Now I have traveled to the other side of the intergalactic Empire. This side of the Empire is called Nohin. Everything here is similar to the Nacerima side, but different. This side of the galaxy developed in its own way and most things are nearly opposite from how they are on the Nacerima side. It was once independent, but ever since the galactic wars, now the whole galaxy has been united in one Empire.
Technically speaking, my job is to teach the Nacerima language here, but I have another mission. I am seeking, with S. Pillier's help, the secret to reawaken the shape changers. Together, we will heal the planets and make them places where people can live again.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Flavor in Space: Ch. 1
There is beauty in space. As long as we are human we will see beauty, even in the vacuum of space.
I grew up in a space station. Long rows of houses, bubbles trimmed and primed to resemble the various gardens and architectural trends of Earth, each with its own spaceport. I enjoyed short spacewalks, drifting through the void, occasionally avoiding passing rockets.
I often looked longingly at the planet below. With each season it would change, green in the winter and golden brown in the summer. If possible, after school or on vacation, my friends and I would descend to the earth and spend long days walking on lush grassy hills or under groves of oak and bay. We filled the quiet valleys with imaginary tales of what life was like for the people who once lived there. Ironically, although I lived high in the association of bubbles of the space station, it was by the creeks and groves of the planet below that my dreams really took flight.
Children have the fantastic ability of filling any place with life. For me, that planet, Dumbe, and the space station of Agarom were places that I loved and filled with life. This space lifestyle is not richer or poorer than living in any other way, although I didn't know how different it was either. It would be a long time before I realized what it might have been like to actually have lived on the planet below, or what it really means to live in space.
At age 18 I flew away to a far away station for college. Still a creature of space, I hardly understood the implications of such a long journey. Indeed, I greatly enjoyed it. On this new planet, Machiit, and it's stations, the people were of a little different hue and the buildings were of a bit different design. But, for the most part it was the same. Indeed, this planet, like Dumbe of my youth, is in the intergalactic Empire. The people of the Empire come in different shades, and the buildings occasionally are of different design, but almost all the residents of the Empire speak the same language and eat fairly similar foods. These foods are produced by vast factories, managed from the skies for utmost efficiency. They stretch, at times, across whole planets- rows and rows of manicured fruit trees and corn, or vast warehouses of quarantined meat and milk producing machines.
As for people on the planets themselves, there are some survivors still living on the surface; some old old people eeking away an existence surrounded by the ghosts of the dead. Occasionally, the relatives of these old people come and visit, spend time on the surface, learn some of the old ways and perhaps enjoy some of the ancient pleasures and foods, totally unique in taste and procurement. Yet, the weight of death usually weighs too heavy for these visitors and they return to the skies and space stations. Going to the surface to live is a very serious move. Who wants to be constantly surrounded by ghosts of timeless generations, or constantly moved by the stench of life and death?
When I was 19 I met some surface dwellers of the planet Machiit. I was taken to a feast by a guide, Mary, who eventually became a good friend. The people were celebrating the arrival of relatives, the Tital tital people. Coming together we sang and ate and danced. I quickly realized the uniqueness of my experience, although I also saw that these people were living in a bricolage of space debris. Yet the joy and sadness in the songs and stories at that feast features much more prominently in my memories than the arrangement of fallen satellite parts on the front lawn.
Before I was 23 I knew the planet of Machiit well, its beauty and its pain. Slowly, I had found the key to travel to and from the planet. I had discovered the means by which to enter that world. It was not by calculation or by mission, but instead by means of an open mind and an open heart. By being silent and by listening, I realized that I could leave space and approach the threshold of the world below, now hidden. I met the peoples of this world many times, each time learning new facets of their cultures and language. It was in this way that I met S. Pillier.
S. Pillier is an old man, if you can call him a man. He is a shape changer. A member of an ancient species, almost entirely extinct. He is a priest of sorts, frozen in graphite many years ago, just before the intergalactic war, along with his relatives, in an attempt to preserve their potential benefit to the planet of Machiit. Indeed, without the shape changers, Machiit will slowly and entirely be converted to massive rows of food factories like so many other planets.
S. Piller explained to me the great problem that the galaxy is facing. For a long time people have been trying to enforce their will on others, but after the intergalactic war two generations ago, seduced by the power they had briefly seen during the war, flying rockets and jets across space, people bought their own civilian jets and rockets and left the surface of the planets all together.
