’s teenage life. Her father, Jonny, is one of the victims of the accident leaving Marita alone with her mother Astrid. Some years after the accident she is suddenly approached by one of Jonny’s old friends, Trygve, who was with Jonny at Kielland. And with the help of Trygve as well as her bookish classmate called Settembrini, Marita slowly becomes more and more interested in the accident.

              As Marita and Trygve begins to dig deeper into the possible causes of the accident, the novel makes use of the still-existing distrust towards the official inquiries and reports that were made after the accident. The novel is filled with gestures towards these reports’ explanations as well as references to other mysterious circumstances omitted from the inquiries.

               With this general tone of distrust in the activities of the government, the novel registers a dialectic between rural workers and a seemingly clandestine ruling class. There is a visible animosity towards urbanity and all the connotations that go along with it – power, influence, higher education, capital. This dialectic is one of the defining features of fossil fuel working-class literature. Us, the authentic, down-to-earth working-class, versus them, the capitalist vultures who live withdrawn in their mansions and club houses. Consequently, the general tone of the novel is that the ‘strong forces in the society’ are less occupied with figuring out exactly what happened at Kielland then they are with ensuring that the North Sea region’s contribution to the world-systemic business of oil production carries on.

              As Marita continues to question the reports, we also see how she is finally reproached by her mother and her stepfather Einar in this somewhat timid fashion: “Sometimes you just have to let things go. People who don’t manage to forget and move on eventually becomes unbearable to be around” (223). It is okay, it seems, – even expected – to be critical and almost conspiratorial against the urbanites in the abstract, but it is best not to become too concrete in one’s criticism and skepticism. The emphatic conviction of elitist malpractice must not turn into real political agency. The very last page of the novel describes how Marita also draws this conclusion herself as she thinks: “People who can’t manage to forget are unbearable. People want to forget, need to forget, just as the nation needs to forget in order to live with itself” (247). Subtle, Atle Berge is not. The reader is firmly guided to draw a particular conclusion about the sincerity of the official inquiries on Kielland.

              And yet, it is rarely the oil and therefore also the oil-work itself that is being criticised in these roustabout narratives. An affinity towards the oil enterprise seems to linger on in the cultural unconscious as the energy workers can be said to forego their body to keep the nation both powered and proud: Ole Viktor’s father literally sacrifices his arm in the nation’s service. So, while the author of Puslingar has some critical comments on oil production as well as the comprehensive oil culture, it is interesting to note how adamantly the protagonist Marita defends the wonders of oil. Fittingly, the novel ends with her lifelong dream of enrolling as an oil engineer student being realised. For Marita, the problem is not the extraction of oil from the seabed, but the loose regulations and the corporate inclination to cut costs on behalf of the safety protocols.

              Marita is obviously haunted by the tragic loss of her father, yet, growing up in the rural outskirts of Bergen oil still constitutes the best and often only way to realise a prosperous (and aspiring) future. For these rural working-class families, the oil rig is tragic in a double sense then. It is the haunting accident of the past and still the only possible future.

    CONCLUSION

    To conclude, a clear tension is registered in these recent Norwegian roustabout narratives. On the one hand, they expose a neoliberal ideal about cost-efficient fossil fuel enterprises driven without organisationally imposed measures or governmental restrictions. On the other hand, they argue for worker-oriented oversight based on a moral sense of righteousness. Another way to frame this is to say that these working-class oil fictions illustrate an imperfect match between world-systemic fossil capitalism and the Nordic welfare state model.

              When thinking of the historical legacy of Norwegian oil revenue, this internal conflict is perhaps not that surprising. In Norway, a discussion of ownership and control has always been in the foreground. At the beginning of the Norwegian North Sea endeavour, environmental and industrial concerns went hand in hand at the governmental level. In 1971, the Government of Norway decided on ‘ten oil commands’ revolving around the management and control of this burgeoning industrial sector. In the mid-1970s, to avoid what is called the ‘Dutch Disease’ where rapid growth in one sector of the economy causes decline in other sectors and to prevent ecological depletion, the Government furthermore decreed a principle of ‘moderate extraction tempo.’ However, this principle was eventually overhauled by grand expansions to the Norwegian North Sea territory in the late 1980s. And then, the culminating success of developing the oil sector while preventing a sudden decline in other parts of the economy came in 1990 with the construction of a sovereign wealth fund – Statens pensjonsfond utland – internationally known as the Norwegian Oil Fund.

              The unique construction of the Oil Fund works to ensure that the revenue from offshore oil and gas extraction benefits the Norwegian public, but it has not entirely eliminated the tension between oil workers and managers. Thus, core class related questions of who benefits from who, how to secure right and proper distribution of wealth, and how the local and national history of offshore oil is to be told still saturates Norway.

              These contemporary Norwegian roustabout narratives, I argue, invoke a nostalgic longing for a strong welfare system of social security and worker rights – a thus another world possible – while showcasing how the reality of fossil capitalism’s neoliberal search for cost-cuts has played out in recent decades. As such, they extend to the waterscape the tradition of working-class fiction as they register and critically comment upon the offshore perspective of the continuing, deregulated fossil world economy in an era of havocking climate changes.

    Reworked paper presented at the EASCLE Symposium: Sea More Blue: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Blue Ecopoetics, June 17-20, 2024.

    About the author:
    Karl Emil Rosenbæk Reetz, PhD, is a postdoctoral researcher in the Department of Culture and Language at the University of Southern Denmark.

    [1] Visit https://www.eia.gov/international/rankings/world?pa=288&u=2&f=A&v=none&y=01%2F01%2F2022

  • Blossoming Hope in Eco-dystopian times: Deniz Gezgin’s Eyes Wings Flowers Tails

    by Merve Günday

    Deniz Gezgin’s1 poetic novel Eyes Wings Flowers Tails (2023)2 welcomes its readers to a magical realist universe where weird and fantastic characters become the everyday victims of environmental degradation. Though plunged into the darkness of the exploitation of nature, its “[w]orld is more sudden than we fancy it/…crazier and more of it than we think/ incorrigibly plural” (MacNeice 24).

    The novel is set in a dystopian space where ecological balance is shattered and an inexplicable sense of fear looms around. In this setting, winters witness trees with budding branches, new seasons are lived every day, and winds continuously change their direction; everything is in the constant threat of rising water. What is more threatening, plants start to fly, seeds become lighter than ever, birds’ wings get shorter, seas turn into smoke holes while mine workers get poisoned, and following the death of trees even weeds and insects disappear. Moreover, the number of artificial species increases, and natural human-animal-insect subjects are replaced with talking puppets, toy animals, and artificial bees.

    Amidst the chaos of this shattered ecology reverberating with a dystopian sense of fear and anxiety, surprisingly “[a]ll the living beings are on the move, everything is in constant transposition” (Gezgin 13). I suggest that this movement implies in a way that there are still some glitters of hope blossoming despite all the death, sickness, or distress caused by the Anthropocene. 

    Only what Gezgin calls the Randoms (Gelişigüzeller) can cross the boundaries of rationality by slipping into the constant flow of waters and passing through closed roads. Unlike the Anthropos, notoriously intoxicated with the dream of gaining mastery over the nonhuman, the Randoms are not poisoned by this greed. They are not compelled by the linearity of time and they sense time only through light, similar to the way plants do. In the absence of linearity, “the corridors of the wind, water mouths, and gaps” become their homes (Gezgin 14)3. Gezgin doesn’t give a clear depiction of what she means by the Randoms. They address, I would argue, whatever resists the codes of binarism or mathematical formulation.                 

    Inspired by the Randoms, Luçe and Kara, two peripheral characters whose paths cross at the beginning of the novel, resist in this dystopian world.

    Echoing the spirit of the Randoms for regeneration, Luçe, the son of a mine worker named Siti, emerges from the magma of a volcano: sleeping in a cradle made of black ashes, he holds on to life. Similarly to Luçe, Kara is also depicted as a victim of ecological devastation: he is found in the middle of a burnt forest surrounded by ashes. Put in a mental institution together with other marginalized children, Kara is not allowed to get in touch with the outside world. However, unlike the others, he does not bend to the will of those who attempt to silence and tame him but rather confronts what lies beyond the cold walls of the institution. 

    In the midst of the unsettling Gezgin’s scenery where life and death and natural and artificial are difficult to distinguish, it is shown that the world is surrounded by infinite possibilities of liberation. To put it in the words of the narrator,

    “[a]lthough there were no flowers anymore, bees would see petals in the globules and find the nectar in this way…Aren’t globules opened on their own?…Nothing gets lost without leaving a trace…While the Randoms walk around all these traces, they are neither in the past nor in the future. Tails stars bones, lights waters volcanoes, everything is in a constant motion” (Gezgin 39)4.

