Pretty Heady Stuff

Mark Stoll teaches American environmental history and American religious history at Texas Tech, where he also serves as director of Environmental Studies. Stoll's latest book is an environmental history of capitalism, Profit: An Environmental History (2022). From the publisher: "Profit — getting more out of something than you put into it — is the original genius of homo sapiens, who learned how to unleash the energy stored in wood, exploit the land, and refashion ecosystems. As civilization developed, we found more and more ways of extracting surplus value from the earth, often deploying brutally effective methods to discipline people to do the work needed.Historian Mark Stoll explains how capitalism supercharged this process and traces its many environmental consequences. The financial innovations of medieval Italy created trade networks that, with the European discovery of the Americas, made possible vast profits and sweeping cultural changes, to the detriment of millions of slaves and indigenous Americans; the industrial age united the world in trade and led to an energy revolution that changed lives everywhere. But when efficient production left society awash in goods, a new sort of capitalism, predicated on endless individual consumption, took its place.This story of incredible ingenuity and villainy begins in the Doge's palace in medieval Venice and ends with Jeff Bezos aboard his own spacecraft. Mark Stoll's revolutionary account places environmental factors at the heart of capitalism's progress and reveals the long shadow of its terrible consequences."

Sarah Marie Wiebe is an Assistant Professor in the School of Public Administration at the University of Victoria whose research and solidarity work focuses on community development and environmental justice. When we last spoke on the pod, we looked at her writing broadly, but this time around we're marking the release of her fantastic new book Hot Mess: Mothering Through a Code Red Climate Emergency, from Fernwood Publishing. Hot Mess is a remarkable book, giving readers a nuanced effort to navigate a temporality of disaster, whether the slow disaster of air pollution or the searing trauma of wildfire, while working to manifest the kinds of caring relations that could safeguard the future. It's not an impersonal text, in the sense that it's not afraid to let in the emotional avalanche that the lived experience of crisis implies. What happens in and after the moment an emergency is declared? How is the decision made and an emergency response sustained? Sarah's book isn't concerned with these questions in the abstract, it offers a detailed account of exactly how and why emergencies are declared, and with what effects. The main crisis, and it is really many crises, that Wiebe takes on in Hot Mess is, of course, the all-encompassing climate crisis. Focusing on the feeling of raising a child in the content of an approaching climate breakdown, Hot Mess lets the reader try to come to terms with the reality that “climate change,” Wiebe tells us, “affects all stages of gestation for mothers.” We talk about her fieldwork for the book, her defiance of certain norms of academic comportment (especially during her difficult pregnancy), and the question of which medium could potentially function the most effectively for communicating the uncanny impressions left by climate impacts.

Ava Val is a comedian, actor, writer and musician based in Toronto. She's made multiple appearances at Just For Laughs and The Halifax Comedy Festival, and recorded stand-up sets for CBC Gem, Crave TV, and CTV. She has a weekly podcast of her own called PodGis, which is a great place to get a taste of her high energy, clever comedy. Val released her debut special, So Brave, earlier in the year. The special coincided with what Val called her 3-year “hormoniversary,” or the third year she'd been taking hormones as part of an ongoing “mid-life crisis,” in her words: that “crisis” is, of course, the joyful but uncertain journey of trying to align one's core gender identity with one's outward gender presentation. In this conversation, we talk about how the trans community, and more specifically trans comedians, can equip themselves to contest and defy the hateful, ignorant transphobia that is surging alongside the rise of right populism. We also talk about why the theme of bravery has some connotations that aren't particularly flattering, and the level of bravery required to stand on a stage and demand the attention of people who are there to laugh, but who also arrive, presumably, with some openness to the kind of comedic storytelling that challenges the audience as much as it amuses them. Val and I discuss what it means, in that moment of performance, to balance entertaining a crowd with being true to your sense of self and aware of your own vulnerability. I really respect Val's radical honesty, which I told her the first time we spoke for the podcast. Now, with the special out, we were able to dig into the way she writes and structures the material, the relationship she has with the audience, and with comedy as a profession. I hope the conversation, like Val's special, offers an access point for people that may not know about how awesome and original contemporary comedy in Canada can be, and especially for people that don't yet have a sense of the ethics and politics of comedy that is deeply queer.

Andreas Malm works in The Department of Human Geography at Lund University. He's a scholar of human ecology and environmental history and has written several books, including The Progress of this Storm, Fossil Capital, How to Blow Up A Pipeline and White Skin, Black Fuel. Wim Carton works in the same department as a human geographer. The main focus of his research is the relationship between society and nature and how society-nature relations are informed and changed by ecological crisis. Right now he's writing about culture, political economy and climate action, with a special emphasis on the promises of carbon removal. In this conversation we talk about their new book Overshoot (https://www.versobooks.com/en-ca/products/3131-overshoot), the first of two books about the state of the climate crisis and the question of whether cutting emissions from fossil fuels is a purely technical or primarily political challenge. The second book will be called The Long Heat, which is a title that gives a name to the era that we are now entering, where powerful state and corporate interests continue to block even meagre climate action, making loss, damage, suffering and, basically, mass sacrifice seem inevitable, even somehow normal. Now, after the election of Donald Trump to a second term as US president, it's clear that “the days of thinking that the US will ever be a reliable partner on addressing global warming are over,' in the words of New York Times reporter Coral Davenport. It's hard to maintain hope in this moment, and that question of hope is something that comes up a surprising amount in Overshoot. Malm and Carton are suspicious of the palliative rhetoric of hope in the climate movement and how it tends to inoculate more active feelings of anger, frustration or grief. That said, they are a lot more suspicious of the rhetoric of hopelessness presented by those who are resigned to 1.5, 2, or 3 degrees of global heating. Overshoot is based on the notion that, since there is no reasonable hope of cutting emissions in time, we have to plan, now, to hurtle past our climate targets and pray that technology, adaptation and a little bit of luck will let us, after we've blown our carbon budget, bring things back within the realm of safety. The deferral of the burden is clear, but Carton and Malm break it down in a way that explains more fully how overshoot allows fossil capital to endlessly defer stranding its assets, to completely avoid any real disruption. This means that, as Wim puts it, resource radicals and ecosocialists who see a massive transformation as the only way forward have to bet, now, on the possibility of “rupture” as a response to business as usual. As this episode drops, representatives at COP29 will be debating whether or not to pick up their dismal efforts where they left off at COP28, when fossil fuels were finally identified as the root cause of the climate crisis after decades of dicking around. This absurd situation is captured nicely by Wim: “nothing really happens and we're constantly adding more and more carbon to the atmosphere.” which means that, by definition, “we're actually… going to exceed these targets.” Whether we're ready for it or not blowing past the targets will come with extremely severe risks. Malm says the “only way to avoid the [situation] spinning completely out of control is to go after the drivers of these disasters, and that is the constant, ongoing investment and reinvestment in fossil fuels that is happening everywhere.”

Jennifer Wickham is a filmmaker and a member of the Gidimt'en Clan of the Wet'suwet'en people. In 2012, she moved home to defend her clan's territory against multiple pipeline projects, and especially the aggression of Coastal GasLink. Her work on the documentary film Yintah is the main focus of our conversation. Yintah is about the Wet'suwet'en fight for sovereignty, and like some other documentaries that depict that fight, there is, in the film, a powerful dream of freedom for Indigenous people and an end to the war against nature. Yintah is now on Netflix (https://www.netflix.com/ca/title/8192...) after striking a deal with the streamer that will see it reach a broader audience. I was thinking about what it means to distribute a film like Yintah, which challenges the legitimacy of the Canadian state and Canadian law, on a platform like Netflix. The goal is strategic, of course: leverage the sites of power that are currently available. But the strategy is maybe more self-reflexive than it seems: in this interview, Jennifer talks about her conviction that people who identify as allies with the Indigenous nations that are resisting neocolonialism aren't always conscious of what that declaration of solidarity means. From Wickham's perspective, a more powerful and lasting movement of settler allyship would involve a more authentic commitment to collective survival and a sense of the sacrifices that entails. This film is beyond sobering. It exposes the continuum of tyranny imposed by the RCMP on Indigenous peoples. It demonstrates how corporate greed and the collusion of the state are creating a kind of asymmetrical war over the land itself, and energy, at a time when we understand better than ever that the only way to address the climate emergency is to leave oil and gas in the ground. Don't develop it. Stop killing the Earth and the people who are most connected to it. I do have to acknowledge my own complicity as a white settler in Canada, and how even wanting to be correct on these issues, the desire to express solidarity in the right or best way, can work against decolonization because it gives us a sense that, at the discursive level anyway, we get it. Actions speak louder than words, and the direct action represented in Yintah is a source of inspiration for anyone that feels the battle against fossil capital is sisyphean.

Alder Keleman Saxena is an environmental anthropologist whose research looks at the links between agricultural biodiversity and food culture, especially in relation to nutritional health in the Bolivian Andes. Her collaboration with Anna Tsing, Feifei Zhou and Jennifer Deger for the online Feral Atlas project is an absolute gift to anyone concerned with ecology, but specifically from the perspective of reckoning with the impact of human activity on the planet. The book that came out of that digital adventure is called Field Guide to the Patchy Anthropocene: The New Nature, a riveting book that sets us up with a variety of different ways of approaching the destruction of nature and its disastrous consequences. Alder's chapter in the Field Guide is focuses on a patch that is very familiar to her: Flagstaff, Arizona, and the erratic ways that market capitalism is changing the demographic make-up of Flagstaff at a moment of increasing climate peril. This conversation about climate migration into Flagstaff takes us into the topic of housing, capitalism and climate impacts, the problem of how to communicate and contextualize climate disasters, and the question of how something like a field guide can encourage us to actually dwell with the idea that human beings are both a “geological force” and a “world-ripping” one.

