Oberlin Review March 13, 2009
by DEA GOBLIRSCH
The burning sensation caused by my thawing toes, curled around Toasti-Toes foot warmers, was overridden only by the protest chants that filled the frigid air. Raising our voices against coal power and liquid natural gas ("Come on people let's organize! No coal, no gas, no compromise!"), my group of about 30 activists stood outside of the Capitol power plant's front gate. Our banners spelled out "Climate Justice, Not Corporate Greenwashing" and "Stop Cliffside" (a coal-fired power plant proposed for North Carolina) in spray-painted letters. Behind us, a line of police officers tightly hugged the fence surrounding the plant. Across the street, a measly counter-protest made up of about 15 people held signs pronouncing, "Coal is cheap, Al Gore is evil and wrong."
My affinity group (defined as activists working together in direct action) was comprised of the most radical contingents in March 2's Capitol Climate Action, including Rising Tide, Earth First! and Mountain Justice. However, the justice theme that permeated the entire protest demonstrated a mainstreaming of the movement and the radicalization of many environmentalists. Orchestrated primarily by Greenpeace, a well-established organization, the broad-scale action focused on the human, as well as environmental, impacts of coal.
"What do we want? Environmental justice! When do we want it?! Now!" emerged as a rallying cry in the Spirit of Justice Park, the gathering point for all 2,500 participants. Appalachian communities and indigenous groups affected by mining and processing led the march from the park to the coal plant that heats the U.S. Capitol's water. After the march circled the entire plant, the impacted communities took my affinity group's place at the media-saturated front gate so that they would be the most visible component of the Capitol Climate Action.
By decompartmentalizing environmentalism and justice, activists are beginning to recognize the intersections of all forms of oppression and to question the structures that uphold them. It's difficult to claim that the capitalist extraction of resources is for the benefit of all of humanity and civilization when it's clear that mountaintop removal, coal mining and power plant pollution are destroying livelihoods right now.
The environmental justice movement first emerged in the 1980s, basing itself on principles of clean air, water quality, food access and unpolluted property for all people, but it has often been considered a niche cause. Throughout the 1990s and up until today, most environmentalism has been eco-centric and its relationship with social justice tenuous at best.
Growing up, the contemporary rabble rouser I remember most was Julia Butterfly Hill, who resided in a redwood tree between 1997 and 1999 to prevent its felling by a timber company. Each year, my elementary school teachers would collect pennies to "save the rainforest" from agriculture and logging. Prior to the Capitol Climate Action, Greenpeace's main goals have included fighting climate change, whaling, nuclear power and the destruction of old growth forests. Even radical environmental organizations, including Earth First!, have traditionally focused on the protection of wildlife refuges and national wilderness areas.
The shift from ecological warriors to climate justice activists has arrived in the wake of recent events and disasters. The rapid depletion of natural resources, staggering climate change statistics and food shortages have pushed environmentalism and sustainability into the media and onto the political agenda. This focused media lens, coupled with un-ignorable tragedies such as the devastation of New Orleans' lower-income and African-American communities after Hurricane Katrina, have made environmental injustices a larger part of the environmental conversation.
The Capitol Climate Action's tangible goals were simple and small-scale: To shut down the Capitol power plant for one day. The plant resumed normal operations on March 3. While the action was conceived to highlight the detrimental effects of coal, Nancy Pelosi announced on Feb. 26 that the plant would be switching to natural gas. (Natural gas, though cleaner-burning, is also unsustainable and unjust -- our supply is extremely limited, and pipelines are being driven through rural farms, creating risks of leakage and fires.)
However, the action advertised itself as symbolic, claiming preemptively, to be "the largest climate justice action in United States history." It was a statement against mountain top removal, coal-fired power plants and ironically-named clean coal technologies across the country.
With 2,500 activists on the streets of Washington shouting, "What do we want? Environmental justice! When do we want it? Now!" the Capitol Climate Action planted the seed of a truly radical movement. It hasn't taken root just yet. Many environmentalists still have faith in the United States' brand of capitalism and "democracy" to solve our woes. However, a new generation of young activists is coming of age at a time when, whether it be the economic crisis or the foolishness of cap-and-trade "solutions," the structural failures of our society are coming into full focus.
