Here is another excerpt. This from Endgame. My thanks to Dorothy for pointing me toward this one. Years ago, I wrote, “Every morning when I wake up I ask myself whether I should write or blow up a dam.” I wrote this because no matter how hard activists work, no matter how hard I work, no matter how much scientists study, none of it really seems to help. Politicians and businesspeople lie, delay, and simply continue their destructive behavior, backed by the full power of the state. And the salmon die. I said back then, and I say now, that it’s a cozy relationship for all of us but the salmon. Every morning I still make the decision to write, and every morning I think more and more I’m making the wrong damn decision. The salmon are in far worse shape now than when I first wrote that line. I am ashamed of that. We are watching their extinction. I am ashamed of that as well. To mask our powerlessness in the face of this destruction, many of us fall into the same pattern as those abused children, and for much the same reason. We internalize too much responsibility. This allows us activists to pretend we have at least some power to halt or slow violence done to us and to those we love, however illusory, once again, all evidence inevitably shows this power to be. And don’t give me a lecture about how if we weren’t doing this work the destruction would proceed even more quickly: of course that’s the case, and of course we need to keep fighting these rearguard actions—I would never suggest otherwise—but do you realize how pathetic it is that all of our “victories” are temporary and defensive, and all of our losses permanent and offensive? I can’t speak for you, but I want more than to simply stave off destruction of this or that wild place for a year or two: I want to take the offensive, to beat back those who would destroy, to reclaim what is wild and free and natural, to let it recover on its own: I want to stop in their tracks the destroyers, and I want to make them incapable of inflicting further damage. To want any less is to countenance the ultimate destruction of the planet. But we all settle for less, and to make ourselves feel the tiniest bit less impotent we turn the focus inward. We are the problem. I use toilet paper, so I am responsible for deforestation. I drive a car, so I am responsible for global warming. Never mind that I did not create the systems that cause these. I did not create industrial forestry. I did not create an oil economy. Civilization was destroying life on this planet before I was born, and will do the same—unless I and others, including the natural world, stop it—after I die. If I were to die tomorrow, deforestation would continue unabated. In fact, as I’ve shown in another book, demand does not even drive the timber industry: overcapacity of very expensive pulp and paper mills (as well as, of course, this culture’s death urge) determines in great measure how many trees are cut. Similarly, if I were to die, car culture would not slow in the slightest. Yes, it’s vital to make lifestyle choices to mitigate damage caused by being a member of industrial civilization, but to assign primary responsibility to oneself, and to focus primarily on making oneself better, is an immense copout, an abrogation of responsibility. With all the world at stake, it is self-indulgent, self-righteous, and self-important. It is also nearly ubiquitous. And it serves the interests of those in power by keeping our focus off them. I do this all the time. We’re killing the planet, I say. Well, no, I’m not, but thank you for thinking me so powerful. Because I take hot showers, I’m responsible for drawing down aquifers. Well, no. More than ninety percent of the water used by humans is used by agriculture and industry. The remaining ten percent is split between municipalities (got to keep those golf courses green) and actual living breathing humans. We’re deforesting 214,000 acres per day, an area larger than New York City. Well, no, I’m not. Sure, I consume some wood and paper, but I didn’t make the system. Here’s the real story: If I want to stop deforestation, I need to dismantle the system responsible. Just yesterday I caught myself taking on nonsensical responsibility. I was finishing a book with George Draffan about causes of worldwide deforestation. For one hundred and fifty pages we laid out explicitly and undeniably that this culture has been deforesting everywhere it touches at an ever-increasing pace for some six thousand years, and that current deforestation is driven by a massively corrupt system of interlocked governments and corporations backed, as always, by plenty of soldiers and cops with guns. (But you knew that already, didn’t you?) Yet at the end, I found myself pleading with readers to drive the deforesters out of our own hearts and minds. I wrote, “We will not stop destroying forests until we have dealt with the urge to destroy and consume that hides in our hearts and minds and bodies.” I cut the line. It’s a fine first step—emphasis on first—because we surely cannot stop the destruction until we perceive it as destruction, and not as “progress,” or “developing natural resources,” or even “inevitable” or “the way things are.” But what about driving deforesters out of forests altogether? That is the real point. Anything less is far worse then just a waste of everyone’s time: it paves the way for further destruction. Here, once again, is the real story. Our self-assessed culpability for participating in the deathly system called civilization masks (and is a toxic mimic of) our infinitely greater sin. Sure, I use toilet paper. So what? That doesn’t make me as culpable as the CEO of Weyerhaeuser, and to think it does grants a great gift to those in power by getting the focus off them and onto us. For what, then, are we culpable? Well, for something far greater than one person’s work as a technical writer and another’s as a busboy. Something far greater than my work writing books to be made of the pulped flesh of trees. Something far greater than using toilet paper or driving cars or living in homes made of formaldehyde-laden plywood. For all of those things we can be forgiven, because we did not create the system, and because our choices have been systematically eliminated (those in power kill the great runs of salmon, and then we feel guilty when we buy food at the grocery store? How dumb is that?). But we cannot and will not be forgiven for not breaking down the system that creates these problems, for not driving deforesters out of forests, for not driving polluters away from land and water and air, for not driving moneylenders from the temple that is our only home. We are culpable because we allow those in power to continue to destroy the planet. Yes, I know we are more or less constantly enjoined to use only inclusive rhetoric, but when will we all realize that war has already been declared upon the natural world, and upon all of us, and that this war has been declared by those in power? We must stop them with any means necessary. For not doing that we are infinitely more culpable than most of us—myself definitely included—will ever be able to comprehend. # To be clear: I am not culpable for deforestation because I use toilet paper. I am culpable for deforestation because I use toilet paper and I do not keep up my end of the predator-prey bargain. If I consume the flesh of another I am responsible for the continuation of its community. If I use toilet paper, or any other wood or paper products, it is my responsibility to use any means necessary to ensure the continued health of natural forest communities. It is my responsibility to use any means necessary to stop industrial forestry.
Posted on: Tue, 23 Sep 2014 18:33:17 +0000
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