Robert Neubauer studies the media strategies of Canadian environmental and pro-resource extraction social movements, with a focus on populist discourse and public mobilization around proposed energy infrastructure. He is currently a Post-doctoral Researcher and Limited Term Assistant Professor in the Department of Sociology at the University of Victoria, where he teaches on contemporary media studies and climate politics. In this episode, Robert and I chat about how an effective communication strategy for rallying the public in support of climate action really needs to validate the public's concerns about things like affordability and health care, while also emphasizing the urgency of the climate crisis. The way we do that, he says, is to create an effective political “container.” I get the sense that the phrase “a big tent” applies here. I've been hearing from a lot of people that expanding the tent, when it comes to transformative changes to infrastructure and to our lifestyles, implies the need to communicate the everyday benefits of climate action, while also being realistic with audiences about the severity of the risks we face. If we fall short in our efforts to convince folks that a radical reset is required – so, if we can't figure out a way to undermine the cultural importance of the automobile, for example – then we're in even more serious trouble than the science tells us we are. That's because a creeping fatalism is forcing a lot of people to court the idea that it's too late. Neubauer says that nihilism is potentially more dangerous than far right populism. Robert unpacks the idea of petro-populism here, which is still a concept that I struggle with a bit. I find Neubauer's way of bringing this idea into conversation with the notion of “cultural capital” really helpful. Robert uses this famous idea from Pierre Bourdieu's work to talk about how petro-populism expresses itself and how it has secured such a prominent place culturally and politically. Neubauer gives us a way of critiquing the propaganda of petro-populists like Ezra Levant, whose ability to manipulate a sense of pride and feelings of national belonging have proven to be remarkably effective. In response to the pull of nostalgia and easy answers, the Left can't focus on its standard techniques of shaming and allyship. Robert feels like these are now simplistic strategies that go nowhere. Resisting the stunting effects of facile forms of solidarity or public shaming is all about accepting real responsibility for the work of decolonization. The constraints of a carbon-intensive society make it hard to imagine any alternative to the way things are, but things are changing nonetheless. As companies with skin in the carbon game realize they need to aggressively brand fossil fuels as an integral part of our lives to maintain their normalized status, the climate movement is positioning itself to counter with a totally different relationship to energy.

Alice Mah is Professor of Urban and Environmental Studies at the University of Glasgow. Prior to this, she was the Principal Investigator of the European Research Council-funded project “Toxic Expertise: Environmental Justice and the Global Petrochemical Industry.” Her work focuses on toxic pollution and environmental justice. She writes about social and ecological transformations and is always trying to develop anti-colonial ecological futures. Cara Daggett is an associate professor of political science in the Department of Political Science at Virginia Tech. Her research explores the politics of energy and the environment. One of the things she brings to this conversation is her shrewd sense of the overlap between human well-being, science, technology, and the more-than-human world. Cara is known for bringing feminist approaches to power to bear on understanding the ways that global heating emerged, and how it can be combated. Her book The Birth of Energy (https://www.dukeupress.edu/the-birth-of-energy) has become essential reading for anyone who wants to understand how the acceleration of everything and an ideal of productivity were normalized: the underlying logics that inform today's uses of energy. In this conversation, Cara and I ask Alice about her recent book, Petrochemical Planet: Multiscalar Battles of Industrial Transformation (https://www.dukeupress.edu/petrochemical-planet), which is an incomparable study of the petrochemicals industry at a time of planetary collapse. One of the toughest-to-crack aspects of this ultra-toxic industry is the fact that it is basically impossible to simply replace petrochemicals in the global economy. There is basically no way to produce them without fossil fuels and virtually no method of decarbonizing the shadowy production practices involved. And the petrochemicals industry is the #1 industrial consumer of fossil fuels globally. Whether it overcomes that feeling of being overwhelmed or not, Alice and Cara think that the way forward is what they call “multi-scalar” and “multi-temporal” action. If we're going to save some portion of the Earth we've ravaged, it will mean being able to think and feel and act outside of the very short-term timeframes we're accustomed to in a system that incentivizes and rewards corporate plunder. Can we imagine forms of “multi-temporal resistance” and start “building things” on different timescales? For the Earth to heal from extractivism, we'll have to. This will require a much deeper sense of duration and what Alice describes as an “extension of empathy” across eons.

Allie Rougeot is a climate justice activist and program manager at Environmental Defence Canada where she advocates for a just energy transition. As a speaker and facilitator, Allie talks to people about the escalating climate crisis and the solutions we can use to fight the emergency. In this conversation, we discuss the path she took to doing this work. Allie says it really started with working in support of refugees and in defense of human rights. The way this influences her approach to climate action is fascinating. It has given her unique insights on the challenge of crafting popular climate policies, ensuring that they're equitable and fair, and a powerful sense that, because “climate change will create a threat to everything that makes our lives possible,” we are called to resuscitate our struggling democracies in the interest of forcing the system to actually support social life. I resonated most with her feelings of anger as she searches for climate justice. The way Allie puts it is that she is “driven by anger, more even than hope,” and this is because of the “knowing” destruction and suffering being perpetuated by the fossil fuel industry. In her words: “mass suffering was [and is] enabled by… a handful of people that will not bear the consequences.” There's an emphasis throughout this conversation on how we can incorporate knowledge of the way the project of colonization sought to extract resources and annex Indigenous land. We see the continuation of this plunder today with the environmental obscenity of the Alberta tar sands and the tailings ponds, which represent the largest impoundment of toxic waste on the planet. This sprawling sea of poison is unequivocally an act of environmental racism. Rather than allowing these realities to overwhelm us, though, Allie says that we need to take our feelings of anger and urgency and use them as a turning point. Unfettered energy consumption is creating planet-wrecking carbon bombs and adverse health effects. This needs to be linked, now, with a rejection of extractivism as a worldview.

Dr. Ingrid Waldron should not need an introduction. The leading voice on environmental racism in Canada and author of There's Something in the Water, Waldron has built a reputation for being unusually skilled at working with and within community and at reading the social landscape for fluctuations in the way that power works. She is the HOPE Chair in Peace and Health in the Global Peace and Social Justice Program at McMaster University and both the founder and director of The ENRICH Project, which has been a crucial source of organizational strength, culminating now in a series of funding announcements and some serious policy changes as Environmental Justice Bill C-226 is debated in Canada's parliament. Ingrid's commitment to public engagement and to publicizing the fact of environmental racism has made a huge impact in Nova Scotia, but it's also been an inspiration to people globally, in part because of the success of a 2019 Netflix adaptation of There's Something in the Water. Waldron's radical definition of environmental racism is, as far as I'm concerned, the most precise one: she describes it in terms of the “white supremacist use of space” and explains how the “white supremacist use of space manifests in the disproportionate placement of polluting industries in Indigenous and Black communities.” From that powerful definition, Ingrid develops an argument that leaves a mark by detailing how the fact of environmental racism is rooted in “boundary-making practices that create social hierarchies” and why environmental racism is related to “other structurally induced racial and gendered forms of state violence.” This all has a history, and that history matters because it manifests itself as a combination of ecological destruction and social violence. We talk about how “racial capitalism” influences, and in some cases even determines, the politics of places like Nova Scotia and Flint, Michigan, which have seen intergenerational struggles over how polluting industries get sighted. We also discuss Indigenous sovereignty and the wisdom of Indigenous land and water protectors for thinking more expansively about health, wellness and treatment of the body's ills. While the language of holistic medicine has been wholly co-opted, Waldron looks to reclaim and recover the concept, reminding us that “This includes all of the medicines the land provides, as well as social relationships with family members and the wider community.”

Catherine Abreu is a world-renowned climate campaigner whose work focuses on creating coalitions to take real action on climate change. She is the founder and executive director of Destination Zero, which—to quote their website—”partners with networks and other non-profits seeking to expand their work on climate justice, with a particular focus on accelerating the global transition away from fossil fuel dependence.” Catherine was appointed as one of the advisors to Canada's Net-Zero Advisory Body in early 2021. She also serves on the strategic advisory committee for the Global Gas and Oil Network and the steering committee of the Fossil Fuel Non-Proliferation Treaty Initiative. Destination Zero has been foundational to the creation of the important Beyond Oil and Gas Alliance, as well. In this conversation we talk about Abreu's experience of COP28, the health of our democracies and whether they're up to the task of accomplishing the massive and mandatory shift to clean energy. We look at the culpability of Canada in the climate crisis and the level of responsibility that culpability therefore requires as we move into a future that is likely to be environmentally very unpredictable and dangerous. How can the climate movement gain more traction? How have we kept fighting in spite of so many setbacks and blockades produced by private industry and governments? Part of it, I think, is a sense that the struggle is just and it is urgent. As some of us wait on incremental change to repair -relations to the Earth, others--like Catherine--keep pushing for an ecologically rational disruption of the system that could create a series of chain reactions and ultimately the kind of lasting change we've been told is absolutely necessary to protect the world from anthropogenic climate change.

Darin Barney is a professor in the Department of Art History and Communication Studies at McGill University. He has written some really impactful work in communication studies, and received several awards for his academic work. He is a member of the Petrocultures Research Group, the After Oil collective and Future Energy Systems at the University of Alberta, among other groups. Jesse Goldstein is an assistant professor of sociology at Virginia Commonwealth University. He is a printmaker and has been a member of numerous art collectives, including Space 1026 in Philadelphia and more recently the Occuprint Collective. His current research focuses on the political economy of green technologies. Hannah Tollefson is a media and environmental studies scholar who works on questions of ecology, economy, and infrastructure. She studies how territory is technically mediated; the work of infrastructure in shaping relationships of place and scale; and the politics of energy transition. She is working on a project with Darin about contemporary efforts to develop oil sands bitumen for non-combustion uses and to devise formats for transporting bitumen in solid phase. Her work has appeared in a number of academic journals and anthologies. This conversation is focused on the reality that there is a surprising lack of friction between the fossiil fuel and the cleantech industries. Rather than posing a threat to the domination of everyday life by fossil fuels, we're seeing the ways in which compartmentalization of climate action and the diversification of portfolios is leading to a wholesale corporate capture of the future for energy, or, we should say, for fuels. In the case of Darin and Hannah's writing, their research has taken them into the boardrooms of companies that are vying for a place in the market for solid state bitumen products. With Jesse's work, there is a focus on how greenwashing as we know it has evolved into an ideology of only valuing innovation and imagination within narrow market terms, even when the innovation in question is devoted to cracking the climate crisis. In both instances, there is, in this critique of capitalist enclosure of clean energy or emergent forms of fuel, a sense that actually those that are involved in contemporary entrepreneurialism do want to have a positive social impact. The issue is that, as Jesse argues, the narrowing of innovation under capitalism means that these sorts of entrepreneurs are more or less obligated to concentrate their energy on doing well financially, rather than doing good socially or ecologically.

