What is needed?

Some call it the greed at the heart of the capitalist system, others call it the impossibility of infinite profit on a finite planet, still others call it the dead-urge of our entire industrial civilization. What we can - and should - all agree on, is that we are heading towards the biggest disaster in the history of our species.

Most people are still blatantly ignorant about the amount of damage, and the pace at which the destruction continues (we are losing about 200 species every day; clearcutting, fishing, mining, agriculture, mountaintop removal, dams, tar sands, vivisection, fracking, offshore drilling, toxic chemicals, factory farming, etc). Some people have begun to show traits of fatalism ("I can't do anything about it, anyway") or are hoarding supplies to survive the collapse ("preparedness"). Others choose to fight back, in order to limit the damage that will be done by those in power as they'll do anything to defend what they perceive as theirs.

What is needed is sympathy for the latter group. These people are not violent eco-jihadists, or minority terrorists, even though those in power will never stop demonizing them as such. Quite on the contrary. They are feminist activists, who advocate dismantling a violent ideology of masculinity. These are activists that have come to the painful conclusion that dogmatic nonviolence will not solve this problem (but make things worse as it effectively silences true resistance). They are people who care deeply about the future of our planet, and refuse to compromise.

What is needed is a belief that there is still a way out, that we can defy the deadly logic of capitalism and industrialism. What is needed is the slightest hint of an alternative. That seems easy, but remember that the system will do everything to claim anything we come up with for itself, and continue its destructive path: infinite growth of "green" energy (which is double harmful¹), profit-seeking eco-villages, industrial patches to keep the pollution at bay.

Dreams
The power of the dominant culture to claim our ideas and rephrase them in its inherently destructive terms, seems insurmountable. But we will have to try. Never be afraid of sharing your dreams! If you don't share them, the dreams of the ruling elite, the dreams of the CEOs of Monsanto, DOW, Chevron², and their henchmen, the dreams of the power-hungry lobbyists, the misanthropic futurist dreams of the Hollywood propaganda machine, and the dreams of your abusers will define our imagination of the future. We need to stop that. If we want to be perceived as who we are: loving, caring beings who have decidedly taken the side of our planet, against the cancer that is destroying it, we need our "propaganda": we need to nurture the collective dream of a future humanity that lives in harmony.

Dream 1: eco-villages
For most of its history, humankind has lived in villages. Until a few years ago, the majority of people lived in a rural situation. I dream about a future in which humans live together in small groups in permaculture villages that do not consume resources they don't ultimately replenish. The groups are small enough to guarantee social cohesion and large enough to be efficient in terms of the division of tasks. They have access to the collective knowledge about the design and operation of sustainable systems. The villagers are no longer slaves, not to lords, not to kings, not to capitalists. They live free and rejoice. Art, theatre, music, storytelling, these things form the center of social life, not money, career, fashion, and fear. Villages exchange with each other to their mutual benefit. The education system no longer mimics the factory floor and new generations will be more and more estranged from the fear and greed that defined their ancestors.
While I dream, the machine of the enemy has produced poisonous "arguments" to defuse my revolutionary idea.
- It requires some remnants of industrial infrastructure, therefore it is hypocritical.
- It requires a steep decline in human population, therefore it is misanthropic.

How do we react to that? We dream on.

Dream 2: living on the debris
Over time human population will probably decline as there are not enough fossil fuels to feed 10 billion people sustainably. Such a decline can be extremely violent, with peoples murdering each other in resource wars, but it doesn't have to be. Industrial infrastructure won't go away completely. It is important to realize that only a halt in expansion inevitably leads to the dismantling of the system (that's why it is a cancer).
I dream of us living on the debris of civilization. We are comfortable in dilapidated high-rises without television. People are dancing on the rooftops and balconies³. There are too many of us to resettle to the land, so here we are, living a poetic live on the remains of the failed industrial society. We carry to burden of a perceived responsibility for our ignorant grandparents, and carry it with proud. In the center of our community are art, theatre, music, storytelling. Cities no longer destroy and pollute in order to sustain themselves. There are vegetable gardens everywhere. Ducks, chicken, rabbits are the denizens of former factories. Human population is slowly declining as most people decide to have less than two children. Biodiversity increases as nature recovers. There are no wage slaves, no traffic jams, no office hours in this city. There is street theatre, solidarity, sharing.
While I dream, the machine rolls on and has produced even more poison to stop us from even thinking of an alternative.
- People would never voluntarily give up their "wealth" and god-given right to SUVs, therefore it is undemocratic.
- You idealists don't mention safety, therefore it is irresponsible.