I have a picture of my own grandfather from that time. A young man with brilliant thick red hair, he holds my swadled baby mother while standing in front of his green rocket ship. They were still on their planet at that time, the same planet his people had always lived on. Yet, he, my grandmother, and my mother were about to leave the surface for a brilliant adventure in the skies. They would visit many worlds, but never would they really return to that old planet. Indeed, once you leave on a rocket ship, it is hard to come back to and live on the surface for long.
Most people stopped being born into life on the planets. Those people living there simply aged and aged. Now, S. Pillier explains, as these old people, keepers of the old ways, pass away, the hope of unfreezing the shape changers and healing the planet of Machiit, and every other planet like it, passes with them.
For this reason, S. Pillier was thawed and brought back to life. The surviving old ones sung him out of graphite and, with song and the beating of medicine sticks, they sewed back together his life and spirit. I was witness to this happening, there in the darkness, on the surface of Machiit, in a house surrounded by ancient spirits.
I grew up in a space station. Long rows of houses, bubbles trimmed and primed to resemble the various gardens and architectural trends of Earth, each with its own spaceport. I enjoyed short spacewalks, drifting through the void, occasionally avoiding passing rockets.
I often looked longingly at the planet below. With each season it would change, green in the winter and golden brown in the summer. If possible, after school or on vacation, my friends and I would descend to the earth and spend long days walking on lush grassy hills or under groves of oak and bay. We filled the quiet valleys with imaginary tales of what life was like for the people who once lived there. Ironically, although I lived high in the association of bubbles of the space station, it was by the creeks and groves of the planet below that my dreams really took flight.
Children have the fantastic ability of filling any place with life. For me, that planet, Dumbe, and the space station of Agarom were places that I loved and filled with life. This space lifestyle is not richer or poorer than living in any other way, although I didn't know how different it was either. It would be a long time before I realized what it might have been like to actually have lived on the planet below, or what it really means to live in space.
At age 18 I flew away to a far away station for college. Still a creature of space, I hardly understood the implications of such a long journey. Indeed, I greatly enjoyed it. On this new planet, Machiit, and it's stations, the people were of a little different hue and the buildings were of a bit different design. But, for the most part it was the same. Indeed, this planet, like Dumbe of my youth, is in the intergalactic Empire. The people of the Empire come in different shades, and the buildings occasionally are of different design, but almost all the residents of the Empire speak the same language and eat fairly similar foods. These foods are produced by vast factories, managed from the skies for utmost efficiency. They stretch, at times, across whole planets- rows and rows of manicured fruit trees and corn, or vast warehouses of quarantined meat and milk producing machines.
As for people on the planets themselves, there are some survivors still living on the surface; some old old people eeking away an existence surrounded by the ghosts of the dead. Occasionally, the relatives of these old people come and visit, spend time on the surface, learn some of the old ways and perhaps enjoy some of the ancient pleasures and foods, totally unique in taste and procurement. Yet, the weight of death usually weighs too heavy for these visitors and they return to the skies and space stations. Going to the surface to live is a very serious move. Who wants to be constantly surrounded by ghosts of timeless generations, or constantly moved by the stench of life and death?
When I was 19 I met some surface dwellers of the planet Machiit. I was taken to a feast by a guide, Mary, who eventually became a good friend. The people were celebrating the arrival of relatives, the Tital tital people. Coming together we sang and ate and danced. I quickly realized the uniqueness of my experience, although I also saw that these people were living in a bricolage of space debris. Yet the joy and sadness in the songs and stories at that feast features much more prominently in my memories than the arrangement of fallen satellite parts on the front lawn.
Before I was 23 I knew the planet of Machiit well, its beauty and its pain. Slowly, I had found the key to travel to and from the planet. I had discovered the means by which to enter that world. It was not by calculation or by mission, but instead by means of an open mind and an open heart. By being silent and by listening, I realized that I could leave space and approach the threshold of the world below, now hidden. I met the peoples of this world many times, each time learning new facets of their cultures and language. It was in this way that I met S. Pillier.