What warmed my freezing bones the most as I stood in front of the Capitol power plant on March 2 was watching the definition of "environmentalist" shift before my eyes -- tree huggers acknowledging that human lives are being uprooted, too. Let's go even further by fighting the hypocrisy and unsustainability echoing through the halls of that building -- you know, the one that the Capitol power plant heats.
Showing posts with label oberlin review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oberlin review. Show all posts
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Obies Take Scavenging Culture to the Dumpster
Oberlin Review, 11/21/08
by DEA GOBLIRSCH
When recent Obie grads David Brown and Greg Mann moved into an unfurnished apartment in Berkeley, California with no more than the clothes on their backs and camera equipment, they anticipated a struggle. What they got instead was stuff, and lots of it. Within a few weeks, they had not only food, clothing and mattresses to sleep on but also a neon Budweiser Beer sign and a shelf overflowing with books. These treasures didn't come from stores or yard sales, but from dumpsters. Brown and Mann were conducting an experiment: attempting to live solely on scavenged goods for three months.
The resulting feature-length documentary, i Love Trash, was conceived as a way to publicize dumpster diving. Also called dumpstering or skally-wagging, diving is premised on the idea that our capitalist society produces vast amounts of still-usable trash that is free for the taking. In the United States alone, 236 million tons of garbage is thrown away annually.
The film is low-tech and sometimes veers dangerously close to an art school project, with choreographed trash dances and a scene in which Mann, Brown and two friends re-enact an imagined pre-historic hunt, their arrows pointed toward a dumpster rather than a wooly mammoth. These parts simply distract from an otherwise poignant documentary based on solid research, a multiplicity of voices and Mann and Brown's spirited adventures. While many of their interviewees are college-aged bohemians, the face time i Love Trash gives to older divers shows that dumpstering can outlive youthful leftism to become a sustainable way of life. One man speaks of supporting thirteen of his own children by dumpster diving for fifteen years. Local artist Skip Schuckman builds architecture primarily from scavenged sources, the purchased exceptions being the occasional can of paint or sheet of plastic. The piece our filmmakers visit is constructed leaning against a boulder, with its ceiling beams merging curved wood with scavenged machine parts.
The message of i Love Trash is driven home by the culminating scene, in which Brown and Mann hold a free sale to get rid of everything they've accrued before moving out of the apartment. "Shoppers" swarm in, including a recent divorcee in need of furnishings and a girl who is most excited about taking home the branch hanging on a wall. Others take dishware, button-up shirts and Brown's garbage art creations. These "worthless" goods that never meant to find their way out of dumpsters get a third chance at life.
Four years prior to making i Love Trash, David Brown started dumpster diving while a student at Oberlin. During a winter term trip between San Francisco and Seattle, he and his traveling companions began eating out of the garbage to cut food costs. When Brown realized just how much perfectly edible produce and bread was going to waste, he began supplementing his diet with scavenged foods and sharing them with others. He also began dumpstering for clothing and art supplies, even centering some of his school projects on recycled materials. Philosophically, Brown was interested in the anti-capitalist stance dumpster diving takes, as espoused in cut-and-paste punk zines.
In turn, Brown and his documentary inspired two current students, David Greenberg and Saul Alpert-Abrams, to eat solely dumpstered food during the week of October break. They had already been foraging for wild mushrooms and wanted to explore the urban side of scavenging. Greenberg considered their experiment a chance to see whether dumpstering would be a viable option in his future, when he didn't have access to food communities like OSCA. While Saul mentioned that they went several days of eating only produce and then several of only bread, he saw that as a lack of planning rather than a failure of the dumpster gods. It took them about fifteen minutes to collect food for the day -- about as long as it does to pile a plate at Stevenson Dining Hall. For Alpert-Abrams, dumpstering is also a philosophical act, and he refers to it as making a "negative-negative impact"-- subtracting from the wastefulness of throwing away vast quantities of usable food.
