50th Anniversary of Earth Day

Fifty years ago today, 20 million Americans — 10% of the population! — celebrated the first Earth Day. More than those who marched in the Moratorium to End the War in Vietnam. Twelve thousand events were organized as “peaceful demonstrations in favor of environmental reform” to “reassess the ethic of individual progress at mankind’s expense.” Even President Nixon got in on the action, planting a tree on the White House lawn.

Speeches from that inaugural Earth Day would be seen as radical today.

“Our goal is not just an environment of clean air and water and scenic beauty. The objective is an environment of decency, quality and mutual respect for all other human beings and all other living creatures.”

Senator Gaylord Nelson

“We seem to have a reverse King Midas touch. Everything we touch turns to garbage.”

Dennis Hayes

Fifty years later, the legacies of that day — the EPA, the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act, and others — are shells of their former selves. Original intentions have, at best, been morphed into “Not in my backyard” sentiments that have merely shifted the destruction away from the privileged. The momentum toward life-first systems has been steamrolled beneath policies preferring private profit for the few.

The fledgling environmental movement that once spoke of “mutual respect for all other human beings and all other living creatures” has had its heartwood hollowed out, convinced by the language of our day to reduce life to a series of monetary values and carbon equations. To abstract away a whale into $2 million worth of “climate change alleviation” is akin to saying a Renoir painting is just a collection of color splotches.

Our vision of the world is filtered through the language we use.

“The World.” What do we mean when we reference The World. I’ve been knocked backwards in recent conversations when people define The World to be the narrow imaginations of our human society, not the physical manifestations of animal, vegetable, mineral. “Oh, you wouldn’t know. You’re disconnected from The Real World,” in response to not understanding a Game of Thrones reference.

We identify ourselves with starbucks (brands), tiger king (shows), and cat memes more than the “weeds” in our yard that we trample on our way to our car. And who can blame us? We receive thousands of messages every day crafted to guarantee this is the case, in what is surely the most aggressive propaganda campaign in history. Our peers receive the same. What they talk about, we must talk about to stay socially relevant. And what we hear and what we talk about, we think about. 

Imagine if marketing agencies were tasked with convincing us of the joys of the flower species in our neighborhood. Is tiger king really preferable to finding flowers? Did we come to that conclusion independently or were we hand-held to it?

There’s quantity of language and then there’s quality. Minute differences in word choice have outsized consequences. Example: it seems the one thing people can agree on during coronavirus times is the tragedy of the suffering of companies. But to suffer is “to experience something bad or unpleasant.” To experience something requires the ability to feel, or at least to have sensory capabilities. Companies — figments of our collective imagination codified into a series of written contracts — do not and cannot experience anything, suffering included. Companies do not suffer. People suffer.

Words matter.

“But companies are made up of people. If a company loses money and cuts jobs, then those employees won’t have jobs anymore” is the commonly accepted logical jump. But if we mourn the plight of the people involved, why don’t we say so? Instead of “we need to help people who depend on restaurants for their income”, why do we resort to abstractions like “restaurants are suffering”? It may seem a harmless step, but the consequences are real.

Consider a chemical company operating in a small town. Many townspeople work for the company. The cheapest way for the company to operate is by dumping its waste into the town’s drinking water.

Now, if we say, “the chemical company will suffer” if we restrict its handling of waste, then the conclusion is to get out of its way. Because, well, its margins are thin and they might not be able to operate otherwise. It could go out of business, and where would the townspeople be then?

If, instead, we say, “people will suffer if they are not able to provide the basics of life for themselves and their families,” (because isn’t that what we mean?) then our conclusions may shift, because what is more basic to life than clean water? Providing an industrial job in order to purchase goods on the global market is one means. It is not the only means, and not necessarily the best means.

Meanwhile, politicians are stumbling over themselves to explain how airlines and other industries are “suffering” “to no fault of their own. [sic]” The result, predictably, is billions in straight-up cash that do more to shore up stock prices than help people provide for themselves and their families.

We quickly accept the postulation that our fortune is tied together with dupont. And american airlines. And the cheesecake factory. Yet we hem and haw as we debate whether or not our well-being is actually dependent on our biotic community. We act as our propaganda tells us: that we are in control, that we are masters of our biotic community, and that we should enjoy living our lives of separation. Our language tells us it is not plants and animals, but domino’s and chipotle that sustain us.

Note the messages thrown your way and consider their motivations. How narrow of a slice of reality do they represent? What does the rest of the pie hold?

Today, the 50th anniversary of Earth Day, coronavirus has canceled the marches. In their place,  I challenge you to be with the reality that we too often miss — not the two-dimensional portals or the climate-controlled 90-degree walls, but the squirrel and the hummingbird and the moth assailing our five senses for our attention, if we would listen.

For one day, tune out the stream of human society and step into The Real World. Human society is important — we are social creatures after all — but what do we forget when we let ourselves be consumed by human-made artifices?

For one day, be with the trees. Scratch her bark and smell her fragrance. For one day, give thanks to the communities that gift us with life. Revel in their intricate beauty. Melt into the springtime landscape.

Like the prodigal son, let’s return to our biotic family. They will always accept us back. That constructed corner of our social imagination will still be there tomorrow, but for one day, let’s rediscover what we’ve forgotten.