S. Pillier is an old man, if you can call him a man. He is a shape changer. A member of an ancient species, almost entirely extinct. He is a priest of sorts, frozen in graphite many years ago, just before the intergalactic war, along with his relatives, in an attempt to preserve their potential benefit to the planet of Machiit. Indeed, without the shape changers, Machiit will slowly and entirely be converted to massive rows of food factories like so many other planets.
S. Piller explained to me the great problem that the galaxy is facing. For a long time people have been trying to enforce their will on others, but after the intergalactic war two generations ago, seduced by the power they had briefly seen during the war, flying rockets and jets across space, people bought their own civilian jets and rockets and left the surface of the planets all together.
I have a picture of my own grandfather from that time. A young man with brilliant thick red hair, he holds my swadled baby mother while standing in front of his green rocket ship. They were still on their planet at that time, the same planet his people had always lived on. Yet, he, my grandmother, and my mother were about to leave the surface for a brilliant adventure in the skies. They would visit many worlds, but never would they really return to that old planet. Indeed, once you leave on a rocket ship, it is hard to come back to and live on the surface for long.
Most people stopped being born into life on the planets. Those people living there simply aged and aged. Now, S. Pillier explains, as these old people, keepers of the old ways, pass away, the hope of unfreezing the shape changers and healing the planet of Machiit, and every other planet like it, passes with them.
For this reason, S. Pillier was thawed and brought back to life. The surviving old ones sung him out of graphite and, with song and the beating of medicine sticks, they sewed back together his life and spirit. I was witness to this happening, there in the darkness, on the surface of Machiit, in a house surrounded by ancient spirits.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Holy Books
One day, as winter dusk settled on the wooded streets of Eugene, I wandered into an odd corner of a University of Oregon library.
I found shelves lined with ancient, holy books.
Each was a collection of stories housing the tenets of reality of another world. Running my hand across the spines, I was at once attracted to a book the shape of a rectangular prism, a box.
... the world of the Nootka ...
Opening the cover, the lid, I began to hear the voice of an old man, long since passed.
He spoke a language I didn't understand... told of wolves and men, and men who became wolves, and many other things...
Eventually, remembering dinner waiting for me at home, I returned to the library.
I found shelves lined with ancient, holy books.
Each was a collection of stories housing the tenets of reality of another world. Running my hand across the spines, I was at once attracted to a book the shape of a rectangular prism, a box.
... the world of the Nootka ...
Opening the cover, the lid, I began to hear the voice of an old man, long since passed.
He spoke a language I didn't understand... told of wolves and men, and men who became wolves, and many other things...
Eventually, remembering dinner waiting for me at home, I returned to the library.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Nanotechnology and the reinvention of the world
By Alan with the help of Jassem and others.
In American English class today a number of students and I from around the world discussed how we might imagine the future economy. Despairing over squandered resources like steel and petroleum, we envisioned a future economy where people provide for each other.
In the future....
Nanotechnology will engineer people who can breath water and live in the sea. Maybe these people will lose their ability to speak or we will forget that they are people. Perhaps, someday, we will call these people "fish" and maybe eat them.
Nanotechnology will create people who have chlorophyll and who can breath carbon dioxide and create oxygen. Maybe these people will lose their ability to speak or we will forget that they are people like us because they look so different, move so slowly, and live so long. Perhaps, someday, we will call these people "trees" and maybe we will chop them down, burn them for heat, and build houses out of them.
Far in the future... there might someday be a world where all of these adapted and carefully engineered people support each other in a brilliant and infinite web of life and death.
In American English class today a number of students and I from around the world discussed how we might imagine the future economy. Despairing over squandered resources like steel and petroleum, we envisioned a future economy where people provide for each other.
In the future....
Nanotechnology will engineer people who can breath water and live in the sea. Maybe these people will lose their ability to speak or we will forget that they are people. Perhaps, someday, we will call these people "fish" and maybe eat them.
Nanotechnology will create people who have chlorophyll and who can breath carbon dioxide and create oxygen. Maybe these people will lose their ability to speak or we will forget that they are people like us because they look so different, move so slowly, and live so long. Perhaps, someday, we will call these people "trees" and maybe we will chop them down, burn them for heat, and build houses out of them.
Far in the future... there might someday be a world where all of these adapted and carefully engineered people support each other in a brilliant and infinite web of life and death.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Three Human Cities
By Alan Waxman
A human city could be defined by the frequency and quality of meaningful encounters on a human scale. The following is examples from three kinds of cities: an East Bay park (EBMUD), San Francisco, and a suburb.
