Oct 31, 2021 Hot Take

More Ways to Fix Climate Coverage

Plus: Ditching climate purity with Sami Grover, worldbuilding for climate, and the compromise trap

Two More Points for Our Platform on Climate Coverage

By Mary Annaïse Heglar

As we mentioned a couple of newsletters back, Amy and I are doing a six-week guest column at The Nation. For our first column, we rounded up our top recommendations to fix the way climate change is covered in the mainstream press. Amy and I never wanted to imply that this platform was exhaustive, and as soon as it was published, I thought of at least two other things the media needs to do, post haste, to give the climate crisis the attention it demands.

Think Local: The horrors of the climate crisis hit you where you live, so the mainstream media needs to get better at partnering with local media outlets to tell those stories. Our media is dangerously concentrated in the mid-Atlantic and Northeast, where extreme weather has not become as severe as it has for those of us who live on, say, the Gulf or West Coasts. In much of the country, local media has been devastated by disinvestment—a crisis in and of itself. At the same time, there have been great models for media partnerships. (Looking at you, ProPublica.)
This Isn’t a Game: The same day that we published our piece, one of Politico’s newsletter’s published a blurb about the “winners and losers” of the Build Back Better bill. Manchin won; environmentalists lost…. BITCH THIS AIN’T NO GAME!!!! This ain’t a mess you can come back and clean up when you damn well feel like it. This is life on earth—not just as we know it, but period. If you live on this planet, if you need oxygen to live, this is a problem for you. A fatal fucking flaw, if you will. It’s not biased to act like it.

P.S. As a reminder, the Nation column is a lot of work! So we’ve decided to take the newsletter to a bi-monthly publication schedule until January. Make sure to follow our work over there, though. We've included the first couple of pieces in this week's newsletter as well!

Sami Grover on Ditching Climate Purity

By Amy Westervelt

In his new book We Are All Climate Hypocrites Now, Sami Grover argues for individual action that moves beyond consumerism and plugs into mass mobilization on climate. I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that, to borrow a phrase, more and more people are saying this. So, I sat down with Sami to talk more about the book.

1. I know you talk about this in the book, but what prompted you to write this book?

The book started as an attempt to debunk the idea that individual action was central to tackling climate change. I had been writing about 'green living' for years—everything from composting to e-bikes to which way you should hang toilet paper to create the least amount of waste—and was profoundly disillusioned with the notion of 'lifestyle environmentalism.' Yet the more I dug in, the more I realized that I was wrong. Behavior change and individual action are crucially important. They just matter for entirely different reasons than we've been told. Rather than each of us obsessing over every aspect of our carbon footprints, we need to learn to see them as acts of mass mobilization—and be strategic about where we invest our time and energy. Not only does this lens help us to get the biggest impact for our efforts, but it also provides a pathway to going a little easier on ourselves—and each other.

2. What's the most important or surprising thing you learned in researching the book, the thing that has stuck with you the most?

Well, one of the most fascinating areas for me was digging into the notions of guilt, shame and shaming. They have gotten a bad rap in some environmental circles—and I'm certainly as sick as anyone of the 'you can't be an environmentalist if [insert selective purity test]' bullshit that too often derails our movement. But I spent some time talking to Jennifer Jacquet—author of Is Shame Necessary?—and she convinced me that rather than rejecting these tools outright, we need to become much better at understanding where and how they work, and deploy them accordingly.

3. There's a WHOLE LOT of discussion in climate world around word choice. How did you land on hypocrite and what would you say to people who are like "ew I don't like that word?"

Hah, yeah. Well we just held a book giveaway on my publisher's social media feed—and somebody did tell me the title was an insult, and then pretty much told me to fuck off. And I understand that reaction. But the point I'm trying to get at with the book is to really examine the use of 'hypocrite' and 'hypocrisy.' I'm trying to disarm some of the bad faith ways that demands for purity—both from within and outside the movement—are used to detract from really valid arguments and demands. One way to do that was to argue that none of us are hypocrites. The other option was just to kind of own it, and say "Sure, I'm a hypocrite. We all are in some way or another. Now let's focus on the questions that really matter."

4. What's the one thing you really wish people would ask you about the book but they never do?

So far, I'm surprised the chapter on the role of business hasn't elicited more pushback or discussion. My argument—essentially—is that in the same way that individuals need to think less about their footprints, and more about their influence, good-for-the-world businesses too are going to need to think beyond their own operations if they really want to be a part of the solution.

That might mean demanding a price on carbon, or even questioning the very notion of growth-at-all-costs capitalism. Ironically enough, it probably also means challenging the power of corporate money in our elections too. There are a few examples of companies actually doing that—Patagonia taking its Trump-era tax cuts and giving them to climate orgs being a standout case. But I'm aware that the potential for this approach to catch on more broadly is optimistic at best, and possibly bordering on naïve. I still think the basic premise is correct: If the business community wants to be a part of the solution, then it has to really start advancing measures that match the scale of the crisis we face.

