Mystification DA: The negative associates all indigeneity with pure nature and land, which turns the K and forecloses the commons

The first problem is the equation of the Blockadia movements with a struggle for democracy. Klein writes: this emergent network of resistance is “driven by a desire for a deeper form of democracy, one that provides communities with real control over those resources that are most critical to collective survival–the health of the water, air, and soil” (295) and “the fight against violent resource extraction and the fight for greater community control, democracy, and sovereignty are two sides of the same coin” (309). Klein displaces particular struggles (pipeline, fracking, climate) into the political field rather than seeing how the struggles themselves change the field by contesting its terms. Most of the time, activist groups aren’t majorities. They are small groups trying to force a position and bring more people over to their side — as well they should! Additionally, Klein implies that communities are somehow unified and that they encounter an external force (state or corporation) that is violently extracting resources from them. But division goes all the way through communities. The communities themselves are divided. The deadlocked political system that we have is both a cause and an effect of this division. Marxists refer to this division as class conflict (which works well enough if we have a loose understanding of ‘class’). By omitting the constitutive place of division, Klein can suggest that community sovereignty is a goal, again, as if the community were united against fossil fuels — but the fact that we are not united is precisely the problem the book, and the movement, encounters. To use a local example, in the battle against the expansion of methane gas storage and LPG storage in the fragile salt caverns adjacent to Seneca Lake, the Town of Reading — where the facility is located — endorses the gas storage plan. Schuyler County — where the facility is located — also supports the plan, although the vote came down to 1 person in their local board and the community is clearly divided. All the other counties surrounding the lake oppose the plan, but most of this opposition came from votes by city or county boards after petitions from activists. The state is considering the issues, and will make a decision. The federal government has already agreed to let the methane storage proceed, but might reconsider. Which level counts as the community? Why? And what sense does this make in a global setting? No one involved has said that the process has not been democratic. This is what democracy looks like. We just don’t think it has yielded the right outcome. The second problem is Klein’s association of communities with indigeneity and land. Klein writes, “communities with strong ties to the land have always, and will always, defend themselves against businesses that threaten their ways of life” (309). Here again she denies division, as if everyone in a community agreed on what constituted a threat, as if they were all similarly situated against a threat, as if they were never too deluded, tired, or exploited to defend themselves, as if they could never themselves constitute a threat to themselves. Cities, towns, states, and regions make bad decisions all the time; they stimulate industries that destroy them. Klein, though, has something else in mind, “a ferocious love” that “no amount of money can extinguish.” She associates this love “with an identity, a culture, a beloved place that people are determined to pass on to their grandchildren, and that their ancestors may have paid for with great sacrifice.” She continues, “And though this kind of connection to place is surely strongest in Indigenous communities where the ties to the land go back thousands of years, it is in fact Blockadia’s defining feature” (342). Participants in my seminar found this description racist or fascist. Even though this is not Klein’s intent, her rhetoric deploys a set of myths regarding nature, and some people’s relation to nature, that make some people closer to nature (and further from civilization) than others. It also justifies an intense defense of blood and soil on the part of one group’s attachment to a place such that others become foreign, invaders, rightly excluded as threats to our way of life, our cultural identity. Given that climate change is already leading to increased migration and immigration and that the US and Europe are already responding by militarizing borders, a language of cultural defense and ties to the land is exactly what we don’t need in a global movement for climate justice. Klein’s argument, though, gets worse as it juxtaposes indigenous people’s love of place with the “extreme rootlessness” of the fossil fuel workforce. These “highly mobile” pipefitters, miners, engineers, and big rig drivers produce a culture of transience, even when they “may stay for decades and raise their kids” in a place. The language of rootless echoes with descriptions of cosmopolitan Jews, intellectuals, and communists. Some are always foreign elements threatening our way of life. In contrast, I imagine climate politics as breaking the link between place and identity. To address climate change, we have to treat the world itself as a commons and build institutions adequate to the task of managing it. I don’t have a clear idea as to what these institutions would look like. But the idea that no one is entitled to any place seems better to me as an ethos for a red-green coalition. It requires us to be accountable to every place. I should wrap this up. The final tension I want to address comes in Klein’s conclusion, as she emphasizes mass social movements. Invoking the abolition movement, Klein is inspiring, properly crediting Chris Hayes for his influential Nation article linking climate change and the emancipation of the slaves in the US. Nonetheless, her argument is strange. She calls for societal transformation but refuses the term “revolution.” Throughout the book, she has said that we are running out of time to stop a warming trend so severe as to destroy civilization as we know it if not eliminate the human species altogether. She invokes Brad Werner’s famous paper announcing that earth is basically fucked. But she writes: And let’s take it for granted that we want to do these radical things democratically and without a bloodbath, so violent, vanguardist revolutions don’t have much to offer in the way of roadmaps (450). This lets her completely discount the revolutionary movements of the 19th and 20th centuries, as if there is nothing to learn from any of the large scale organizing undertaken by communists, socialists, wobblies, and unionists. Her model for the left thus relies on extracting from the left a central component of our history. Frankly, at the level of tactics alone, this is a bad call: why sign on to a political project premised on the rejection of working class achievements (a move which repeats a ubiquitous gesture of erasure since 1989). Wouldn’t incorporating these achievements be fundamental to any effort to reinvent “the very idea of the collective, the communal, the commons, the civil, and the civic after so many decades of attack and neglect” (460)? Klein is trying to open up a collective desire for collectivity, but without communism. It is also without revolution, which Klein dismisses as vanguardist, as if her Blockadians weren’t themselves at the vanguard of climate struggle. But what does it mean to reject revolution? If the movements are mobilized as she suggests, what will stop them? What would block or hinder the people after they are moving? Perhaps the state, since Klein hasn’t said anything about seizing it. Perhaps each other, since she thinks of us as divided into local communities. Perhaps the capitalist system, since she hasn’t called for its abolition. Or perhaps this isn’t the worry, since we are unlikely to be mobilized enough in time at all — and for enough of us in the north, that will be okay, at least for a while.