Julianne Lutz Warren 5000 words firstname.lastname@example.org
NEW WILD OF GENEROPIA: A HOPE OF EAARTH By Dreama Mordasay Draft of 11-19-16, Adapted from tale told at “Stories of the Anthropocene Festival,” Stockholm, Sweden, October 28, 2016
Introduction: Legacy 500 The story of Utopia tells what Raphael Hythloday, a Portugese traveler, told England’s Sir Thomas More about his five years living in this well-constituted commonwealth established back in 244 BC. Since its 1516 publishing, Utopia’s intriguing tale of right living, rightly, has circulated widely. Although, curiously, no one yet has mapped out the island’s location. So, when Raquel Savetheday, a reluctant professor, recognized Utopian descendants upon her unexpected arrival to an island—though not their native one—naturally, she jumped at the invitation to stay. What she learned was so compelling she had to share it. At the end of her world tour, I met Savetheday in New York where, flatteringly, she entrusted her tale to me—Dreama Mordasay—a plain, but conscientious citizen. I am almost ashamed to say how much time has since passed, although my task was simply to copy down Savetheday’s straightforwardly-told tale. As 2016 whizzes by, I must no longer hesitate. My recorder malfunctioned at our earlier interview, but, as someone once said, I would rather tell a lie than make a lie (More). So, though I distrust my memory as much as my wit, I have relied, exactingly, on my own remembrance, rather than dare be wily in this re-telling.
Chapter 1: Dispersal Here is Savetheday’s story: Looking back, she told me, about a century after More’s publication, the Utopians had hosted so-called Merchants of Light from another hard-to-find commonwealth called New Atlantis. While these stealthy visitors gleaned excellent manners of justice-promoting customs, husbandry and cloth-working from their hosts, the Utopians, by paying close attention, learned of new medicines from the strangers, and also of experimental methods for extracting nature’s secrets to develop more innovations from the nature of their own island. The Utopian people thus advanced not only in making remedies for sicknesses, but also in developing soils, plants and animals more perfect for their people’s uses and in building irrigation works, mining, and harnessing ancient buried fossil hydrocarbons to fuel all manner of clever machines, vastly enhancing the labors of their serving-people, the consumption of all, as well as communication networks and weaponry. As peace-loving people, the arms, they intended, would inhibit violence rather than enflame it. Courageous, with a strong intersecting sense of self-preservation and global justice—for these ends—Utopians unhesitatingly lent their hack-proof secret armaments to hired soldiers. As a consequence of technological improvements, the nation’s population grew faster than anyone imagined. Utopian cities swelled beyond their prescribed numbers. Multitudes through the whole island exceeded the due number, stressing aquifers and soils. Though Utopians essentially were contented people and against border-expansion, the New Atlantean mission always had been to enlarge Human Empire. As the latter did so, imperial-scientific inventions continued to spread, world-wide, including into gold-gluttonous societies. An unintended consequence of consumptive land-use changes fueled by burning coal, oil and gas—as Utopians were among the first to consider—was a rapidly warming Earth (some called the planet by a new name, Eaarth, it was so altered) melting ice, raising sea levels, encouraging storms fiercer than any chronicled in their long-millennial history, inundating coastlines. So, to thin out growing ranks further pinched by shrinking land area—albeit unenthusiastically—Utopian magistrates asked citizen-volunteers, in smallish groups, to infiltrate far-flung geographies. Although, as all knowingly faced, there was no place not already overburdened by people. Most of the volunteers were eager young, ripe with well-cultivated graces and the will to make the world a good place.