Abboud Hamayel is a Lecturer in the Department of Arabic Language and Literature at Birzeit University. In this conversation we talk about a number of his recent articles, and think through the implications of the October 7th Al-Aqsa Flood, or the attacks led by Hamas within the so-called Gaza Envelope. Abboud has written some invaluable pieces breaking down the assumptions people project onto Palestine in the West, on the complicity of the United States, in particular, in the ongoing annihilation of Palestinian society. Those essays are absolutely essential for thinking through and acting against the settler colonial violence being perpetrated in Gaza. The conversation here is relatively long, but extremely focused. There's a concentration on what can be done that should be useful, but Abboud also offers a really rigorous theorizing of the foundations of occupation and settlement. He understands how the occupation affects life and politics in the West Bank, and that reality is something that I think we need to grasp more thoroughly.

Sherene Seikaly is Associate Professor of History at the University of California, Santa Barbara. She's the editor of a number of academic journals, including the Journal of Palestine Studies. She's also a policy member of Al-Shabaka and the Palestinian Policy Network. As a historian of capitalism, consumption, and development in the modern Middle East, she has an overriding concern with how individuals, groups, and governments use concepts and material practices to shape the body, the self, and the other. We're at a point now where the death toll in Gaza has climbed to more than 30,000 and yet we still can't expect an end to the merciless, genocidal attack on Palestinians by the Netenyahu regime in Israel anytime soon. A team of researchers from the London School of Hygiene and Johns Hopkins University just released a report called "Crisis in Gaza: Scenario-Based Health Impact Projections" that says we can still save thousands of lives by establishing a ceasefire that would allow the delivery of humanitarian aid as Gaza is throttled by Israel. It describes the situation by saying that, "In case of a ceasefire now, we would be saving around 75,000 lives." That means that a continuation of the military assault on Rafa will lead to a humanitarian catastrophe at an unimaginable scale. In this terrifying moment, I spoke with Sherene Seikaly about her sense of the roots of this overwhelming, punishing violence in colonial logics of dehumanization. It comes from civilizational hierarchies that have already been established to secure colonial relations and render whole populations disposable. It also comes from silencing and denial. In Sheren's words, there has been a “repression of people calling for Palestinian liberation” that allows the untold horror to keep happening without the resistance and rage that could end it. For a long time we have been in a situation where “knowledge itself,” she says, “has become a target of war.” This “epistemicide” means there is no relationship between politics and the truth in Israel, there is a tacit encouragement of the genocide by American imperialism and its agenda in the region, which lets the US continue arming Israel with no conditions whatsoever. This obscuring of the reality of genocide, and the jubilation with which settlers are making Gaza unlivable, is forcing Sherene, she says, to question everything that she thought she knew about the world or the notion of a rules-based international order. We talk about her book Men of Capital, which is an untold history of the Arab world through the lens of Palestinian statehood. She says that “Maps are actually violent processes” of colonial and state formation and fundamentally “constructions.” She explains why Palestine contains “an abundance of lessons” about the future we're heading toward. But we start with the question of the Palestinian child, the eviction of Palestinian people from the category of the human, and the spectre of a violence that aims to erase generations of Palestinian people that have not had a chance at a life.

Nadia Yaqub is Professor of Arabic Language and Culture and at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Her research has examined Arab medieval literature and contemporary oral poetry, as well as modern prose fiction and visual culture. I spoke to her about three of her books: Bad Girls of the Arab World, which is about women and transgression in the Arab world, Palestinian Cinema in the Days of Revolution, which is an invaluable study of Palestinian resistance through the lens of Third Cinema, and her most recent edited anthology, Gaza on Screen. I learned a lot in this conversation about humility, opacity and the limits of solidarity across distance and across gaps in exposure to vulnerability. Yaqub has a deep understanding of the politics of the so-called “humanitarian image,” which is something she is very conflicted about in her work. She asks whether humanitarian images of Palestinian suffering “are always depoliticizing or victimizing, or whether the depoliticization occurs through the inherently ideological frameworks in which such images circulate.” I ask, as my first question to Nadia, what that idea of the framework means in the current moment, where Palestinians are limited in using artistic practices to demand freedom. I think a lot of us are wondering about the political forces that exist around the overwhelmingly terrifying images we're receiving of total war being waged on Palestine's civilian population and infrastructure. Nadia's insight are really helpful here. There's this idea in her work that the visual practices of Palestinians make up what she calls an “image archive of steadfastness.” Steadfastness is a core value in Palestinian culture. Yaqub is picking it up in a unique way to say that, especially in terms of art and storytelling, steadfastness is about trying to sustain a sense of community. There's power in this idea for thinking about the role that communication plays in providing the conditions for political sympathy with Palestinian liberation.

Jeff Karabanow is Professor and Associate Director in the School of Social Work at Dalhousie University. He has worked with homeless populations in Toronto, Montreal, Halifax and Guatemala. His research focuses primarily upon housing stability, service delivery systems, trauma, and homeless youth culture. I want to say, first, that right now we don't even really know how many people are currently experiencing homelessness in so-called Canada. The number could be anywhere between 150,000 to 300,000, according to the Homeless Hub, a research centre at York University. That is too wide of a range. What that range says is that our system cannot see unhoused people. The tools we are using—for example, Homeless Hub is using AI now to predict that the number will swell to over half a million people by 2030—the tools we are using to measure and respond to the problem are fundamentally broken. One of the big themes in this conversation is the idea of vulnerability, or rawness. It's clear to anyone who is paying attention that the people who are living unhoused are vulnerable. They're vulnerable to extreme weather, to so-called “deaths of despair,” they're vulnerable to violence, among other forms of harassment and precarity. But the other side of vulnerability has to do with those of us who are housed, and who are buffered from the serious social issues that exist right outside our door. Much of what Jeff does is about breaking down barriers. The visible and invisible barriers to radical social change that keep the solvable problem of homelessness in a state of perpetual disaster. We break down those barriers in this conversation: they include systems of policymaking that exclude first voices, academic research practices that don't authentically include a community-based aspect, a reticence about cultivating what Jeff calls “caring, authentic spaces” in a world that sometimes punishes us for trying. Engaging with everyone is really what's required to get answers pushed into place, but that means looking seriously at the hierarchies, the opaque strategies of exhaustion, that privilege some and punish others. It also means taking seriously the effects of our histories of colonialism and racial capitalism that are about extraction and exploitation of the land and people. I know it's a lot, but that is where the language that Jeff uses for outlining the problem becomes so valuable. At the heart of it is just this idea that, actually, housing is the “foundation of… healthy, dignified living.” As much as he gestures to the importance of being raw and real and letting emotion be an acceptable part of political communication, Jeff is also really emphatic about the fundamental question of dignity and dignified living, which is the crux of recognizing the displacement of people onto the streets by an unfeeling system as a clear and present disaster. People shouldn't have to show their resilience the way this system makes them. People need homes, they need subsistence, they need a proliferation of spaces where a strong culture of care exists. They do not need a system that seeks to silence and sideline them, push them aside. Maybe the most striking thing that Karabonow explains in this conversation is that the solutions are simple. What's complicated is the matter of building the relationships necessary to influence policy. This is why he drives home the fact that political action is crucial, collective struggle is important, making sure we're using tactics that move people is essential. Because, in his words, “homelessness has always been a disaster.” When that disaster is visible, that is the time to act with a sense of urgency, but even and especially when that disaster is invisibilized, it is still time to act with a sense of urgency.

Veronica Post is a furniture maker, teacher and an award-winning graphic novelist based in Nova Scotia. She's written two graphic novels so far, published by Conundrum Press; the books are part of a planned trilogy focused on the trials and tribulations of their title character Langosh and his trusty dog Peppi. The first two titles, Fugitive Days and Hot to Trot, are journalistic explorations of Veronica's experiences that think through the realities of war, history, migration and trauma. In this conversation we talk about Langosh, Peppi and Yeva: Hot to Trot, an adventurous, ponderous romp that takes the reader across the United States on a tour not only of different spaces and cities, but also the characters' emotional lives. The book is a thoughtful study of how relationships evolve often through friction. I thought the friction that came out of differences people had about specific social issues was really relatable. People argue about religion, about capitalism, about the crisis of unhoused people that has spread like wildfire since the outbreak of COVID. There are triumphant moments, too, where splash pages take us into heroic moments of women leading with care, people connecting over their shared outrage, and linking up in spite of significant differences to be there for each other. It's a great book. It's also beautifully drawn. Veronica has a real eye for landscapes, and because Hot to Trot is taking you on this big adventure, she has an opportunity to capture all kinds of different sunsets, spaces and methods of movement. People don't stay in one place very long, and the characters in the book have a pretty restless attitude toward time. Especially Langosh. Langosh doesn't want to think about the future, but the future has him. He can't avoid it. But this isn't his fatal flaw. Veronica reveals what that is, from her perspective, in this conversation. If you read the book, though, you'll pick up on it. It's a lot of fun, but it's also really full of sympathy, speculation on how people work (or don't work) as social beings, and some of the ways that time takes us through a meandering path toward something like realization and connection.