To Build a Better World, You First Have to Imagine It

By Mary Annaïse Heglar

It’s been a heavy week for those of us who want to preserve life on earth. Somehow, the latest, greatest hope for a livable future is in the hands of one man—a senator, not even a king! Given how few Americans voted for him, it’s absurd that Joe Manchin has so much national influence. But when you factor in the scale of US power and its historic and current responsibility for the climate crisis, it’s downright grotesque.

When Senator Ed Markey joined climate activists outside of the Capitol on October 7, he said, “There’s no middle ground between a livable and an unlivable world.”

But there is a world in between—and we’re in it now. It’s a world where everything feels tenuous, like if you touch anything, it might all crumble. It’s one where you feel uneasy making plans months in advance, because you can’t picture the future. Today, coming up with a 10-year plan feels ridiculous—like building a house on quicksand.

As we careen from crisis to crisis, it’s hard not to wonder whether the world is ending. But, for the only species with a record, for better or worse, of intentionally changing the planet, that’s a cop-out. The real question isn’t about what the world is doing, it’s about what we’re doing. It’s not whether the world is ending or beginning. It’s whether we’re creating or destroying it. And the answer is, of course, both.

The climate crisis is a crisis of many things: science, economics, politics, immigration. As the author Amitav Ghosh said, “the climate crisis is also a crisis of culture, and thus of the imagination.” To be clear, that doesn’t mean innovation or invention—we’ve got loads of ideas for solar panels and microgrids. While we have all of these pieces, we don’t have a picture of how they come together to build a new world. For too long, the climate fight has been limited to scientists and policy experts. While we need those skills, we also need so much more. When I survey the field, it’s clear that what we desperately need is more artists.

We talk a lot about building a “livable future,” but what does that really mean? Not much for those of us barely surviving today. Furthermore, I don’t want a future that’s merely livable. I want a beautiful world. I’m sick of nightmares, and I’m ready to dream again.

I’d like to introduce to everyone the concept of world-building. At its core, world-building is what it sounds like: the process of creating an imaginary world for a work of fiction. It’s the practice of taking the ideas in your head, the sensations from your imagination, and allowing people to see what you see, feel what you feel. It’s as much about creating new things as it is about destroying old structures and assumptions. It’s an art, not a science.

World-building is often thought to be the domain of science fiction, but any work of fiction, or even nonfiction, requires it. You have to build the world as your character sees it, because as every novelist knows, world-building is more about the characters than about the environment. And so it is in life: None of us experiences the world the same way, so we live in our own little versions of it.

We need to apply world-building to the planet we live on. While artists might be the most accomplished at this, they can’t do it alone this time. We’re all going to have to push our imaginations. Here’s one way to start: Close your eyes and think of the world as you see it. Remember that world-building begins with the main character. (That’s you!) So ask yourself: Who are you, and what do you stand for? And now, what do the people around you stand for?

Picture your surroundings. Observe everything that’s beautiful and everything that’s ugly, scary, uncertain: the storms, the fires, the injustices, the screaming, the gnashing of teeth. As you consider your surroundings—including the laws of society and mores of culture—take note of how you feel in them, how you interact with them. Think about what you can change and what you can’t. Open your eyes. Breathe.

Now, close your eyes and imagine the world you want to live in. You’re starting with the same main character. (Still you!) But maybe the people around you have changed. What do they value in this world? How do they treat each other? What’s important in this new world, and what isn’t? What does power—not just electricity—look like? How does the air feel on your skin? What does it smell like? In my world, there’s laughter and lightness in the air, and it’s not weighed down with those noxious chemicals that make my nose burn. Memorize your version—every detail, every sensation. You’ll need to keep coming back here until you make it real.

When you open your eyes, ask yourself: Is there something from that world I can bring into this one? That’s your job now. If we’re going to make the world over, let’s do it right. Let’s make a masterpiece.

There Can Be No Compromise on a Burning Planet

By Amy Westervelt

Earlier this month I spoke to a group of climate activists about what I call “information pollution”—the use of various PR tactics to shape the public’s understanding of everything from how the economy works to what can be done to fight climate change. The day before, at the TED Climate Countdown event in Glasgow, Scottish climate activist Lauren MacDonald had accused Shell CEO Ben Van Beurden of being personally responsible for the deaths of thousands. A video of the standoff had gone viral, and one of the activists I was speaking to wondered if, MacDonald’s bravery aside, this was really the best tactic. “Shouldn’t we think about bringing these companies into these discussions more?” she wondered.