Walking in EBMUD or other large East Bay parks is an experience full of meaningful encounters at a very high frequency. The whole scene is constantly changing all the time: wind ripples through grass, trees shake, clouds move about the sky. Throughout the course of one day, shadows stretch across the ground and temperature changes (although that is true anywhere in the Bay Area). Paths are not straight; always there is new scenery and perspectives, colors, shapes and textures. The whole scene changes with each season, from green to yellow to golden brown to gray to green again. With each season there is a different smell. I encounter various plants, animals, and rocks that have meaning- oaks, redwoods, pines, tule, grasses, coyote brush, bays, poison oak, seasonal flowers, cows, turkeys, coyotes, bobcats, crows, rabbits, skunks, stones, cliffs, mud, barbed wire fences, and buildings, to name a few. These encounters become more and more meaningful as I become more educated about them and encounter them in different contexts. My means of experiencing these things are visual, auditory, and also bodily. I walk everywhere, up slopes, down slopes. I have to avoid poison oak and bushes carefully. Every few feet requires me to remain riveted. These are all reasons that EBMUD and the East Bay parks are a city of the most interesting kind.
Likewise, San Francisco is also full of meaningful encounters. SF is effected by changing temperature and weather constantly during the day and according to season, just like the East Bay parks. Also, there are many different buildings, each with posters and people near them, the people change according to time of day, and their clothes change according to season. Some people wish to speak to me, sell things to me, or even rob me. There are foods and smells and music in and around the buildings. There are also bookstores and libraries, among other things. Since most of the time I have to walk around the city, I feel slopes of hills in my muscles and the texture of pavement and grassy parks.
The suburb is a city with more distance involved. The house I might live in has seasonal plants, shapes, and colors. The television or computer also provide constantly changing pictures and stories. Drive- the streets aren't so interesting up close, but from the car window I can look at large vistas. I can no longer feel the air in this state except for on rare occasions, so weather is not such a meaningful encounter, only an obstacle. Danger is much more of an issue, so stress level is higher and it is more difficult to enjoy distant scenery. Watch the road at hand. Arrive at the supermarket. The supermarket itself is not so interesting a building but it is full of sounds and smells and people. However, these do not change according to season, only very vaguely, like with Halloween pumpkins or Christmas trees. Arrive at the office park. The office park has some plantings, lawns, and a few deciduous trees. The trees do change according to season, but the lawns don't. The building itself is not so interesting. Inside the building is an environment that actually never changes. Tinted windows obscure the view of the changing world, if I are lucky enough to have a window with a view. Air conditioning keeps a solid temperature, no need to change clothes; in fact, there is a dress code. Depending on my job, I might never actually do different tasks, only vaguely seasonal ones: data entry during the winter, cataloguing and phone calls during the summer. Most of the time spent experiencing this city is from the sitting position- in front of the television, in the car, at the computer or maybe even in an occasional bus. There is very little actual tactile experience of an interesting kind, only at the park or at home while cooking. The muscles are rarely used except if I go to the gym.
No wonder that when I grew up in a suburb I spent as much time as possible in the East Bay parks. EBMUD was located only a 5 minute walk from my house. I can also understand why so many suburban kids spend as much time as possible in cities like San Francisco or Berkeley.
A human city could be defined by the frequency and quality of meaningful encounters on a human scale. The following is examples from three kinds of cities: an East Bay park (EBMUD), San Francisco, and a suburb.
Walking in EBMUD or other large East Bay parks is an experience full of meaningful encounters at a very high frequency. The whole scene is constantly changing all the time: wind ripples through grass, trees shake, clouds move about the sky. Throughout the course of one day, shadows stretch across the ground and temperature changes (although that is true anywhere in the Bay Area). Paths are not straight; always there is new scenery and perspectives, colors, shapes and textures. The whole scene changes with each season, from green to yellow to golden brown to gray to green again. With each season there is a different smell. I encounter various plants, animals, and rocks that have meaning- oaks, redwoods, pines, tule, grasses, coyote brush, bays, poison oak, seasonal flowers, cows, turkeys, coyotes, bobcats, crows, rabbits, skunks, stones, cliffs, mud, barbed wire fences, and buildings, to name a few. These encounters become more and more meaningful as I become more educated about them and encounter them in different contexts. My means of experiencing these things are visual, auditory, and also bodily. I walk everywhere, up slopes, down slopes. I have to avoid poison oak and bushes carefully. Every few feet requires me to remain riveted. These are all reasons that EBMUD and the East Bay parks are a city of the most interesting kind.