    Despite the loss of bees and their replacement with artificial ones, there are still some natural bees that can find “eucalyptuses, downy oaks, and cedars in grains” (Gezgin 43)5. Motivated by the constant move of the Randoms, as mentioned earlier, Kara finds in the heavy rain that turns everything into mud an opportunity to create a new narrative: following the deep arcs opened by waters, he finds a road, but he does not falter. Rather, in a state of drowsiness, he finds a breach opened by the constant drops of water and follows Bohemian waxwings into the darkness. 

    Then, at the end of the tunnel, he meets wooden-legged Çilaba and the rock goat Patina who collect seeds from the few spaces remaining still uninvaded by the Anthropos and plant them in sandbags for their preservation. He also meets a puppet named Avel, who comforts Çilaba and Patina away from the harsh reality of the world by singing and playing. With his help, Kara discovers the world of poetry: “Poetry was a seed of transposition and growth sprouting infinite possibilities” (Gezgin 68)6.

    Having encountered such magical characters, Kara reaches the volcano presented at the very beginning of the novel and meets Luçe there. The novel ends with this encounter, implying the beginning of a new phase for both of them: they jump into the volcano crater hand-in-hand and as they pass through, they die into life. 

    In conclusion, despite all the exploitative practices of the Anthropos that erase nature’s blissful melodies, nature is always pregnant with multiple possibilities connecting everything like a rhizome and resisting immobility. As the author puts it in the last lines of the novel: “Wouldn’t the world turn upside down if the living always gathered on the same slope of the same hill?” (Gezgin 95). That’s what the Randoms represent in the novel. Given that the Randoms always find a way to freedom from the tyranny of ecological degradation, I argue that Eyes Wings Flowers Tails make our hopes blossom amidst the darkness of the Anthropocene. What is more important, the human-nonhuman hierarchy is overturned in the novel, as what unlocks the chains of stillness for Kara and Luçe is in fact the nonhuman.

    About the author

    Merve Günday completed her PhD in English Literature at Middle East Technical University (2022) with a thesis entitled “Alternative Subject Positions and Subject-Object Relations in Keats’s Poetry.”

    References

    • Gezgin, Deniz. Eyes Wings Flowers Tails (Gözler Kanatlar Çiçekler Kuyruklar). İstanbul: Can Publishing, 2023.  
    • MacNeice, Louis. “Snow” in Peter McDonald (ed), CollectedPoems: p. 24. London: Faber and Faber, 2007.   

    Footnotes

    1. Gezgin is a graduate of Protohistory and Asia Minor Archeology Departments at Ege University. She made her first entrance into literature with her novel Ahraz, followed by YerKuşAğı and Eyes Wings Flowers Tails.   ↩︎
    2. Gezgin’s novel hasn’t been translated into English yet. The translated sections of the work from Turkish to English belong to me. ↩︎
    3. “Gelişigüzellerin konağı rüzgâr koridorları, su ağızları ve boşluklar” (Gezgin 14).
      ↩︎
    4. “Orada artık hiç çiçek olmadığı halde arılar yuvalarda taç yapraklar görür, nektarları böyle bulurdu…Yuvarlar açılmıyor mu kendiliğinden? …Hiçbir şey iz bırakmadan sönüp gitmiyor…Gelişigüzeller bütün bu izlerin üstünde gezinirken ne geçmişte ne gelecekte. Kuyruklar yıldızlar kemikler, ışıklar sular volkanlar her şey kendi boşluğunda sonsuz hareketli” (Gezgin 39).  
      ↩︎
    5. “(…)zerrelerde okaliptüsleri, tüylü meşeleri ve sedirleri” (Gezgin 43). ↩︎
    6.  “Bir yer değiştirme ve büyüme kozasıydı şiir, sesle örülmüş deriyi soyunurken sonsuzca hareketin uç vermesi” (Gezgin 68). ↩︎

  • Rivers as Emblems of Hope and Resilience: Drowning and Resurfacing in the Ganga

    by Saloni Shokeen

    I still remember the extreme experience of drowning in the Ganga. A few years back, I went up the river with the intention of acquainting myself with rafting. As we got on our rafts, the river appeared to be calm and serene, except for a few rapids that shook the raft with great intensity. We were now moving closer to the end of our route and I was brimming with a sense of achievement and thrill.

    This was our last and most difficult rapid to cross. The waves hit our raft with unimaginable force, which made me lose all control. Within the next few seconds, I was one with the river, and the waves were carrying me from one end to the other. My fate was completely up to the river water now, since I could not anticipate where the waves would eventually take me. Although I was wearing a life jacket, I could have hit large rocks in the river while I was flowing like a leaf on its surface. It was becoming more and more difficult to not let the water suffocate me, I was struggling to keep my face above the surface. During these brief minutes of resistance, I witnessed the evening sun right in the middle of the valleys that surrounded the Ganga. With its low light, the sun was about to disappear into nothingness, and so was I. 

    All I could think of was getting just one more chance to live, and how I would lead a different life from hereon. The life that I had experienced so far flashed before my eyes, and I was filled with remorse for the precious moments wasted. I was not able to accept that this could possibly be the end of my life and this led my body to revolt more strongly. Exhausted, I almost surrendered to the nothingness that lay beneath the river, until a hand pulled me back up on the raft. Gasping for breath, rubbing my eyes in disbelief, I sat in deep quietude watching the river. 

    Over the years, people asked me what changed in my life after this accident, but it is impossible to translate such experiences into words. However, some changes did indeed happen, and they were majorly internal; I became more reflective, hopeful and humble. Moreover, I became grateful for each day of life and I formed a special connection with the Ganga. Instead of getting forever scared by its waters, they started representing immense hope, the place where a new and more conscious life began for me. 

    Meditating upon this incident, I wonder:” What is it about rivers that makes us calm and reflective?”. Standing on the banks of a river, an individual witnesses the unstoppable flow moving. An inevitable parallel that comes to our minds is that of the trajectory of life itself: similar to rivers, human life has to constantly overcome obstacles. The river, like life’s flow, does not stop, irrespective of the magnitude of challenges. In order to reach their destination, streams never stop. The breeze that swiftly moves above the water surface only symbolizes temporary disturbances. The patterns created by the wind are mirages. The human eyes see them appear and disappear every second. Whatever enters into the river surrenders itself to its waters and here it finds the place to express freely. The river water, as it symbolizes fluidity and transitionality, provides a special place for hope in our times. 

    The metaphor of transitoriness associated with rivers goes back to the rhetoric current of Ancient Greek philosophy of the 6th century BC. The following lines from Heraclitus’ works are the most famous today:

    A man cannot step into the same river twice, because it is not the same river, and he is not the same man.

    The two main ideas in Heraclitus’s philosophy are the doctrine of flux and the unity of opposites.  It is difficult to locate the complete body of work where Heraclitus said this sentence, or point to what he exactly meant by those words. Nonetheless, this line greatly influenced thinkers that succeeded Heraclitus, and most of all Plato and Aristotle. Although Heraclitus is considered as a pessimistic philosopher, in my opinion the river could be an emblem of choices and alternatives: by emphasizing the natural flow of the river, Heraclitus describes the succession of momentary situations. If nothing is permanent, the possibility of positive change will always persist. After a steam leaves the river, a new one enters and fills the heart with hope. 

    One could argue that Heraclitus is mourning the instant gone forever and that will never return. That is to say, we can never turn time backwards just as a stream cannot reverse its route. But in the context of human life, it also signifies that opportunities continually arise in our present world. The river, similar to life, unendingly rejuvenates and revitalizes itself. Rather than being remorseful about what is lost forever (if anything really is), can we imagine a scenario where re-entering into the river flow is better than before? In other words, perhaps a new moment was worth the wait and the hope? Especially in a planet that is increasingly threatened by anthropogenic activities, can rivers become embodiments of respite? 