It was not the first or even the 100th time I’ve been asked that question. Quick answer: Companies are not people; they do not have moral compasses. But also, these nonhuman entities have had a seat at the table on environmental and climate policy for a century or more, and what they’ve done with that seat is flip the table over and throw their chair at us (see, anthropomorphizing can work both ways). But there’s a longer answer here too, and it has everything to do with the subject of the talk I was giving: information pollution.

Back in 1962, a young Alabaman, E. Bruce Harrison, had just left his job on Capitol Hill to work in communications for the chemical industry’s trade group, the Manufacturing Chemists Association (today known as the American Chemistry Council). He was just another PR person until science writer Rachel Carson published Silent Spring, her book about the impact of the chemical industry on both the environment and human health.

“Rachel Carson’s book appears, and chaos ensues. And people are extremely concerned about the environment,” explained Melissa Aronczyk, coauthor of the forthcoming book A Strategic Nature about the history of environmental PR in America. “It’s at that moment that Harrison is appointed the environmental information manager and sort of given a team of other PR people who worked at companies like DuPont, Dow, Monsanto, and Shell and told, ‘You design the PR response to Rachel Carson, this is a disaster.’”

Harrison was the first-ever environmental PR guy. He and his team threw everything they could at Carson: She was a woman; she wasn’t a scientist (Carson had stopped short of finishing her degree in biology to care for various family members); she had cancer, so this was probably a personal vendetta; she might even be—gasp—a lesbian. None of it worked. Carson’s work had sounded the alarm, and multiple environmental regulations ensued. But it was a learning experience for Harrison, and he would not repeat his mistakes.

He went on to work for Freeport Sulfur Mining Company (today Freeport-McMoRan), helping to open gold and copper mines in Indonesia and New Guinea, all while retaining a position on the MCA public relations committee. By the time he came back to Washington, in the early 1970s, various polluting industries were struggling with a wave of new environmental regulations.

The year 1972, in particular, was an inflection point for businesses with respect to environmental issues. In the United States, you had the Clean Water Act. And then there was the United Nations Conference on the Human Environment, which birthed the Stockholm Declaration. This groundbreaking document made environmental issues global, emphasizing conservation, the redistribution of resources, and state responsibility for environmental damage both within and beyond their borders. It also had zero concern for business. “To the extent that industry was included at all, in the UNCHE negotiations, it was as a culprit and a threat,” Aronczyk and coauthor Maria Espinoza write in their book.

The first principle put forth in the Stockholm Declaration reads, “Man has the fundamental right to freedom, equality and adequate conditions of life, in an environment of a quality that permits a life of dignity and well-being, and he bears a solemn responsibility to protect and improve the environment for present and future generations.” Later on, the declaration reaffirms nations’ sovereign right to extract their own resources, but notably balances that right with the mandate that countries must “ensure that activities within their jurisdiction or control do not cause damage to the environment of other States or of areas beyond the limits of national jurisdiction.”

It led to the creation of new international laws, norms, and organizations focused on environmental protection, including the United Nations Environmental Programme (UNEP), which was formed as a permanent agency to act as “the environmental conscience” of the UN. It was the kind of coordinated global call to action that youth climate activists are calling for today. It was also the culmination of what Carson had kicked off a decade earlier. Again, this was in 1972. So what happened?

Well, all this progress on environmental regulation was a massive PR crisis for American industry, and a huge opportunity for Harrison. Not only did he have contacts in politics thanks to his years working on the Hill; he also had international experience, industry connections because of his involvement with the MCA, and a few critical insights gleaned from the Silent Spring debacle.

His first big idea was to pull multiple industries grappling with environmental regulations together into one group that could collectively represent their interests. In 1972, he formed the National Environmental Development Association, an appropriately vague and “green” sounding name for a group of chemical, petroleum, agricultural, and mining companies; pro-business politicians; and labor groups, all of which felt that new environmental standards were a threat to their livelihoods. Harrison opened his own PR firm that same year with NEDA as his first client and himself as NEDA’s executive director. Harrison’s wife, Patricia de Stacy Harrison, was a cofounder of the firm and a NEDA director. (Today, she’s the president of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.)

Harrison also saw the importance of integrating business interests into the international discussion of environmental issues. Central to this endeavor was inventing “sustainability” as a neoliberal, business-friendly approach that privileged voluntary and market-based solutions to ecological problems. Throughout the 1980s, Harrison scored himself invitations and speaking engagements at various UNEP events, where he pushed the idea that the more companies participated in the creation of environmental policies, the more effective those policies would be. To be clear, Harrison wasn’t the only person championing that idea in the 1980s, nor was his message a hard sell. Plenty of people were happy to embrace a business-friendly approach that required no economic tradeoffs. But given his domestic and international influence, Harrison was a driving force in this movement to allow polluting companies to shape environmental policy. In the late 1980s, he created two organizations—the Global Climate Coalition, which brought together manufacturers, oil companies, automotive, rail, and various other industries into a group that could effectively shape the global response to climate change, and EnviroComm, an international network of PR firms that would all use the same corporate messaging on environmental problems. Their stated mission was to monitor emerging environmental policy all over the world for clients and to influence that policy through strategic lobbying.

