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Archive for the ‘Culture of Care’ Category

Understanding climate:

“It’s either the whole or it’s nothing…”

 

http://www.ted.com/talks/gavin_schmidt_the_emergent_patterns_of_climate_change?utm_source=newsletter_daily&utm_campaign=daily&utm_medium=email&utm_content=image__2014-05-01

 

Gavin Schmidt said this at the Ted conferences in early May. I feel it is the easiest way to sum up  what is in front of us:

 

It’s either the whole or it’s nothing…

 

Either we embrace that our Earth must be cared for as a whole rather than a whole lot of separate island nations, or we humans all sink together into a kind of desperate living only Hollywood can adequately portray. And with a lot of pain and suffering for so much we love along the way, animal, plant and human alike, in this miraculous, Eden-like habitat we call home.

 

This wholeness can be really positive if embraced as a reason to care now — for each other, for the animal and plant life that is the miracle of our world, for the shreds of wilderness left intact that we protect, and for the areas of Nature now rehabilitating with or without our notice — with as much determination as we can find within ourselves.

 

Yes, let’s respond to the whole as a whole; we have the technology, and the heart and art to do so.

 

Is there any among you who can put a webcam of melting ice and stranded polar bear and cubs on the Megatron in Times Square where we city dwellers can stand, rapt with concern, and root for their survival? That might occupy attention to our wholeness. How about another webcam 24/7 on the screen at the airports, documenting not just the latest extreme weather event we watch in awe anyway, opening our hearts and wallets for those people displaced, but also one which provides a glimpse of mammals seeking water during the newest drought or fire, wherever it may be? Live, as it happens…

 

Too tough to watch, I hear many protesting. Yes, but it is real-time reality TV that simply underscores our connection to each other, our care piqued as we are a species that does have a good heart when seeing pain, and we do respond to help.

 

If we can see and experience the whole, with our eyes and hearts engaged, we can create a culture of care for the whole.

 

Really, we can.

 

 

 

 

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Or why we face a future with a changed climate and degraded habitat with seeming aplomb … until it’s a crisis.

 

 The Fates, of course, refer to the Greek incarnations to which all — humanity and gods — had to submit. They defined destiny, spinning the line of life, allotting its length, maintaining an unturnable outcome. Fates — or Fate, seeing the ladies in the singular today —are the epitome of destiny, but also a principle of divine natural order, thought to be unchangeable by man… oh, maybe until now perhaps, when we have the tools and the will to tinker on a global scale.

 

We submit to an unalterable power of Fate**, which is why humans are often lauded or accused, depending on circumstance, of fatalism: What happens has to happen. It is a necessity, given the story thus far, the narrative we’ve woven as a global community. There’s nothing to do to change it.

 

But is it a necessity?

 

Enter Feelings, those nice and nasty players shrieking into our brains as first-responders long before logic and reason weigh in. Our survival mechanism perfected, Feelings are insta-fast responses to our world, engaging without our knowing but, explains writer Chris Mooney, determining our behavior and subsequently our convictions about our behavior, in such a way that we can see what we want to see, believe what we want to believe, and against all fact or unchemically-altered observation. “The theory of motivated reasoning builds on a key insight of modern neuroscience,” Mooney writes in Mother Jones. “Reasoning is actually suffused with emotion. … We push threatening information away; we pull friendly information close.” Doing so proves our viewpoint correct: That was a lion about to eat us – or at least it was a lion and we felt afraid so we ran (flight). That is a maniac with a finger on a button of destruction, but presenting himself as a world leader, so we feel we should take him to be able to negotiate a diplomatic solution or take him to battle (fight). That is a huge storm, category 4 or 5 again, and it was a danger to life and limb and city but, now over, I feel my experience of it had nothing to do with my actions previous to today, nor the culture I’ve had a hand in creating (flight or, perhaps, freeze response).