As i Love Trash makes its way to the Wild & Scenic Environmental, Frozen River and Lake Country film festivals, Mann and Brown's dumpster diving gospel will spread beyond their friends and acquaintances. Viewers from all walks of life will be able to virtually accompany them on their three-month adventure and dream up scavenging schemes of their own. It has already been shown in Oregon's Bend Film Festival and an Oberlin campus screening is pending, potentially spawning a new generation of members for the Independent Garbologists Association.
by DEA GOBLIRSCH
When recent Obie grads David Brown and Greg Mann moved into an unfurnished apartment in Berkeley, California with no more than the clothes on their backs and camera equipment, they anticipated a struggle. What they got instead was stuff, and lots of it. Within a few weeks, they had not only food, clothing and mattresses to sleep on but also a neon Budweiser Beer sign and a shelf overflowing with books. These treasures didn't come from stores or yard sales, but from dumpsters. Brown and Mann were conducting an experiment: attempting to live solely on scavenged goods for three months.
The resulting feature-length documentary, i Love Trash, was conceived as a way to publicize dumpster diving. Also called dumpstering or skally-wagging, diving is premised on the idea that our capitalist society produces vast amounts of still-usable trash that is free for the taking. In the United States alone, 236 million tons of garbage is thrown away annually.
The film is low-tech and sometimes veers dangerously close to an art school project, with choreographed trash dances and a scene in which Mann, Brown and two friends re-enact an imagined pre-historic hunt, their arrows pointed toward a dumpster rather than a wooly mammoth. These parts simply distract from an otherwise poignant documentary based on solid research, a multiplicity of voices and Mann and Brown's spirited adventures. While many of their interviewees are college-aged bohemians, the face time i Love Trash gives to older divers shows that dumpstering can outlive youthful leftism to become a sustainable way of life. One man speaks of supporting thirteen of his own children by dumpster diving for fifteen years. Local artist Skip Schuckman builds architecture primarily from scavenged sources, the purchased exceptions being the occasional can of paint or sheet of plastic. The piece our filmmakers visit is constructed leaning against a boulder, with its ceiling beams merging curved wood with scavenged machine parts.
The message of i Love Trash is driven home by the culminating scene, in which Brown and Mann hold a free sale to get rid of everything they've accrued before moving out of the apartment. "Shoppers" swarm in, including a recent divorcee in need of furnishings and a girl who is most excited about taking home the branch hanging on a wall. Others take dishware, button-up shirts and Brown's garbage art creations. These "worthless" goods that never meant to find their way out of dumpsters get a third chance at life.
Four years prior to making i Love Trash, David Brown started dumpster diving while a student at Oberlin. During a winter term trip between San Francisco and Seattle, he and his traveling companions began eating out of the garbage to cut food costs. When Brown realized just how much perfectly edible produce and bread was going to waste, he began supplementing his diet with scavenged foods and sharing them with others. He also began dumpstering for clothing and art supplies, even centering some of his school projects on recycled materials. Philosophically, Brown was interested in the anti-capitalist stance dumpster diving takes, as espoused in cut-and-paste punk zines.
In turn, Brown and his documentary inspired two current students, David Greenberg and Saul Alpert-Abrams, to eat solely dumpstered food during the week of October break. They had already been foraging for wild mushrooms and wanted to explore the urban side of scavenging. Greenberg considered their experiment a chance to see whether dumpstering would be a viable option in his future, when he didn't have access to food communities like OSCA. While Saul mentioned that they went several days of eating only produce and then several of only bread, he saw that as a lack of planning rather than a failure of the dumpster gods. It took them about fifteen minutes to collect food for the day -- about as long as it does to pile a plate at Stevenson Dining Hall. For Alpert-Abrams, dumpstering is also a philosophical act, and he refers to it as making a "negative-negative impact"-- subtracting from the wastefulness of throwing away vast quantities of usable food.
As i Love Trash makes its way to the Wild & Scenic Environmental, Frozen River and Lake Country film festivals, Mann and Brown's dumpster diving gospel will spread beyond their friends and acquaintances. Viewers from all walks of life will be able to virtually accompany them on their three-month adventure and dream up scavenging schemes of their own. It has already been shown in Oregon's Bend Film Festival and an Oberlin campus screening is pending, potentially spawning a new generation of members for the Independent Garbologists Association.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Interview with Animal Liberationist Peter Young
Off the Cuff: Animal Liberator Peter Young
Interview by DEA GOBLIRSCH
Oberlin Review, Friday, May 2, 2008
Peter Young is an animal rights activist and speaker from Mercer Island, WA. In 1998, he was indicted by a federal grand jury on charges of raiding mink farms in the Midwest and releasing the animals into the wild. Evading the law for seven years, he was arrested in California in 2005 and sentenced to two years in prison. Recently, he has been selling merchandise for vegan straight-edge hardcore band Earth Crisis and speaking on animal rights and activism at colleges and universities across the country. The Review sat down to talk with him on Harkness’ lawn during his two-day visit to Oberlin.
