Our changing climate
A poem for (and thoughts on) a hurting planet
AS A CHILD, I LOVED TO PICK WILD BLACKBERRIES The neighbor's tomatoes are, finally, rotting off the vine to which they clung, unpicked, for a season. Their once-taut skin puckers and prunes; they lose their ruby luster. Walking my dog past the fenced-in plot every afternoon, I wonder who planted the seeds— hands in soft soil, dirt under fingernails—only to watch them grow, ripen, and die. I wonder why, as autumn crept into summer, I never reached over the chicken-wire to cradle the tiny fruit of the earth in my palm. Just past the garden, I stumble upon a leaf on the pavement with a maroon hue so rich I have to carry it home to show my love. The leaf is not alive, but it was, and it is not mine, but it is in my hand, and I hold it close to my chest even as my dog pulls on her leash—even as I have to hold her tighter, too.
We woke up to frost coating the grass and fallen leaves, and I sighed in relief.
After a light flurry on Halloween—so light, no snow stuck to the ground—and a few chilly mornings, the weather warmed up. Not hot, but warm for November.
When my coworkers and I chat about the weather while waiting for everyone else to join a call (because what else is there for us to discuss?), many of them mention appreciating the extra days of warmth, while I tend to bring up being concerned that it hasn’t snowed all month. I don’t ever say more than that; climate change isn’t, as a general rule, something we discuss in the workplace.
And I’m fine with that, really. There’s a lot I don’t discuss at work—really, aside from the occasional photo of Marmalade shared over Slack or mention of weekend plans with Zoe, I don’t discuss anything except work at work.
Recently, though, this has felt more challenging.
Not because I want to talk about anything that could be construed as hot-button at work, but because there is nothing else on my mind.
In art therapy this past week, I was asked to draw my emotions surrounding three subjects that have come up for me a lot in recent weeks: Israel’s genocidal military campaign in Gaza, climate change, and my personal experiences with transphobia. (I was also asked to draw some representation of myself interacting with the emotions, hence the goofy little person floating in the green sludge.)
Something I love about art therapy is how feelings that feel so complicated and unknowable translate to such simple, straightforward pieces. Of course climate anxiety feels overwhelming; it surrounds me because I am part of the world that is all around me. How could anyone not feel that way? Yet some people seem to have escaped that intense dread; at least, that’s what I think when we discuss the weather—something which feels so massive—as small talk.
Last week in particular, I was thinking about climate change because I listened to Up First’s reporting on the Fifth National Climate Assessment. The coverage whiplashed between hope and fear. The scientists contributing to the report state clearly that “[a]t the national scale, the benefits of deep emissions cuts for current and future generations are expected to far outweigh the costs.” US emissions have fallen between 2005 and 2019, and climate adaptation and mitigation actions have increased across the country. Progress is being made.
But our national goal is to achieve net-zero emissions, at which point global warming driven by CO2 is expected to stop. That would only halt us at where we are now: “global average temperatures are not expected to fall for centuries unless CO2 emissions become net negative, which is when CO2 removal from the atmosphere exceeds CO2 emissions from human activities.” And even if we work toward net-negative emissions, we will long continue to see rising sea levels, melting ice sheets, and “associated disruptions to human health, social systems, and ecosystems.” Further, even at net-zero emissions, the ocean will continue to acidify as it absorbs past emissions from the atmosphere. We must increase our urgency in working toward net-zero emissions so that we can begin to dream of—and work toward—net-negative emissions.
There is a section of the report, “Experiencing Climate Change,” that details the negative impacts we deal with as a result of climate change—and how those impacts will escalate in the face of inaction. The contributors, in a beautiful display of clear heads and hearts, articulate the imbalance in who experiences those impacts with the most severity:
“Some communities are at higher risk of negative impacts from climate change due to social and economic inequities caused by ongoing systemic discrimination, exclusion, and under- or disinvestment. Many such communities are also already overburdened by the cumulative effects of adverse environmental, health, economic, or social conditions. Climate change worsens these long-standing inequities, contributing to persistent disparities in the resources needed to prepare for, respond to, and recover from climate impacts.”
They identify, for example, the disparities resulting from historical—and ongoing—exclusionary housing practices: “For example, areas that were historically redlined—a practice in which lenders avoided providing services to communities, often based on their racial or ethnic makeup—continue to be deprived of equitable access to environmental amenities like urban green spaces that reduce exposure to climate impacts. These neighborhoods can be as much as 12°F hotter during a heatwave than nearby wealthier neighborhoods.”
Twelve degrees hotter.
Heat-related illnesses and deaths. Longer droughts straining our limited water supplies and systems. More—and worse—storms, and their accompanying damage to infrastructure. Wildfires degrading air quality. These things impact all of us, but “[l]ow-income communities, communities of color, and Tribes and Indigenous Peoples experience high exposure and vulnerability to extreme events due to both their proximity to hazard-prone areas and lack of adequate infrastructure or disaster management resources.”
None of this should surprise you. Even if it wasn’t something you were thinking about consciously, let alone talking about, it surely clicked into place in your mind when you read it.
The contributors outline concrete actions that need to achieve net-zero emissions. Ultimately, though, it is little more than a heavily researched, well-articulated wish list.