Likewise, San Francisco is also full of meaningful encounters. SF is effected by changing temperature and weather constantly during the day and according to season, just like the East Bay parks. Also, there are many different buildings, each with posters and people near them, the people change according to time of day, and their clothes change according to season. Some people wish to speak to me, sell things to me, or even rob me. There are foods and smells and music in and around the buildings. There are also bookstores and libraries, among other things. Since most of the time I have to walk around the city, I feel slopes of hills in my muscles and the texture of pavement and grassy parks.
The suburb is a city with more distance involved. The house I might live in has seasonal plants, shapes, and colors. The television or computer also provide constantly changing pictures and stories. Drive- the streets aren't so interesting up close, but from the car window I can look at large vistas. I can no longer feel the air in this state except for on rare occasions, so weather is not such a meaningful encounter, only an obstacle. Danger is much more of an issue, so stress level is higher and it is more difficult to enjoy distant scenery. Watch the road at hand. Arrive at the supermarket. The supermarket itself is not so interesting a building but it is full of sounds and smells and people. However, these do not change according to season, only very vaguely, like with Halloween pumpkins or Christmas trees. Arrive at the office park. The office park has some plantings, lawns, and a few deciduous trees. The trees do change according to season, but the lawns don't. The building itself is not so interesting. Inside the building is an environment that actually never changes. Tinted windows obscure the view of the changing world, if I are lucky enough to have a window with a view. Air conditioning keeps a solid temperature, no need to change clothes; in fact, there is a dress code. Depending on my job, I might never actually do different tasks, only vaguely seasonal ones: data entry during the winter, cataloguing and phone calls during the summer. Most of the time spent experiencing this city is from the sitting position- in front of the television, in the car, at the computer or maybe even in an occasional bus. There is very little actual tactile experience of an interesting kind, only at the park or at home while cooking. The muscles are rarely used except if I go to the gym.
No wonder that when I grew up in a suburb I spent as much time as possible in the East Bay parks. EBMUD was located only a 5 minute walk from my house. I can also understand why so many suburban kids spend as much time as possible in cities like San Francisco or Berkeley.
Waste of Humanity
By Alan Waxman
At the University of Oregon there is currently a demonstration going on about slavery. On the grass in front of the Knight Library are hundreds of little flags, each meant to represent 6000 slaves. In total, demonstrators claim this represents 27 million slaves, the number of slaves in the world today. But as I experienced by watching Gomorra at the Bijou theatre, perhaps the number is far higher. The recent award winning Italian film, Gomorra, is directed by Matteo Garrone and based on the non-fiction book by journalist Roberto Saviano. By demonstrating forms of modern slavery and modern waste, the modern waste of humanity is vividly explored.
The final scene of the film uses the revolting metaphor of wasted food to show the way current system has perverted relationships between people and the land. In the final scene, Roberto, working for a toxic waste disposal corporation, visits the home of elderly land owners because it is on their land that the corporation will bury the toxic waste. Roberto's boss, Franco convinces the land owners that they need to bury the waste in order to cover their debts. After the discussion, Roberto wanders outside where he encounters an old woman in her garden. She says, "Luca, Luca,"she says, "I'm not Luca, I'm Roberto" he says, but she continues, as if her mind were in another time, "Luca, this garden is so dirty, it needs to be cleaned." Roberto and all the viewers of the film know that the garden, literally, and as metaphor for the entire society, is very dirty and that the system is only making it more and more poisoned. The old woman represents human responsibility to one another, to the past, the future, and to the land itself. As Roberto and Franco leave, the old woman gives him a box of peaches. Driving down the country road, Franco stops the car and exclaims, "Throw out the peaches, can't you tell they smell horrible." Roberto, just a cog in a wheel, steps out onto the land and dumps out the peaches on the side of the road, wasted. For him, as a man, this is the final and most revolting act. He quits his job and walks alone down the country road, leaving his boss and the corporation. There were several truly revolting scenes in the film depicting abuse and waste of humanity, but for some reason this final scene is one of the most powerful.