How do you qualify the US government’s labeling of animal liberationists as terrorists?
Imagine yourself in law enforcement, at an FBI satellite office or even on the local level. You have Washington, DC — the government, FBI headquarters — looking down on you saying, “What are you doing to fight the war on terrorism?” At that point, you have to create a bogey-man. You don’t have the option of not having a terrorist at that point. If you’re looking around for a terrorist, the only people that are really carrying out illegal actions on a regular basis with selfless motives are the environmental and animal rights activists.
Selflessly motivated crimes are entirely out of the paradigm of people in law enforcement. They have to assign sinister motives to it. In my case, they charged me with extortion. They were trying to say that we were releasing animals not to save the animals but to terrorize the fur farmers, because they simply can’t process someone breaking down the wall without anything being in it for himself.
How is economic and property harm different from harm against humans?
When you damage property [as a political act], it’s an indirect way of saving lives — whether slashing the tires on a truck at a slaughterhouse in hopes that the slaughterhouse will not be able to function for at least one day or doing damage to the car of a vivisector to deter them from doing business with a company like Huntington Life Sciences. Property damage is distinct from harming human life. [It’s] actually quite the opposite. It’s motivated by love and compassion.
There’s been a critique in anarchist circles of people seeking out attention from police as a badge of honor. Do you think that happens in the animal liberation movement, and what do you think of putting people who serve jail time on pedestals?
Any time you create a cult of personality around someone who, say, goes into a place where animals are being abused or takes them out, you’re doing a tremendous disservice to the issue. You build up a mystique and make it something untouchable for the average person. We really need to demystify this stuff. People need to understand that the individuals who carry out these things, they could be clergy, they could be anybody. Viewing this stuff through a Robin Hood frame is terribly destructive.
As far as seeking out arrest, you don’t see that a whole lot anymore. Planning to get arrested on a civil disobedience level is something that happened quite a bit when I was getting involved and I think the movement has moved on.
What do you think about the mainstream animal rights movement right now?
There’s been a tremendous shift towards giving attention to the plight of farmed animals. Literally 98 percent of the animals killed right now are killed in slaughterhouses, factory farms, dairy farms and egg farms. My biggest critique when I was getting involved was asking why [the movement] was giving our attention to peripheral issues. We weren’t prepared to really take on, full steam ahead, the bulk of the problem — animals killed for food.
You also have really terrible things like what the Humane Society of the United States is doing right now — pushing for humane meat and giving humane certifications to non-vegan food. I think it’s absolutely disgraceful. I live in Santa Cruz and the headline on the front page of the free weekly about a month ago was, “Humane Meat: It’s Making Eating Animals Okay Again.” I think that captured so well the mistake that people are making with pushing towards giving animals bigger cages and more humane slaughtering methods.
What’s the best way to support incarcerated activists?
Prisoner support is a lot simpler than people realize. It is simply books, letters, a little bit of money to eat and visits. In the pre-trial phase, the hardest part is simply insuring that people have an adequate defense. I was fortunate that through donations alone we were able to hire a couple of attorneys to fight my case. It can quite literally mean the difference between no prison time and 20 years in prison. I really think one of the reasons to support prisoners is because people are not going to be willing to take risks and follow their hearts if they believe they’re going be abandoned if they get caught. It’s like asking someone to throw himself into the Colorado River without a life raft. Supporting prisoners can also be a really good outreach tool. I got a lot of letters from people who read about my case that said, “I read about what you did and the fact that you went to prison for this, the least I can do is be vegetarian or vegan.”
Your words have inspired many Oberlin College animal rights activists. From where do you draw your strength?
I draw my strength from having looked a lot of animals in the eye that I could not save. My obligation is to them, to do what I can. I draw strength knowing I do have the ability to do something about it. I can’t save all of them but I can definitely do my part and inspire others to do their part.
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