    Across the globe, rivers hold distinct cultural and social value. By virtue of belonging to particular geographies for centuries, rivers greatly influence the language and knowledge systems. Rivers have intricate relationships with human beings, especially those who live in close proximity to them. This is a difficult thing to trace and map out. W.H Herendeen’s essay The Rhetoric of Rivers, analyzes history of river representations in literature and philosophy. Herendeen’s argument is that rivers are the central repository of wisdom for mankind. Rivers evoke a feeling of reflectiveness that leads to meditating upon life. This is intimately tied, Heredeen states, with the geographical and social existence of a river. It embodies the voice(s) of a specific region and informs its people’s identity. A prime example of this is the significance of the Ganga river in Hinduism. The first words that come to one’s mind when the name Ganga is mentioned are purity and liveliness. Apart from the religious associations, the river has an ecologically rich life that we cant see from the surface. Over the years, the Ganga has been represented across Indian literature and films. In the national award winning movie Massan (2015), the Ganga becomes the epitome of hope, depicted through the metaphor of confluence. Ironically, the title Massan, literally translates into “crematorium”, yet the story ends on a hopeful note for the two main characters of the movie Devi and Deepak. 

    Deepak, an engineer in the making, works with his family as they cremate bodies on the banks of the Ganga. In the Hindu tradition, the Ganga is considered to be the ultimate pious place for the rebirth of human life. When cremated on the banks of the Ganga, a soul never ‘dies’. The river waters symbolizes immortality and rejuvenation of the soul. One day, without any prior warning, Deepak receives his girlfriend’s body, which he must cremate. In the same period of time Devi loses her beloved boyfriend, while also being shamed for having an intimate relationship with him outside of marriage. Her entourage, even her father, begins to question her ‘purity’, and the movie portrays the hardships she encounters facing a patriarchal society. The Ganga is a constant part of both their lives. Despite the tragic screenplay, Massan ends on an optimistic note where the audience is left full of hopefulness. In the final scene, Devi and Deepak’s stories come naturally together as two streams flowing in the same direction: they accidentally meet on a boat, as if the river were bringing them together. 

    They will never swim in the same river again, yet the tragic past they have already lived through has come to an end. Nothing could take away their hope, because life’s flow never stops. It might just change its course temporarily. Heraclitus’ lines encapsulate the transitoriness central to human life and have strong echoes in this situation: Deepak, after cremating his past, has to eventually overcome his grief, and so does Devi, for if they had lost all hope they could not meet each other. Massan’s ending, along with Heraclitus’ thinking, could offer us a generative method to think about rivers. 

    Hope is perhaps the rarest emotion to find in our times. Everyday, our anxiety escalates after reading shocking news about climate change and increasing instances of violence worldwide. This pessimism does not let us appreciate the beauty of the present moment, and makes us feel hopeless and lost.

    I would leave you with these questions: is it still possible to feel a glimmer of hope for our future? Moreover, is it possible to gather the courage to welcome change, and believe it doesn’t have to always be negative? Despite the unfortunate scenery, can we really afford to miss the present beauty that surrounds us? 

    About the author: 

    I am Saloni Shokeen, instructor and PhD scholar at SUNY Binghamton. Here at Binghamton I have so far undertaken specialization courses in environmental literature. This is in fact my primary area of research, as I am interested in how different forms of storytelling can enlighten our minds on the subject of climate change. Within the broad field of environment, I am curious about water bodies, and especially in how rivers prefigure literary narratives: along with being a significant resource to any civilization, rivers shape our cultural and personal horizon in various ways. Belonging to specific regional geographies, rivers represent multiple voices at once, enriching our knowledge. While this is one of my major interests, through my research I also look at interspecies, planetary and animal studies. My goal is to find generative and sustainable methods of research that expand our understanding of nature.

    References

    • Herendeen, W. H. “The Rhetoric of Rivers: The River and the Pursuit of Knowledge.” Studies in Philology, vol. 78, no. 2, 1981, pp. 107–27. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/4174068. Accessed 10 April 2024.
    • Kirk, G. S. “Natural Change in Heraclitus.” Mind, vol. 60, no. 237, 1951, pp. 35–42. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/2251397. Accessed 10 April 2024.
    • Stern, David G. “HERACLITUS’ AND WITTGENSTEIN’S RIVER IMAGES: STEPPING TWICE INTO THE SAME RIVER.” The Monist, vol. 74, no. 4, 1991, pp. 579–604. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/27903264. Accessed 10 April 2024.
    • Colvin, Matthew. “Heraclitean Flux and Unity of Opposites in Plato’s ‘Theaetetus’ and ‘Cratylus.’” The Classical Quarterly, vol. 57, no. 2, 2007, pp. 759–69. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/27564109. Accessed 10 April 2024.

  • Organic Farming: A Spirit of Ecofeminism in India

    Organic Farming: A Spirit of Ecofeminism in India

    According to the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), organic farming is a production management system that is unique and promotes biological cycles, biodiversity, and biological activity in the soil [4]. This is accomplished by using biological, mechanical, and farm-based agronomic approaches while reducing the amount of synthetic farm input from outside sources.

    The primary goal of organic farming is to enhance the interdependent communities of flora, animals, soil, and humans as well as their ability to produce food and maintain their health (Scialabba and Hattam, 2002) [6].

    Origin of Organic Farming in India

    The main historical examples of organic agriculture in India revolve around the following:

    Period/Literature  Description of organic farming
    Ancient periodNeolithic civilizations used this 10,000-year-old tradition, which was also embraced by Mesopotamian and other civilizations like the Hwang-Ho.
    RamayanaDead matter that returns to the earth, such as trash or rotting corpses, is transformed into nutrient-rich material. According to C. Rajagopalachari, it is Mother Earth’s power.
    Mahabharata (5500 BC)There have been references to the celestial cow, Kamadhenu. Its contribution to human existence and function in ensuring soil fertility has been described.
    Arthashastra by Kautilya (300 BC)Refers to various kinds of manure, including oil cakes and animal excrement.
    Brihad-Sanhita by VarahmihirExplains the numerous ways to collect manure and how to choose the right manure for different types of crops.
    Rig-Veda (2500–1500 BC)The Rig Veda 1,161,10 (written between 2500 and 1500 BC) and the Atharva Veda II 8.3 (written around 1000 BC) both provide descriptions of organic farming. In Vrksayurveda, Surpala also makes reference to manure. According to the Sukra, a plant needs water, meat, excrement from cows, goats, and sheep, among other things, to develop healthily (IV, V, 94, 107-112).
    Holy Quran (590 AD)An indication of harvest and recycling is the return of one-third of the portion removed from the soil.

    Source: Bhattacharya and Chakraborty, 2005

    Organic Farming and Indian Women

    In the arena of Indian culture, a woman is particularly called “Prakriti” which in its literal sense means “Nature”[8]. Prakriti is the feminine essence for conservation, development, and being purely ecological. She is also referred to as “Shakti”, who furnishes energy to steer the living system.

    In present times, the organic farming movement has taken the form of a social movement. India, the holder of the oldest agricultural fields in the entire world where agriculture has been practiced for around 10,000 years, has women as the leaders in organic farming [2]. Indian female farmers devote a significant amount of their work hours on farmlands, which is much above than those invested by male farmers. During the sowing and harvesting seasons, women spend 3300 hours on the fields while men do it for 1860 hours [3]. Women’s contribution to nature supports sustainable development and agricultural systems. This hypothesis develops a stronger bond between women and organic farming.

    In the Odagaon region of Nayagarh district, Odisha, an area of 90 acres of degraded forest has been transformed into a forest that provides food for the nearby population. The idea of change was first sown in Sabarmatee’s mind in the 1980s, when she began experimenting with her father on the land for cultivating organic food [5]. Later, when the efforts started to bear fruit, a non-governmental organization called Sambhav was founded. Today, this organization is aimed at promoting ecological conversation, women capacity, and organic farming. Sabarmatee has done a brilliant job of collecting and preserving 800 varieties of seeds of indigenous origin, which have a strong relationship in combating climate change. Greater than 30 varieties of seeds withstood the cyclonic storms between the time periods 2013-2014.

    Rohibai Popre has the face of a leader of the organic farming movement in Maharashtra [9]. Without any formal education, Rohibai has been successful in leading a women-oriented agro-biodiversity initiative. She has cultivated 17 crop varieties on 50 acres of farmland and shares her knowledge with 3,500 farmers. Her seed bank is meant for the conservation of 122 landraces of 32 crop varieties.

