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.
THE SECRET CULT OF THE NORMAL MUST NOW BE CAST INTO THE LAKE OF HELLFIRE. After all the floods fires droughts and typhoons - we have never had a politician not-corrupted enough to say WE MUST CHANGE HOW WE LIVE. Back down carbon-intense industrial ag, cars, "big retail", tourism, war? Well, uh, that's BAD FOR JOBS. "Bad for jobs" translated into common sense means BAD FOR THE 1%.
Let's get 2016 started with some truth. Our convenience is based on ruining the weather. Our god is based on ruining the weather. Our law enforcement is based on ruining the weather. Imperialists have never changed very much while the empire was still making money, but never before have imperialists been threatened with the loss of their lives from the Earth itself. That's the good news gospel. This is our opportunity if we seize it.
Nothing is more crucial to the corporation culture than this idea that our life is normal. Every single purchase of a product is a high-stakes defense of Consumerism. It's why Chelsea Manning is more important than the Sierra Club. The violation of the sanctity of the whole system is what we need.
How do we do that? Maybe we're not violent - so we won't blow up the nearest Dunkin Donuts. We'll do something that's much more taboo. WE WON'T BE NORMAL Happy New Year.
Brother, Sinner, Saint. I used to hunt down and collect brother figures, pummel them with questions, keep them up on a pedestal longer than they wanted and lob more questions. I don't think I ever went to school; more like, I created the situation of being tutored by flotillas of friends who floated into my voracioius orphanage.
Mike Roselle is a throwback for me but such an illustrious one in this desperate year. When he walks somewhere I walk alongside if I can help it and I'll have a question in a moment. Sit down nearby and after a while he can hear it coming I'll tender a subject he might address. Its enough sometimes to get a verbal painting of the Arctic 30 blow by blow, of the order of War and Peace, so vivid and full with tangents to explain motivations of characters in the plot, and at the end like a chaser his friend Cat walks up with the email of Captain of the Arctic Sunrise and suddenly that chapter in my book has its primary source.
Last week I stayed with Mike and let the new year come up Coal River Valley. I washed dishes and stoked the fire and asked questions, and like all my questions in recent years my questions have apocalyptic accents. Mike is more patient with me than he is with the end of the world. He's got wisdom he doesn't know what to do with. His first arrest in the ice above the arctic circle was in 2003. Thanks Mike!
I had this same feeling after 9/11 and the first Afghani bombings. People turned right around and celebrated Christmas. What? How can we gather 'round the yule log with the house burning down?
I'm encouraged that indigenous activists and 25,000 Earth-lovers overwhelmed tourists at the Eiffel Tower on December 12th. And I breathe a sigh of relief from the stopping of the Mall of America yesterday by Black Lives Matter. Amen. Climate change and the racism are murder-fests so first things first: stop it.
Shut down Christmas. This year give the gift of inconvenience. Middle class fun must be re-sold with its costs clearly marked. You are being interrupted now. No more Christmas as usual. We weren’t watching what we consumed.
Take the Christmas out of the Solstice! Earthalujah!
It is 66 degrees in NYC. That’s 18.9 Celsius. Capping a month of freakish warmth in the apple. The flowers are confused, bursting into bloom on the darkest day of the year. We humans should be more confused than we are.
I'm writing on the December 26, 2015 in Florida. I’m visiting my father, who turns 91 on Thursday. Florida is where we retire from work, or where we retire from thinking and go to Disney. The peninsula is dying, its coral reefs bleached and Everglades polluted and drained. Brazilians and non-consumerized Cubans rejuvenate a place that sinks into the dead sea.
Yesterday a Frigate Bird soared over us, sliding off the clouds over the Atlantic. The sleek mother of the sky, she never moved her wings… There is constancy with the Earth, even as she tries to shake off her main predator. We have let her down, but mostly we’ve let ourselves down. It is a year to despair about what we have done.
For the first time we find it possible to imagine leaving our city. Should we move to another part of the Earth? Could we ever do that? The city is lying to us. It is not the sophisticated big city of America. It is a real estate destination that eats its neighborhoods alive. The police manufacture fear. Its artists and working poor are banished to the fringes.
Or is it time to re-commit, to re-commit deeply. Maybe our years of work are not just lost. What if all the shouting in picket lines and parades and running from lobbies and hallways dodging cops – maybe that was practice for this moment, in 2016, when it is obvious to even the most de-politicized citizens that the Earth is moving on without us.
Florida and New York are on the ocean and they will change utterly. We are in the wind storm of evolution – finding a way to live when the Earth changes. Politics will mean trying to take some survivors with us to a new life.