Macska Moksha Press

“No” to a “Green Energy Transition”—“Yes” to an “Energy Reduction Transition”

July 3, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

Mojave Desert collage from my photo collection: Clockwise from top left, Sphinx Moth. wind farm, solar farm, Desert Tortoise

Once upon a time—but not so long ago—environmentalism was about protecting natural places and the flora and fauna who make those places their homes. But over the last decade, the scope of institutional environmentalism has been reduced to the issue climate change, and in turn the focus of climate change has been narrowed to carbon emissions. (The “other leg” of climate change is land use; see Rob Lewis’ three-part series on Substack, here, here and here.) Only in a world where carbon emissions are the sole environmental issue does the “green energy transition” pitch make any sense.

The pitch makes a big promise: Industrialized civilization can be sustained by swapping out fossil fuels for renewable energies like solar, wind, hydro and geothermal (with some tacking nuclear onto that list). The ubiquitous adjective “sustainable” has quietly shifted from being about sustaining ecosystems to sustaining human systems. We could call this pitch the “green energy transition media narrative.” Like all media narratives, it’s comprised of a mix of information, misinformation and disinformation; in other words: facts, inaccuracies, and lies. Mostly the last two, I daresay, because the narrative is primarily shaped not by science or ethics but by corporate and political forces whose pursuit of profit of power usually puts them at odds with science and ethics.

But a media narrative is only credible insofar as it hews to conventional cultural perspectives, perspectives that are shaped by the culture’s inherent and usually unacknowledged biases and beliefs about the world. A narrative that “colors outside the lines” too far will come off as implausible. In the case of the green energy transition media narrative, an unquestioned and deeply-held cultural belief at its core is the conceit that humans have “dominion” over the world, and that we can take what we want because it’s all ours. Some grassroots environmentalists—as well as a few thinkers in the fields of philosophy, history and theology, and also just some ordinary folks with a decent moral compass—are certainly aware of how problematic this belief is, but they are not the ones steering the narrative.

Agriculture Was a Dick Move

June 18, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

An irrigated field of Alfalfa in the desert of the Imperial Valley in southern California

Given the state of the US these days, it can be easy for people to be cynical. Our culture is driven by greed and domination, resulting in profound economic inequality and horrific environmental destruction. The lives of most of us citizens are defined by struggle and anxiety when it comes to providing necessities for ourselves. In the natural world, wildlife habitat is shrinking and species are going extinct. Our politics are corrupt, our media is vapid, and social polarization is seemingly widening. An increasingly chaotic climate is stressing our systems and pushing the limits of adaptability for many plants and animals.

Some people assume that it’s “human nature” to be destructive, both to ourselves and others. Some welcome the prospect of human extinction or even wish for it. “Humans suck,” they conclude.

I am not so cynical, which in the eyes of some might make me “naive” or a partaker of “hopium.” These folks can believe what they want and give me any name they’d like. If they are so convinced that we as a species are nothing more than a blight on the planet, then I leave them to it. I know there’s no point in arguing with beliefs.

Yes, “beliefs” is what I would call them: ideas that are held not because they are unequivocally provable—they are not—but because, for whatever reason, they provide comfort, even though they are so despairing. And here I must quote Gandalf, who (in the books) said: “Despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not.”

Competition between Plants: What Biology Says

June 3, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

Russian Olive (Elaeagnus angustifolia) foliage and berries, as observed on a tree growing by an irrigation ditch in Fruita, Colorado

The following is a draft chapter from the book that Nikki Hill & I are writing, tentatively entitled, “Don’t Blame the Messengers: A critique of the ‘invasive plant’ narrative.”

The most common accusation leveled by the “invasive plant” narrative is that introduced plants “outcompete” native species. As the story goes, they “aggressively” and “ruthlessly” “encroach on,” “choke out,” “push out,” “bully,” and “displace” native plants and that they “take over” ecosystems, thereby “degrading,” “disrupting” and “destroying” them, causing “ecological havoc.” The human response must be a declaration of “war” in which we “push back,” “stem the influx,” and “turn back the tide” by “fighting,” “battling,” and “combating” them, in order to “wipe out,” “purge” and “eradicate” them. We’re presented with a picture of horrible monsters we must slay in order to save helpless victims from being gobbled up. As an image to incite fear and enmity against supposed villains, it’s very effective, but how does it stand up as way of understanding ecological interactions?

Turning to science, let’s look at how biologists define “competition.”