    Bibi Kamaljit Kaur made her endeavor in the field of organic products and farming. Around 39% of the soil in Punjab is absolutely degraded owing to over irrigation. In 2019–20 and 2020–21, the use of pesticides was 4995 MT (technical grade) and 5193 MT (technical grade), respectively, in the state of Punjab [1]. With keeping in mind the paramount damage caused to the environment from the aforementioned factor, organic farming being done by Bibi Kamaljit Kaur in Punjab has assisted in breaking the toxic web of inorganic farming based on pesticide and chemical use. After participating in a seminar by the Agriculture Heritage Mission, Bibi Kaur learned about the negative impacts of pesticides on the environment and human health. Soon she got trained and well-informed about organic farming and started to practice the same in her kitchen garden. She had reached farmers from over 20 neighboring villages and imparted knowledge about the deadly consequences of using harmful chemical fertilizers. Inspired by her, the villages of Bhotna, Malliya, and Chughan have undergone a shift towards organic farming. Presently, she has received overwhelming support from 2000 women farmers and runs 2000 organic kitchen gardens.

    Two villages named Damodarpur and Murakhati in the Jhargram district of West Bengal narrate the revolutionary stories of two women organic cultivators.Panchabati BaskeandNirmala Mahato have seeded organic indigenous rice varieties in their individual villages. These women organic farmers are leading movements at the grassroots level. 55 male and 21 female farmers are each associated with them in Damodarpur and Murakhati villages, helping and making each other realize the power of organic agriculture and womanhood [7]. Rice varieties, namely Kalabhat, Sathia, Kerala Sundari, and Mallifullo, are being grown in the district. With time, the number of women organic cultivators has increased to over 4500 in all 5 gram panchayats of Block Nayagram in the district Jhargram. As per Panchabati, they are saving Rs 4000-Rs 5000 per bigha[1] in relation to fertilizers, and there is hardly any difference witnessed in the crop yield. For additional income plates made up of sal leaves are sold by the women supported by the women enterprise Aamon.

    Conclusion

    Organic farming has done the work of improving women’s role in Indian agriculture. The above-listed real-life examples are a clear indication of the same. This process of women’s involvement in organic farming needs to be constantly ameliorated. Active entrepreneurship opportunities, education, social and environmental justice, equity, farming rights, training, and skill development are some of the ways that can assure their vital contribution to organic farming. This must continue.

    References

    1. CONSUMPTION OF CHEMICAL PESTICIDES IN VARIOUS STATES/UTs DURING 2017-18 TO 2021-22. (2022, July 22). Directorate of Plant Protection, Quarantine, and Storage, Ministry of Agriculture and Farmers Welfare, Government of India. https://ppqs.gov.in/statistical-database
    2. Fernandes, S. (2017, June 17). Farming took root in India only 10,000 years ago, study finds. Hindustan Times. https://www.hindustantimes.com/mumbai-news/farming-took-root-in-india-only-10-000-years-ago-study-finds/story znhMgOYjQOWWtgX49PkUsJ.html
    3. Kamdar, B. (n.d.). Women grow as much as 80% of India’s food – but its new farm laws overlook their struggles. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/women-grow-as-much-as-80-of-indias-food-but-its-new-farm-laws-overlook-their-struggles-155083
    4. Organic Agriculture: What is organic agriculture? (n.d.). https://www.fao.org/organicag/oa-faq/oa-faq1/en/
    5. Padma Shri For Father-Daughter Who Transformed Wasteland Into A Forest. (n.d.). NDTV.com. https://www.ndtv.com/offbeat/padma-shri-for-father-daughter-radha-mohan-and-sabarmatee-who-transformed-wasteland-into-a-forest-2175441
    6. Scialabba, N. & C. Hattam, Eds. (2002). Organic agriculture, environment and food security. Environment and Natural Resources Series. Rome, Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO). (n.d.-b). http://www.sciepub.com/reference/90645
    7. Singh, S. S. (2022, August 21). Women farmers of Bengal’s Jhargram reap fortunes with organic rice. The Hindu. https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/other-states/women-farmers-reap-fortunes-with-organic-indigenous-rice-varieties-in-bengals-jhargram/article65790956.ece
    8. The Incarnate Word. (n.d.). https://incarnateword.in/dict/sans/prakriti-1
    9. Wikipedia contributors. (2022, July 25). Rahibai Soma Popere. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rahibai_Soma_Popere

    [1] Bigha is a unit for land measurement in northern India.

    Sonali Sharma is the author of this post.

  • The Eco-Gender Gap: When Sustainability Became a Women’s Issue

    The Eco-Gender Gap: When Sustainability Became a Women’s Issue

    When looking at the faces of the sustainability movement, what do you see? A campaign for environmental justice that is synonymous with names like Jane Goodall, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Greta Thunberg, Autumn Petlier, Vanessa Nakate, and Sylvia Earle. Companies dedicated to sustainability, such as Blueland, Stasher, and Bite are led by Sarah Paiji Yoo, Kat Nouri, and Lindsay McCormick, respectively. Women are the advocates, voices of change, and the ones paving the future.

    This trend is called the eco-gender gap, a term created by British marketing company Mintel to describe the “difference in environmental awareness and eco-friendly behavior between men and women, with men being much less likely to feel connected to these issues than women” (Liddell, 2021). Sustainability has become a women’s issue, and in turn, their responsibility. Much of this plays into gender roles, gender-based personality differences, and marketing, as corporations provide gendered messages about sustainability.

    The authors of “Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly? The Green-Feminine Stereotype and Its Effect on Sustainable Consumption,” published in Journal of Consumer Research in 2016, examined this systemic issue, delving deep into working to find the root cause of why the majority of men will not purchase sustainable products. Their studies asked men and women to designate products as either “green” or “non-green”, “feminine” or “masculine”, to choose a product as “better for the environment” or “better at performing ___”, and to gauge affinity for eco-conscious wording and imagery. Across all metrics, green products almost always equated to femininity and were therefore avoided by men. Associating greenness with femininity may also explain why “women display greater concern and willingness to take action to help the environment… across age groups and countries… in contrast, men litter more, recycle less, have a larger overall carbon footprint, and feel less guilty about living a non-green lifestyle” (Brough et al., 2016). There are larger repercussions of this association, as it “may discourage men from engaging in green behaviors, particularly if they are motivated to maintain a macho image and wish to avoid being stereotyped as feminine” (Brough et al., 2016).

    Men feeling turned away from sustainable products parallels women feeling drawn in. Though women might in part feel inclined to make sustainable choices to enhance their femininity, they also face more “eco-anxiety,” a chronic fear of environmental doom (American Psychological Association). Globally, women are more susceptible to the effects of climate change, despite men causing more environmental damage, from avoiding sustainable practices like recycling or using less electricity where possible to engaging in “petro-masculinity,” a denial-rooted, climate-destructive reaction – from mostly white, politically conservative men –  to the fear of environmental crisis where they choose to consume the most pollutant energy in response to being told to reduce (Nelson, 2020).  Natural disasters disproportionately affect people in poverty, which is often communities of women, children, elderly, and disabled people. Studies have even shown that “gender-based violence, including physical, psychological, and reproductive violence against women, becomes more prevalent after natural disasters, with complex… consequences on health and well-being” (Gloor et al., 2022). Researchers have also seen an uptick in hormonal imbalance disorders such as polycystic ovary syndrome linked to the consumption of endocrine-disrupting microplastics. Microplastics were also just discovered in breast milk (Ragusa et al., 2022). On the consumer side, women are told their bodies are hurting the earth, from cosmetics to menstrual products, and told to make better – often more expensive – choices before it is too late. Perhaps most importantly, women are typically the main caregivers to their children, who will grow up in a polluted world. Creating a better future for their well-being is the most influential drive of them all.

    The first step in closing the eco-gender gap is to normalize men caring about the climate. In the consumer product industry, companies themselves create much of the issue. Women predominantly assume responsibility for purchasing goods for the household, and thus the items are tailored to them. Some of the most prominent sustainable products are for cleaning, cosmetics, clothing, storage, and office supplies, categories falling within a woman’s stereotypical responsibilities. Men can feel uncatered to and simply avoid sustainability for fear of being seen as feminine. This pattern appears repeatedly and ranges from choosing vegan or vegetarian diets to bringing a reusable shopping bag to a store. These trends have been helpful in spreading awareness, but it is crucial that all genders climb aboard.

    The authors of “Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly?…” designed a solution to address the eco-gender gap: explicitly catering eco-conscious services and products to men. In an experiment with two hypothetical conservation nonprofits, one called Friends of Nature with a tree logo (feminine directed) and one called Wilderness Rangers with a wolf logo (masculine directed), it was found that though both nonprofits carried the same values, Wilderness Rangers attracted more men (Brough et al., 2016). Additionally, they found that while Friends of Nature attracted women yet turned men away, men and women were similarly likely to donate to Wilderness Rangers (Brough et al., 2016). If women are not deterred by clear masculine branding, perhaps this is a solution in catering to everyone.