Chapter 2: Trainings Imagine all the people…sharing If the whole island nation of Utopia is likened in scope to the new moon, that of the Island of Firebrands or Generopia—the name the young emigrants gave themselves—compares with the full moon behind thick clouds. It was, in fact, through such a thickness, Savetheday continued, that I, an older Gen-X-er, first landed on this island just ahead of Superstorm Sandy. Here, too, as around Utopia’s coast, sea levels had risen, lifted even higher by the orbiting tug of Earth’s satellite on this night. Just hours before the eyewall with flooding storm surges, said Savetheday, I was welcomed into a circle bearing a banner of pink parachute silk messaging END CLIMATE SILENCE in bold black letters. We were standing in Anthropocene Square of Generopia’s most vibrant city—New Wild. A twenty-something woman with wide-open eyes named Sophia, Savetheday continued, explained how we needed to move together to keep the banner horizontal and bring it into the scope of an Earthcam overhead, which flashed our image onto a huge screen, surrounded by huger screens beaming bright, eye-catching ads for Coca Cola (please recycle), Fox News, and musicals called Mama Mia and Scandalous. Crowds of people loaded with bags rushing toward underground trains heading for shelter, yet kept their eyes upturned on the splashy lights. As did I, said Savetheday. They were, in fact, entrancing. But, the most engrossing thing, she went on, was seeing myself in the camera’s eye larger than life, as being seen by all these people. It went right to my head. When a pony-tailed woman I had not yet met saw what was happening, she snapped her fingers to get my attention, cleared her throat, and started singing. All in the ring, looking across at each other, joined in: Hurricane in October Climate silence must be over…
Above us only sky… Imagine no possessions… # Imagine all the people Sharing all the world…(Lennon) # Yet, Savetheday said: I felt a very real force at work—without my permission, to own me—my attention—indeed, to arrest each of us in the round. Surely avoiding this would require, if not violent combat, some other kind of defensive tactics. So, Savetheday said, she asked Sophia: Are we meaning here somehow, perhaps, to imagine no possessions—no possessiveness—while becoming self-possessed? This launched Sophia’s explanation, which Savetheday reported to me, of how Generopians’ Utopian forebears believed that protecting the many from the exploitation of the few and everyone from pushy outsiders, required eliminating privacy—instituted in unlockable doors, minimal unscheduled time along with bans on unessential work, personal property, permanent residences, subversive assemblies, impromptu and solo traveling—and also required strongly enforced political borders. By the time of Generopians’ births, however, it had become evident that some actual outworking of national sequestration absent sheltered realms for citizen’s respective discretions opposed Utopian intent. That is, the exposure of individuals—being without hedges—shied liberty of mind. Yet—being walled into the state—bolstered others-engulfing self-importance. In other words, with private gone, public also lost distinction. People had trouble distinguishing I and you, rock, bird, narcissus flowering, sun and stars merged into the same thing. Everyway they turned, people saw only themselves longing for themselves—mirroring their nature—a crowded, unconscious desperation, an echoing hollow, barrenness. The shared terrors of this oneness of home-un-making alienation transformed citizens into a venal mass more, not less, vulnerable to a welling ardency of witless despotism, though despotism nonetheless. Those with the most cavernous wants, by the wily strength of insatiable hunger, rose to power by muzzling fearful truths with false promises of growing national prosperity equaling security to an unwitting populace while unleashing fears of persecution by unswallowable outsiders that unleashed persecution of them. With mind-inhibited innovation, Utopian workforces merely updated fossil-fueled machines to help keep doing the same thing—to rapidly consume their own and then others’ commonwealths’ fruits, while entertaining the people with virtual reality. Savetheday rehearsed: Then, they shit out all they’ve overeaten, Stevie, a sprightly Generopian interrupted Sophie.
At least until the island—our world—runs out and overflows with sewage, Olive added.
Yeah, or atmospheric greenhouse gases sizzle everyone, Sophia pronounced, ironically: Here’s to THE GRAVE HUNGERING! We—are—in—debt—ed!
Still holding the round banner, Savetheday said, my young friend continued: Sharing all the world doesn’t mean participating in planetary ruin any more than to imagine no possessions means holding no responsibility. With care comes voice, which is why we are holding this banner, and why we started singing when we did. We must also play and laugh. These are forms of awakening resistance against a totality of dumbness. We must lure our own minds from where they’re tempted to hide while also feeling our way—not to overpowering—but to resonating with one another.
Look to the sky, not to the screens, spouted an elfin woman called Sirkus.