Gideon Levy is an Israeli journalist and author. Levy writes opinion pieces and a weekly column for the newspaper Haaretz that often focuses on the Israeli occupation of the Palestinian territories. He's won numerous awards for his writing on human rights abuses in the occupied territories. Levy is known for insisting that being an Israeli patriot requires one to be critical of the occupation. When he said recently that he has never been more ashamed of his country, he was defending his country against what he sees as an increasing tendency toward fascism. It must be unbelievably difficult to stay the course and speak from his conscience about the scale of the violence Israel is perpetrating in Palestine. In fact, Levy says it feels “exasperating to write from this perspective and not have the impact he would like. He still maintains that “words are on the front line” of this struggle. How the violence is understood and what can be said has a significant impact on what sort of violence is permitted. So, too, does the form of resistance. Levy maintains that “If the Gazans were sitting quietly, as Israel expects them to do, their case would disappear… from the agenda.” This is a people that are waged war against within an occupied territory enclosed by a wall. Why is there a boycott against the occupied rather than the occupier? His writing is incredibly useful for people that want to understand the strategies of the Israeli leadership, which often uses provocation and assassination, a kind of brinksmanship designed, he suggests, to renew the license for widespread destruction and pacification of the Palestinian people. In this sense, Levy says that Israel “the peace objector.” Israel has imprisoned Gaza for many years, blocked them off from the sea, the air and the land. It regularly uses “violence and force” to subjugate Gaza, rather than coordinating a just withdrawal. Israel should not be “amazed,” Gideon says, “by the violence and hatred that [it has] sowed with [its] own hands.” The response has not been an attempt to understand the root causes or to reflect critically on its complicity. Instead, the IDF is waging a war on the civilian population, showing “contempt for the lives of Palestinian children” in its pursuit of “vengeance.” This collective punishment is forbidden by international law, and at the current moment, and likely for several years, Israel will be on trial for genocide at the International Court of Justice. Increasingly, the world is opposed to the Zionist regime in Israel and knows that there can be no military solution. Forcing an understanding of that into Israeli consciousness is extremely difficult, though, Levy says. In his experience, people in Israel are not bothered by the “moral aspects of the war.” This is why he has shifted toward focusing on the security and pragmatic reasons why this genocidal bombardment, this fascist fixation on punishing Gaza, is a failing strategy. He says that October 7th has created a bloodbath by opening the floodgates to a collective, vindictive military campaign that must be stopped. Given his family history, the fact that his grandparents were killed in the Holocaust, and the fact that he understands the specific forms that fascism has taken historically, it's significant that he has said that Israel is slipping further into fascism. It will continue if the US, Canada, Europe all keep averting their eyes. If the blindness continues, Israel will keep killing, destroying and settling in the region. This wretched situation will be addressed by aggressive action by the peace movement, by all of us raising our voices in opposition, and given the inaction, by those in Palestine rising up where necessary to defend their lives. This is because critics like Levy have the disturbing sense that “if Israel wiped Gaza off the face of the earth… one can assume that there would be no protest” within the settler colonial Zionist state.

Licypriya Kangujam is an environmental activist from Manipur, India. On December 11th of last year, she marched onto the plenary stage as COP28 came to a close in the UAE and demanded that leaders acknowledge the state of emergency we are in, and the fact that there is no time to waste, as millions of people are already being directly impacted by the climate crisis and the situation is sure to get worse. Although she admits that COP28 was “99% a failure,” as most of these UN summits have been, COP will have a central role in determining our collective future, so it has to be changed from a “fossil fuel summit” into an actual “climate summit” where the right priorities and a sober assessment of the sort of investment that will be required take centre stage. The example she gives is the early agreement at COP28 on a loss and damage fund for the nations in the Global South that are, now and into the future, most impacted by climate change. She says that the loss and damage fund is obviously a “good idea,” but it could still turn out to be an “empty” promise, especially if the amount of investment promised by the wealthy nations who are most responsible for the situation remains so pitifully low. It should be said that Licypriya is among the youngest prominent climate activists in the world, and is, in many ways, a model for what's possible when it comes to young people getting involved in climate politics at the local and the global level. So, while she has addressed world leaders at multiple COPs, she's also been campaigning for climate action and climate education in India since 2018. She is a visionary, by the way, in this regard: she's stated many times that there can be no climate movement without climate education. There's been a really moving push to make climate education mandatory, in no small part because of the organizing that Licypriya has done. In this conversation we cover a lot of ground, and that includes talking about the climate disasters that drove her to get involved in the movement. We talk about the implications of comparing her to Greta Thunberg, which she rightly sees as reductive. More than anything maybe, we talk about the conspicuous lack of political will at the highest levels of power and their callous disregard for those most affected by the emergency. The disruption she decided to create in Dubai could not have happened, she says, without the love and support of her compatriots in the climate movement. They gave her the courage to push powerful people, committed as they clearly are to dragging their feet and running out the clock, to act now. Licypriya insists that she's not a member of any particular political party. What's important to her is the truth, and so she's focused on changing the dominant mindset. Protesting, for her, is a kind of “last resort.” She has been forced to protest constantly, to learn how to fight in a world on fire, and she's gotten good at it. But she feels like she's been robbed of a childhood as a consequence. Thankfully, though, there is more positive energy and more concentrated anger in the climate movement now. She doesn't have to do it alone. Young people are getting radicalized by the reality, and then acting as a source of inspiration to others as they demonstrate how you can demand a better world.

Hadil Kamal works as a surgeon at Al Quds University in Ramallah. For years, Hadil has been lecturing and practicing in Palestine. In this conversation, she offers a brilliant account of why she feels an intense moral obligation to oppose the oppression of Palestinian people. Ramallah is at a unique vantage point when it comes to understanding and resisting Israel's occupation of Palestine. As the central city in the West Bank and the administrative capital of Palestine, it is at a certain distance from direct occupation. Hadil describes the labyrinth of military checkpoints that she has to navigate within Palestine, and what she contemplates during those long, circuitous journey through the countryside. At the core of the conversation is the question of how Palestine can be free and how Hadil experiences everyday life in the context of Israel's illegal occupation. We also discuss the ways that Israel has codified its callous indifference to Palestinian life in laws that enshrine the expansion of settlements and Islamophobia as core parts of the Zionist nation-building project. October 7th and coordinated attack on Israel by the paramilitary wings of Hamas, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, and the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine, is a globally misunderstood event. This is largely because of the layers of propaganda and political polarization that are screening the reality on the ground from view. That event, with its deplorable acts of violence, should be seen as a response to violent subjugation. As Hadil points out, Gaza is a concentration camp where human beings are denied rights and deemed disposable by an oppressive regime. The right to resist an occupying force is a human right, even if it is controversial to say so. Only 42 countries recognize the right to resist oppression. Since 2004, the African Union has identified the right to resist as a basic human right in the African Charter on Human and Peoples' Rights. From everything I have learned, read and seen secondhand, those of us who have not experienced the violence of Israeli apartheid directly cannot legitimately condemn the right of Palestinians to resist this violence. Palestinians have, in the words of Andreas Malm, “tried every conceivable form of resistance. They've tried peaceful marches, in the Great March of Return in 2018, which only resulted in Israeli snipers killing 223 unarmed demonstrators, they've tried strikes and boycotts. They've tried writing poetry and posting on social media. They've tried throwing stones. They've tried diplomacy, including recognizing the state of Israel and giving it all it demands without getting anything back. They tried to go to court. They tried the international community endlessly and, yes, they have tried various forms of armed resistance.” So what are the people supposed to do? When the IDF announced that it was launching a ground invasion of Gaza, it ordered over a million people to evacuate, adding that they will “be able to return to Gaza City only when another announcement permitting it is made.” As Ian Parmeter told Al Jazeera, Israel “is under no illusions” that one million people can simply move within 24 hours. “It's simply a warning that they're coming in.” So now, one million Palestinians are faced with a petrifying situation. As Nebal Farsakh, the spokesperson for the Palestinian Red Crescent in Gaza City, expressed it: “Forget about food, forget about electricity, forget about fuel, the only concern now is just if you'll make it, if you're going to live.” This tyranny is completely unacceptable. We should all be ashamed that it has gone on this long and that the situation has become apocalyptic. Hadil offers an extraordinary message of hope and resilience by emphasizing that Palestinian people continue to create and connect while devoting themselves to the preservation of Palestinian culture in an extremely hostile world.

Michael Hardt teaches political theory in the Literature Program at Duke University. He is co-author, with Antonio Negri, of the Empire trilogy and, most recently, Assembly. He is also the co-director of The Social Movements Lab. Toni Negri sadly died just recently, on December 16th, at the age of 90. He was a towering intellectual and political figure in modern Marxism and will be missed deeply for his radical philosophy and energy. In this conversation Michael talks about their collaboration on the Empire trilogy, what Toni meant to the process of learning together, and some of the spirited ways that they endeavoured to inform the conversation about the most effective and enduring ways to resist oppression. There's no questioning the impact of the books Michael wrote with Negri, but for Hardt, it was all about learning. He recalls that Slavoj Zizek once said that this is the thing that most impressed him about each successive text: that the point was not to suggest that they had everything figured out in some airtight way, but to offer an invitation to rethink and rejuvenate democracy, and to wonder about why that term in particular seems to have this enduring power, despite so many efforts to inoculate its meaning and displace its place in politics. What I'll take away from this discussion, maybe more than anything else, is the stuff I learned about how people learned. Listening again, I was struck by how crucial this part of movements is: the way we learn to be democratic subjects is through that transformative process of learning alongside others. It's a process that can easily be corrupted and co-opted, but it is extremely important. The Subversive Seventies, Michael's new book, was published in September by Oxford University Press. It's the first book he's written as a solo author in decades. For that reason, he says that he wanted it to be a different sort of exploration. There is much in it that is obviously historical, but it's not historiographical. It's about his own desires for insight into contemporary movements. We discuss, then, how the book communicates with the contemporary climate movement, what it might say about the struggle for survival and for freedom in Palestine. And the difference between the struggle for power and the struggle for liberation historically. Ultimately, this is in many ways a book that prioritizes participation over representation: universal participation in political decision-making rather than existing schemes of representation that leave power in the hands of the few. Hardt writes that, in this sense, “Liberation is not just emancipation— that is, releasing people from their chains in order to participate in the existing society. Liberation requires, in addition, a radical transformation of that society, overturning its structures of domination and creating new institutions that foster freedom.”