 

“Fatalism is the narrative thesis that some action or event was bound to happen because it ‘fits’ so well with the agent’s character…” the late UT-Austin professor Robert C Solomon wrote in Philosophy East and West (Vol. 53, No. 4, Oct, 2003).

 

“Fate and fatalism… is the story of who we are and of what happens to us and how what happens fits into the larger scheme of things. It is the dramatic story, not the scientific one, even if many or most of the details are the same. … Thus fate and fatalism  focus ‘locally’ on what is most significant about us, our births, our sweetest romances, our best successes, our worst failures, our calamities, our deaths.”

 

 

Our feelings justify our fatalism all too often, creating conviction against all the facts that we can, in fact, call upon our character to meet the challenges of slowing climate change.

 

Climate Access, in offering tools to communicate about climate change in a way that gets us out of fatalism, suggests these tools for a start:

“Understand that hope is a precondition to effective action…

 

“Building and sustaining hope is an interior practice . . .

 

“Be clear on what we can hope for… It is not the climate of yesteryear.”

 

Hope is a feeling that serves every one of us.

 

It is empowering and lifting rather than leading us into the web of the Fates or bathing us in the Feelings that any one of us is just too minor a character in this narrative to make a difference.

 

It is my living hope that we will soon meet the challenge of our own character — individually, collectively, and as players in a great narrative — and thus learn to live in a way that doesn’t further degrade our habitat as we love it, or leave to the Fates our only home.

 

May you day today be filled with hope—

Elizabeth Darby

 

Side note:

**’God’s will’ and ‘Acts of God’ (the ones your house insurance may or may not cover) seem to be different than a Fate, in that they are not ‘necessary’ or dependent on ‘character,’ but rather ‘authored’.  God’s will or Acts of God are based on the idea of being in ‘good hands’ — maybe not always what you or I want, but ‘good hands’ all the same — and thus a relief compared to the anonymity of the Fates.  Since the “Acts of God” clause covers most of what Nature throws at us, I’m always amazed that there is any debate whether Nature is thought to be part of God and vice-versa, but that’s an earlier blog…

 

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Why is daily news and consideration of our natural habitat missing from our ever-expanding daily news diet?

Why questions, I am reminded, are dangerous, especially in journalism. First of all they elicit argument, as asking why presumes the observation is true, or the question a judgment rather than an observation. Why did you run over the cat in the street elicits “Who said I did?” and Why is there a dead cat in the street? is too often solved with “I dunno…” because the possible answers are too many to narrow down in the few seconds devoted to the answer. Environmental news coverage has suffered from the same malady.

In a Gallup survey compilation (it’s unclear what year it was compiled) on paying attention to news stories a week after the event, while 97% of Americans were paying very/somewhat close attention to stories like 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, or Princess Diana’s death, only 41% were paying very/somewhat close attention to “biotechnology and modifications to food”. More importantly, other than the occasional weather event (Katrina) or the Asian tsunami of 2005, or a brief discussion of the XL pipeline or biotech, there were no other news stories on biodiversity loss, the environment, climate change or water/food issues even making the 200+story list by Gallup!

Why questions are also the last answered in journalism, after who, what, when, and where, and thus don’t normally make it into ‘normal’ fast headline news anyway.

According to Slate last year, fewer than half of people who arrive at a story at their website continue reading past the first scroll and 10% don’t scroll at all – which means never make it past the first 4 paragraphs.  And if there’s a photo at the top (to draw you in) it’s likely you are getting only the first two lines before hopping off elsewhere.  We’ve become a nation of skimmers.  And visually hooked skimmers at that. (Thanks Farhad! Great article!)

Four paragraphs doesn’t leave much room for discussion of interrelated issues and consequences, such as those covering the environment, the biosphere, our habitat, or even the connections between climate and extraordinary weather events as this winter’s weather (drought in the southern hemisphere; heavy snows and gales in the northern) might give us pause to wonder about.  To me that means we need Why questions at the top, lots of photos, cute or otherwise, and the news of our habitat place in front of us everywhere.

