In December 2008, Tim DeChristopher attended a protest at a
federal auction of drilling rights to Utah wilderness lands. He found a
better way to disrupt the auction when he picked up a paddle and began
bidding on the leases as “Bidder 70.” He won $1.8 million worth of
parcels and inflated the price of many others. When it was discovered
that he had no money to back his bids, the auction had to be shut down.
Tim DeChristopher was sentenced to two years in prison for his
actions, but his boldness stopped the sale of 22,000 acres of scenic
wilderness and highlighted government misconduct. Secretary of the
Interior Ken Salazar scrapped a rescheduled auction because the Bureau
of Land Management had skimped on its environmental analysis and
inadequately consulted with the National Park Service. In January 2013, a
federal court denied an energy industry appeal to reinstate the leases.
DeChristopher was released from prison in April. Photos by David
Newkirk
Feeling anxious about life in a broken-down society on a stressed-out
planet? That’s hardly surprising: Life as we know it is almost over.
While the dominant culture encourages dysfunctional denial—pop a pill,
go shopping, find your bliss—there’s a more sensible approach: Accept
the anxiety, embrace the deeper anguish—and then get apocalyptic.
We are staring down multiple cascading ecological crises, struggling
with political and economic institutions that are unable even to
acknowledge, let alone cope with, the threats to the human family and
the larger living world. We are intensifying an assault on the
ecosystems in which we live, undermining the ability of that living
world to sustain a large-scale human presence into the future. When all
the world darkens, looking on the bright side is not a virtue but a sign
of irrationality.
In these circumstances, anxiety is rational and anguish is healthy,
signs not of weakness but of courage. A deep grief over what we are
losing—and have already lost, perhaps never to be recovered—is
appropriate. Instead of repressing these emotions we can confront them,
not as isolated individuals but collectively, not only for our own
mental health but to increase the effectiveness of our organizing for
the social justice and ecological sustainability still within our grasp.
Once we’ve sorted through those reactions, we can get apocalyptic and
get down to our real work.
Perhaps that sounds odd, since we are routinely advised to overcome
our fears and not give in to despair. Endorsing apocalypticism seems
even stranger, given associations with “end-timer” religious
reactionaries and “doomer” secular survivalists. People with critical
sensibilities, those concerned about justice and sustainability, think
of ourselves as realistic and less likely to fall for either theological
or science-fiction fantasies.
Many associate “apocalypse” with the rapture-ranting that grows out
of some interpretations of the Christian Book of Revelation (aka, the
Apocalypse of John), but it’s helpful to remember that the word’s
original meaning is not “end of the world.” “Revelation” from Latin and
“apocalypse” from Greek both mean a lifting of the veil, a disclosure of
something hidden, a coming to clarity. Speaking apocalyptically, in
this sense, can deepen our understanding of the crises and help us see
through the many illusions that powerful people and institutions create.
But there is an ending we have to confront. Once we’ve honestly faced
the crises, then we can deal with what is ending—not all the world, but
the systems that currently structure our lives. Life as we know it is,
indeed, coming to an end.
Let’s start with the illusions:
Some stories we have told
ourselves—claims by white people, men, or U.S. citizens that domination
is natural and appropriate—are relatively easy to debunk (though many
cling to them). Other delusional assertions—such as the claim that
capitalism is compatible with basic moral principles, meaningful
democracy, and ecological sustainability—require more effort to take
apart (perhaps because there seems to be no alternative).
“Apocalypse” need not involve heavenly rescue
fantasies or tough-guy survival talk; to get apocalyptic means seeing
clearly and recommitting to core values.But toughest to dislodge
may be the central illusion of the industrial world’s extractive
economy: that we can maintain indefinitely a large-scale human presence
on the earth at something like current First-World levels of
consumption. The task for those with critical sensibilities is not just
to resist oppressive social norms and illegitimate authority, but to
speak a simple truth that almost no one wants to acknowledge: The
high-energy/high-technology life of affluent societies is a dead end. We
can’t predict with precision how resource competition and ecological
degradation will play out in the coming decades, but it is ecocidal to
treat the planet as nothing more than a mine from which we extract and a
landfill into which we dump.
We cannot know for sure what time the party will end, but the party’s over.
Does that seem histrionic? Excessively alarmist? Look at any crucial
measure of the health of the ecosphere in which we live—groundwater
depletion, topsoil loss, chemical contamination, increased toxicity in
our own bodies, the number and size of “dead zones” in the oceans,
accelerating extinction of species, and reduction of biodiversity—and
ask a simple question: Where are we heading?
Remember also that we live in an oil-based world that is rapidly
depleting the cheap and easily accessible oil, which means we face a
major reconfiguration of the infrastructure that undergirds daily life.
Meanwhile, the desperation to avoid that reconfiguration has brought us
to the era of “extreme energy,” using ever more dangerous and
destructive technologies (hydrofracturing, deep-water drilling,
mountaintop coal removal, tar sands extraction).
Oh, did I forget to mention the undeniable trajectory of global warming/climate change/climate disruption?
Scientists these days are talking about tipping points and planetary
boundaries, about how human activity is pushing Earth beyond its limits.