Mark Paul is an assistant professor and a member of the Climate Institute at Rutgers University. His research looks at the causes and effects of inequality, and tries to work through some of the material remedies for inequality in the context of neoliberal capitalism. He's written a great deal on the climate crisis, focusing on economic pathways to crash decarbonization that also take into account the need for economic and environmental justice. His first book, The Ends of Freedom: Reclaiming America's Lost Promise of Economic Rights was published in May of this year. This is now a moment when the existential threat of climate change is felt really intensely across the world. The remaining carbon budget for a 50% likelihood to limit global warming to 1.5, 1.7, and 2C has dwindled in the years since the first COP in 1995. Assuming that our 2023 emission levels continue at their current record-setting rate – and the Global Carbon Project has said that total CO2 emissions in 2023 reached a disturbing 40.9 gigatons – we will burn through the budget for keeping global heating to 1.5C above pre-industrial levels by 2030. In 15 years, the carbon budget for 1.7C will be gone too. In planetary terms, that's a split second. We need crash decarbonization now because, as Paul has pointed out, “climate change is not a problem for future generations—it is a clear and present danger.” So much time has been intentionally wasted, and due to that deadly strategy of delay, Paul says that “we have four times the work to do to decarbonize the planet and dwindling time to do it in.” A lot of the work, within a capitalist economy, is going to take the form of fighting for the appropriate level of investment. It makes all kinds of economic sense to phase-out fossil fuels, and yet because the system has incubated and grown in the toxic stuff, we're stuck in it. Mark argues that if we wait just one decade more to really make the disruptive changes that are needed to decarbonize the fossil economy, we “will drive up the costs associated with decarbonization by 40-70%, which amounts to well over $3 trillion in additional costs.” One of the questions I had to ask him, though, was why is this still such a hard sell? It often feels Sisyphean to try to communicate projected losses in a system that demands and yet resists change. How to frame it in a resonant sort of way? How do we dislodge the presentist attachment to the status quo? There are some answers in this interview, and obviously some real questions remaining. Some of it centres on the question of growth, which Mark seems to feel is often the wrong question. Shrinking the economy, he suggests, needs to be taken seriously from the perspective of its social costs. I'm sympathetic to that because there is the political problem of ensuring that a mass mobilization for climate action doesn't leave people behind. So, for that reason, we also spend time talking about the divisive ways that putting a price on carbon has been tried, and some of the ways it could be done progressively. He says that “a simple carbon tax is, as a form of a consumption tax,” very regressive. It is going to unfairly hit low-income people harder when it should be a luxury tax that targets the wealthy specifically. On this, I would quote Alexis Shotwell's book Against Purity, where she writes that the world must be shared, and with the non-human parts of this world maybe especially. She says that the world, in fact, “offers finite freedom, adequate abundance, modest meaning, and limited happiness. Partial, finite, adequate, modest, limited—and yet worth working on, with, and for.”

Seth Klein is a public policy researcher and writer based in Vancouver, BC. He's the Director of Strategy with the Climate Emergency Unit and the author of A Good War: Mobilizing Canada for the Climate Emergency, which is the basis of a lot of the questions that I ask in this interview. He talks about how the focus of the book was not always the sorts of lessons we can take from the Second World War. He was looking for reminders that we have done this before, mobilized to address a real existential threat. So, as COP28 concludes, we are confronted with a “Global Stocktake” that shows we are not on track to limit catastrophic climate change. Barbara Creecy and Dan Joergensen made this clear recently in their presentation to delegates there. They also emphasized, importantly, that equity is not the opposite of ambition when it comes to the radical action necessary to fight climate change. In fact, they argued that, because we can't negotiate with nature and the laws of physics, we are going to have to negotiate with and within the laws and policies that determine the scope of climate action. That means we have to negotiate with each other. And there are some reasonable concerns about whether COP is a place where people can meet and actually figure out ways to navigate the planet into a livable future. But was it worth it? Did this clearly very compromised COP28 achieve anything tangible to offset all of these serious issues? One of the biggest risks is that the army of oil and gas lobbyists that have descended on COP28 will succeed in extending their careers and the lifespan of toxic fuels by adjusting the language of any deals, any regulations that are established. Emissions reduction is what we need, and energy producers want, instead, to go in a senselessly destructive direction. All of this distraction and delay is part of what Seth Klein calls the “new climate denialism,” a technique of obstruction that doesn't care in the least about the health of our environment, about human life, or about what we used to call “sustainability,” but now increasingly should be described as “survivability.” One of the “curses,” Seth explains, about climate action is that we don't actually feel the emergency for a period that is long enough to warrant the kind of radical action we have witnessed during wars or pandemics. The disaster is diffuse, spread out, and somewhat sporadic, so it doesn't “galvanize us all at once.” And just as troubling is the fact that our “memories” of these traumatic events “tend to recede fairly quickly,” until they occur again. This speaks to the fact that, as Klein puts it, phase-out of fossil fuels and the post-carbon revolution is “not largely a technical problem,” it is a problem of a lack of political will. In this context, he says that we simply “don't know the answer” to the question of whether we have people who can collectively rise to the challenge, hold extractive regimes accountable, and lead us out of the path to disaster.

Margaret Galvan is Assistant Professor of visual rhetoric in the Department of English at the University of Florida. Her research examines how visual culture operates within the print media of feminist and queer social movements in the 70s, 80s and 90s. Her first book, In Visible Archives: Queer and Feminist Visual Culture in the 1980s explores how publishing practices and archives have shaped understandings of the visual within feminist and queer activism. This episode is being released on World AIDS Day. Margaret's book is partly focused on the tragedy of AIDS for a generation of people that saw the virus disproportionately attack people on the margins. The prejudicial social engineering that created a system of disposability around AIDS meant that those who were suffering had to use every point of leverage at their disposal. Galvan talks about the ways that artists “responded when the emergence of HIV/AIDS in the 1980s fractured their communities. Artists scrambled to preserve their queer worlds—not only through direct action on the street, but also through their own artwork.” We talk, in particular, about Nan Goldin's enduring work and the way that it “politically activates her community and their losses through image and text,” and how Goldin “refused to allow HIV/AIDS to remain a shameful, private matter.” Galvan's book is all about archiving as a strategy, so there's a fair amount of time spent here discussing different approaches to the archive, how archives function politically and why certain archives are seen as relevant while others are not, or certain ways of expressing desire or identity are seen as a threat. Galvan reads across archives to to sense how sense memory is preserved by an archive, or how memory is rendered immobilized through a process of arresting the archive. If texts are hybrid, multiple and meaningful to people, then they can also, Margaret says, be a "guide for future activism.” We've all seen the ways in which a text can change the course of someone's thinking, and how that detour through a different way of being can open up new pathways for political action. What I find really compelling about Galvan's book, and her way of approaching this paradigm, is that she never abandons a sense of the historical context in favour of analyzing the text's content. The two things are inextricable, and that means that we get a picture of the ways that texts present the present politically.

Macarena Gómez-Barris is a writer and scholar with a focus on queer ecologies and decolonial theory and praxis. She is author of The Extractive Zone: Social Ecologies and Decolonial Perspectives (2017) and Beyond the Pink Tide: Art and Political Undercurrents in the Américas (2018), among several other texts. She is working on a new book, At the Sea's Edge that reflects on the space between land and sea, as well as other creative writing projects. In this conversation she talks about solidarity. Solidarity in and among the Global South, against empire and extraction, and for a world to come. There's a great deal of hope in this interview, but it's the kind of hope that resonates with me because it says that, in Gómez-Barris' words, “Knowledge production can also be solidarity” if it is “multivocal” and focused on exposing dispossession. Looking for this kind of solidarity, she finds something generative in the “third space of shadow terms between above and below.” For her, this is generative because it moves away from the “binarized language forms we typically use” and returns to things that have been largely submerged by oppressive forces. I think the focus on multiplicity and plurality is potentially helpful for those that are locked in different sorts of colonial spaces where it's typically seen as sort of unrealistic or unimportant. Gomez-Barris says, instead, it's actually this sort of experimentation that is going to liberate the globe. We devote time at the end of our conversation to the question of Gaza. Gómez-Barris makes clear that there is a proliferating resistance to that escalating settler colonial violence that demands to be reckoned with. People who are already aware of Gomez-Barris' writing will know that she is really precise about the world-ending force of extractivism. What she says is that “the extractive zone” ultimately reduces “life to capitalist resource conversion” and trains us to “reduce life to systems.” That is not a thing that is natural, and it's not a thing we need to accept.

Matt Wolf is a filmmaker from New York whose critically acclaimed documentary films have been shown across the globe. (https://www.criterionchannel.com/directed-by-matt-wolf) Wild Combination does a deep dive into the life and music of Arthur Russell, Teenage is a study of early youth culture and the birth of the very idea of teenagers, Recorder is an invaluable portrait of the activist and archivist Marion Stokes, who secretly recorded broadcast television continuously,24 hours a day, for 30 years. Spaceship Earth is a film about Biosphere 2, the experiment from the early 90s where 8 people lived inside a fully contained biome cut off, or seemingly cut off, from the rest of the world. He also recently worked on an incredible film called The Stroll as a producer; that film explores the history of New York's Meatpacking District from the perspective of the transgender sex workers who lived and worked there. Wolf has a way of effortlessly expanding the parameters of documentary. I say “effortlessly,” but if you listen to this conversation you can tell that there is a great deal of effort put into making sure that viewers of Matt's films feel an emotional connection to what they're watching, while also being presented with a set of subtle questions about art, the biosphere, the ways that media manufacture social reality, and many other subjects. More and more, though, he's looking for ways to work creatively within the conventions of documentary filmmaking, rather than working to “explode” those defining characteristics. All of this comes through on the screen. There are a few threads in this conversation that are worth underlining. Wolf is deeply interested in exploring the lives of people who take enormous risks with what they are attempting to create, risks that might not pay off in the long run or that influence their capacity to relate to the rest of the world. The way he puts it is that his films are concerned with subjects that weren't entirely able “to translate the full scope of what they were doing to others.” That makes their work difficult and rewarding, and deserving of “reappraisal.” For example, Wolf made his documentary Wild Combination, on the life and work and impact of the cult cellist and disco producer Arthur Russell, at age 25. This is particularly surprising when you actually sit down with the film; you'd assume that this is a director at the top of his game; but, in reality, Matt says that, at the time, he was studying this artist, Arthur Russell, as a way of actually learning how to be an artist himself. I really appreciated how open Matt was in this conversation about his attachment to the specific “texture of the past,” as he put it, and his desire to tell stories in a way that doesn't intrude on the viewer's interpretation of the material. He explains how Spaceship Earth, his brilliant study of the Biosphere 2 project, was described by some as being a somewhat uncritical film. That lack of critical scrutiny, though, is kind of what makes the film so captivating: Wolf sits back and engages with the folks in his films generously, or, in a sense, unassumingly. I think that generosity pays off in certain ways. It makes the films he creates into acts of reappraisal that encourage connection.