I’ll put a cute picture here in the hope you’ll keep reading…

© Lee Karney/USFWS

© Lee Karney/USFWS

 

Actually two lines or four paragraphs doesn’t really give room for most kinds of news reporting other than what Neiman is now calling ‘solutions’ reporting, which includes not only why but how can we fix/solve/ resolve/become engaged in the story or its outcome.

This ‘solutions reporting’ kind of journalism is something we tried 2 decades ago at our award-winning environmental magazine Buzzworm. Not wanting to leave readers sad or discouraged at the end of our (ahem) 2500 – 5000 word articles replete with beautiful photography to entice our readers into our written coverage, we included what any reader, even you, could do to make a difference in the issue. It became a popular and engaging form of environmental journalism.

By the end of our run, most major daily newspapers had an ‘environment beat’ as well as a weekly section devoted to coverage of the issues.  Phil Shabecoff, in his article on the environmental beat for the Neiman Foundation backs up my experiential impression (Thanks, Phil, great article). Data gathered by the Pew Trust’s Excellence in Journalism and reported in the Columbia Journalism Review noted environmental stories were less than 1% of the entire mainstream news coverage.

Granted, major dailies do cover bits of our environment on their websites, yet much of these issues are still covered only in niche readerships – one must find it and click on it, rather than have it thrust into in plain view on a headlines page.  Nonetheless, bother to click on today’s Environment page at The New York Times, and the first 6 headlines should give you pause if not a chill or two: To wit: 2013 one of the warmest years on record( no, really!); bee deaths appear to be from a virus that rapidly mutates to tobacco and soy as well (gasp, a world without cigarettes or tofu or beef feed); a new leak at a Japanese nuclear reactor; and our 30-year-old war against the killing of rhinos seems to be lost.  That’s all above the scroll, too.

Of course, I applaud these news outlets that do provide coverage; I just wish it were part of the daily diet of headline importance at the main page, especially in America.  Apparently the Pew study, too, noted that the average reader is still not being served a daily offering of news on the health of our life-sustaining habitat news. I put it this way, as most ask me “why” when I mention I have devoted my professional writing-life to covering the environment. The ‘life-sustaining habitat’ part sometimes gets their attention while the ‘environment’ does not.

And I marvel at how much is not said on the daily local evening news, where weather events are often covered as breaking news. I’m told some local weathercasters would like to include the connections of weather to environment, climate change, air and water quality, but that it seems to just not go with the rapid one-line flow of crime, business corruption, traffic and sports, and as such are told to stick to weather, as it is the main reason people even bother to tune in to local broadcast news anymore.

And this is the point: as long as issues of our habitat are not placed in front of us on a daily basis, we reside in silent ignorance of the consequences for our only home and life-sustaining Earth, until the day dawns that we jump from crisis to crisis, wondering how we got here.

I’ll put another picture here, in the hope that you’ll scroll down to read the last of this missive. . . .

 

© Gary Stoltz/USFWS

© Gary Stoltz/USFWS

 

Is an extreme weather-event news? Yes. Should we ask ‘Why’ there seem to be so many of them these last few years? Yes, if we want to have a hope of responding intelligently in the years to come, whether locally or globally.

Is the loss and change of our habitat’s biodiversity globally news that we might connect to our local habitats with good reporting? Yes, as such loss portends effects everyone’s well-being. Not only should we ask why, but doing so an opportunity to inform on the consequences able to be anticipated and thus met. Biodiversity loss is ultimately a loss of quality of life story as any habitat crisis story is (such as the polluted W, Virginia water crisis story last week), but it is also an economic story, a business story, a crime story and a social equity story. And it’s something we can take action on, locally as well as internationally. Many of our large predators and vast tracks of wilderness would be long gone if those somewhere else in the world had not been informed and raised their voices in care and concern.