Recently 22 top scientists warned that humans likely are forcing a
planetary-scale critical transition “with the potential to transform
Earth rapidly and irreversibly into a state unknown in human
experience,” which means that “the biological resources we take for
granted at present may be subject to rapid and unpredictable
transformations within a few human generations.”
That conclusion is the product of science and common sense, not
supernatural beliefs or conspiracy theories. The political/social
implications are clear: There are no solutions to our problems if we
insist on maintaining the high-energy/high-technology existence lived in
much of the industrialized world (and desired by many currently
excluded from it). Many tough-minded folk who are willing to challenge
other oppressive systems hold on tightly to this lifestyle. The critic
Fredric Jameson has written, “It is easier to imagine the end of the
world than to imagine the end of capitalism,” but that’s only part of
the problem—for some, it may be easier to imagine the end of the world
than to imagine the end of air conditioning.
We do live in end-times, of a sort.
Not the end of the
world—the planet will carry on with or without us—but the end of the
human systems that structure our politics, economics, and social life.
“Apocalypse” need not involve heavenly rescue fantasies or tough-guy
survival talk; to get apocalyptic means seeing clearly and recommitting
to core values.
Never in human history have potential
catastrophes been so global; never have social and ecological crises of
this scale threatened at the same time ...First, we must affirm
the value of our work for justice and sustainability, even though there
is no guarantee we can change the disastrous course of contemporary
society. We take on projects that we know may fail because it’s the
right thing to do, and by doing so we create new possibilities for
ourselves and the world. Just as we all know that someday we will die
and yet still get out of bed every day, an honest account of planetary
reality need not paralyze us.
Then let’s abandon worn-out clichés such as, “The American people
will do the right thing if they know the truth,” or “Past social
movements prove the impossible can happen.”
There is no evidence that awareness of injustice will automatically
lead U.S. citizens, or anyone else, to correct it. When people believe
injustice is necessary to maintain their material comfort, some accept
those conditions without complaint.
Social movements around race, gender, and sexuality have been
successful in changing oppressive laws and practices, and to a lesser
degree in shifting deeply held beliefs. But the movements we most often
celebrate, such as the post-World War II civil rights struggle, operated
in a culture that assumed continuing economic expansion. We now live in
a time of permanent contraction—there will be less, not more, of
everything. Pressuring a dominant group to surrender some privileges
when there is an expectation of endless bounty is a very different
project than when there is intensified competition for resources. That
doesn’t mean nothing can be done to advance justice and sustainability,
only that we should not be glib about the inevitability of it.
Here’s another cliché to jettison: Necessity is the mother of
invention. During the industrial era, humans exploiting new supplies of
concentrated energy have generated unprecedented technological
innovation in a brief time. But there is no guarantee that there are
technological fixes to all our problems; we live in a system that has
physical limits, and the evidence suggests we are close to those limits.
Technological fundamentalism—the quasi-religious belief that the use of
advanced technology is always appropriate, and that any problems caused
by the unintended consequences can be remedied by more technology—is as
empty a promise as other fundamentalisms.
If all this seems like more than one can bear, it’s because it is.
We
are facing new, more expansive challenges. Never in human history have
potential catastrophes been so global; never have social and ecological
crises of this scale threatened at the same time; never have we had so
much information about the threats we must come to terms with.
It’s easy to cover up our inability to face this by projecting it
onto others. When someone tells me “I agree with your assessment, but
people can’t handle it,” I assume what that person really means is, “I
can’t handle it.” But handling it is, in the end, the only sensible
choice.
Mainstream politicians will continue to protect existing systems of
power, corporate executives will continue to maximize profit without
concern, and the majority of people will continue to avoid these
questions. It’s the job of people with critical sensibilities—those who
consistently speak out for justice and sustainability, even when it’s
difficult—not to back away just because the world has grown more
ominous.
Adopting this apocalyptic framework doesn’t mean separating from
mainstream society or giving up ongoing projects that seek a more just
world within existing systems. I am a professor at a university that
does not share my values or analysis, yet I continue to teach. In my
community, I am part of a group that helps people create
worker-cooperatives that will operate within a capitalist system that I
believe to be a dead end. I belong to a congregation that struggles to
radicalize Christianity while remaining part of a cautious, often
cowardly, denomination.
I am apocalyptic, but I’m not interested in empty rhetoric drawn from
past revolutionary moments. Yes, we need a revolution—many
revolutions—but a strategy is not yet clear. So, as we work patiently on
reformist projects, we can continue to offer a radical analysis and
experiment with new ways of working together. While engaged in education
and community organizing with modest immediate goals, we can contribute
to the strengthening of networks and institutions that can be the base
for the more radical change we need. In these spaces today we can
articulate, and live, the values of solidarity and equity that are
always essential.
To adopt an apocalyptic worldview is not to abandon hope but to
affirm life. As James Baldwin put it decades ago, we must remember “that
life is the only touchstone and that life is dangerous, and that
without the joyful acceptance of this danger, there can never be any
safety for anyone, ever, anywhere.” By avoiding the stark reality of our
moment in history we don’t make ourselves safe, we undermine the
potential of struggles for justice and sustainability.
As Baldwin put it so poignantly in that same 1962 essay, “Not
everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed
until it is faced.”
It’s time to get apocalyptic, or get out of the way.
Robert Jensen wrote this article for Love and the Apocalypse, the Summer 2013 issue of YES! Magazine.
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