    As we look at sustainability, we must remember that its core value is caring for the earth. In our patriarchal society, women are assigned the role of caregivers, and the idea of sustainability being a “women’s issue” is “already insidious due to the persistent portrayal of women as caregivers – even of the planet” (Abbiss & Hunt, 2020). Men often hold the most power, especially leading companies responsible for pollution. Watching nineteen-year-old Greta Thunberg in a room of older men encapsulates the gender-based power dynamic embedded in environmental dicussion, demostrating “for climate skeptics, it was not [only] the environment that was threatened; it was a certain kind of modern industrial society built and dominated by their form of masculinity” (Abbiss & Hunt, 2020). Women will continue to lead the way and make change, and thankfully, younger generations of men seem more open to sustainable practices as our livelihoods are eminently threatened. While we have many advocates, women are still outnumbered in many spaces where it counts most. Women make up 27% of STEM roles, 29% of corporate senior management roles, and 25% of US congressional roles. It is especially crucial to open more opportunities for women to bring sustainability issues to the forefront and provide the necessary support to create change.

    As the need to live sustainably grows omnipresent, it is important to remember that everyone – regardless of gender – is responsible for working towards a solution. Society needs to move closer to making sustainability a movement everyone feels welcomed, affirmed, and empowered.

    Bibliography

    Ballew, M., Marlon, J., Leiserowitz, A., & Maibach, E. (2018, December 12). Gender

    Differences in Public Understanding of Climate Change. Yale Program on Climate Change Communication. Retrieved October 4, 2022, from https://climatecommunication.yale.edu/publications/gender-differences-in-public-und erstanding-of-climate-change/

    Brough, A. R., Wilkie, J. E., Ma, J., Isaac, M. S., & Gal, D. (2016). Is Eco-Friendly Unmanly? The Green-Feminine Stereotype and its Effect on Sustainable Consumption. Journal of Consumer Research, 43(4), 567–582. https://doi.org/10.1093/jcr/ucw044

    Gloor, J. L., Mestre, E. B., Post, C., & Ruigrok, W. (2022, July 26). We Can’t Fight Climate Change Without Fighting for Gender Equity. Harvard Business Review. Retrieved October 4, 2022, from https://hbr.org/2022/07/we-cant-fight-climate-change-without-fighting-for-gender-eq uity

    Hunt, E., & Abbiss, R. (2020, February 6). The Eco Gender Gap: Why is Saving the Planet Seen as Women’s Work? The Guardian. Retrieved October 4, 2022, from https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/feb/06/eco-gender-gap-why-savingplanet-seen-womens-work

    Liddell, A. (2021, May 7). The Eco-Gender Gap. Cherwell. Retrieved October 4, 2022, from https://cherwell.org/2021/05/07/the-eco-gender-gap/

    Mintel Press Team. (2018, July 27). UK Women Try to Live More Ethically Than Men. Mintel. Retrieved October 4, 2022, from https://www.mintel.com/press-centre/social-and-lifestyle/the-eco-gender-gap-71-of-w omen-try-to-live-more-ethically-compared-to-59-of-men

    Nelson, J. (2020). Petro‐Masculinity and Climate Change Denial Among White, Politically Conservative American Males. International Journal of Applied Psychoanalytic Studies, 17(4), 282–295. https://doi.org/10.1002/aps.1638

    Piyatissa, Y. (2021, May 22). What Is The Eco Gender Gap and How Can We Bridge It? IVolunteer International. Retrieved October 4, 2022, from

    Ragusa, A., Notarstefano, V., Svelato, A., Belloni, A., Gioacchini, G., Blondeel, C.,

    Zucchelli, E., De Luca, C., D’Avino, S., Gulotta, A., Carnevali, O., & Giorgini, E.

    (2022, June 30). Raman Microspectroscopy Detection and Characterisation of

    Microplastics in Human Breastmilk. Polymers (Basel). 2022 Jun 30;14(13):2700. doi:

    10.3390/polym14132700. PMID: 35808745; PMCID: PMC9269371. Retrieved

    October 29, 2022, from https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9269371/

    Wallis, J. (2021, July 26). Why Do Women Experience More Eco-Anxiety Than Men? Is There A Sustainability Gender Gap? Retrieved October 4, 2022, from https://www.refinery29.com/en-au/sustainability-gender-gap

    Sophie Bravo is the author of this post.

  • A Case for Denise Levertov as an Ecofeminist

    A Case for Denise Levertov as an Ecofeminist

    Ecofeminism was not refined in its usage until the 1980’s when Levertov was losing popularity as a poet, so it is unlikely she ever would have used this term in her life (ignoring the fact that she did not want to be labelled as a feminist in the first place), however, her work and personal ideologies closely aligns with the general theories of ecofeminism established and refined throughout her lifetime. Most ecofeminist work written during the ’70s centres around “dualisms such as woman-nature that worked in opposition to that of men-culture” (Estévez-Saá and Lorenzo-Modia 126). These dualisms are the subject of many of Levertov’s early poems such as “Losing Track” and “Stepping Westward,” making her one of the trailblazers of this movement.

    Many of Levertov’s poems use the moon or tides as a metaphor for celebrating her innate femininity, which follows one of Gretchen Legler’s, an ecofeminist literary critic, “emancipatory strategies” of ecofeminist criticism. In Levertov’s “Stepping Westward,” she says, “If woman is inconstant, /good, I am faithful to/ ebb and flow” (lines 3–5). The “ebb and flow” suggests images of tides, oceans, and water. Tides are controlled by the moon, which is a common motif for femininity. This image, coupled with her statement that it is good if a woman is “inconstant,” ever-changing, and unfaithful, shows a devotion to nature and its reflection of her inner femininity. In this poem, Levertov expresses the joy she finds in being a woman, the sense of self-sufficiency she feels, and the stability of her innate femininity in her life.

    The forces of water are powerful and are always tied to femininity in Levertov’s work. Water is controlled by the moon in many of her poems, suggesting a devotion to this feminine power. Water often exposes dreams and acts as a source of creativity, while removing men and patriarchal forces in Levertov’s work. These images of water are important because they blur the “boundaries between inner (emotional, psychological, personal) and outer (geographic landscapes),” which is one of Legler’s emancipatory strategies, an ecofeminist way to think about the relationships between women and nature (Estévez-Saá and Lorenzo-Modia 140).

    Not many of Levertov’s poems take a direct, feminist approach. Many of her poems, like “Losing Track,” encode ecofeminist values through the description of personal experience. In “Losing Track,” the speaker describes the tide as a force that takes a lover (presumably a man) away from her and exposes her dreams. Levertov puts her readers in a surreal experience in “The Room,” relying on the senses to make a feminine experience. Levertov adheres to Leger’s strategy of blurring boundaries between woman and nature in “Losing Track” as well. The poem ends with the image of “mud sucking at gray and black/ timbers of me,/ a light growth of green dreams drying” (Levertov lines 16–18). In this poem, the speaker is a pier, and the “green dreams” are moss on her piles (line 18). This moss is only exposed when her feminine force, the tide, takes her presumably male lover away. From this imagery, we infer that she is only able to see her dreams clearly when the presence of a man is removed. She is only free to explore her “green dreams” when the influence of the patriarchy is gone from her life and the tide has taken her love away (line 18). Levertov uses Leger’s strategies by blurring the lines between women’s inner desire and nature in both “Losing Track” and “Stepping Westward.”

    In both “Stepping Westward” and “Losing Track” Levertov associates the colour green with feminine dreams. “Stepping Westward” opens with the lines “What is green in me/ darkens, muscadine” (Levertov lines 1–2). Muscadine is a plant, a grapevine that produces grapes used to make wine. These grapes are green when unripe and turn a dark purple as they ripen. The colour green is often associated with fertility and growing, while the colour purple is often associated with power and wealth. As the speaker in this poem is “Stepping Westward,” an idea long associated with the American dream, her dreams ripen or begin to come to fruition. The idea that the speaker is stepping into her power and passing through the stage of growth or fertility in her life into a place where she can “hold steady” is conveyed completely through images of the natural world (Levertov line 11). Levertov’s images work as a metaphor for a woman’s ambitions and dreams, blurring the boundaries between nature and human, because the woman is the plant in this metaphor.