I sort of feel like this guest needs no introduction, but that may be because, for me, she's such a powerful influence on thinking around affect, obviously, but also feminist politics, anticolonial resistance, the consequences of representation and misrepresentation. For people that don't know who she is, Sara Ahmed is the author of many widely read texts, from Queer Phenomenology, to Living a Feminist Life and The Cultural Politics of Emotion, to What's the Use? On the Uses of Use, to now, most recently, The Feminist Killjoy Handbook: The Radical Potential of Getting in the Way. The new book is an interesting experiment in an author thinking back through her work and theorizing the particular structuring principles that guided it, the core values, concepts and characteristic expressions that give it form. There is a fair bit of conversation in this interview about terms, specifically the term “kill,” for example, in “killjoy”--the extremity of the word and the kind of work that does. I also ask Ahmed about the inclusion of personal reflection in The Feminist Killjoy Handbook and we talk about the false distinction that gets made between the practice of “theory” and the lived experience of the theorist. I appreciated how open Sara was about her foundational sense of the value of killjoy solidarity, even as it is becoming frighteningly clear that this solidarity is required for all the wrong reasons: because rights are being rolled back, because oppression is intensifying and the vindictive forces of sexism and racism are differently emboldened today. There is even a discussion, here, of this seemingly novel, but actually quite old, concept of “cancel culture.” Ahmed explains why she is a “Roxane Gay superfan,” where she thinks the attacks on wokeness are coming from, and how they can be countered. I was most heartened maybe by her expression of killjoy solidarity with the movements for trans lives and for alleviation of the climate crisis. These are seemingly very different struggles, but in both instances there is a normative power to business as usual that is making life very dangerous for people at the margins.

Kyla Tienhaara is an Assistant Professor in the School of Environmental Studies and the Department of Global Development Studies at Queen's University, Canada and a Visiting Fellow at the School of Regulation and Global Governance, Australian National University. She's the author of Green Keynesianism and the Global Financial Crisis and the co-editor of the Routledge Handbook on the Green New Deal, which is a book that I find absolutely essential for thinking about the potential social benefits of decarbonizing the economy and rethinking growth in our time of climate breakdown. She's also one of the few researchers looking closely at the function of Investor State Dispute Settlement as an international legal apparatus that largely protects investors from the pushback they might receive from states. There's no way I could quickly summarize what this work deciphers, in terms of this obscure global legal structure, which not a lot of people I've spoken with have any knowledge about. They might understand in the abstract that there is a system of global capitalism that is protected by the codification of laws that largely protect profits and private investment over the safety or autonomy of communities, but this is the actual system that serves that. And Kyla is uniquely insightful about how it works and what it is set up to prevent. I wanted to underscore, at the top here, that we engage, in this conversation, with the concepts of utopianism and pragmatism in climate action. That's no a disclaimer so much as an invitation to ask yourself where you sit in relation to this idea that abolishing fossil energy is utopian. Or to kind of request that you sit with the question of whether it is too much to ask that the economy be democratized or energy be regarded as a source of social wealth rather than a source of capital. It's maybe worth thinking, too, about why it is the case that there is legally-binding international law that protects fossil fuel companies from reprisal, but no binding law to protect the planet from the forces that are exacerbating our mounting climate emergency. What history precedes this moment where it is primarily rich countries that benefit from existing laws and international treaties, while poor countries get poorer? And what mechanisms or modes of resistance exist so that we can funnel our collective outrage at these legally sanctioned systems of upholding inequality into something real?

Gernot Wagner is a climate economist at Columbia Business School. His research, writing, and teaching focus on climate risks and climate policy. Gernot writes a monthly column for Project Syndicate and has written four books, including Geoengineering: the Gamble and Climate Shock. Before joining Columbia and serving as faculty director of the Climate Knowledge Initiative, Gernot taught at NYU and Harvard. In this conversation I kept coming back to this hope that climate action could be, in some ways, uncomplicated. If the primary goal is to stop greenhouse gas emissions as soon as possible in order to deal with this as a genuine emergency, it should be simple. But, within the existing system of global capitalism that we have, though, how is that going to happen? Can it happen? I've been trying to think about this by having conversations with people like Gernot, people like Kyla Tienhaara, Seth Klein, Mark Paul and others to try to get to the bottom of it. It's tough, but these interviews, which I'll release in the coming weeks, have been helpful. We're at a point where, according to economists like Robert Pollin, at least 1-2 per cent of global GDP will need to be spent pretty much immediately on investments in renewable infrastructure to radically reduce emissions. Global GDP is about $80 trillion. How does that amount of globally coordinated investment happen under capitalism? It's a huge shift in the nature of the whole economy. One of the reasons I wanted to return to Wagner's writing is that I've been helped a lot by his explanation of the social cost of carbon, and especially by the way he writes about considerations of equity and justice in determining the social cost of carbon. It radically increases the social costs, or damages created, by emissions if we factor in issues of equity. The number skyrockets, validating any and all investments in climate mitigation and adaptation. How could that sort of information become more central to decision-making and policy-making? We definitely get into the weeds here. I'm still processing the discussion we have about “green growth” vs. the “Green New Deal” vs. degrowth. I still can't say where I land on the question of whether decarbonization needs to happen in a textbook degrowth way. It's hard to balance expediency and strategy here, and yet, increasingly, the debate about economic transformation to fight climate change hinges on our receptivity to growth or degrowth. What I like is that there is room here for the debate. We need to rapidly phase-out fossil fuels. That much is certain. In fact, we need to fully ban fossil fuels. How that decision gets made and what form action takes—at what speed and with what consequences—is still an open question.

Casey Williams is a Lecturer in the Center for Environmental Studies at Rice University. His research examines the social and cultural dimensions of climate change and energy transition, especially the problem of “climate impasse” and the concept and possibility of a “just transition.” His writing on climate, energy and labor has appeared in The New York Times, The LA Review of Books, Radical Philosophy, Jacobin, Dissent, and elsewhere. Rhys Williams is a Lecturer at University of Glasgow who works on the intersection between fantasy, narrative and energy. His work also looks to get a better grasp on the relationship between ecology and infrastructure. He's a member of the Petrocultures Research Group and the After Oil Collective. He also organizes the Energy and Ecology Group in Glasgow. Right now a lot of his focus is on energy, infrastructure, food, and water. You can read some of that work in Open Library of Humanities and South Atlantic Quarterly.  I think one of the most important takeaways for me in this conversation was this idea that we need to leave more space for real deliberation in our politics, and that this actually means that we need to accept the fact of friction. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but what we call, in this conversation, “frictionful engagements” aren't really the norm in political communication. What we tend to get is a situation where frictionlessness is tacitly preferred, and so, in Casey's words, “Capital quietly takes the reins” and we're left with mechanisms that are meant to do all the heavy lifting in political decision-making. Rhys and Casey see ways that these mechanisms, especially financial mechanisms in the climate debate, really function like a narrative technique – it's the mechanism that has the agency, not us, and this is the narrative we've been largely sold: a kind of politics-without-politics. One of the other big things that I'd underline is Casey's challenge to those that engage with the climate crisis and who are worried about communicating the risks: he says that there is actually a real political risk involved in treating specific disasters as “metonymic representatives of the climate crisis as a whole.” When we bundle a highly localized disaster into an accumulation of disasters that tell us a story about the agglomeration of impacts and the climate emergency as a whole, Casey says we risk effacing the specificity of the struggles occurring at the local level: struggles not just against the impacts of a transforming climate, but also struggles for social and economic autonomy against global capitalism. I hadn't thought about it that way before and that sense of being responsible to the specificity of place is something I've definitely taken with me from this conversation. There's a few other things I'd mention: we talk about the “degrowth imaginary” and questions of the scale at which infrastructure ceases to be life-giving. We talk a lot about technology as a thing that gets privileged in science fiction and in popular discourse as a “driver of historical change.” There's quite a bit of discussion here about the social layers that get subsumed under technology as it gets fetishized in this way. Overall, too, there's a concern here with how we have been slowly abstracted from nature as such. How we've sealed ourselves off from it by instrumentalizing all the life around us, or as much of it as we can control and colonize and commodify. So, in the face of the real need to address the crisis of a destabilized climate system, they talk about what we should include in the discussion that too quickly gets displaced.

Amanda Boetzkes is a professor of Contemporary Art History and Theory at the University of Guelph. Her research focuses on the intersection of ethics and art as these relate to ecology. I reached out to her because I've been trying to understand the problem of plastics for a long time. If you remember, I spoke to Heather Davis, Mark Simpson and Sarah King back in February about this intimidatingly large problem. I had been reading Amanda's book Plastic Capitalism and couldn't stop thinking about some of the challenges that it makes. We talk a lot about the ideas in that book, but also unpack some of the more recent writing she's done. Incidentally, I'm excited about the project that she's currently working on, which focuses on the different ways we can visualize different environments, and especially the environments of the circumpolar North. One of the most important observations Amanda makes in this conversation is that when art reveals something, it's not necessarily “revealing something that's hidden.” Often, what art does, she says, is drag us “deeper into the mud.” Instead of illuminating some obscured part of social reality or offering up epiphanies about society and our relationship to wild nature, art that engages with waste communicates that we are awash in waste but don't know what to do with it; we have tons of plastic but not much plasticity; we're bent on accumulating energy but don't really value energy expenditure in any radical way. Most of it is mindless. If we don't get to the bottom of why this is such a feature of the modern human condition, we aren't likely to address the climate emergency. We're more likely to just replace fossil fuels with some other energy input like solar and change nothing about our arrogant attitude towards the fuels we extract for energy. There is a lot in this conversation on the need to be more conscious and critical about energy consumption. After all, it is dangerous to be anything else. But what Boetzkes is asking is whether we are in denial, too, about the “irrevocable” damage we've already done to the biosphere. Art, ecology and ethics form a “big knot,” as she puts it, and what is implicated is nothing short of how we choose to live on the Earth. She leaves us with the idea that, while art “must be political,” science is undermined if it's is too political. And yet, the examples she explores in her work question that assumption, or the opposition between art and science, in ways that help us rethink the distinctions that determine funding and influence our means of knowing the world before, during, and after oil.