Why questions can beget understanding; sometimes it takes more than 4 paragraphs or the first couple of lines if I’ve put a photo at the top to draw you in. Considering the care of our only habitat  — the only one we have and which sustains our life — is perhaps the most important story.

Why?

For it is our life-support system.  If it’s in our daily view, it’s thus able to be among our heart-felt considerations of what is important to us and to our children today and tomorrow. Then we have time to ask why questions and to take good, life-sustaining actions.

 

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We don’t know what our own habitat is…

Sir David Attenborough

BBC 16 Dec 2013

 

This off-the-cuff observation, in the midst of a simple radio conversation on BBC today, startled me.

Is it possible that we, in walking through the moments of our lives, do not recognize or ‘know’ our own habitat? This ecosphere of life-giving oxygen, those mountains, that river of water, this bit of nourishment from some plot of dirt?  

Is it possible we suffer from habitat illiteracy – can you read the sky and the wind for on-coming weather, recognize a source of usable water, or observe the movement of wildlife to note puzzling changes?

Being a 3rd generation native of this area of the Rockies, where the prairie meets mountains, and raised by a woman born in the late 1800s whose survival and well-being depended on reading the land and weather, I too taught my children to read the beautiful, huge blue sky here. We pay attention to see, to smell, to feel when snow is in the air and whether it’s a northern ice (and thus cold) scent or a heavy damp one (and thus a deep, heavy snow requiring extra food in the pantry) on the way. I soothed my children with knowledge of when a cloud portended hail rather than tornado weather and which way it was blowing in order that they feel safe at Home in our world and empowered to be a part of it. We see how the prairie Blue Jays have come to inhabit our backyard rather than the foothills variety and that summer’s doves now stay too long (and thus get caught by heavier snows than they are meant for) — puzzling changes in territory and timing we can only presume come from changes in climate and habitat needs.

Reading the weather, the sky, our habitat are essential tools. For we need them to feel at home here on Earth and with earth’s vital resources that support our very life.

We are not unique; so many I know bring their own weather/habitat knowledge with them when they make a new home in a new territory as well. And thus learning and natural evolution take place; yes, it really can be 10-below for a week here and yes, power can go out.

But Sir David speaks of a more profound change:

We don’t know what our own habitat is  . . .

Have a majority of us, like the comic Jetsons of the 1960s, become used to punching a button and food is shoved into our mouths? (Let’s not forget that poor family had to wear helmets for life-giving oxygen; let us hope that is not our future here on Earth.)

Sir David went on to mention the moors and forests of the U.K., every inch of which, of course, are transformed by man’s hand over centuries save, he noted whimsically, a few tops of peaks in Scotland.

Here in the U.S. and elsewhere in the world many of us are lucky enough to see wilderness, where we can see an ‘original’ habitat of man, whether temperate rainforest in British Columbia or parts of the Amazon and here in the Rockies —except that in many cases, the wilderness managed to be preserved is the edge of our habitat, a remnant of land from which man could not carve out a 4-season living, like at the tops of our Eagle’s Nest Wilderness of 13,000 and 14,000 feet, and thus left it to remain wilderness.

We do not know what our own habitat is…

Sir David did mention that we might look upon glass and steel, buildings and tarmack, as our habitat — and if so, he said, that is very distressing. Indeed we are told that a majority of the world’s population now lives in cities. And of course, that is a mixed blessing: with more urban living, more land is able to return to wild, as noted in a previous post (Re*Wilding);  yet with more people, especially our children, living in a city-bound alienation from our Earth, we become dangerous and sad. We suffer both a habitat illiteracy, and a sense of alienation from our natural cradle that gives us water, air, food, life.

The remedy? Take a moment outside. Reconnect to your habitat: notice the sky and read the wind; gaze at your water source and feel grateful it’s even there; consider what the wildlife (surely there is some near you even if a humble pigeon or squirrel) had for their breakfast. And then look to the horizon . . . and think about home. The Earth. Your habitat.

What is your habitat, really? It’s still there, beyond the glass and steel.