    Most early ecofeminist writers operated with “dualisms” as mentioned earlier. These dualisms are consistent in Levertov’s work. In her “Stepping Westward,” Levertov contrasts the bliss of being a woman with the “burdens” being “gifts, goods, a basket/ of bread that hurts.” These images are items to be bought, sold, and consumed; products of a capitalist society that tie the speaker to a system that she is “inconstant” to (lines 3, 26, 28, and 29). Similarly, in “Losing Track,” the speaker aligns herself as a manmade structure, a pier, to symbolize that she is a product of the patriarchy. She, a pier, is “half-in half-out of the water,” suggesting that she is partly feminine, partly masculine. The speaker also compares her lover to a boat, a manmade symbol of technology, the opposite of nature. When this lover comes to her, she loses track of the moon, her femininity, and the tide takes her lover away, exposing her “green dreams.” The presence of masculine, capitalistic forces in the speaker’s life made her forget her femininity and dreams. These images and metaphors reiterate Levertov’s dislike for the patriarchy and distaste for its degradation of women.

    Levertov’s work demonstrates a deep awareness of the effects the patriarchy can have on women through dualism and exposes a dislike for those effects. While she disliked the label of feminist and preferred her work to be thought of holistically, the values expressed in her poetry are that of an ecofeminist. Her subtle connection of woman to nature and reverent tone when describing the natural world indicate her as a pioneer in ecofeminism.

    Works Cited

    Estévez-Saá, Margarita, and María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia. “The Ethics and Aesthetics of Eco-Caring: Contemporary Debates on Ecofeminism(S).” Women’s Studies, vol. 47, no. 2, Mar. 2018, pp. 123–46. doi.org/10.1080/00497878.2018.1425509.

    Jarman, Mark. “Lives of a Poet: Denise Levertov.” The Hudson Review, www.hudsonreview.com/2014/02/lives-of-a-poet-denise-levertov/#.YuxJU3bMK3C. Accessed July 15, 2022.

    Levertov, Denise. “Hypocritical Women.” Poetry Foundation, www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42524/hypocrite-women. Accessed July 15, 2022.

    —. “Losing Track.” Poetry Foundation, www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=29543. Accessed July 15, 2022.

    —.  “The Room.” Poetry Foundation, www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=27828. Accessed July 15, 2022.

    —. “Stepping Westward.” All Poetry, www.allpoetry.com/poem/8503363-Stepping-Westward-by-Denise-Levertov. Accessed July 15, 2022.

    —.  “The Well.” Poetry Foundation, www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=28573. Accessed July 15, 2022.

    Siwatch, Pooja. “Ecofeminism and Value Based Social Economy in Feminine Literature: Allied Resistance to the Age of Anthropocene.” Research Horizons, vol. 7, July 2017, pp. 57–63. Academic Search Complete, https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&AuthType=sso&db=a9h&AN=138606072&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

    Abigail Zajac is the author of this post.

  • Can Indian Ecofeminists be “Ethically” Vegan?

    Can Indian Ecofeminists be “Ethically” Vegan?

    A 2019 report by IndiaSpend stated that since 2012 more than 133 instances of cow vigilantism have been reported, with 50 deaths and 290 injuries (Team IndiaSpend). Cow vigilantism is a form of violent, sectarian activism that aims to prohibit eating beef and/or engaging in beef-related transactions. Among the victims, 57% were Muslims, 9% Dalits and 9% Hindus. In 2016, two women in Haryana were gang-raped on the pretext of being beef-eating Muslims (BBC News). Human rights activist, Bondita Acharya, was threatened with rape and acid attacks by the fundamentalist organisation Bajrang Dal in 2017 for commenting that even “higher caste Hindus” consume beef, and Muslims should not be singled out for punishment (Wire Staff). In the light of the aforementioned statistical data on the interconnection between cow vigilantism and sexual abuse, I would like to explore two crucial questions of personal ethics: is veganism the approach to become an ecofeminist in India? Two, where do animal rights and human rights overlap within the Indian vegan movement?

    While the aggression that fuels the urge to protect cows is alarming, it also raises questions as to why the violence is singularly directed against consumers or dealers of beef. Notably, it appears that instances of “goat vigilantism” or “pork vigilantism” are unheard of. Most Indians who abstain from beef-eating do indulge in pork and mutton.

    Cow vigilantism is not fuelled by compassion for the non-human or to reduce the carbon footprint produced by consuming red meat, but by religious beliefs which make Hindus worship cows as their mother. Most Hindus try countering beef-eating with pork-eating, emphasising that if Muslims abstain from pork, then Hindus should abstain from beef too. Such selective environmentalism seeks to oppress religious and other social minorities whose access to basic nourishment is already severely restricted by inflation, and now by verdicts from self-proclaimed “godmen”[i] wielding their powerful tools to ostracise the non-conformists. It does not promote environmental awareness.

    Where does veganism stand in this nexus of religion, caste, class, and politics? Most Indian vegans trace veganism to Hinduism and Jainism – the primary advocates of vegetarianism. However, they gloss over an important aspect of the dietary restrictions advocated by these religions: none of these ask you to switch to a plant-based diet. Hindu scriptures like Valmiki’s Ramayana and the Adi Parva of Mahabharata even talk of Kamadhenu, the Divine Mother Cow, the Hindu equivalent of the fabled golden goose, who could be milked every time her owner, Vashistha rishi, wanted material amenities. Kamadhenu was regarded to be closely related to Mother Earth or Prithivi- so harnessing the mother cow for material benefits had a subtextual implication of milking/exploiting the earth for human consumption. In fact, the history of untouchability in India is rooted in beef consumption. B.R Ambedkar, India’s pioneering anti-caste activist describes in his book The Untouchables, how Brahmins, who once ate horse-meat from Ashvamedha, beef of sacrificed cows, and honey-slathered cow and goat meat in “madhuparka”, quit meat to resist Buddhism and Jainism, – religions which staunchly advocated compassion towards nature, soil and non-human animals (Ambedkar 89). However, the Dalits or the untouchables were not allowed to practise agriculture, for fear of polluting the soil with their touch, so, to their lot, fell the carcass of the dead animals, after they had served their purpose to the caste Hindus.

    As an ecofeminist, when I started experimenting with vegan foods, these were the problems that I had to grapple with. Why was nobody talking about the problematic equation of the cow with the mother? Hindu feminists like the Kailaasa.org often claim that worshipping the cow and abstaining from eating its meat is a move towards the empowerment of women, for it involves respecting the mother figure through the non-human (Kailaasa Hindu Feminism). Similarly, non-Hindu critics writing on this intersection, such as Peter Sondheim, write that feminists should protest the abuse of dairy cows (Sondheim). Such compassion for animals and protest against animal suffering can lead to an ecofeminist conversation, yet it fails to do so.

    Ecofeminism primarily seeks to dispel patriarchal notions of reducing the human as well as the non-human to their reproductive functions. Greta Gaard adopts this approach of ecofeminism in her definition of vegetarian ecofeminism by saying, “Vegetarian ecofeminism puts into action the feminist insight that “the personal is political” and examines the politic of dietary choices as well as strategic and operational choices in economics” (117). When she asks about what prevents ecofeminists from giving a political direction to their compassion for animals, she commits the fallacy of assumption from a Western purview.

    What Greta Gaard has overlooked in her critique, was the socio-political nuances that inform animal rights activism in the Indian subcontinent. I have always wondered if the passion for protecting cows in India would be so heightened if they did not produce milk, a main source of nourishment and financial revenue in India’s primarily agrarian economy. If vegetarianism is motivated by a utilitarian approach of not murdering the source of nourishment and keeping it alive for man’s own interests, veganism in India aims to be an elite cultural phenomenon of overpriced imported vegan alternatives to locally sourced dairy and meat.

    Indian veganism cannot be scrutinised under Western eyes. One needs to assess India’s nutritional graph and economy to understand why Western veganism will fail unless modified to suit the socio-economic climate of a country whose Gross Development Product (GDP) has been steadily declining and the value of the rupee falling to an unfathomable low, and where meat-eating can lead to mob-lynching. As Rama Ganesan highlighted, “What the West knows about Hindu vegetarianism has been controlled by the upper caste narrative, which couches it in terms of Gandhian ahimsa” (Ganesan). It is a hypocritical narrative among Hindu vegetarians to proclaim themselves as followers of “Ahimsa” or “non-violence” where they murder humans for consuming meat.

    Vegan foods like plant-based mock-meat and tofu, are sold, not by local farmers, but by capitalist organizations, at exorbitant rates (Sahani). In a country where the general yearly income is less than 1 lac INR per annum, can we expect mass adoption of vegan foods? Moreover, the levying of taxes on fresh produce makes the vegan diet a mirage for Indians. How shall I, an ecofeminist, then ask them to go vegan even when I know that meat-eating goes against my ecological ethics?