Because we have collective problems, we must respond collectively, Gregor noted, but without falling into old traps. We are re-perceiving boundaries, co-creating harbors of ourselves interweaving with all remaining, our hope expanding. Hope is the sun-warmed whole planet—-the real home that also occupies each and all of us.
Generopians heartily agreed that their Utopian ancestors got this right, Savetheday stressed—it was love that knit their “fellowship of nature,” though the new youth stressed evolution’s diversity-emancipating force and included all, but not only human beings.
Nursery of Ancestors Even I, a newcomer, Savetheday continued, was staggered by what New Wild was like in the flooded aftermath of the superstorm: without electricity—darkened—low on gas—traffic-quieted, but sirens screaming. I also was full of questions about this idea of sanctuaries of interrelationship-caring transforming a despotized, life-threatening world. So, I was grateful when a few Generopians invited me to join a strategy meeting in their Lenape-Potter’s Square Park. The name remembered the first people who had lived on this island before the violent take-over by Europeans who colonized this ancient creek-land—fecund with red maples, oaks, butterfly milkweeds, monarch butterflies, green frogs, yellow perch, black-crowned night herons, with the Lenape, passenger pigeons, wolves and deer, and deerfield soil over Manhattan schist—plowed it to cropland, then, a common burial field for the poor, a site for executions, and a military parade ground in a world-pervading city, in an electrically-urbanizing world. A later mish-mash of new Americans—immigrants from all over the planet—turned the area—now growing one huge English elm, sycamores and Asian cherry trees, lawns and flower gardens, sidewalks and a fountain—into an urban park. The Generopians considered this a good place for conversations between living and dead. As we sat down, Savetheday said, I watched a red-tailed hawk kill a grey squirrel on the ground. A blue jay harassed the hawk who waited for him to wear out before flying into a sycamore with her meal. From a low bough, a white-throated sparrow sang—sing-sing-ing- sing-ing-ly-sang. The Utopian ancestors of the Generopians had interpreted divine mysteries in the patterning of bird feathers, but scoffed at anyone claiming to do so by their voices. Yet, they believed that their human dead spoke among the living. Utopian fears of ancestral ghosts gave them authority. Bolinda, a woman with thick, black curls, explained that her self-assured cohort still respectfully conversed with their forebears, but now dared to rebuke the haunting past by refusing to continue abusive habits. Generopians, too, adopted ancestors beyond nuclear families, tribes, races and political boundaries. They also extended kinship to all forms-birds, insects, trees, even rocks and sun. They also listened for the unborn. As we sat by late-autumn’s seasonally-drained fountain, Bolinda encouraged those gathered to listen for the gurgling calls of the extinct pigeons. For generations flocks of millions had roared through here, an inimitable thunder silenced—as were Lenape and hosts of others—by hostile 19th-century farmers and market hunters. Bolinda encouraged us each to hear—in their lost voices—the living passions and prospects of death that we all share—well up in our own—answering back:
…the end is, grace—ease—
healing, not saving.
singing the proof
the proof of the power within. (Snyder)
I interrupted the poetry to ask Savetheday: Do Generopians go along with Utopian forebears’ belief in a creator of light and truth with power to rend the universe and mete justice for vicious or virtuous actions after life, encouraging the latter in the living? She didn’t know, but guessed that at least for some, some mystery of such religion holds sway, though one that has learned need from the skies for peace-loving justice here, on the ground, now, today.
Good Vibz After more singing, continued Savetheday, Constance introduced herself as guardian of New Wild’s #goodvibz working group. She suggested the circle move inward until our bodies touched. Everyone, please, she asked, without words—with your eyes only—move a neighbor to smile. This resulted in a lot of laughing. (I wiggled a lot in discomfort at first, but then hooted right along, Savetheday admitted.)
