Now

Probably the biggest obstacle that people face when trying to address environmental issues, and sustainability in general, is the sheer magnitude of the problems. We have billions of people, trillions of dollars and countless quantities of time and energy that are invested in the status quo and the continuance of unsustainability. The powers of those people and corporations are much greater than you as an individual; a sense of hopelessness is not surprising. Furthermore, the timescales over which the issues have developed, and over which they may be resolved, are enormous compared to the length of human lives. It may take several decades for any change to be realised, culturally and ecologically. This is also bound to generate a sense of hopelessness. At the same time, there is a limit to our comprehension of our actions - we may not know how harmful the effects of what we are doing are. But also, we do things in the present that we know are bad, for our health, and for the health of ecosystems in the future. We have a tendency to say, "I'll deal with it later," or, "I know this is bad (for me or for the environment). Whatever."  Eating unhealthily is a wonderful example of this. Access and availability of good food aside, many people know that such eating is bad for them, in general, yet satisfaction now supersedes degraded health later - diabetes, cancer, obesity, etc. Maybe we don't want those future ill effects to affect us, but out of habit we accept the ill effects and live in a state of fear knowing that the day will come that bad diagnoses loom.

It is really hard to imagine what the future is going to be like - Will our efforts pay off? Who will be the next President? When will the next oil spill happen? Which will be the next fish species to go extinct because of overfishing? How might we be able to deal with the fear of living in such a state, knowing that we are degrading what it is that sustains us, but are so invested in the way it is that we kick the stone down the road? Rather than think and worry about the future, we can all make decisions here and now such that tomorrow will be a good day. We all want to live in a world in which what we cherish is alive, healthy and sustained. To live in that world, we must act in such a way that we cherish, respect and sustain now, today. It is not complicated. If I respect the tree or the river today, it will be healthy and full of life and love tomorrow. If I respect and cherish my relationship with my friends and family today, those relationships will grow stronger and more resilient; tomorrow those people will still love me, and I will still love them. I do not have to live in the fear of a grudge or a toxic conversation. Now is easier to comprehend and experience and think about. Acting well now will save us much trouble tomorrow.

War and the Environment - Depleted uranium, a radioactive waste

While talking to Matt the other night, the topic of depleted uranium came up. Depleted uranium is a byproduct, in essence a waste, of uranium enrichment processes for nuclear fuel and nuclear arms. I am sure you would not be terribly surprised to hear that the US and other nations produce vast amounts of depleted uranium, given that nuclear reactors are now commonplace. What I am sure you will find shocking, just as I did last week, is that depleted uranium, a radioactive waste substance with a physical half-life of 4+ billion years, and a biological half life of 15 days, has been used as ammunition in Iraq, as well as in Serbia (please click here, here, here and here). Depleted uranium is denser than lead, and therefore can more readily penetrate armour, making it particularly useful to violence. While making it much easier to blow the "enemy" up, it can also be aerosolised into sub-micron size dust that is easily inhalable. The US has used several thousand tonnes of depleted uranium in Iraq. I do like to think that I believe in the precautionary principle - if I don't know whether or not something is harmful, especially considering my judgement and gut instinct, I won't do it. (Of course, the world has thrown the precautionary principle out of the window with most environmental and public health harms.) Any level-minded person would think that any sort of radioactive substance, which is a byproduct of human activity, is likely to be environmentally damaging and toxic to both humans as well as plants and animals. (Of course, there is natural radioactivity.) It is therefore not surprising to me that investigative reports by the BBC (do not click there if you are queasy) have shown that depleted uranium has caused increased levels of cancer in new born babies in Iraq. Efforts to make toxicity information public were, of course, stamped down upon.

I think it is particularly telling of the morality and ethics of a government and state to use obviously toxic materials in war. What is more toxic than these materials is the fact that war itself is accepted and condonable. These last few posts have been dealing as much with peace as they have been with the environment, and these two issues are not mutually independent. A society and culture that condones violence to the environment, to the land, air and water that sustains it, is likely to use violence as a means to an end in dealing with other creations of our environment, namely humans. Peace with humans will only come out of a sustained and thoughtful peace with our environment - an environment that is thought of as a life-sustaining force, greater in emotional and spiritual value than any priceless monetary value we may be able to comprehend.

Refuge in change, and questioning authority

I have so many thoughts running through my mind that I hope I can convey them coherently and concisely.

This post is a continuation of a thread of thought I've been writing about over the past few posts about defining ourselves and personal responsibility. I just finished reading an incredibly complex and beautiful book by Terry Tempest Williams, Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place.  In the book, Tempest Williams interweaves the story of her grief of the loss of her mother to breast cancer with the changing nature of the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge in Utah. The book is about spirituality, genealogy, geography, archaeology, feminism, Mormonism, naturalism, and engineering, to name a few themes. I was having a discussion with some professors and students today about the book, and one professor mentioned how, in our redefinition of our interactions with our environment, it is essential that we seek refuge in change. It is very easy for us to find comfort in what we recognise the most, and in what we feel most familiar and comfortable with. For Tempest Williams, this thing turned out to be the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge. Over the course of her learning and dealing with the fact that her mother is dying of cancer, Tempest Williams reinvigorates herself for the fight (a personal one, too. She was diagnosed with breast cancer as well.) through spending time with birds. Tempest Williams seeks refuge from her grief in the migratory birds that land in the Bird Refuge. However, changes in Great Salt Lake leave her trying to find refuge in a changing environment. This speaks more broadly to sustainability and our ethics. Whether we like it or not, our future cannot look like the present. We cannot continue to sit back and allow people that do not live in our communities to define what is good for us, and what it means to live a meaningful existence.

It turns out the Tempest family lived close to nuclear testing facilities, and a potential cause of the cancer in the family was the nuclear ash. Various judicial decisions, in the Tenth Circuit Court of Appeals and the Supreme Court granted immunity to the US government over the nuclear fallout. In Tempest Williams' religion and faith, Mormonism, she says:

'...authority is respected, obedience is revered, and independent thinking is not. I was taught as a young girl not to "make waves" or "rock the boat." "Just let it go," Mother would say. "You know how you feel, that's what counts." 

For many years, I have done just that -- listened, observed, and quietly formed my own opinions, in a culture that rarely asks questions because it has all the answers. But one by one, I have watched the women in my family die common, heroic deaths. We sat in waiting rooms hoping for good news, but always receiving the bad. I cared for them, bathed their scarred bodies, and kept their secrets. I watched as beautiful women became bald as Cytoxan, cisplatin, and Adriamycin were injected into their veins. I held their foreheads as the vomited green-black bile, and I shot them with morphine when the pain became inhuman. In the end, I witheness their last peaceful breaths, becoming a midwife to the rebirth of their souls. 

The price of obedience has become too high. 

The fear and inability to question authority that ultimately killed rural communities in Utah during atmospheric testing of atomic weapons is the same fear I saw in my mother's body. Sheep. Dead sheep. The evidence is buried.'

I take this as inspiration to question what it is we are being handed and by who, and question why we have defined our lives in the way we have. This affects greenhouse gas emissions, dioxins released into waters, trash, and cancer.

I would like to thank James Dickson for his article in annarbor.com about my project.