    I cannot ask them to consume the cake of vegan alternatives to their affordable and widely accessible bread when the cake is alienated from them by capitalist monopoly on the food market. And how can I forget the history of caste-class violence that shapes the diet of the Indians who are not caste Hindus? Beef-eating, unlike in the West, does not symbolise prosperity, but a simple fare that nourishes hungry mouths deprived of the expensive vegetables. Nirmala Sitharaman, the Finance Minister of India commented in 2019 that she does not eat much onion or garlic, in response to the rising prices of these two vegetables in India  (Agencies). Sitharaman can afford highly-priced vegetables, unlike the masses. Thus, asking them to adopt veganism is to ask them to starve.

    As an ecofeminist, I would assert the need for sustainable living concept in India, considering the plight of the human and non-human. However, industry-produced vegan foods do no good to the marginalised whose source of meat is locally bred cattle and poultry, or locally sourced fish. Without giving the oppressed Indian a viable reason to adopt veganism, we cannot call ourselves proponents of vegan ecofeminism. And unless we demonstrate how veganism needs to be linked with ecofeminism to enunciate its benefits, we will fail to transform our ecofeminism into praxis. Our obsession with protecting a certain domesticated animal because of our (sexual) reverence for its reproductivity, while endorsing the consumptive exploitation of other animals might not make us hypocritical in the majority’s eyes, but it will certainly put into question the authenticity of our ecofeminism.

    References:

    Agencies. “’I Don’t Eat Much Onion’: Sitharaman in Lok Sabha – Times of India.” The Times of India, TOI, 5 Dec. 2019, 12:28 IST, timesofindia.indiatimes.com/business/india-business/i-dont-eat-much-of-onion-says-sitharaman-in-lok-sabha/articleshow/72379267.cms.

    Ambedkar, B. R. The Untouchables. Siddharth Books, 2008.

    Gaard, Greta Claire. “Vegetarian Ecofeminism: A Review Essay.” Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, vol. 23, no. 3, 2002, pp. 117–146., doi:10.1353/fro.2003.0006.

    Ganesan, Rama. “Brahminical Patriarchy & Carol Adams’ The Sexual Politics of Meat.” Feminism in India, 10 Sept. 2021, feminisminindia.com/2020/12/25/carol-adams-the-sexual-politics-of-meat-brahminical-patriarchy/.

    “India Muslim Women ‘Raped’ in Fatal Attack ‘over Beef’.” BBC News, BBC, 12 Sept. 2016, www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-37336050.

    Kailasa Hindu Feminism. Worshipping cow on Mother’s Day. Facebook, 10 May 2020. https://m.facebook.com/HinduFeminism/photos/a.359124804952763/606856446846263/?type=3&source=57

    Shahani, Shradha. “7 Indian Mock Meat Brands to Try If You like Mutton, Chicken, Seafood.” Condé Nast Traveller India, Condé Nast Traveller India, 6 Dec. 2020, www.cntraveller.in/story/7-indian-mock-meat-brands-to-try-if-you-like-goa-mutton-chicken-seafood-mumbai-delhi-chennai-hyderabad/.

    Sondheim, Peter. “Op-Ed: The Abuse of Dairy Cows Is a Feminist Issue. the ‘Moo Too’ Movement Is Here.” Los Angeles Times, Los Angeles Times, 4 Mar. 2020, www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2020-03-04/dairy-cows-moo-too-movement-biden.

    Team, IndiaSpend. “Every Third Indian Cop Thinks Mob Violence over Cow Slaughter Is ‘Natural’: New Survey.” Indiaspend, Indiaspend, 28 Aug. 2019, www.indiaspend.com/every-third-indian-cop-thinks-mob-violence-over-cow-slaughter-is-natural-new-survey/.

    Wire Staff. “Assam: Activist Threatened with Rape, Acid Attacks for Condemning Beef Arrests.” The Wire, 10 Apr. 2017, thewire.in/rights/bondita-acharya-beef-bajrang-dal.

    [i] Godmen is a colloquial albeit pejorative term used to describe self-proclaimed gurus with cult following who claim that they are the only ones who have received the word of God. A Hindu godman, Sadhguru asserted in an interview taken by NDTV​ ​Consulting Editor Barkha Dutt that Indian culture has never recommended beef eating. Sadhguru’s use of Indian as a monolithic cultural label is highly debatable, due to the geopolitical diversity and his deliberate choice of the term refers to a subcontinental past prior to the rule of the Muslim emperors.

    Author:

    Debadrita Saha is the author of a blog post.

  • “Survival is insufficient”: The cautionary power of speculative fiction

    “Survival is insufficient”: The cautionary power of speculative fiction

    Image by Daniel Lincoln on Unsplash

    Current headlines abound with apocalyptic references to the global climate emergency. The 2021 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report released in August 2021 brought into the mainstream what climate scientists already knew – dramatic and life-altering changes to the climate are much closer than many of us expected. The ambiguous language is gone. Where before there were qualifiers about the likelihood of impacts and degrees of certainty regarding human responsibility, now we are told that the situation is unequivocal, unprecedented, indisputable and immediate. The proximity of potentially disastrous and irreversible climate impacts has come as a complete shock for many people. We thought we had more time. Given this accelerated schedule, we wonder how to respond, how to stay hopeful. What can we do when it feels like the precipice is closer than we imagined?

    Speculative fiction can provide insights into how people might respond to impending crises at different timescales, and what the consequences of those responses could potentially be. With the shortened timelines expressed in the IPCC report, it appears useful to consider three novels where the characters are confronted with crises that unfold over an extended period and which leave various amounts of time remaining before their version of the end of the world. The novels I have selected to do this are Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel, Seveneves by Neil Stephensen, and The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu. None of these novels have happy endings. In many ways, the authors seem to be warning against certain attitudes and types of responses rather than suggesting solutions.

    The characters in Station Eleven, for instance, are the survivors of a highly contagious virus which wiped out ninety-five percent of people. The novel looks back on how individuals processed and responded to the immediate threat posed by the Georgian Flu. Many of them managed to escape infection and the rapid loss of life by barricading themselves in places cut off from the rest of society. Outside their safe havens there was widespread panic, looting and hoarding of supplies, and quarantine of entire cities and countries. One man survived the initial crisis inside an airport terminal, haunted for years by his last phone call. Instead of calling his wife and child, he chose to talk to his business partners. The shallow, empty, professional terminology (circle back, put a pin in that) plays and replays in his memory.

    There are clear parallels between these responses and those currently manifesting to climate change. Populist governments across Europe and the United States are already threatening to turn against climate migrants and isolate themselves rather than committing to painful cuts in emissions and consumption that could potentially improve future conditions for vulnerable people. Climate denial persists in some arenas, and even those who believe in climate change may continue their lives as usual. If we trust the lessons of Station Eleven, in hindsight we will be haunted by our failure to act now to cherish and preserve what is important to us.

    The novel Seveneves explores humanity’s response to the destruction of the moon and the knowledge that within two years all life on Earth will be extinct. Governments of the world come together to expand the International Space Station and try to preserve humanity in the form of 1,500 randomly selected representatives. Throughout the novel, there are widespread concerns that the governments of the world do not actually believe in their own desperate projects. They simply want to pacify their citizens by being seen doing something. In the meantime, many people continue commuting to work and school and paying their bills on time, although Stephensen does make a point of noting that the home improvement industry has collapsed.

    The performative actions of world governments in Seveneves are paralleled by some responses to climate change. Despite growing awareness of threats, the temptation to continue business as usual looms large. Many countries take steps that are just enough to be seen to be doing something, even if they are fully aware that it will not be enough. In addition, a phenomenon called greenwashing has emerged, where any kind of product or activity is claimed to be “green” or “climate friendly”, regardless of its real impacts.

    Finally, in The Three-Body Problem a human-instigated crisis likely to lead to the eradication of humanity looms four hundred years in the future. The crisis was caused by people who decided that human civilisation was beyond redemption and invited the destruction of all human life by broadcasting our location to a hostile alien world. The extended timeframe of this novel means that humanity moves through several stages of denial, preparation and hopelessness. At the beginning of the crisis so many resources are poured into defending the Earth that rationing and shortages of basic necessities lead to a period called the “great ravine” where the global population plummets. Later, people decide that technology has advanced enough to save them and become complacent. At the international level, rich governments refuse to share technology and try to manoeuvre so that if anyone survives beyond the crisis they will emerge with more power and control. Low-income countries feel excluded and increasingly desperate, with sometimes violent consequences.