Sarah Marie Wiebe is an Assistant Professor in the School of Public Administration at the University of Victoria and an Adjunct Professor at the University of Hawai'i, Mānoa with a focus on community development and environmental sustainability. She is a Co-Founder of the Feminist Environmental Research Network and a prolific writer. Her books include Everyday Exposure: Indigenous Mobilization and Environmental Justice in Canada's Chemical Valley, Biopolitical Disaster, Creating Spaces of Engagement: Policy Justice and the Practical Craft of Deliberative Democracy, Life Against States of Emergency, and very soon the book Hot Mess: Becoming a Mother during a Code Red Climate Emergency, which is set to come out from Fernwood Press in the near future. I wanted to talk to Sarah about what she calls the “points of connection” between “emotive” or “narrative” forms of communication and the work of “policy transformation.” There's a point in this conversation where she admits that she's still searching for examples of this in her work, and is clearly thrilled when she can find it, but it's difficult to locate because we expect any sort of policymaking or deliberative process to be this cold, calculating thing, a means through which we reach consensus by rationally looking at all the data. But what can we make out of moments where the data of human experience radically exceeds the sorts of colonial logics that make policy? Sarah has a lot of faith in the power of arts-based strategies of policy transformation and affirming life against states of emergency. Part of the point is to convert anxiety into anger, despair into dedication, and the typically transactive parts of treaty into something far more transformative or iterative. What I really appreciate about the way that Sarah thinks through difficult problems is that she's a settler scholar who doesn't think it is acceptable for communicators to reduce the lives of Indigenous peoples to crisis. She realizes that there is power and import involved in naming and declaring an emergency, but grasps how focusing exclusively on crisis misrepresents and misunderstands the autonomy and vitality of Indigenous communities. So, the point, in some ways, is to identify and critique all of the colonial constraints–the siloed bureaucracy, the stunting education, the rapacious greed–that limits the flourishing of such communities. She describes this conundrum in terms of the “paradox of emergency,” or the paradox of locating democracy and democratic values in the context of emergency. It's hard, when a crisis hits, to think about politics, but crises are inherently political, and the forms of expression that are licit or legible at the inception and in the perpetuation of crisis matter because they get to determine our response.

Raja Swamy is a social anthropologist with an interest in the political economy and political ecology of natural disasters. In this conversation we unpack the ideas in his recent book Building Back Better in India: Development, NGOs, and Artisanal Fishers after the 2004 Tsunami. This is a disaster that killed nearly 230,000 people. It's trauamtic, but Raja takes us into that trauma in order to talk about what it meant in the wake of that disaster for states and multinational companies to see it as an opportunity to rebuild in a manner that prioritized profit and alignment with global financial regimes, rather than in a way that put the needs of already existing grassroot networks and forms of collective labour first. Swamy's generous, generative answers to my questions about his work tell an extraordinary story of globalization and its effects in post-tsunami India. He explores how “gifts” in that context were, in many cases, really a sort of lure or bribe, designed to displace existing worlds through incentivizing the realization of a different, more exploitative one. What he calls the “glib neoliberal rhetoric of reconstruction” really disregarded, and continues to disregard—as we enter a period of intensifying climate impacts—the energy, self-sufficiency, insight and agency of the so-called “developing world” and those whose lives, livelihoods and lifeworlds stand to be most affected by climate change. What would it mean, Raja asks, to look people in these frontline positions as the best guides to the future we want? We're talking about the use of disaster for the purpose of pushing through opportunistic development, the privatizing of land and the displacement of populations from the world they know. It feels inevitable, this orientation of development toward the dictates of the free market, but it isn't. Raja poses the question of why it is assumed that, in the interest of gaining autonomy or economic well-being, people should be forced into a position of, really, underdevelopment and neglect under neoliberalism. It's in this context that he says we should be thinking about how to change the way we talk about things like climate adaptation, this idea of building back better. As he pointedly says: “Better for whom?” As disasters become more frequent and the need to build and rebuild becomes more profound and more pressing, we should be asking what kind of world we want, and who we mean when we say “we.”

Brenna Walsh is the Energy Coordinator at the Ecology Action Center. She's made a career out of bringing different communities together to strengthen and accelerate climate policy and action. Walsh is focused squarely on understanding what has worked and not worked in the past and on exploring new initiatives to build climate resistant communities. In this interview I aimed to get a deeper sense of the economic reasons behind the policy measure that's usually referred to as a “carbon tax.” Brenna breaks down how that measure of carbon pricing is just one part of a whole array of emerging measures for addressing the climate crisis. We have Clean Fuel Regulations, a modest removal of some “inefficient” fossil fuel subsidies at the federal level, among other policies and incentives. Brenna breaks it all down. I don't want to spend too much time in this introduction giving an overview of the conversation actually, because the conversation itself is an overview of what we have in terms of tools for limiting carbon and some of the history of those tools. We start by talking about the conceptual and policy tool of the so-called “social cost of carbon,” and how that social cost is calculated in economic terms. The whole goal, though, is to figure out a means of building, really, a different system from the fossil fuel based one that we currently have. Walsh is interested in how to calculate the damages, but she's more interested in bringing the diverse array of people that feel there is not enough being done into the conversation about crafting and supporting solutions. There are a few invaluable resources that Brenna cites that are included in these show notes. Overall, it's a matter, though, of using these resources, and conversations like these, as a means of going further faster, of making a complex transition simpler, doable and more seamless for people at the grassroots level. RESOURCES: More Mobility, Less Mining: https://www.climateandcommunity.org/more-mobility-less-mining The State of Carbon Pricing in Canada: https://climateinstitute.ca/reports/the-state-of-carbon-pricing-in-canada/ Ecology Action Centre's Carbon Pricing FAQ: https://ecologyaction.ca/sites/default/files/2023-06/Carbon_tax_FAQ_2023.pdf

Paris Marx is a technology writer. They've written for TIME magazine, WIRED, CBC News, Jacobin, and OneZero. They speak internationally on the future of transportation. They also host the award-winning podcast 'Tech Won't Save Us,' which offers a much-needed critical perspective on the history and future implications of Big Tech. Their book, Road to Nowhere: What Silicon Valley Gets Wrong about the Future of Transportation, was published by Verso Books in 2022. Our conversation mainly focuses on Road to Nowhere, why they wrote it in such an accessible way, the politics of communication in the context of a climate emergency, and what it says that we're largely programmed to assume that technology—even technology that is produced for a profit by private multinational corporations—will save us. Paris' book has a lot of answers, but doesn't answer all the questions. I kinda push them to speak to some of the most problematic issues around public engagement and political mobilization. One of the really useful things about their approach is that it's rooted in a sense that history is helpful if we look critically at the things we've been told are true about our car-centric infrastructure, and compare it with what a rigorous look at that history reveals. The history they offer is startling, in the sense that it shows a number of branching paths where our infrastructure could have looked very different if it wasn't for powerful sites of capitalist production impinging on policy making in profound ways. There have been moments where massive amounts of public money was spent making a world that doesn't work. We need to move in a radically different direction. There are nearly 1.5 billion vehicles on the planet. According to Marx, replacing them with more vehicles, this time around powered by batteries, is not a viable strategy. I ask them if we need to leverage the desire for disruptive change. What Paris says is really appealing to me: that “people are much more open to change than we give them credit for;” we are “incentivized to want to keep things as they are,” despite the dire ecological consequences, because the economic consequences of change are made so punitive. For this reason, “in the face of the climate crisis,” Paris points out that we have to push ourselves to understand the intertwined nature of “many seemingly separate struggles, over mobility, housing, health, community, and many others.” So, while the rate of vehicle collisions or pedestrian deaths might feel ordinary now, that doesn't mean it has to be met with passive acceptance. What if we let it radicalize us again? Here in Halifax, we saw that process happen. A local activist named Steve MacKay organized a protest against political inaction and it was successful in getting traffic calming put on Robie Street. The data shows that vehicular deaths disproportionately occur in poor neighborhoods, and not enough is being done. If part of the problem is just acceptance, the answer might be refusal. Refusing to accept this absurd reality where, as Marx says in their book, “an estimated 1.3 million people are killed [globally] every year in road traffic crashes… more than 3,500 people every single day.” What would it mean to refuse that reality?

Thomas Beller is Associate Professor of English at Tulane University, a regular contributor to the New Yorker, and the author of J. D. Salinger: The Escape Artist, How to Be a Man, and Seduction Theory, among other books. He's noted that his writing differs in form and genre but tends to share a lot of the same preoccupations: “the dynamics of relationships, a sense of place, and a preoccupation with the nature and effect of time.” We talk in this conversation about his book Lost in the Game: A Book About Basketball, which is definitely concerned with this question of time. I ask him about his sense that pickup basketball especially has “its own time… ruled by the sun, or by the night lights… or by the willingness of those with a ball to keep shooting in the dark.” We even circle around to this experience of shooting in the dark and try to see it as a metaphor for players that have a way of approaching the game with a second sight of sorts—players like Nikola Jokic or Kareem Abdul-Jabber: these all-time great titans of the game. But we also zoom in on the embodied experience of putting up shots and what it means for practice to feel like something that is both meditative and ritualistic, mindful and maniacal. Thomas was kind of astonished that I care as much as I do about basketball. And of course this is a podcast that is often very serious, where I am clearly really dedicated to working through some despairing and deeply scary issues with people. So, in a sense, this episode is almost like an interlude between these more serious concerns; but honestly I take basketball pretty seriously too. In the same way that Marcus Boon spoke to me about his personal relationship with music over the years—how music lets us think about the sort of war for our time that people are constantly engaged in—I wanted to talk to Beller because I think his ideas are also about that pursuit of a more engaging, autonomous relationship to time, beyond just being “productive” for the sake of it. As he puts it in the book: there is joy in “being lost in the game… a joy that doesn't have to be relinquished.” So Thomas and I talk about what we love about basketball, the things about the sport that fill us with ambivalence, and why we keep coming back to it. We both admit that it's kind of a mystery. In the end, we get to a point where we sort of say we appreciate both the “anarchic” and “analytic” aspects of the game. The dance and the discipline. Why do we care about a sport that still tends to be dominated by a discourse of intense and androcentric competition? Is that healthy? What kind of a use of public space is playground basketball? What effects has professionalization had on the sport?