Then, Lizzie passed around dumpster-rescued fruit and bagels to chew on. # Next, Prija, wearing owl glasses as puzzlemaster facilitated the whole assembly considering: What should be the next steps in our resistance to the heart-breaking system in which we find ourselves unwillingly embedded? For newcomers, Prija rehearsed history—how a devotion of gold-amassers’ globalizing monopoly on everything from farming to education, marshaled even the most principled New Wildings into their inflating wealth economy. The Generopians generally disdained this, as had their Utopian ancestors (although unsuccessfully)—valuing people and life-sustaining land-health over money. I, again, interrupted Savetheday, asking: Hadn’t the Generopians emigrated from one unfortunate extreme into another—that is, from a voracious void of not owning—even one’s self (that is, having become merely a self-reflecting image)—into a cranny of selfish society now besieged with private hoarding? Savetheday nodded, reiterating how the former had grown a whole lot of self-absorbed zombies muzzling fearful truths with the desperate lie that the more they consumed, the safer and more secure they’d become, without limit. Whereas, after infiltrating their new geography, Generopians discovered how a ruthless competition for personal riches empowered a neo-Ruling Elite. The more winners in their survival-of-the-fittest game—“by hook or crook” took—the more winners could and did take, liberally. A privileged few (mostly white and of European descent)—by the rules of natures’ reckonings—thus forced everyone, fossil fueled—the public, all beings—into a polluted, disappearing commonwealth—another pyrrhic oppression. Savetheday picked up her narrative: Loli, a red-lipped woman, raised her hand to get on the list of speakers. This taking stack was Generopian non-hierarchical process, encouraging each, even slow cogitators and timid, to share their voices. When her turn came, Loli launched into explaining an #artworkinggroup project dealing with, in her words, as recited by Savetheday: climate change’s psychic impact on we, the people who love many things about this world who recognize the urgency of mutual healing in the extreme weather, in other people who are right now unjustly suffering, in the disappearance of species and cultures and places. We want to keep that selfless, outward spirit alive, but we also invite you to turn inward with self-care. The tangible and possibly devastating impacts of greenhouse gases will manifest as we age… (Jusidman) I admit, said Savetheday, drifting off, that only tenderness gave me strength enough to choke back words rising in my throat. I am so very sorry, I wanted to say, that until all people are as good as you, there is no place for an in-between-unmade-home-and-hoarding justice. Generopian participation in a singing resistance—your hope of Earth rising in human beings—overpowering empowered human imperialism is, I barely kept back saying, merely a well-intended, impossible wish.
Chapter 3: To Remedy the Madness In any event, who would want to discourage Generopians from forging ahead?
In the old days of Utopia, as Sophia explained, according to Savetheday, it might have seemed possible to fail at helping others to get out of the rain while contenting yourself with dryness, morally, so to speak. In the Anthropocene, however, withdrawal would not only help bring down the roof on yourself, but make droughts and storms worse for everyone. No human was an island, no island an island, no sanctuary, really, unless one envisioned Earth’s whole ecosphere as a special cosmic case. They had to keep trying. So, the Generopians of New Wild, and also of the other cities into which they’d dispersed, chose, Sophia went on, as a world-community-of-local-communities to take a far lesser risk. They would chance becoming laughing-stocks by escalating efforts to expose the foolishness of cultures of despotism and of Ruling Elite (which I can’t easily tell apart, a short-bearded youth named Jakee admitted) to the citizens of Generopia’s bordering and interpenetrating nations. The venal oppressed seemed most unlikely to rally soon enough, though goodness might lie latent in them like the life in a seed. Likeliest allies—mutual ones, readied—were those squeezed into poverty alongside those sleepless for knowing them, and who, like Generopians, were knowingly, unwillingly and grievously—some even inculpably—woven into the dominating system. Indeed, many people never had been duped into ruining land and burning fossil hydrocarbons to overconsume—in particular, those of indigenous lifeways. Many, too, were mistreated, often violently, as of the wrong religion, with unwanted skills, or in the wrong skin, as children, women, and as LGBT and/or Q, and haunted by histories of enslavement, still enslaved. These included a remnant of Zapoletes (some had emigrated with Generopians) whom, long ago, Utopians had hired to fight and called foul and stinking. All such injustices intersected in a philosophic principle—to deny a freedom which is interested in denying freedom (de Beauvoir)—resonant with an ecological