    Again these responses are frighteningly similar to what we see unfolding today. The refusal of rich countries to share their technologies or prioritise global concerns over their own reflects responses to climate change (and COVID-19, another urgent problem but beyond the scope of this post). Debates between proponents of degrowth and technological optimists expose a fundamental divide over how much our lifestyles and economies need to shift. Even further, Cixin Liu describes in detail the dangers of pouring resources into saving the future at the expense of the present. The Three-Body Problem poses a stark warning about the loss of democracy and the risk of losing our humanity in a moment of desperation. He causes us to wonder, what if we manage to stop climate change but, in the meantime, a real “great ravine” happens and millions or billions of people lose their lives? Will it have been worth it? What is the alternative?

    Even though Station Eleven, Seveneves and The Three-Body Problem present fatalistic doomsday scenarios, these novels seem to suggest that we have some agency in deciding between multiple pathways through catastrophe, not just in technical terms but in terms of what kind of future we want on the other side. In the aftermath of the Georgian Flu in Station Eleven, the remaining people decide that “survival is insufficient”. Survivors prioritize keeping art, music, creativity and beauty alive. The question in Seveneves after the decimation of life on Earth similarly is not just how to stay alive, but what kind of life preserves our humanity and is worth living.

    These novels are not optimistic or uplifting stories of how we can prevent climate change or survive the emergency we are already in. Instead, they hold a mirror to our modern society which highlights certain potential flaws in our current tendencies. The authors have each taken an intensified hypothetical scenario and followed it through to its logical conclusion. Such stories provide a source of caution and critique by centring the undesirable consequences of acting in certain ways which parallel responses we are currently seeing to climate change. By making these possibilities visible they give us an opportunity to rethink our own behaviour and perhaps even try to change it.

    Author:

    Elizabeth MacAfee is a PhD candidate in Society, Development and Planning at the Norwegian University of Life Sciences (NMBU). Elizabeth has a master’s degree in International Environmental Studies from NMBU and a bachelor’s degree in Exercise Science from the University of Puget Sound. The topic of Elizabeth’s dissertation is drinking water quality governance and planning in Kaolack, Senegal. She is interested in the ethical aspects of drinking water quality governance and frames her thesis using concepts from Deleuze and Guattari’s assemblage theory. Elizabeth is also a member of a speculative fiction book club in her free time. She read all three books referenced in this post with the book club and the ideas presented here grew out of those discussions.

  • From Apartheid South Africa to Climate Apartheid: Mongane Wally Serote’s “City Johannesburg”

    From Apartheid South Africa to Climate Apartheid: Mongane Wally Serote’s “City Johannesburg”

    Image by Clodagh Da Paixao on Unsplash

    In one of the most recognisable South African poems of the twentieth century, Mongane Wally Serote’s“City Johannesburg” (written circa 1971), the black narrator of the poem searches through the pockets of his trousers and jacket for his passbook as he mockingly salutes the city of Johannesburg, the sprawling metropolis that developed out of the discovery of gold in the surrounding Witwatersrand gold reef in the 1880s. The history of modern racial segregation in South Africa is tied to the rise of industrialisation in the late 19th century which brought about the need to obtain a cheap labour force to fuel the region’s bourgeoning new industries whilst simultaneously preserving the racial composition of white cities. This process was intensified through the commencement of the policy of apartheid – meaning apartness, or separation of the races – in 1948.Serote’s poem is an explicit response to the dual universe fostered under these conditions in the early 1970s, where movement between the bustling white city and designated black townships and Bantustans was monitored by strict influx control policies that required black travellers to carry passbooks.

    The poem “City Johannesburg” offers us a glimpse of the sociality of South African apartheid. Yet while the poem alludes to the distant social worlds fostered under apartheid laws – what the Nobel Prize laureate Nadine Gordimer aptly referred to as “a world of strangers” in her 1958 novel of the same name – it arguably also gives form to the conditions of a kind of environmental apartheid that endured through and alongside the social and political dimensions of white segregationist rule. For although Serote salutes the modern city of Johannesburg with its “neon flowers” and “cement trees” (a reference to the city’s expansive urban forest), he also gazes back at the degraded environment of the formerly blackdesignated areas – places characterized by soil erosion, “dongas” (dry gullies) and whirling dust. 

    In “City Johannesburg”, Serote registers the extraordinary environmental destruction wrought by South African apartheid, not only through intensive industrial activities like mining, but also through the notorious Land Acts of 1913 and 1936, which increased pressure on the 13% of land reserved for black populations (some of the worst and most degraded in the country) and led to disastrous ecological consequences such as soil erosion and desertification. These consequences made living and producing food in these rural areas increasingly difficult, with women oftenbearing the greatest burden. The effects of soil erosion in the formerly black areas were powerfully illustrated by Alan Paton in his celebrated novel Cry, the Beloved Country (1948), which opens with a description of the degraded hills of the rural Ixopo Valley in the eastern province of Kwa-Zulu Natal. The conditions of this environmental apartheid were exacerbated by the way some of the country’s most prized landscapes, protected by nature parks like the iconic Kruger National Park, were reserved exclusively for white visitors. 

    In recent years, UN experts have deployed the term “climate apartheid” to describe a potential future in which the last fifty years of development, global health and poverty reduction threatens to be undone by the risks associated with global anthropogenic climate change. This would lead to a scenario whereby the rich would be able to pay their way out of intolerable conditions while the majority of the world would bear the brunt of ecological damage. In a world where unequal wealth distribution is entangled with lingering racial and gender divisions – as exemplified by South Africa, which remains one of the most, if not the most, unequal societies in the world – it is clear that climate apartheid will not be colour-blind. This draws attention to the importance of environmental justice to the struggle against climate change, understood as justice for those communities that are most vulnerable to environmental risks by virtue of their race, class, gender or location.

    There is a certain blindness, however, underpinningthe rush to adopt the dystopic metaphor of climate apartheid as signifier for a possible future defined by unequal exposure to a suddenly hostile environment. As the case of South Africa shows, certain populations have for centuries endured proximity to hostile, life-threatening environments under apartheid-like conditions. The geographer Kathryn Yusoff makes a similar argument in her book A Billion Black Anthropocenes or None (2018), where she critiques the “White Geology” of the Anthropocene, referring to the narrative that the Anthropocene – the new geological epoch of human impact on the earth – introduces a new era in which humans suddenly find themselves exposed to the effects of a volatile planet. In fact, a sense of continuity between past and present underlies the way marginalised communities (especially black communities) have long endured exposure to environmental risks.

    Evidently, a proper scrutiny of climate apartheid cannot be achieved merely with recourse to a projected future, but requires interrogation of what could be called climate apartheid’s “deep history” over the last several centuries, in particular the history of racialized resource-based capitalism and colonial expansionism – where racial oppression and environmental degradation have tended to meet.  

    Might the climate apartheid metaphor that has seized hold of public discourse as a projection for the future be complicated by the overlapping histories of the past and present? Indeed, might it be possible to envisage more stringent ties between the seemingly unrelated moments of apartheid South Africa and climate apartheid? What implications would this have for the ways we organise our environmental politics and activism at a time of increasing uncertainty over the state of people and climate?

    The language of apartheid has been decoupled from its provenance in South African history in the service of an imagined future of uneven climate vulnerability.Language is indeed dynamic. It gathers new meanings and sheds older connotations. Yet it is possible that a broader case exists for bringing the two together: for recognising how climate apartheid necessarily draws us into a deep history of systemic racial oppression and environmental degradation across the formerly colonised world, and in turn how the particularities of apartheid South Africa might have always been fully planetary in scope – that is, part of a gradual process of rendering the earth uninhabitable for some and more liveable for others.

    It is against this backdrop that the poem “City Johannesburg” might be read from today’s viewpoint as a fleeting image of the uneven planetary transformations – the climate apartheid – that have been with us for some time, persistently for some, and imperceptibly for others.

    Author: Benjamin Klein holds an MPhil in Environmental Humanities from the University of Cape Town and an MA in English from the University of Leeds. He is currently a doctoral candidate in the English faculty at the University of Cambridge, where he is completing a dissertation on environmental justice in modern South African literature. His research interests lie in the intersections between environmental criticism and postcolonial thought, with a broad concern for literary engagements with the nonhuman world across varying historical, cultural and geographical contexts in the Global South. He has published ecocritical work in the Cambridge Journal of Postcolonial Literary Inquiry and Oxford Research in English.