And your life-force, maybe even your soul within you, knows you, me, we all need it more than we might want to admit.

 

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A talk from the heart by Boyd Varty, who has learned in his life that we are connected andmade better by our connection with each other — ubuntu — but that is also true of our connection with our Earth, our habitat, and the other animals with whom we share this beautiful planet.

A long, long time ago, I too walked a river near Londolozi in South Africa, and too saw the shadows and faced my deepest fears. I too learned of what it meant to be reliant on others to open the world, touch my heart, carry my spirit to safety, and to experience the humility of our deepest connections of heart, of spirit, of life and how these interconnections are made stronger by extending to the living creatures around us… but these are stories for another time. For now, listen with open heart to Boyd Varty and allow yourself to be immersed in his heart and story. It’s not just about meeting and knowing a great person, it is also about learning to know that together in spirit we are stronger.

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“Dwell in the magnitude of the Universe . . .”*

Galaxy Messier 94  Image credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

Galaxy Messier 94
Image courtesy of NASA/JPL-Caltech

To dwell comes from Old English dwellan

— as in to wander, to linger, to tarry —

… thus to take time in

and to inhabit as a home.

Coastal_strand_with_old_growth_forest_on_oswald_west_state_park_in_oregon

Photo courtesy: Patte David, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

Whether we dwell in the infinitude of Nature, of Creation, and linger there,

— or dwell on such magnitude that it is, and thus wander in the improbable, unabashed abundance of Nature —

in doing so, we are then able to inhabit the possibility that that which we call Sacred might be around us, enveloping us, within us, and also is our home.

It is then that we might know Nature, and ourselves in it, to be one In matter, in substance,

and in energy that we experience

as life.

"Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org"

Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org

 

*“For those who have always dwelt on limited thoughts,

a good practice is to dwell in the magnitude of the Universe.”

 Ernest Holmes

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It’s often noted that the many who support abstract concepts, like ‘protected wilderness’ and “Nature” as being separate from human life, actually live far away from either protected wilderness or Nature. The many who see Nature as a value often live in places where wilderness or Nature is not, as in large urban corridors and concrete valleys of city and building, surrounded by human construct. Or it is not thought of at all, as inconsequential and exotic as the animals housed in zoos.

Those who are fortunate enough to live, whether by choice or fate, in the midst of Nature have a different relationship to it: For one thing, Nature is not abstract.  For some, it is living in Eden or paradise. But for others, familiarity can breed contempt:  living amid Nature is living in a daily reminder of all that must be done to “survive against the elements”.

So we are left with Nature in the abstract, valued or seemingly inconsequential, or Nature as neighbor, appreciated or something to be battled vaingloriously, proving we are up to the age-old match.

So how, in these possibilities does consumption or care of Nature come in to our human experience? Each are auto-behaviors, auto- in that we often don’t think about how we choose to interact with Nature, local or wilds. Either we see and care, or feel something for the habitat supporting us, or we see and consume., ignoring or even just not even feeling or thinking about what we are doing.

We thrive in community and our survival has taught us how to survive in community and in commune with our habitat, in a perhaps today unnoticed rhythm and pattern of call and response. Nature calls — we see storm clouds or notice the weather — and we respond, knowingly or not. For some of us, we respond with a willingness of heart and exhilaration of being at one with our natural habitat: we enjoy the relationship of the call and feel our way to our response. For many others, we react in age-old ways I doubt such are aware of; I’ve long marveled at the ‘instinct for survival’ I see in my local supermarket, when folk told of snow clouds on the horizon by the weather service and a bite to the air sends people in for piles of toilet paper rolls. Honestly, it’s the one aisle immediately sold out when snow of any depth is forecast in my city.

What we are talking about is, simply, caring. Caring to be in relationship of call and response rather than in our current Culture of Consumption of our natural habitat, whether near or far away and abstract in our thinking from moment to moment.

