Towards an Ecology of Impulses

I wasn't a political teenager. Anti-authoritarian and anti-conformist for sure, but that spirit in me never quite translated into any kind of political disposition. If anything, it had its outlet in playing fast, loud, angry and, in retrospect, downright dreadful music. As well, it manifested in general teenage buffoonery (prank calling televangelists and hitting on them live on air; wearing an Elvis jumpsuit to my high school prom). But I never felt compelled towards politics in the same some of my more radical peers were.

I grew up in the age of Clinton, of course. And as a teenager, blowjobs weren't exactly the radicalizing force the Vietnam War or Civil Rights Movement had been for generations prior. He had his crimes for sure, but sedated as we were by general domestic stability, very few of us could tell tell you the difference between Kosovo and Kokomo, Serbia and Siberia. All that changed in 2003, the year George W. Bush invaded Iraq. For the first time in my life, I began devouring news, reading history, attending Young Democrats meetings and generally taking an interest in being, well, partisan. Eventually I graduated from the Young Democrats and became a card carrying member of Socialist Party USA (literally–I still have the card stored away somewhere). I devoured the works of Eugene V. Debs, learned the fine distinctions between libertarian socialism and left-libertarianism, subscribed the IWW newsletter, and penned sanctimonious letters of anti-global-capitalism-war condemnation to the editor.

I'd begun having my first taste of belonging to something–something with a telos, something with a goal in sight, something outraged by injustice, that believed righteous judgement would eventually be exacted if we just fought long and hard enough.

But that's not where the real pleasure was. The real pleasure was in now possessing those dispositions while pledging allegiance to and being welcomed by a group that was generally marginalised, mocked, pro-scribed from polite political conversation.

It was sometime in 2004, I believe, I participated in my first march in Washington DC, billed as the largest in US history since the Vietnam War. On a cramped, stuffy bus, rented by our sending organization, I and a platoon of other socialists, a ragtag motley crew of dispossessed hippies washed ashore from the a bygone era, freaks, lunatics, saviors-in-training-and-Birkenstocks and other assorted anti-imperialists made the 770 mile, overnight pilgrimage from Gainesville, Florida to Washington D.C. to bring an end to that crime against international law, against the Iraqi people, against Humanity.

Being amongst hudreds of thousands of fellow marchers, fellow travelers, all united with a single mind and single purpose, it was unlike anything I'd ever witnessed–much less anything I'd ever experienced. And so we marched and so we marched. Without stopping for lunch, for a break, for anything. We were on a mission from God, though we were staunch atheists the lot of us, and we were fighting a Holy War against an Illegal War. I cannot remember if we encountered any hostile counter-protestors, but if we did, I'm sure we'd have been happy to martyr ourselves for our cause.

****

An element of religion is present in nearly every political movement, as far as I can see. And it was certainly present there that day. The entire socialist movement to which I'd been dedicating my efforts and time was wrought with religion through and through. Indeed we believed in a primitive utopia, an Eden of sorts, in which no hierarchy of man existed, in the existence of abundance and plenty for all. Indeed we believed a bite of a Monsanto apple of sorts–the advent of Capitalism–precipitated Man’s Fall into current growing inequality, into the toiling slavery of the working man. And of course we believed we'd redeem the planet, restore Heaven on Earth, atone for the sins of others (not our own, of course), free man from his shackles to live free and serene. Peace and plenty for all once again, that was our motto.

We were led by our own divine heroes then. For myself, it was Eugene V. Debs. For others it was Michael Moore or Cindy Sheehan or Noam Chomsky or Sean Penn or Rosa Luxembourg or Emma

Goldman or Susan Sarandon. Michael Moore was certainly the most prominent one for a while at least. And his anti-war documentary, Fahrenheit 9/11, which served as a rallying cry for us in the socialist and anti-war movements, even contained its own religion narrative of sorts. I still recall the scene he chose to show of pre-war Iraq, before the Fall of American bombs: Families walking together in the park, parents pushing their children on swings, ethereal, child-like innocence and tranquility. Another Eden of sorts. ****

Today, it seems, the war isn't against a pariah state. It's against the planet, the ecosystems, the air and water and creatures and ice caps. The climate itself. And, unlike the Iraq War, it's not being waged by any one country (essentially), but by all nations (essentially).