one—a diverse, co-evolving biota must be whole to be healthy (Leopold). The Generopians, that is, believed not only in human rights and rights of others, but, in perpetual contemplation of what was morally right in a complexly interwoven world community-of-communities, and doing it. From their Utopian ancestors, according to Sophia, Savetheday told me, New Wildings retained an utmost regard for education. So, it was natural to look in the academic arena for ways to lay bare the sickening folly of the 1%, as the Rulers also were known, who controlled learning institutions as part of their system. They invested fees collected from students in fossil fuels—the industry most responsible for climate change—which was undermining the future possibilities of their students—fees from whom Elite’s institutions depended upon—to flourish. This snowballing of meltdown consequences made no prudential sense. It was immoral, unjust, to willfully continue, interrupted Sumra, a young woman wearing a head scarf, as Savetheday recalled. It was evident, she added, that this immorality—the injustice—was the fundamental frustration—outrage—of Generopians plus allies, including the Graduate and Black Student Unions, the Incarceration to Education Coalition, the Native American and Indigenous Students’ Group. No Generopians imagined that divesting from fossil fuels alone would keep carbon in the ground, nor end the madness. But, as part of a self-organizing movement strategically linking complementary, non-violent actions for dissembling heartless totalities—mobilizing climate-sensible technologies, re-crafting legislation, freeing ecosphere-health-resonant economies…imagining... After this conversation, Savetheday remembered that Sophia and a few others had slipped away. An elder helper dressed brightly in orange was handing out orange balloons. The group formed another circle with spokes intersecting around the fountain into an orange hub reading DIVEST! in black letters, while singing:
…Golden living dreams of visions... Let the sun shine in… (5th Dimension)
Our action could be viewed, if not heard, Savetheday said, from the high rise office window of the University’s president. Constance explained that New Wildings’ #insidegameworkinggroup had gone up to remind him of the overwhelming majority of students and faculty—supposing themselves participants in democracy—who had voted, overwhelmingly, for this financial change of course. Yet, he and his advisers had gone on refusing. I disrupted Savetheday’s story yet again to wonder aloud: What point is there in speaking truth to those convinced they gain from falsehoods? What point to weave a most compelling story, while competitive self-interest of the opposition twists others to their own? What point, then, if the adversary turns blame on those blaming? If not madness, it must be a harrowing naïveté to believe in the possibility—to get what one wants without force—of reviving latent shreds of authenticity in those whose rapacious pride foremost prizes money. Shaking her head, Savetheday resumed her tale: A flushed woman named Kelp arrived to report the education higher ups’ response, she said. First, the president claimed the school already had done enough—supporting energy efficient lightbulbs, a new generator reducing greenhouse gases, faculty researchers lecturing on climate change. When the unflappable envoy of Generopians remained unconvinced, the Board’s head tried gaslighting: the New Wildings wanted divestment, he accused, from an industry they considered morally reprehensible while they were warmed and transported by its products. Dropping her notes, Savetheday recalled, Kelp lost it:
End: Escalation I want to scream! I want to scream my anger and fury and cry with my frustrations and hurt!...People would think I was the crazy girl…Well that’s f*&%ed up…! (Davis)
One after another stood up and joined in the wailing until they wore out, Savetheday reported. A long-faced youth walked off muttering he’d join the school sustainability club. Another, eyes full of tears, stayed on, but suggested trapping administrators in their soaring elevators. They should cut the cable, she insisted. Others vehemently disagreed. I feared a fight might sever the group.
Instead, doggedly, the Generopian New Wildings gathered thrust from anger and pain, converting emotions to unyielding yet alluring tactics. They moved inside to sabotage the executives’ lift’s purpose by occupying it with their bodies and message: Rise with us (to the height of the seas).
Seeing my eyebrows go up, Savetheday said, Mica, an older Generopian, whispered: Every participant in direct actions goes through non-violence training (breaking, again, from Utopian tradition)—now kicking in.
Then, in a soaring voice, Kelp announced: Escalation is becoming bolder, more firm, more present, releasing our learned caution while being respectful because we must be the change we want, or we will be the next oppressors. Escalation is exercising our voice on behalf of ourselves and others’ who can’t because we must and we can. Our silence here today would mean unconscionable consent, complicity.