James B. Grace, ecologist and senior research scientist with the US Geological Survey, says:

Any attempt to define competitive success must begin with a definition of competition. The variety of possible definitions of competition have been discussed numerous times and it is safe to say that there is no universally accepted definition.ⁱ

Okay, so we can see right away that this subject is not going to be cut-and-dry.

A Personal Update, and Reflections on Farming

May 27, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

The geographical locus of my transient lifestyle has moved a few hundred miles. A couple-three weeks ago, my house-sitting gig in northern California came to an end and I traveled down to Sonoma County, where I’ll be spending the summer helping out on an organic farm near Guerneville run by some friends of mine. Santa Rosa is the closest city that people may have heard of. The farm is about 2 ½ hours north of San Francisco. If you’re in the area, or will be traveling through the region this summer, drop me a line, and maybe we can meet up! Camping here for a few days is also a possibility, though you’ll definitely get lassoed into helping out in the field if you do.

“But what about Himalayan Blackberry?”

May 8, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

Himalayan Blackberry (Rubus armeniacus), showing new growth, old growth, and thorny cane

Himalayan Blackberry (Rubus armeniacus), showing new growth, last year’s, and thorny cane

When Nikki Hill and I talk to people about our critique of the “invasive plant” narrative, a common response is, “But what about [fill-in-the-blank “invasive plant” they personally love to hate]?”

The misconception seems to be that, since we are arguing against judging plants solely by their place of origin, then we must be advocating for a hands-off approach across the board. Such is the current state of our culture that every single topic must be divided into for vs. against, us vs. them, my team vs. your team. I would not be surprised if the word “nuance” is soon dropped from the dictionary for becoming anachronistic. <sigh>

Nikki and I have both farmed and gardened in many different places, and we know that just about every spot under cultivation has at least one weed species that is especially tenacious. It might be bindweed, or runner grass, or thistle. Or Himalayan Blackberry. We understand the frustration that can arise from trying to extricate something that’s well established or widespread when what you want is carrots.

However, the plants themselves are not preternaturally evil or something. Everything is always context dependent.

Where I Stand in the Discourse on Gender, Sexuality and Identity

April 30, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

The first time I met an openly trans person was at a party in the early ‘90s in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I lived at the time. An old friend was hosting the get-together and his social circle drew from unconventional strata of society, including artists, the theater crowd, the SCA, pagans, poly folks, kinksters and gender-benders. The sort of crowd where nearly everyone could recite dialogue from the “Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Being an outsider myself (I had moved to Minneapolis with the explicit goal of finding my place in gay culture there), I was delighted.

The trans person was a trans woman and we conversed for quite awhile. She was interested to talk about herself and her experiences and I was interested to listen and ask questions. I can’t remember many details now (this was over thirty years ago!) but at one point she emphasized how important it was to her to be able to use the women’s room in public places. This was a point of curiosity for me, as I had never given the subject any thought before, but I accepted her concern at face value.

Over the years that followed I met other openly trans women, though no trans men. I’m sure I also met trans people who were not openly expressing themselves, and just didn’t know. Ten years after that Minneapolis party, now living in Portland, Oregon, in the early 2000s, my opinion of openly trans women was simple: I considered them to be some of the bravest people I knew. After all, they were going public in expressing their sense of identity even though it exposed them to serious risks ranging from social ostracism (with consequences for employment and housing) to verbal harassment to violence. How ironic, I thought, that “courage” was considered to be such a macho trait, but that the people showing the most of it were those who were most outwardly breaking with male norms. I admired them very much for their strength, and also appreciated how their choices challenged a system of roles that I personally found (and still find) stifling and oppressive.

“Degrowth” is a tough sell: We need positive language to work toward positive outcomes

April 16, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

The seeds of Big-seeded Biscuitroot (Lomatium macrocarpum), a traditional First Food of western North America. Photo taken in eastern Oregon, Aug. 15, 2022.

March 14^th was “Earth Overshoot Day” for the United States. What that means is that, if every country in the world consumed at the rate of the US, the limit of the planet’s annual regeneration of resources would run out on that date. (At this website, you can see which countries overshoot and which don’t.)

I don’t know how they calculate their dates, and I’m sure folks could quibble over methodology, but we can be confident that it represents a legitimate warning about the status quo and its danger to people and planet. We need to use less. Far far less.

Personally, I would argue the solution is about systemic change not individual choices. If each person had a share to work with—that is, if the ownership of the resources of the planet were divvied up among everyone and our own decisions to forgo on any particular resource meant that resource would be preserved in place—then it would be all about individual choices.