So a new anti-war movement has sprung up, this one global in nature with its energies and outrage likewise directed globally. Please don't assume I'm incorrectly identifying the Green Movement as a recent phenomenon. Of course it's not. But it seems to have a taken on a new vitality in recent years, a vitality I've not seen in a movement since those Iraq War protests. And the Green Movement perhaps demonstrates the greatest degree of secular religiosity of any political movement I've seen since the fall of the Berlin Wall. Some days ago, meditating on the situation, I concluded:

Discussions of the climate crisis have left the realm of science (where it belongs and where it will be solved) and entered the realm of religion.

One's positions no longer deem them "right" or "wrong", they deem them "good" or "evil" -- unequivocally religious language. Moral worth is determined by token gestures -- paper straws, reusable bags, Facebook shares -- and demuring is labeled as sin.

This entire discussion is wrought with the language of religion: references to a lost ecological utopia -- an Eden of sorts; prophesies of an imminent apocalypse (floods and fires and famine); angelic, sinless saviours named Greta descending upon social media and walking (or yachting) on water, issuing edicts of damnation and salvation; bushes ablaze across Australia issuing forth divine commandments.

“I am your earth, your creator, and thou shalt not...”

The Friday marches are very much like liturgical masses, complete with fire and brimstone sermons, monk-like chanting and fervent proclamations of belief and devotion.

The religious implications of this discussion are palpable and unavoidable. And they need to be addressed.

****

A shallow analysis might dismiss the modern Green Movement as mere Millennial Gaia-worshipping Paganism. But this is a lazy assessment, shallow hand-waving away of something imminently more profound. No, the modern Green Movement is not an incarnation of Paganism, though it doubtless contains self-professed Pagans amongst its supporters. And no, the modern Green Movement isn't only marketing for Green Techn industries, though it is that too. It's something much more significant. It is pointing us somewhere, I earnestly believe. Relieved of my initial discomfort with Greta Thunberg's performance at the UN (which is not to say I disagree with her analysis, only her prescription–much in the same way I now feel about Marx), I am able to take a step back and see in these Green Marchers my former self, marching upon the Washington Mall to end the brutality ascending upon Iraq in the form of cluster bombs and depleted uranium and white phosphorous and whatever untold chemicals the War Machine devised to most efficiently eradicate life.

****

They, like I, are starving for not just community–but communion. For wrongs to be set right. For the restoration of truth and beauty. For absolution. For a blessed future.

For a return to a childhood lost.

Truth be told, what is more green and pastoral than childhood? And what age is most free of drudgery and toil than childhood? ****

My own marches on Washington DC as a child had very little effect. In fact, they had no effect at all. The war continued for over another decade. In fact, in different shapes, it still rages today. And it shows no sign of abating.

No wonder then, when, shortly after the march had begun, mid-chant, I suddenly fell silent and went mute. I found myself unable speak their slogans, agree with them as I might.

For mobs, being made of broken people as they are—those crusty old hippies washed ashore, those savior-in-training-and-Birkenstocks—are always flawed and susceptible to outside influence. And for this reason mobs are easily made into monsters. The marching, the chanting, the righteous fury which I first experienced as divine ecstasy transfigured into something different. I won't call it terror, but I will call it trepidation.

I recognised that which each chant, each incantation, a part of myself dissolved into the undifferentiated biomass of marchers. And this process was unfolding across the entire swelling army of activists.

This was no longer about addressing injustice—this was about self-satisfaction, or more, the satisfaction of losing oneself in something fierce and formidable.

****

Over time, my Socialist Party USA membership card was removed from my wallet. My voter registration card soon followed. Over time, I lost my faith in politics. And I went back to my old ways of general irreverence, this time on another continent. Perhaps this is where this journey began, then. With a loss of faith of sorts.

Indeed, shall we tally the failed attempts at restoring Heaven on Earth?

I trust you're well read, my friend. I needn't recite the litany.

Shall we tally the ways in which we seek corporal communion?

I trust your imagination, my friend. I needn't think for you.

But even knowing the inevitability of its failure, we continue building those houses of cards, those houses that could never stand. ****

From whence does this impulse come? And why can we not bury it to never be found?

Is it integral to us in our humanity?

Must its fulfillment to be found in something much higher?