I am RIGHT there with you! shouted Sophia. You framed it in a perfect way. We are not the crazy ones. They are. If we can all be grounded in trust for one another and united in indignant love, for humanity and earth, we’re empowered over fear and greed. I know we will win. (Lasoff)
Those gathered started singing. Even newcomers joined in, including a few faculty—such as Drs. Petra Anchor, an unusual ecosphere historian-gardener, and Teach Wherego, a poet of protest with an arrest history for disorderly conduct—-with world-of-possibility pluck. But, mostly it was Generopian voices harmonizing: The people gonna rise with the water; we’re gonna shut this crisis down. I hear the voice of my great-grand-daughter…
And, they just kept going, Savetheday recounted. Sitting down together, again, someone resumed taking stack. Lilex, a bouncy youth of #momentumworkinggroup, suggested another self-teaching retreat, this one to encompass deeper digging into social justice history, a refresher on economies of ecosphere health, intersectionality, the worsening keep it in the ground math of climate change, climate-sensible do-ability, practicing transformative story-telling… There was ready consensus to proceed. For anyone interested in planning the retreat, Lilex concluded, I’m sending around a doodle poll…
A couple of weeks later, said Savetheday, after a regular Sunday meeting of New Wildings, I volunteered to help with zine-folding before their big drop. It seemed the least I could do. Then Savetheday handed me—Dreama Mordasay—a copy of a very short, self-published, pocket-sized booklet that I now pass on (see Ancillary Material)—a miniature of this miniature of a Generopian story, as New Wild’s and other small-but-growing communities are organizing in linked nooks of a global one—where a resolve of just relations is to release into gen-regenerative communion what must persist in private for possibilities of public self-Earth-healing for generations to come. Savetheday seemed weary (as was I). So, I invited her to join me for a nourishing supper. Alas, she had other plans. That was the last time I saw her, though I still had many questions to ask.
Zine: (pasted below as a separate document)
Appendix: From Loli Justisgood to Raquel Savetheday passed on, by permission, to Dreama Moredasay for publication: Greeting, by iPhone text, 3 October 2016
I read your story about us as written down by Ms. Moredasay. I love her ambient descriptions. It’s bringing into the aesthetic so many emotions that we have inside!!
Dreama Moredasay sends her text reply to Loli Justisgood, 3 October 2016: I’m so glad, and so very humbled! Since it is most truly your peoples’ story, your opinion naturally means most!
From Professor Ecckit Opian to Dreama Mordasay by Email, 27 October 2016: Greeting
What a read you have given me, dear Moredasay. I am now more than ever sad that I am not going to see and hear the tale's performance at the Stories of the Anthropocene Festival coming up in Stockholm. (I am guessing from the bracketed cues in the unpublished draft you first sent that there are further multi-media materials that you will introduce in person?) It's quite a tale, and as lovely coincidences would have it, I had a chance to further explore New Wild impressions over this past weekend with a bright Anthropocene philosopher, Dr. Luvings Introuble, who was here from New York for our conference on what ties times together. I would love to talk with you more about this, if you are able to get here to Philadelphia for our gathering on useful institutions for strategic transformations, which I very much hope you might. There are many here also in Lenapehoking, and many who, inspired by the spread of Generopian tales, have joined the still-growing Fossil Fuel Divestment for Climate Justice Movement whom I’d love for you to meet. Sly and moving work all in one, friend, what is not to love.