But we dream on. In dreams, everything is allowed. And it is time that our dreams enter the collective mind, replacing the toxic dreams of the dominant culture ("when we're done with this planet, we'll go to the next; technology will find a way out through 3D printing and genomics"). What a dream describes is the result of our revolution, not how we get there. Indeed, in the resulting situation crime rates are low, because the violent culture has been abandoned. In the resulting situation, the majority of people have simply understood what it takes to live together, and they have no reason to harm each other⁴.

Confidence
We activists don't know what is going to happen. We don't have all the answers. We are trying to save what can be saved as this destructive culture approaches its sad climax. It is important not to confuse us with those who have an urge for destruction. But we cannot blame anyone for doing so, as ours are very confusing times.

All we ask you is to make up your mind, and try to listen to the voices from our grandchildren, whose birthright it is to be part of a living planet.

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¹Wind turbines, solar panels, and hydropower all rely heavily on an industrial infrastructure. Even the strongest propositions, such as those of Lester Brown of the Earth Policy Institute won't work if energy still has to be transported over thousands of kilometres, is dependent on the destruction of landbases for mining of rare earth minerals, and has to be complemented by 'conventional' energy sources anyway because the sun doesn't always shine and the wind doesn't always blow.

²I can't possibly mention them all. Take the whole Fortune 500. It is in the very nature of a corporation to do harm. There are some elections of the worst company of the year, such as the Public Eye Awards (that honor goes to Vale in 2012). 

³It is certainly possible to live sustainably in a city. See the experiment of Colin Beavan, the "No impact man".

⁴ Even today, the majority of people won't harm each other knowingly (of course the destroy each other by participating in the system). Violence is on the decline, as powerfully demonstrated by S. Pinker ("the better angels of our nature"). This might also mean that our society is capable of a leap of faith from an oppressive police State that produces violence by its very nature to the peaceful coexistence of communities.

July 16. The Cave from my dream.

I am supposed to take the ferry to Vladivostok today, but "due to natural disaster" it has been postponed. I receive the email from the friendly Dongchun ferry employee on time, and I'm happy about it. Now I can go hiking Soraksan with Malia and Andrea. I wonder what the "natural disaster" would have been, but it's probably not a big thing. Everything not directly caused by humans we will describe as a natural disaster for insurance reasons. The crew getting too drunk the other night is a natural disaster, too. We had a laugh about it when we got ready to hike in the famous Soraksan ("rough rocks") mountains near Sokcho. Soft bread with red and green chickpea cream, orange juice, yoghurt.

The hike is great, the mountains even better than I remembered from several years ago. A short busride takes us to Soraksan, a very well-equipped national park with a little entrance fee. The tidyness, the civilized behavior of the Koreans contrasts to the rough peaks constituting the Soraksan region. We get halfway up one of them, and after climbing a steep path and some long metal stairs we reach a small cave with a Buddhist shrine. There are a few monks singing mantras when we arrive. We take off our shoes and I pay the Buddha lip service by kneeling down in front of its statue as I know it from the movies. This spot is amazing, and resembles the cavity I have actively dreamt about in a period of solitude craving. Living up there, overlooking a mountain range, being self-supportive so that only a few trips down would be required each year, writing poetry and books of endless wisdom. That was my adolescent dream and I was surprised as you can imagine by how much this cave resembles my imagination. We take pictures, and we get down, we take the same way back, pass the giant Buddha I forgot to tell you about before, and jump on our bus back.

We sleep late after a game of "risk" in which I did not conquer but a vast region of Eastern Siberia. Tomorrow I will travel there for real. There is a difference between reality and appearance, a difference we may stipulate with subtle remarks and a little bit of the human touch.

April 16. Buenavista Coffee.

Buenavista coffee beans, dried on the ground

Days begin with a cup of Buenavista coffee in a small tienda artesenal and some empanadas to bite on. I look for a place in the shade and write. Today, I work on my novel again, after many weeks. I'm a bit worried I can't repair the narrative anymore and the project might go down the drain. So be it. Nothing is lost. All the words will remain on their spots in the book, the only thing that has changed is my judgement of it. And that judgement is not even important, I mean, not as important as yours. You are free. You can dance on the ashes of my freedom that I am burning away with all the passion long years of submission can squeeze out of a mind.