I think the film suggests that modern life is just as much a form of slavery as pre-modern life was for serfs and peasants, only now coupled with modern waste. Living amidst the decomposing rubble of modern architecture, people are isolated and their only choice is what corporation to become slave to. In Gomorra, Roberto acts as slave to Franco's toxic waste corporation until the final scene; Pasquale, a tailor who sincerely loves his work, is slave to his boss until he survives an attempt on his life and becomes a truck driver (another kind of slavery); and Toto, a 13 year old boy, becomes slave to one of the warring gangs. The only characters who refuse to be slaves are two boys, Marco and Ciro, who youthfully fantasize that they can be boss. As result, they are eventually lured into a trap and murdered. Modernity originally caught on among average people because they saw it as their way out of slavery as serfs and peasants. But as this movie vividly shows, people gave up one sort of slavery for another. And now, the organizations themselves, corporations, have become monsters of global proportions with incredible and poisonous waste.
I think it is fitting that the slow food movement originated in Italy. In Italy, love for food, land, and people is truly palpable for many, natives and tourists alike. But, as Gomorra details, what needs to be conserved in the slow food movement is the relationships between free people. This sort of democracy is one based upon care for people and land. But, is this different from corporate care or the care between master and slave?? You can taste the difference, and that is what slow food, and real democracy, is all about.
At the University of Oregon there is currently a demonstration going on about slavery. On the grass in front of the Knight Library are hundreds of little flags, each meant to represent 6000 slaves. In total, demonstrators claim this represents 27 million slaves, the number of slaves in the world today. But as I experienced by watching Gomorra at the Bijou theatre, perhaps the number is far higher. The recent award winning Italian film, Gomorra, is directed by Matteo Garrone and based on the non-fiction book by journalist Roberto Saviano. By demonstrating forms of modern slavery and modern waste, the modern waste of humanity is vividly explored.
The final scene of the film uses the revolting metaphor of wasted food to show the way current system has perverted relationships between people and the land. In the final scene, Roberto, working for a toxic waste disposal corporation, visits the home of elderly land owners because it is on their land that the corporation will bury the toxic waste. Roberto's boss, Franco convinces the land owners that they need to bury the waste in order to cover their debts. After the discussion, Roberto wanders outside where he encounters an old woman in her garden. She says, "Luca, Luca,"she says, "I'm not Luca, I'm Roberto" he says, but she continues, as if her mind were in another time, "Luca, this garden is so dirty, it needs to be cleaned." Roberto and all the viewers of the film know that the garden, literally, and as metaphor for the entire society, is very dirty and that the system is only making it more and more poisoned. The old woman represents human responsibility to one another, to the past, the future, and to the land itself. As Roberto and Franco leave, the old woman gives him a box of peaches. Driving down the country road, Franco stops the car and exclaims, "Throw out the peaches, can't you tell they smell horrible." Roberto, just a cog in a wheel, steps out onto the land and dumps out the peaches on the side of the road, wasted. For him, as a man, this is the final and most revolting act. He quits his job and walks alone down the country road, leaving his boss and the corporation. There were several truly revolting scenes in the film depicting abuse and waste of humanity, but for some reason this final scene is one of the most powerful.
I think the film suggests that modern life is just as much a form of slavery as pre-modern life was for serfs and peasants, only now coupled with modern waste. Living amidst the decomposing rubble of modern architecture, people are isolated and their only choice is what corporation to become slave to. In Gomorra, Roberto acts as slave to Franco's toxic waste corporation until the final scene; Pasquale, a tailor who sincerely loves his work, is slave to his boss until he survives an attempt on his life and becomes a truck driver (another kind of slavery); and Toto, a 13 year old boy, becomes slave to one of the warring gangs. The only characters who refuse to be slaves are two boys, Marco and Ciro, who youthfully fantasize that they can be boss. As result, they are eventually lured into a trap and murdered. Modernity originally caught on among average people because they saw it as their way out of slavery as serfs and peasants. But as this movie vividly shows, people gave up one sort of slavery for another. And now, the organizations themselves, corporations, have become monsters of global proportions with incredible and poisonous waste.