The idea was to use those 20 years between the Stockholm Declaration in 1972 and the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development in Rio de Janeiro to fully integrate industry into the international approach to environmental issues. The strategy was enormously successful. At the 1992 Rio summit, there was none of the urgency or directness of the Stockholm Declaration. Gone, too, was the emphasis on government regulation—replaced by a sort of big-tent approach that included business interests and prioritized compromise. “In order to meet the challenges of environment and development, States have decided to establish a new global partnership,” Agenda 21, one of the defining documents out of the 1992 Rio Summit reads. “It is recognized that, for the success of this new partnership, it is important to overcome confrontation and to foster a climate of genuine cooperation and solidarity.”

That evolution, from regulation to compromise, is a critical one because the Rio Earth Summit also birthed the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCC), which informed the creation of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change and its reports, as well as every international climate agreement since.

“It was at the many events run by business surrounding that 1992 Rio Earth Summit, convened by the UN, that Harrison presented his paper on the concept of sustainable communication,” Aronczyk said. “And he had very willing ears of all the CEOs from all over the world who were interested in this idea. He was also chairman of the International Public Relations Association at that time, and the International Public Relations Association was also holding events around the Earth Summit. The environment was a very, very hot topic at that time, of real concern to corporate leaders.”

Harrison wasn’t exactly delivering his message to an unfriendly audience. Maurice Strong, the organizer of the Rio Earth Summit, was an oil man himself and often talked about the need for industry to be part of any effective climate solution. A big fan of “doing well by doing good,” Strong often highlighted the financial rewards that could come from solving environmental problems, and believed that companies’ embracing sustainability represented a real and meaningful change. “Not to say that corporations are perfect today, but even grand corporations like DuPont have made immense progress in translating some of their past environmentally damaging practices into new profit opportunities,” he said at a press conference in the early 2000s.

In contrast to the 1972 convening, the UN encouraged business-community participation in 1992—and industry groups were ready to take advantage. They drafted their own “sustainable development charter” to bring to Rio. “And as you can imagine, this charter did not contain anything that would have really transformed how companies did business,” Aronczyk explained. “It was a very business-as-usual document, but it paid a lot of lip service to the idea of going green, of being sustainable, being very concerned about the environment. And because they got out in front of the actual conference, they were really able to put that document forward and stave off other kinds of more binding legislation or more draconian regulations that would have caused problems for these companies’ profits.”

That approach has held strong in the decades since the Rio Earth Summit. To the point where Christiana Figueres, the executive secretary of the UNFCC since 2010, thought it was a good idea to invite the CEO of Shell to that TED climate event in the run-up to COP26 in Glasgow.

Bruce Harrison died in January 2021, but at the end of his life, Aroncyk spent a considerable amount of time with him. He told her that battling Carson in the 1960s taught him how to transform the climate policy debate.

“He spoke with me at great length about that moment as being a defining moment, because he felt that the big mistake had been not understanding how to communicate with the public,” Aronczyk said. “If you just tried to discredit existing knowledge by saying it’s wrong, you’ll meet with a lot of resistance.… What Harrison understood, and what ended up defining the rest of his career, was in developing public-relations strategies where consensus was the order of the day.”

For Harrison, that also required making his clients—polluting industries—as valid stakeholders as scientists, environmental advocates, or the public. Aronczyk said, “That’s essentially the beginning of the end as far as environmental policy in the United States is concerned, because what you have, if you always have business voices at the table, is a sense of the self-interest of business, which is always going to be at odds with the need to protect the environment.”

It’s a reality we’re seeing unfold right now, as Senator Joe Manchin argues for a coal-friendly “compromise” on climate in the $3.5 trillion Build Back Better infrastructure bill that amounts to stripping out the cornerstone of the bill’s climate policy—the Clean Electricity Performance Program. And we hear it routinely in President Joe Biden’s comments on the subject too. Throughout the Build Back Better discussions, he has said he’s “willing to hear ideas from both sides” to get an infrastructure bill passed.

It’s also an idea that keeps torpedoing international efforts on climate, and that threatens to once again undermine the UN process as world leaders prepare to meet in Glasgow later this month. The inclusion of oil CEOs in events like the TED Climate Countdown in Glasgow is evidence of the fact that the idea Harrison began pushing in the 1970s is still the norm. Given all the evidence we have of what sort of “compromise” industry is after—one that puts profits before the public good—perhaps it’s time to go back to a Stockholm 1972 approach. Forget the “triple bottom line” approach Harrison and his ilk were after. There’s one bottom line here: We get off fossil fuels and live, or we don’t and die.