February 10. Pasteleria and abstractions.

There are very good Pasteleria's in Lisbon, and the coffee is very cheap. I can work fast without caring too much about quality, about what the reader might think. I can't put the bricks of words together when I know what the building must look like. I can't guarantee you the building isn't going to collapse when you enter it. The only thing: I put the bricks together as tightly as I can and I'm not going to make any windows for you.
Soon spring will arrive again. It's true, here I've already seen blossoms and buds. Portuguese spring is early. And spring can change things, or at least nourish the childish vital believe in 'real change'. Obama won his most important contest in the spring of 2008. The idea of a changed life, not only spare parts being exchanged, not only 180 degree rebellion kind of change, but the change of a life that organizes itself around some point that had existed before of course, but never functioned as a crucial joint. If you need an example for such a transformation, I am one. Today I found some old classmates of computer studies. They are all working in companies, as programming experts, CIO, CEO, software developer, JAVA-specialist and what have you, and I envie them in an abstract manner. Knowing who you are, what the joints are, the hinges of your life, and just turning the wheel around, perhaps they dream about something else but at least their dreams are organized around familiar points. Maybe they changed just as much as I did. You can't tell from the outset. I have tried to explain that changing thing but it is like explaining why death has to prevail over life. Proclaiming your own detachment from everything that mattered in the past is a dirty scandal. You shall not begin a new life built on the barren abstractions you forced yourself to attach to your old life.
That night, I did not dream about big trunks of moldy wood that were all warm. Suddenly insects begin to crawl out looking at the spectator with huge eyes, they get bigger and bigger their eyes and the insects, they drag giant bladders behind them, human bladders filled with piss like warm balloons, they drag them out of the wood that breaks apart as they pass. They keep looking at the spectator as to scare him away but the spectator cannot move because he is stiffened by his fear of the crawling roaches. The insects place the bladders near the fresh wood the machine of the timber company just dropped next to the moldy wood. The giant bladders empty themselves over the wood that got all wet and start to rot in front of the spectator's eyes. The fresh wood is already decayed and insects begin to crawl out with their big insect eyes that never close. The carry giant bladders with them and some uteruses too. That night I didn't dream at all. I guess now you know better what I feel than I do.

February 7. Adamastor and the human condition.

In Lisbon don't miss the Miradoura Adamastor. Adamastor, a great Portuguese discoverer, an icon of the empire that has been. His statue looks out over the Tejo now, and there are always young people drinking and laughing in the square of the Miradoura. The sun heated up the scene, a drunk Scottish boy mooched about with a bottle in his hand. I had seen that boy the day before as I sat in a small street café he came leaning on the sunscreen and almost fell on my table. I hid my notebook afraid as I was that he would tear it apart. He made a bad appearance, with a bad smell and bad words. I don't like that. We waited for him to go away. We that's me and the Canadian (Quebecians, real Canadians qui parlent les deux langues) woman on the table next to mine. I tried to provoke me but I sat still and thought what I could learn about human nature from this poor lost bastard: nothing I didn't already know of course, with my bibliotrophic past, but something to be reminded of, like every human being has - even in his lowest phases - the ability to remind us of some truth about our nature. The Scot finally turned his back saying "I am so bored..." He went into the vegetable store at the other side of the street and came out screaming with yet another bottle. Not an easy target for compassion, and frankly I didn't feel like helping him out of his ennui. I had a strange fantasy though about making him write. Forcing him to write, putting a pen in his dirty fingers and wait until the ideas his ego produces to cope with his boredom just pour out of him. It would be pure writing, writing from within the darkness of a human soul, about the purest truth under the scars of language. But he did not write and I'm afraid he never will.

The rest of that day I just wrote, took notes. I hope it will be intense enough. Like strong coffee. So that the dearest reader says "gee, I'll think that over again" or "gee, that page just liberated this small bird within me I carry along with me that puny bird called dreaming" or whatever. But it's a sin to think about your readers too much. If you think about them all the time, you end up writing things they could have written by themselves. And that means they would prefer to write it themselves. Anyway, the writing went on as I intended - that's it: intention, promise in the morning, achievement in the late afternoon, reflective happiness in the evening and creative dreams at night.
We went out that night in the Barrio Alto, had a beer in a small bar for only one Euro, and some Portuguese yellow beans that they serve like peanuts. It took me a while to get used to them. You bite the skin off and let the core pop out into your mouth. I spoiled a lot of beans on the floor, and made some people laugh.