I think it is fitting that the slow food movement originated in Italy. In Italy, love for food, land, and people is truly palpable for many, natives and tourists alike. But, as Gomorra details, what needs to be conserved in the slow food movement is the relationships between free people. This sort of democracy is one based upon care for people and land. But, is this different from corporate care or the care between master and slave?? You can taste the difference, and that is what slow food, and real democracy, is all about.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Perspectives on Green-isms
I recently answered these questions for an interview. I'm republishing them here.
1. What is the state of the modern day environmental movement?
The environmental movement today is moving past its former emphasis on a strict black and white dichotomy of nature and culture towards a multi-centered vision with a global focus on climate change. There has been an explosion of local environmental groups and there are as many different varieties of environmentalists today as there are distinct personalities, value systems, and environments in the world. Despite differences, people everywhere are coming to the realization that in the recent past a great deal of resources and energy has been squandered and somebody must pay the price. We must all work together to make sure we have a stable and lush garden to offer the next generation.
2. What is your favorite book or article that you have read about the environment? What take-away message did it give you?
Although familiar with great books like Walden and My First Summer in the Sierra, I will introduce the Japanese author Yanagita Kunio (1875-1962) and his work, The Legends of Tôno. Yanagita worked directly at odds with the strong centralizing powers of global capitalism to celebrate the unique ways and knowledge of local people as a part of local ecology. The Legends of Tôno are a collection of tales that illustrate the wisdom in the old stories, songs, rivers, and mountains. In one story, a man descends into the dark depths of the river to encounter a dead girl who shares with him a secret to personal wealth. The lesson: one's true wealth is one’s sense of self-awareness and place, and this comes from one’s knowledge of folkways and landscape.
3. The U.S. accounts for 4.6% of the global population, almost 25% of global CO2 emissions. Who/what is to blame?
Everywhere in the world, people live full lives of happiness and suffering; the US is no exception, yet the system by which Americans live requires huge expenditures of energy from fossil fuels, releasing dangerous CO2. Fossil fuel, thousands of years of sunlight compressed into a powerful source of energy, is an extremely valuable and non-renewable resource that probably could have been safely used for thousands of generations. Unfortunately, well-meaning people believed human-kind could engineer a solution to any shortage. The result was the design of our current system of highways, commutes, SUV's, industrial agriculture, and the list goes on. Today, most Americans can barely scrape together a normal family life without squandering fossil fuel. We must come together and redesign our entire system to tackle this sad situation.
4. Do you consider yourself a radical? Why or why not?
I definitely consider myself a radical. One definition of "radical" is "of or going to the root or origin; fundamental" (Random House 2009), and in terms of chemistry, a "free radical" is a molecule or atom with an unpaired electron that is extremely reactive and which may serve in an enzyme or catalyst. I see myself in this catalyzing role. Dealing with the fundamentals of an issue, I don't seek to change the situation in my image, but to provide antagonistic parties a chance to interact and trade perspectives. During this catalyzing process, more balance can be brought to a potentially explosive situation.
5. David Brower, Chair of Earth Island Institute and often considered the "grandfather of the environmental movement" once stated: "We should never compromise. That's what we pay politicians for." Do you agree with Brower?
With so many environmental woes and so little time to address them we no longer can afford to be stubborn. I believe sincerely in the rights of humans, animals, plants, land, and atmosphere, but it is because of the interconnectedness of all creatures and places that everyone must compromise to ensure our basic rights. In today's environmental movement, every person must be an environmentalist; we cannot afford to alienate anyone. If a fisherman were to follow Brower's advice and continuously over-harvest fish because he is unwilling to compromise, then neither fish nor sustainable fishing would benefit in the long run.
6. Write a Letter to the Editor about an environmental issue you are passionate about.
Dear Editor,
Standing by the Columbia River, I dip a kupins digging spade into the native root field, or xnitpama, and lift out a full piyaxi plant (Lewisia rediviva or "Bitterroot"), one of the sacred foods of native plateau people. As with all of the sacred foods, the roots and their habitat must be carefully tended. Unfortunately, many root fields are converted to wheat farming; forever destroying native plant communities and eroding huge quantities of soil into streams each year, raising temperatures and impeding the life cycle of returning salmon, another sacred food. Because the wheat farmer rarely turns a profit or tastes his wheat, this change leaves little lasting benefit to local people, ecosystems, or economies. The next time you buy bread in the supermarket, consider the distinct flavors you might have tasted from the root fields now plowed under.