But it’s not.

Environmentalist & anti-war goals go hand-in-hand

April 3, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

The remains of Japanese dead, equipment and caved-in bunkers on ‘Scraggy Hill’ which was captured by 10th Gurkha rifles in fierce fighting in the Shenam area during the Battle of Imphal, 1944.

I’ve been anti-war as long as I can remember. When I got a call from a military recruiter in high school, I already had the clarity of conviction to give him an unambiguous no, and he didn’t have any chance of budging me (although he tried). Everything I’ve learned about war since then only increased my dedication to the principle.

As the song goes: “War can’t give life. It can only take it away.”

I’ve also been a tree-hugger for as long as I remember and for me, my anti-war ethic resonates in harmony with my opposition to the needless killing of any living creature, including plants.

The human toll of warfare is tragic beyond accounting in lives brutally cut short, grievous injuries suffered, cultural heritage lost (museums, religious structures, libraries, schools) and to vital infrastructure destroyed (hospitals, power plants, reservoirs). War as now fought has been with us at least since the establishment of agriculture, and as technology has advanced, its devastating abilities have escalated. Last century was the bloodiest in human history and we must we must make sure that record stands. Armed conflict at that scale with the current arsenal would be nightmarish beyond reckoning.

Less spoken of, but gaining increasing attention, are war’s effects on the environment. Not just active war-making, but the consequences of all the industries, institutions and infrastructure that supports it; what we could put together under the heading of “militarism. Effects include the ruination of habitat and farmland by battle, the killing and disruption of wildlife, the release of lethal pollutants, the damaging processes of weapon manufacturing, and the large-scale release of carbon emissions. Over all this hangs the threat of a nuclear winter, the worst environmental disaster imaginable.

Springtime in northern California: photos

March 25, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

Milkmaids (Cardamine californica), a lover of disturbed places. I've seen it only along the roadside and nowhere else

Salmon River on left, flowing into the Klamath, right, whose flow is from bottom to top in this photo.

Seven Reasons Why I Critique the “Invasive Plant” Narrative

March 25, 2024 by Kollibri terre Sonnenblume

Oxeye Daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare), along roadside in Yamhill County, Oregon. Yes, Oxeye Daisies are considered “invasive” though not a threat to intact native habitat.

I’ve been getting new subscribers at a steady clip lately, so I want to explain why I often write critically about the war on “invasive plants.” Much of my work here is excerpted from, or inspired by, the book I’m currently working on with Nikki Hill, which is tentatively entitled, “Don’t Blame the Messengers: A critique of the ‘invasive plant’ narrative.” (Paying subscribers at my Substack or Patreon will get excerpts from the book-in-progress, and a full electronic copy of the full draft when it’s done.)

“What is perceived is largely preconceived.”
—Ashley Montagu, from his 1952 book, Darwin, Competition & Cooperation

Before I get into the reasons, let me say what I mean by “the ‘invasive plant’ narrative.” A “narrative” is a cultural manifestation; it’s a story that provides a lens for viewing the world and interpreting our own observations of it. Narratives manufacture biases and thus shape what we believe to be true. All social or political narratives (and there are many!) are comprised of facts, misinformation (errors), disinformation (purposeful errors), and ideology (both trumpeted and unacknowledged). Each narrative has its own degree of fidelity to the facts on the ground, some more than others, but none is wholly accurate. Because we’re human.

(For more on the power and role of narrative in shaping our perceptions, see this, by Caitlin Johnstone.)

Anyone who’s been paying any attention to environmental issues the last couple decades is familiar with the “invasive plant” narrative. To pull a quote from the book-in-progress:

The narrative claims that “invasive” plant species “outcompete” native species; that they “aggressively” and “ruthlessly” “encroach on,” “choke out,” “push out,” “bully,” and “displace” native plants and that they “take over” ecosystems, “degrading,” “disrupting” and “destroying” them, causing “ecological havoc.” Our response must be a declaration of “war” where we “push back,” “stem the influx,” and “turn back the tide” by “fighting,” “battling,” and “combating” them, in order to “wipe out,” “purge” and “eradicate” them. We’re given a picture of monsters we must kill in order to save helpless victims from being gobbled up.

There’s a lot to be critical about with this narrative and its repercussions. As an image to incite fear and enmity against supposed villains, it’s very effective. But as a way of understanding ecological interactions, it’s not so useful. As a starting point for making intelligent and respectful choices about how we interact with nature, I believe it’s dangerous.

Why?

Read More…

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