No scientist studying climate change has the clout or resources to guide policy; the best they can hope for is that the legislators who read it will care. Will act.
In recent headlines, individuals like Republican presidential candidate Vivek Ramaswamy and far-right Argentine president-elect Javier Milei have been referred to as “climate change deniers.” A November 8 report from NPR found that, of the Republican primary candidates, only Trump, Scott (who has since dropped out), and Christie would say that humans are “at least in part” responsible for climate change. All of the candidates want to prioritize fossil fuel extraction. Christie and Haley want the burden of addressing climate change to fall on China and India, while others want to increase domestic energy production—read: increase fossil fuel extraction. None of them support the Paris Agreement, and none of them have plans for cutting greenhouse gas emissions. I won’t go on because I think the point is clear: the Republican party will not take the action necessary to achieve net-zero emissions, and in fact would likely increase emissions.
But I find myself increasingly frustrated with the phrase “climate change denier.” I think there are people in the US who truly believe climate change is a hoax—especially staunch conservatives. That being said, I don’t think any of the Republican primary candidates can be considered among their ranks. Culturally, I think “climate change denier” is used as shorthand for idiot who doesn’t understand or respect science. These candidates are only climate change deniers in the most literal sense of public denial, not in a connotative sense of stupidity.
Reading the National Climate Assessment and its assertion that addressing climate change involves addressing inequities at the intersection of class and race—and that addressing climate change is part of addressing those inequities—should make it clear that Republicans’ refusal to acknowledge (let alone address) climate change has nothing to do with science.
“Denying climate change” is itself a cultural shorthand, an indicator that an individual will work actively to uphold forms of systemic oppression. No amount of science communication will convince those in power to stop clinging to power, and the way these individuals know to accrue and maintain power is through oppression.
In a moment of synchronicity (thanks, Julia Cameron), I sat down the morning after my art therapy session to catch up on an episode of On Being, Krista Tippett’s podcast, and found myself listening to her interview with Christiana Figueres: “Ecological Hope, and Spiritual Evolution.” Figueres led the work for the aforementioned Paris Agreement, and has spent her entire life as a climate activist. Who better to talk about ecological hope?
Climate change, Tippett and Figueres agree, is both “civilizational and personal.” We are all collectively experiencing the impacts of climate change—and many of us are collectively working toward solutions.
But so many of the particulars of our experiences vary, and we often feel an isolating grief. My home was not destroyed in Hurricane Katrina. My lungs are better equipped to handle wildfire smoke from Canada than Zoe’s are. The impacts of the global ecological crisis are deeply personal.
I won’t recount the entire podcast episode to you; I highly recommend listening to it for yourself. But there were two things in particular that I’ve been carrying close to my chest since listening.
First, Figueres makes the argument that doom is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hear so often from people my age that the climate is already fucked beyond repair, that the people in power won’t do anything to fix it, and therefore that we should give up on the planet. Some people say we should begin colonizing space. Others argue that climate change means none of us should have children. And still others feel that human civilization should come to an end altogether. The doom has set in, and it makes people want to give up, and in giving up, we allow our worst fears for the planet to come true.
Just as I do not give up on Palestinian liberation, just as I do not give up on trans and queer liberation, just as I do not give up on Black liberation, just as, just as, just as, I refuse to give up on environmental liberation. I will, in all ways, continue to work toward a better world, even as I process the grief inherent in that work.
Which brings me to the second concept, one Tippett has talked about before: muscular hope. Hope is a muscle we can—and must—strengthen. Hope must be accompanied by action. Hope is action, is the flexing of that muscle.
I will admit: I’m tired. Of course I’m tired! I’m working out, strengthening, and flexing a new muscle. It is bound to ache and cry out for rest from time to time. If you feel the same way, I urge to both to rest and to remember to return to the work. It is difficult, but we can do it together.
Stop CP2. In thinking about the climate, I ask you to sign this petition calling on the Biden administration to stop permit approvals for liquefied natural gas (LNG) export facilities. CP2, just one of these facilities, would result in twenty times the CO2 emissions of the Willow Project.
Trans Day of Remembrance. Today is Trans Day of Remembrance. Last night, Zoe and I attended a vigil and rally to remember the beautiful trans lives that have been lost to murder and suicide. Trans people deserve to grow old. They deserve to be cared for when they’re alive and remembered when they’re gone.
While we were at the vigil, a college-aged man shouted from across the campus we were on, calling our group faggots. We are killed, and then we are not given space to grieve. A group of young trans people left the rally immediately after that man shouted, scared that it would escalate into violence (thankfully, it did not). I had the same impulse. I am outraged that I live in such constant fear. And I am hopeful that someday, I will live in peace.
Trans lives matter.
I’m wishing everyone a restful week! Marmalade got an early start on that:
Image Description: Marmalade, eyes half-shut, resting her head on Emory’s chest. His hand is visible holding a mug of coffee. Work has been stressful lately (on top of everything else), so I’m sorry for newsletter delays, typos, or undue brevity.
Incredibly thankful for friends like L, who will be watching Marmalade during our travels this week, and C, who is always a delightful phone call away whenever we need them.