Sincerely,
Alan Waxman
1. What is the state of the modern day environmental movement?
The environmental movement today is moving past its former emphasis on a strict black and white dichotomy of nature and culture towards a multi-centered vision with a global focus on climate change. There has been an explosion of local environmental groups and there are as many different varieties of environmentalists today as there are distinct personalities, value systems, and environments in the world. Despite differences, people everywhere are coming to the realization that in the recent past a great deal of resources and energy has been squandered and somebody must pay the price. We must all work together to make sure we have a stable and lush garden to offer the next generation.
2. What is your favorite book or article that you have read about the environment? What take-away message did it give you?
Although familiar with great books like Walden and My First Summer in the Sierra, I will introduce the Japanese author Yanagita Kunio (1875-1962) and his work, The Legends of Tôno. Yanagita worked directly at odds with the strong centralizing powers of global capitalism to celebrate the unique ways and knowledge of local people as a part of local ecology. The Legends of Tôno are a collection of tales that illustrate the wisdom in the old stories, songs, rivers, and mountains. In one story, a man descends into the dark depths of the river to encounter a dead girl who shares with him a secret to personal wealth. The lesson: one's true wealth is one’s sense of self-awareness and place, and this comes from one’s knowledge of folkways and landscape.
3. The U.S. accounts for 4.6% of the global population, almost 25% of global CO2 emissions. Who/what is to blame?
Everywhere in the world, people live full lives of happiness and suffering; the US is no exception, yet the system by which Americans live requires huge expenditures of energy from fossil fuels, releasing dangerous CO2. Fossil fuel, thousands of years of sunlight compressed into a powerful source of energy, is an extremely valuable and non-renewable resource that probably could have been safely used for thousands of generations. Unfortunately, well-meaning people believed human-kind could engineer a solution to any shortage. The result was the design of our current system of highways, commutes, SUV's, industrial agriculture, and the list goes on. Today, most Americans can barely scrape together a normal family life without squandering fossil fuel. We must come together and redesign our entire system to tackle this sad situation.
4. Do you consider yourself a radical? Why or why not?
I definitely consider myself a radical. One definition of "radical" is "of or going to the root or origin; fundamental" (Random House 2009), and in terms of chemistry, a "free radical" is a molecule or atom with an unpaired electron that is extremely reactive and which may serve in an enzyme or catalyst. I see myself in this catalyzing role. Dealing with the fundamentals of an issue, I don't seek to change the situation in my image, but to provide antagonistic parties a chance to interact and trade perspectives. During this catalyzing process, more balance can be brought to a potentially explosive situation.
5. David Brower, Chair of Earth Island Institute and often considered the "grandfather of the environmental movement" once stated: "We should never compromise. That's what we pay politicians for." Do you agree with Brower?
With so many environmental woes and so little time to address them we no longer can afford to be stubborn. I believe sincerely in the rights of humans, animals, plants, land, and atmosphere, but it is because of the interconnectedness of all creatures and places that everyone must compromise to ensure our basic rights. In today's environmental movement, every person must be an environmentalist; we cannot afford to alienate anyone. If a fisherman were to follow Brower's advice and continuously over-harvest fish because he is unwilling to compromise, then neither fish nor sustainable fishing would benefit in the long run.
6. Write a Letter to the Editor about an environmental issue you are passionate about.
Dear Editor,
Standing by the Columbia River, I dip a kupins digging spade into the native root field, or xnitpama, and lift out a full piyaxi plant (Lewisia rediviva or "Bitterroot"), one of the sacred foods of native plateau people. As with all of the sacred foods, the roots and their habitat must be carefully tended. Unfortunately, many root fields are converted to wheat farming; forever destroying native plant communities and eroding huge quantities of soil into streams each year, raising temperatures and impeding the life cycle of returning salmon, another sacred food. Because the wheat farmer rarely turns a profit or tastes his wheat, this change leaves little lasting benefit to local people, ecosystems, or economies. The next time you buy bread in the supermarket, consider the distinct flavors you might have tasted from the root fields now plowed under.
Sincerely,
Alan Waxman
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