Issue 8 — The Devil and the Wool (Happy Earth Day)
Years ago, as I leaned back against a floor-to-ceiling glass window, my Nonna said to me in Calabrese dialect — "u diavulu un tena pècuri e và binnenn’a lana." The devil doesn't have sheep but sells wool. She wanted me to stop leaning on the window, fearing, as Nonnas do, that the glass would break and I would plummet to my death. This was her very Southern Italian way of telling me that appearances can be deceiving.
I recently finished writing a long story - in print next month - and throughout the process, I had this phrase in the back of my mind. The story, which I won't get into until it's published (stay tuned), is critical of a top-down "sustainability initiative" meant to address certain problems that plague industrial agriculture. It's the kind of "solution" that gives those with money and power many seats at the table (with the excuse that nothing will change without corporate buy-in) and largely ignores affected communities. Initiatives like this are often supported with the justification that at least they're doing something. But in the communities I visited, most people were exasperated that I was even asking about sustainability when there seemed to be no difference between a standard plantation and one certified as "green." If the best- and worst-case scenarios look and function in the same way, where does the solution — for those whose lives and livelihoods depend on it — actually come in?
Now, as I anxiously wait for this story to come out, I've begun to panic that perhaps it's too negative, too critical, too depressing. Not because it's wrong, but because the world just kind of needs a win, right? Maybe I am a Debbie Downer, maybe I am a "doomer," maybe something, as they say, is better than nothing. Then I catch myself. It is not my job, especially with the kind of reporting I do, to be less than skeptical of the narratives spun by corporations, governments, and even initiatives that claim to be making change. Of course, with on-the-ground evidence, there's the potential that a top-down solution might work. But in this particular case, there was nothing to support it. Instead, I've realized that a version of a solution is kind of built into the story itself — in the people who let me into their homes, showed me around their communities, and told me about their lives. Because of people like that — those who speak out, those who resist — I'm actually very optimistic, despite having some cynicism, about our capacity for change. We just need to make sure they're actually given a seat at the tables that matter.
This is perhaps an odd message for Earth Day but I have an inbox full of press releases touting solutions that reinforce oppressive systems or others that address absolutely nothing. Small solutions matter. But so does intersectional, systemic change. Every day is Earth Day. Just don't forget about the devil and the wool. 🌏
For Earth Day: a triptych of my home in Australia. (L-R): Red desert in the Northern Territory, Tasmania's Cradle Mountain-Lake St. Clair National Park, Victoria's 12 Apostles along the Great Ocean Road.
Thank you for reading this somewhat short edition of Defender. Sometimes concision is best and given that I have a few longer and more frequent newsletters planned for next month, I wanted to first pop back into your inbox with a quick hello.
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Rage On. ❤️🔥