But I believe care starts wherever we are, and creating a Culture of Care, moving us away from our Culture of Consumption, is what we do best and is when we are at our best as part of the mammal species.

I know, this isn’t anything new.

The most simple and profound changes rarely are lightening-strike new, or a giant leap. They are steps, small and while securely holding onto handrails, whether in space or in the universe of our hearts and psyches.

Humans are good at taking these steps; I wonder if step-taking are what we do best, using our instinct and intuition to lead us, step-by-step to understanding of that which we didn’t a moment before.

The steps to a Culture of Care, using heart and instinct to care in a responsive relationship for that which we may not experience each day — like wild areas, or wildlife, grand vistas and yet unknown species cute or not, and like the imperceptible web that holds our life and lives together in a thriving habitat— begin with the smallest of steps:

Wonder.

In both senses of the word.

I wonder how that pigeon survives here.

I wonder at the realization it survived the storm and finds any food  to eat at all, much less a place to nest  . . .

I wonder how that polar bear will make it to shore, through thousands of miles of water, as the ice melts?

I wonder at the amazing fact she leads her young to the very same spot for food each year.

I wonder how that tree survives in the grate in the sidewalk.

I wonder that, surrounded by cement, it finds enough nutrients and water to grow so tall.

I wonder how the elephant is able to find water in a drought, or senses when danger is near?

I wonder, I marvel, that such an animal finds a way to survive at all . . .

I wonder why the air is so sweet and fresh today?

I wonder that air is breathable at all. . .

If we live in the midst of wonder, in any given moment, we are not in a moment of consumption, of taking for once and for all time for our own gain.

Yes, consumption can suggest taking for nourishment, but there’s a sense of limit and desperation to the whole of the word, whether as an individual consuming what s/he feels is needed (so others don’t get it) or as a society consuming without awareness — or wonder — where it’s all coming from. As in ‘it’s all for me’; just even the thought of consumption suggests “better grab it while you can,” even though we know from all of our childhood fairy tales and teaching stories that those who share end up receiving more.

Interestingly the word consumption, at its root, means ‘taking, e.g. for granted,’ according to my delightful book Partridge’s Origins. The root of sumption, in all its Latin forms, means: to take, and to take by choice.

Add the ‘con’ prefix and, Mr. Partridge explains, the word consumption means “to take completely, to devour, to destroy.”

Used as a name for a disease from which humans frequently died in earlier years, consumption, this makes sense. And it was always tragic.

When we apply it to the Culture of Consumption of the last  two centuries and especially the one in which we live, it’s a chilling, if accurate, revelation. We take, we devour, we destroy Nature.

I don’t know how we ended up in a Culture of Consumption, but I know it was no doubt the result of small steps taken without wonder, and added to with exponential growth in population and possibility for ‘new and improved’ product to consume.

I also know that the steps to a Culture of Care are equally small, immediate, and begin with something we each can do, and do well: The steps are engaging in a response to a call, taking in a moment of wonder by you, and you, and you, and we’ve begun. A Culture of Care is underway, little step by little step.

Try it. Turn away from your reading and look at something given to you by Nature, whether apple, cat, dog, beloved friend, or tree, insect, flower, or even for the deeply Nature deprived, look at the sky. Or even just try to see the air which envelopes you or marvel at the water in a glass on your table,

What do you wonder about right now? What small observation can you take, in wonder and wondering, that Nature continues to enfold you in all that is needed for life and living? Can you marvel and feel the wonder at what you see or at that which calls you and gives to you from Nature, whether a change in the wind, or a brilliant drop of rain? Or even the knowing that somewhere far away perhaps, a wild habitat simply is, breathing, living, in cacophony and an intricate web of relationship, perhaps sending the cool change of breeze to you where you are now?

The steps to care — and to creating a Culture of Care — are ours to take.

There: if you wondered even for a moment how beautiful is this bit of Nature, abstract, isolated, or abundantly around you, you’ve just begun.

© 2013 elizabeth darby

Wonder

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