Dreama Moredasay to Professor Ecckit Opian: Email Reply, 15 November 2016
You have made me blush, friend Opian. I merely have repeated what Savetheday so vividly remembered and told me. I wish that both my memory and my wit were far greater, so that I could have carried this story far better. In spite of my faults, I was happy to hear recently from Saveteday herself. She kindly passed along a generous New Wilding response to our co-operative tale-telling. She also told me the happy news of her return to live with their community—to stand with all Generopians in their network of caring solidarity—to continue learning from and working side-by-side with from hereon. Savetheday said this very humbly, as she also reminded me that it was the least she could do given the grave, unprecedented challenges with which her own and past generations had embedded these youthful island refugees. And, as we all know, uncertainties have all the more deeply darkened in the aftermath of recent elections. We might now feel our selves awakening into a nightmare of good tales not told well enough, if not good enough, to win over an evil one so well told it needeth no other solicitor, as a wise person once said (More). From this nightmare we may now feel we cannot awaken. Yet, we must. The truth is, I find myself seriously considering a move to New Wild, if only I can find it, and, of course, if they would have me. I asked Savetheday to draw me a map, by the way. So far, her only reply advised following all the signs pointing toward them. I will keep you posted as this potential journey may determine whether or not I can join you very soon in your own loving city, which I would very much like. Then, too, a visit will depend upon finding a responsible way to get there. You see, even if I can’t join the Generopians immediately, I intend to live more like them starting right where I am, and that will take some organizing. Frankly, I’ve also heard rumors that more of us might end up hurt and imprisoned for doing so. One never knows. With so many working so hard, though, I can hardly just stand by. Tumbling my tun must be a lot better than doing nothing, though I am simply a plain citizen. Yes, I am quite sure of it.
A Few Key Sources Francis Bacon (ed. Brian Vickers). The Major Works. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.
de Beauvoir, Simone. The Ethics of Ambiguity. Philosophical Library/Open Road, 2015.
Davis, Kelly. Email to NYUDivest@googlegroups.com. October 11, 2015.
The Fifth Dimension. Aquarius/Let the Sun Shine In. Treasury Collection, 2014.
Haraway, Donna. “Anthropocene, Capitlocene, Plantationocene, Chthulucene: Making Kin.” Environmental Humanities (6) (2015): 159-165.
Harrison, Robert Pogue. The Dominion of the Dead. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005.
Jusidman, Lola. Email to NYUDivest@googlegroups.com. October 21, 2014.
Klein, Naomi. “Capitalism vs. the Climate.” The Nation November 9, 2011 at https://www.thenation.com/article/capitalism-vs-climate/
Lasoff, Sophie. Email to NYUDivest@googlegroups.com. October 11, 2015.
Lennon, John. Imagine. Track 4 in A Salute to John Lennon, Suite 102, 2007.
Aldo Leopold (ed. Curt Meine). A Sand County Almanac and Other Writings. New York: The Library of America, 2013.
Lewis, Simon L., and Mark A. Maslin. “Defining the Anthropocene” Nature 519 (12 March 2015): 171-180.
McKibben, Bill. “Global Warming’s Terrifying New Math.” Rolling Stone July 19, 2012 at http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/global-warmings-terrifying-new-math-20120719
McKibben, Bill. Eaarth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet. St. Martin’s Griffin, 2011.
Merwin, W.S. Migration. Port Townsend, WA: Copper Canyon Press, 2005.
More, Sir Thomas (transl. Ralph Robinson), Utopia. Pages 1-148 in Susan Bruce, Three Early Modern Utopias. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.
Pachauri, R.K., et al. “Climate Change 2014: Synthesis Report: Summary for Policymakers” IPCC Report, 2014 accessed January 25, 2015 at https://www.ipcc.ch/pdf/assessment-report/ar5/syr/AR5_SYR_FINAL_SPM.pdf
Potts, Rick. “Being Human in the Age of Humans.” National Museum of the American Indian (Washington D.C.: Smithsonian Institution), Winter 2013: 27-31.
Swimme, Brian and Mary Evelyn Tucker. Journey of the Universe. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011.
Snyder, Gary. Turtle Island. (New York: New Directions Books, 1974).
Very Special Thanks To NYU Divest for their dogged love and intelligent instruction.
To NYU Divest members for permission to share their distinct likenesses, including Lila Carpenter, Alex Dahlberg, Kelly Davis, Lola Jusidman, Sophie Lasoff, Costanza Maio, Michael Leone Priya Mulgaonkar, Olivia Rich, Belinda Rodriguez, Jacob White.
To the whole whole climate justice community of NYC and beyond—I hold so many of you in my heart.
Zine folding instructions