I was getting out of town, getting away from my computer and the onslaught of destructive news. I decided I needed to do something that hurt, because hurt is something that will be a part of our lives and it was good to get familiar with pain. It was good to practice gritting teeth.
Hurricane Ridge is over 5,000 feet above sea level in Port Angeles where I started — about an 18-mile ride.
I’d chalked Love Trumps Hate onto a sidewalk down below, and the small defiance felt shamefully unfamiliar to me. I have to practice that too.
Within two miles of climbing, I felt the sweat trickling out of my armpits. There was my faint nausea and the weakening in my legs. So soon?
Rain was falling, and soupy fog cut visibility down to a 100 feet.
The message that the red and blue maps had fed me was powerlessness. They spoke of circumstances, beyond control, someone pushing me down, of being tied up while a murderer goes out to commit atrocities. Like so many Americans, I craved feeling strength again.
Pushing past the weakness, I felt a second wave of energy. I knew I would. I wanted to somehow make the effort stand for something, to push against the gears or even turn back time. But I was just cycling up the hill.
Many seek the outdoors as a form of escapism, but I looked around and I saw responsibility instead. Never mind whether my legs would endure for the long climb ahead — how would everything else endure? Our country? The planet? My faith that good will triumph over evil?
The trees, ferns and wildlife around me weren’t disconnected from the unfolding crisis. Their realm is also threatened as global warming marches on, as strange weather patterns take hold and fire, flood and plague ravage the ancient ecosystems here. There is no escape for anyone on a planet connected by climate. A president who denies climate change is dire news for the sickening earth.
The lies of this election have been bad for this wild place. The politics of fear were no good for the stands of sitka spruce, because they put a man in office who couldn’t give a damn about trees. Inequality in America threatens the glaciers on Mount Olympus, because it enables corporate pillagers to cut the biggest piece of the pie and tell the workers they’ll get their slice after they drill more oil and dig more coal.
The legacy of racism was here too as I considered the logging, mining and damming that happened throughout this country after white settlers wrenched it out of the hands of native tribes. The protests at Standing Rock are one in a series of confrontations in which the people with the strongest ties to the land have defied the fossil fuel industry’s attempts to despoil it. Now their fight will be that much harder.
Those who have least in this country feel the most pain when the storm smashes through the levies, when the heat wave ravages the city, when the drought kills the crops, when mountaintop removal fills a valley or when companies are looking for cheap real-estate to bury waste.
When I think of the fight to stem the destruction of the planet, I think not only of the need to install more solar panels and windmills, but also to improve upon how we participate in democracy.
States like Maine, which have installed ranked choice voting on candidates, spell hope that voters can empower third parties without throwing their votes away. An end to Citizens United, would mean less corporate money going into the elections, so that the politicians aren’t financed by fat cats. It is also fair to take a hard look at the Electoral College and decide whether a resident in a rural state should have more voting power than someone in a city. We need a stronger press with more articles that push back against climate denial and other fictions— not simply regurgitates a candidate’s talking points.
Journalists should candidates more than just token questions about climate change (after they’ve spent the bulk of a debate talking about the economy.) They should ask about the fact that we are in the midst of the largest mass extinction since the end of the dinosaurs.
Voters need to realize that they are not separate from the fate of the biosphere that feeds us and gives us air to breath. They do have power to influence the future.
Yes, the crisis demands that we slap down new pipelines, deny coal ports on the west coast, terminate leases on federal land, but the battle is more than a battle against fossil-fuel corporations. We must look at ourselves too. We need to insert environmental responsibility into our personal code of ethics, and expect those who are close to us do the same.
Faced with a new government that is unlikely to take responsibility with the task at hand, individual responsibility is all the more important. Perhaps it is the greatest power we have left.
Taking such responsibility means people first acknowledge how our consumer-driven lifestyle has been trashing the planet. We should feel guilty when we turn the ignition in our cars to go somewhere that we could have reached by bus or bike. We should carefully consider vacation plans that involve flying around half the country or half the world, and probably reconsider for something closer. The planet would benefit if more people went vegetarian or vegan to reduce the amount of land it takes to support their existence. More local food. More gardens. Such proposals may sound draconian compared to the options that wealth and consumer goods have brought us, but if we are serious, these and more should absolutely be a part of the equation.
Nor are such decisions antithetical to the Pursuit of Happiness. Fulfilling this American dream absolutely means that the jobless and the disadvantaged should have access to healthcare, education and dignity. I do not, however, believe in reckless pursuit of bigger houses, larger cars and rooms full of consumer goods. In fact, this pursuit has led to more unhappiness, because of the debt, clutter and waste that comes with these things.
It’s better to focus on cultivating meaningful relationships, with friends and in the community. This idea recurs in several of the environmental books that I’ve been reading lately, from writers like Naomi Klein, Bill McKibben and in The Story of Stuff, by Annie Leonard.
Studies have shown that people have fewer close friends on average now than they did in earlier decades. Perhaps this is why we crave more things to fill our lives, and why we demand more comforts that come on the back of the environment. Such isolation can also explain why we feel less safe in our cities and have a hard time understanding those around us.
We know now that social media can provide some sustenance to our disconnected lives. It also promotes isolation and echo chambers where it’s easier to talk to someone from across the country than it is to talk with someone across the street. Trump has risen out of such divisions and from the distrust that we have for one another.
Too many of us live lives that value competition over cooperation, where the best throat cutter rises to the top. It is not the best model. Consider that Trump has cut plenty of throats to get to where he is. What else should his supporters expect he’ll do for them?
We must deal with this poisonous thinking.
We will connect, not just on Facebook, but in person, ready to offer emotional support now and ready to stand together later. “Join or Die” was one of the memorable mottoes of the American Revolution, and it is once again imperative that we follow this example, look past differences and unite ourselves. We should reestablish ties to those we are close with and dare to reach out to those that we don’t know so well. Such networks will help us support ourselves, provide a place for us to act with purpose and power and create strength to resist his policies.
On my climb to Hurricane Ridge, I pedaled alone, fighting my way up through the mists. If I pushed myself, it wouldn’t even matter if there were no views or that it was going to be a cold, wet, ride down. I knew that I did have strength I could use. I was not powerless.
I had made the climb alone and it was alone that I started down the winding road, squinting against the wind as I fell out of the mountains toward the town. There I would find others like me, still trying to understand their place and to decide what to do next. That was where there was the real work to do.