It was raining too hard that afternoon for the police to come out and threaten us, as they did last time we offered our anti-RoundUp caroling at the NY Parks headquarters. We had a great Youtube in mind, but the photogenic young students hadn’t worn rain gear, and the teacher in charge turned the bus around and returned downtown, and no-one blamed them. In the era of climate chaos, bad weather isn’t just bad weather anymore. You have micro-bursts that come out of broad daylight and throw century-old trees across the lawn.
We have staged “Miserable Little Protests” before. And at least “Food and Water Watch” was there, and brought the only sign. The NoSpray Coalition was there, and the New York Environmental Law and Justice Project. We didn’t bring a bullhorn, anticipating cops and their blatantly illegal amplified sound rules. So if I tell the truth at 10% the decibels of some screeching garbage truck braking for a red light, then I need a 2 month-long permit process. Can we say “1st Amendment” ?
Anyway where was I? Oh, soaking wet in a storm you couldn’t even call Super. Just a downpour on the radicals, as our delegation mounted the steps of the of the Parks building, to meet with the deputy commissioner - head of the glyphosate sprayers who claim they aren’t hurting anybody. We say “Your records say you spray on playgrounds, picnic areas, and hiking paths.” They say, “Well, it is minimal.” There are glyphosates in our shivering bodies.
The hidden world of Monsanto is beyond the powers of the naked eye. My assignment, which I chose to accept, is to assume the guise of a a super-pest and journey into the hidden world of the chemical giants. I am as tall as a strand of DNA – a single cell animal.
From my experience of the Incredible Shrinking Man movies I was not prepared for the phantasmagora of the small world. A pollen grain of the Himalayan Blue Poppy was hovering over me like a jagged moon. I was dazzled.
I almost didn’t notice a gang of glyphosates drop in the blood-void before me. I thought my number was up. I’ll be killed by this band of plastic samurai, I’m thinking. They were like Christian missionaries with fangs.
Suddenly Monsanto thugs in lab-coats started throw knives at the blue poppy. Then Monsanto executives crashed their corporate jets in the moon's ghostly mountains. A deadly chaos overwhelmed the organic world. I was having trouble keeping my balance. Volunteer photosynthecizers flooded the corporate SWAT teams. This was a pitched battle, a nano-Syria.
Now writing to you from my six foot tall body again - I have to say first of all - there is fascism beyond the veil of reality that we consumers are permitted to see. It is laughable to say that the chemical companies are unregulated there. Around the bend is a massacre.
They have gotten in there somehow. They have found a profit center in the invisible world that we breathe. The corporations are inside us.
I got out of there but I will go back. Will you come with me? We must make a report and get back out to our larger selves, like a trip to jail to get an education.
This chemical warfare from the dictator strongmen of Monsanto and Syngenta and Bayer. They are counting on hiding their war on life from the resistance.
But the blue poppy moon is rising.
PUTTING HUMOR AND MUSIC IN THAT EARTH ACTIVISM! That is the idea. The song we're dramatising in our shoot is one of our old chestnuts, "Fabulous Bad Weather" - It's like a bouncy tune in which climate change the butch top, and the entire human race is the fem bottom. So we are creating a complete capitulation to a force greater than ourselves, a funny sex comedy but in which the meaning, if you think about it, is absolutely chilling.
We believe that the inability to admit that the Earth has power over us is a unique prejudice of the West. We colonized the Earth for centuries and its a bad habit to break. Every once in a while it comes home how wrong we are. The Fukishima tsunami had the power of 30,000 atom bombs.
The Environmental Movement is puritanical. There is a preference for sentimentality, in the style of corporate advertising. But think of the congress of Madagascar meeting underwater in diving gear to dramatize the rising seas. That is funny, and it is also memorable. We see humor - music - strong public emotions - prayer and dance trances - breakthrough human expression - as the kind of thing that successful social movements always have.
We dedicate our songs to the traditions that we remember from the Civil Rights and Gender Right Movements. Check the drama of the songs of Black Lives Matter; of D'Angelo and Kendrick Lamar and Janelle Monae. We sing in that spirit for the Earth.
Crimes against the Earth are not precisely the same thing as the lurid descriptions of the campaigns that try to stop them. Put it this way - here we are in the picture singing and meditating in the heart of Kayford Mountain in West Virginia. A coal company blew the summit from the mountain, explosively hurling deer and mushrooms and young birds - all life - to their deaths. Then they scraped off the "over-burden" and pushed the refuse into the streams below, burying the mountain stream life under the death-rubble.
As urban people, our exposure to Mountaintop Removal (MTR) coal mining came as dramatic writing like my writing so far in this post. Campaigns against a crime must carry that crime to possible activists, to grow the opposition. Since we are isolated in the city, we get, well, like everyone everywhere gets - so many crimes described to us by hopeful change agents.... But then we traveled to Coal River Valley and met Larry Gibson, Maria Gunneau, Judi Bonds, Bo Webb and the community of Climate Ground Zero gathered around Mike Roselle. They took us on the inevitable sojourn up to Kayford Mountain. Larry and Bo took us hiking into the dry bones of the mountain.
We climbed down into the strange ashy insides of the mountain and all the information, guilt, polemical writing, graphics - all of that became preliminary to this immersion in the violence. The wind and sun were weird. We sang our MTR song at the awful feeling. We were letting ourselves become haunted... And for years after we talked of this afternoon's power - and how primary experience must answer the needs of all the polemics of a campaign.
We miss Larry and Judi and all the heroes of this movement in Appalachia, many of these heroes die so young. With their old mountains, they have been killed...
When we say that the Earth must come up into us, as a source of energy and focus and impact for our activism, Sweetwater Nanauk's painted face tells us this is true.
The NGO staples of policy, strategy, lobbying, electronic petitions, etc. hold us back. Of course we need these things to some degree, but they are not the Earth. They should not be regarded as an important result - these corporate data collections are a big stall.
Our activism needs a spiritual infusion. Sweetwater is a planet crier, from the Killer Whale clan of the Tlingit of southeastern Alaska. She is what we need to pull us from our computers and take us to the streets, take us to the forests and the sea. She is convincing us quickly that we are in such an emergency that MODERATION IS DEATH.
I was honored to talk to her today for our radio show, which has been renamed "The Earth Wants YOU!" I was on the phone here in New York. She was in Seattle, where the kayaktivists and canoes surrounded the drilling rig last year.
Thank you for talking with us, Sweetwater. Your presence puts the Earth-a-lujah into our activism! Sweetwater Nannauck
Does New York City Spray Monsanto's carcinogenic Roundup in your park?http://www.revbilly.com/map
Monsanto's Roundup continues to be the major weapon in New York City's arsenal of herbicides even though the World Health Organization says glyphosate is a probable carcinogen. In fact, the frequency and volume of glyphosate used by New York City has increased since 2013.
Scientific studies have found glyphosate to cause non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and other cancers, birth defects, and celiac disease, allergies, asthma, chronic fatigue syndrome. Glyphosate is persistent in body tissue, blood and breast milk in humans. The non-profit organization, Moms Across America, claims exposure to RoundUp has cause pregnancy problems, including stillbirths.
Because the electronic wallpaper of commentary makes it impossible to communicate a single good idea. We can't have such clarity when everyone points in every direction with digital streaming.
Everything that moves has cursors on it. All things are Selfied, from the evening meal to an ancient Seqouia. So reality is middle-distanced, framed and digitized, pushed to the distance and converted into sparkling mush.
So it's hard to press forward in this bizarro environment with one, single compassionate political action.
This must be at least part of how difficult it is to persuade people that corporate poisons are real. The toxicity of Monsanto and Syngenta and Bayer's chemicals don't show up in our Selfys. The alarming studies and the corporate denials ambush with the same pixels. All we have are the smiling actors in their advertisements and their lawyers' litigations. The one thing that breaks through their fog of sales is actual death. There is this mysterious cancer epidemic. All these dead loved ones. There are the corrupted recommended safety levels for Monsanto's glyphosates, with the government riddled with Monsanto executives, but then - these pesky corpses.
We will accept the testimony of the dead to save the living. Yes Monsanto spy reading this - you will be haunted. That zombie citizen telling you about her final illness - she has an opinion.
This time, in Paris with Antoine du Caune. The show is the popular L'Emission d'Antoine. He invited me 8 years ago to Los Angeles where we invaded a mall together, preached, and in a comic turn of events that entertained on French TV, we got kicked out by mall cops.
The writers who best describe the deadening impact of shopping are the French. Guy Debord of "The Society of the Spectacle", Raoul Vaneigem of "The Revolution of Everyday Life", and Michel de Certeau of "The Practice of Everyday Life" - are three examples of brilliant refractions of consumer culture.
I was invited to talk to Antoine last week, after eight years had passed since our collaboration in LA. He had grown gray-haired and famous, looking very much like Jon Stewart. He called me back last week, as the French struggled to rebound from the Bataclan massacre, playing footsy with the law enforcement overkill of "The State of Emergency" and Hollande's new macho pronouncements. In my talk on the show, before I exorcised his iPhone and flew into the audience, I wove together the state of official fear and the state of constant shopping. Was I convincing? Perhaps I covered up that question's answer by praying for Antoine's soul and crashing into his congregation.
Antoine kept saying, "But we cannot stop shopping, can we? You have been protesting this consumerism for many years. Won't you give up?"
The Earth is not giving up. We appreciate doing what we believe the Earth is telling us to do. What's the good life if not the moral one.
SIGN ME UP FOR THE EVOLUTION REVOLUTION. The skies erupt. The streams become snakes, the sea boils, the mountain rocks crush our memory.
I am a consumer in the "Developed West." I am living inside a thick fortress of rituals which are unacknowledged. My conveniences are extremely repetitive. I walk down the street and thousands of times the mental environment of the USA shouts at me that I am free, that I am happy, that I am very special.
I have seen children who refuse to go gently into that freedom. But they are surrounded. Consumerism hunts them down, promising new Mouse-ka-teers who have the tweener foreshadowings of orgasm.
I go to the window of our apartment and look out. We are watching the sky, which has delivered a six month long Indian summer full of birds and insects from the tropics. Another gigantic freak storm is coming. It seems more intelligent than Pope Francis.
A natural disaster is a living thing that seems to know that the humans were evolution’s mistake.
We are proud citizens worshipping at the altar called "America" and we are layered in unacknowledged ritual.
We suddenly stop. We stop our prayer and turn to look at the front door of the church and there she is, the Earth, what now? Here she comes. Is this a flash flood or a slow flock of rare cancers? Oh no! Evolution spits like lava from the face of Jesus.
We are in the last moments of Christian living. Evolution was more than the fundamentalists could handle. Will we die? Yes that is what this is. This is death. American consumers don’t know what death is because death is not for sale.
Will our children die? Will they remember what we did before they die? How we tried to stop?
Our children are emissaries from the Earth, and the Earth remembers everything, every single life. But it was up to every single life to remember the Earth. We remember her now.