Amy Cardinal Christianson is a Fire Research Scientist with the Canadian Forest Service. Her research on Indigenous fire stewardship, Indigenous wildland firefighters, and wildfire evacuations is important to any sort of comprehensive view of the shockingly intense wildfires that have burned 4 million hectares so far this year in Canada, and that produced almost 60 million tonnes of CO2 in May. She's also the co-host of the invaluable Good Fire podcast, which I strongly recommend you listen to. She and Matthew Kristoff talk to luminaries on the contemporary reality of fire's extreme intensity and destructiveness, and what can be done to restore a balanced relationship with fire. She's the author of an abundance of work in this field, but I'll just highlight two co-authored books: First Nations Wildfire Evacuations and Blazing the Trail: Celebrating Indigenous Fire Stewardship. Amy is drawing attention to realities and precarities that are too often ignored in the colonial state of Canada. She makes it clear that the impacts of today's fire are “generational” where First Nations and Metis communities are “not [going to be] able to participate in their cultural activities on their land base for a long time.” While that is criminal—the uneven impacts of wildfires that have been supercharged by greenhouse gases and global heating—the irony is that future-oriented forms of Indigenous fire stewardship have historically been outlawed in Canada, the US and Australia, in particular. Amy helps us understand the history and motivations behind that policing of cultural fire. Her research is tough for a number of reasons, and not least because, she says, even though she is a Métis woman from Treaty 8 territory, it's hard to earn the sort of trust necessary to learn fully how Indigenous peoples have preserved their cultural fire practices. In her words: “for Indigenous nations there's a long history of distrust around fire with outside people” and “outside agencies.” It's also becoming difficult to talk about the practice of prescribed burning because of the ways that climate change is altering the atmosphere and making conditions more volatile. Nonetheless, the things she has learned are eye-opening and progressive, reaching down to the roots of the problem of conflagration and problematizing things like land use planning and building design from a deeply decolonial perspective.

John Vaillant is the award-winning author of bestselling nonfiction books like The Golden Spruce and The Tiger. He's written articles for The New Yorker, The Atlantic, National Geographic and The Walrus. His latest book—Fire Weather: The Making of a Beast—is focused on how the conditions that human beings have created through the burning of fossil fuels and the acceleration of capitalist development are producing the sorts of enormous wildfires that we're seeing right now. So far this year 2.7m hectares have burned across Canada, compared to the roughly 150 thousand that we typically expect. That's an increase of 18 times over the norm. The fire season has never been this extensive or intense. There are wildfires from coast to coast; including in places that have never seen fires of this magnitude. This is a shocking trend, and it is not a trend that will reverse. Our forests sequester carbon, so when a wildfire occurs it leads to an increase in carbon emissions. It shouldn't be lost in the fear that we're feeling, as we view the images and videos of huge swaths of the country going up in flames, that wildfire was the biggest source of carbon emissions in Canada last year. Climate warming is driving an increase in the area burned and Vaillant's book is absolutely clear about the role of global warming and unsustainable development in fueling these fires. Firefighters are acknowledging that modern fire, especially at the border between forests and urban areas, is unlike anything they've ever seen. Fires we can't fight are emerging as normal under the conditions of a code red climate emergency. How can we respond to this reality without succumbing to panic? How can we let it radicalize and mobilize us? I appreciate the pointed ways that Fire Weather grasps the roots of why we are mired in an incendiary sense of what's normal because of our attachment to fossil fuels. He says that, in the face of that attachment, we have the “incredible confronting inconvenience of climate change.” These shifts in the earth's balance confront us, but this means we need to confront the drivers. And the drivers are, he says, “unregulated free market capitalism,” a “growth pattern” that mimics the destructive force of these megafires. In Canada, that means confronting a fossil fuel industry that remains mired in business as usual despite all of the signs that the industry must strand its assets, accept a relinquishing of control, and a transition off of oil and gas. In Alberta, the eye of the storm, there is—Vaillant says—a “provincial identity,” a “structure and infrastructure” and a “history” that is “built around petroleum.” What do we do about that province's politics and its resistance to the necessary change? One thing Vaillant does in Fire Weather is talk about a trauma which people in Alberta, he says, do not want to talk about: the striking and scarring 2016 wildfires that consumed and destroyed Fort McMurray. Almost 100,000 people, he writes, “were forced to flee in what remains the largest, most rapid single-day evacuation in the history of modern fire.” And yet it is not engaged with. If there is a lack of a connection, a causal connection, between the aftermath of megafires like this and appropriate climate action, it is because of that unwillingness to engage and the related desire to just resume normal life under fossil capitalism. We are headed, especially after this fire season, for a “moment of collision,” though. We are colliding with climate impacts and we are seeing a collision politically between the obvious need for radical, disruptive changes and an attachment to business as usual. We are facing fires that are differently powerful. So what we confront now is what John calls “a process of integrating this new information.” Figuring out a way forward that doesn't see this become commonplace, that doesn't allow complacency to condemn us to combustion.

Dru Oja Jay is an author, organizer and web developer who currently serves as Executive Director of CUTV and Publisher of The Breach. He's also a co-founder of the Media Co-op and Friends of Public Services. He wrote a book with Nikolas Barry-Shaw called Paved with Good Intentions: Canada's Development NGOs from Idealism to Imperialism. James Steinhoff is an Assistant Professor and Ad Astra Fellow in the School of Information and Communication Studies at University College Dublin. His research focuses on the political economy of algorithmic technologies, data and digital labour. We talk about his stunning, insightful book Automation and Autonomy: Labour, Capital and Machines in the Artificial Intelligence Industry, which is chock full of information about the history of AI and its relationship to capitalist modes of production. I should note, too, that he co-authored a book called Inhuman Power: Artificial Intelligence and the Future of Capitalism in 2019, which is also a great book on AI. It feels as though every other day we encounter a new angle or emerging fact around machine learning, generative AI, and the incipient market for these sorts of data-driven digital products. Whether it's the billions of investment dollars that are driving the sudden boom in startups focusing on applications of generative AI, concerns about automation and job loss, concerns about plagiarism with the saturation achieved by ChatGPT, or important discussions about the exploited labour force that makes ChatGPT's core functions possible (an army of US contractors are being paid about $15 per hour to perform the pivotal work of data labeling that enables the platform), we're being inundated by information about this supposed technological revolution. And that inundation is firing up the hype cycle, further fueling investment. Here we talk about the goals of the capitalist class in determining the future of AI. What will fragmentation of the labour force look like in the wake of this technological change? Are large language models going to replace human communicators? Does this signal a last shifting in the market for intellectual labour? What about all of the data that is collected to drive the creation of those large language models? Can we imagine ways to produce machine learning out of that massive corporate capture of our data? Whose data is it anyway? There are lots of changes coming, there is no question. But the question too few of us are asking is: who will be in command of that change? In the EU, there is the AI Act, which Steinhoff calls a “watershed moment” in the regulation of private business and its enclosure of AI technology. Jay reminds us that, when it comes to the potential for public and democratic control of data, even though it seems like an unfair fight, we still “have to start building power somewhere.” We also dig into fictional representations of AI. We ponder what movies like Terminator 2: Judgment Day get right in terms of AI generating its own programs—generating, as it were, its own ideas about function. Or, as James puts it, creating a situation where the “program is the output rather than the input.” Steinhoff and Jay share some insights on potential avenues of resistance, too. Not just resistance in the classical political sense, but also a kind of imaginative or intellectual resistance. They discuss their research into the history of AI, and unpack these moments of “AI winter” or “AI depression” where social or technological barriers shut down the hype cycle, they demystify machine learning, and also talk out some of the basic facts around AI-generated art and text.

Evan Newman is the Managing Director of Outside Music. Outside Music is an independent record label roster that includes a number of award-winning artists. It's one of the leading independent distributers in Canada. Some of the artists Outside Music has worked with include Jill Barber, The Weather Station, Rose Cousins, Aidan Knight, and Justin Rutledge. In 2019, Outside Music launched Next Door Records, a new label designed to provide equitable support and creative freedom to their songwriting community. I spoke with Evan about Next Door's mandate, and what it means for fostering work that engages with the politics of our climate emergency. In a condition of crisis, what can musicians do, beyond what they're doing: writing songs? Can they use what Evan describes as their "stature" to not only move audiences, but also encourage movement at the policy level to respond to carbon-intensive human activities, like how folks get to shows, how they get their music, and whether they're producing all kinds of plastic waste at those shows? Evan runs Outside Music with the passion of a fan. In this conversation he talks about how the rationale for who they work with does come down to who they're inspired by, the music they feel really needs to be heard. Part of this is also built on the faith that, as he says here, "music can enact change." If it's true that--and I agree with him on this point--the overwhelming deluge of information from news and other sources isn't necessarily communicating the urgency of eco-catastrophe, then music might need to not only move people, but move into a place of mobilizing people. The way it does that it through communicating a language of feeling: speaking to peoples' anger, anxiety, their stress and even their solipsism; letting them into the conversation about what climate politics should look like. As an educator in the music business program at the Nova Scotia Community College, he says he's working with young people who are attuned to the reality of the climate crisis, and curious about how to craft a way of working with artists that is environmentally ethical. He clearly derives some hope from knowing that these folks are working to figure out ways of changing an industry that, in his words, is still necessarily "tethered to capitalism." The mere fact that a new generation is entering the conversation about how music and climate change, arts and commerce, the environment and consumerism, means that transformation could become easier to imagine. I'll be discussing these issues with Evan, along with Shannon Miedema, Kim Fry, Joanna Bull, Waye Mason and Braden Lam this Wednesday, April 26th at Halifax's Central Library. The free event is titled "Changing the Tune on Climate," and will feature a number of performances by artists like Akuakultre, T. Thomason, The Gilberts, and Kristen Martell. We hope you'll attend... it will be a celebration of music, and an interesting discussion of environmental justice. Changing the Tune event info: https://halifax.bibliocommons.com/events/6418a052b4a2bc5b7ac1bbb9

Dr. Angele Alook is an Assistant Professor in the School of Gender, Sexuality and Women's Studies at York University. As a member of Bigstone Cree Nation in Treaty 8 territory, her research has mainly focused on the political economy of oil and gas in Alberta. She specializes in Indigenous feminisms, life course approaches, Indigenous research methodologies, cultural identity, and the sociology of family and work. David Gray-Donald is a settler media worker in tkaronto (Toronto). He worked as a climate campaigner at Environmental Defence from 2022 to March 2023. He's also worked as the publisher of Briarpatch, a news and analysis magazine with strong anti-poverty, feminist and decolonial politics, and the publicity and promotions Manager at Between the Lines. He's the current publisher of The Grind magazine in Toronto, and is the co-author of the new book The End of This World: Climate Justice in So-called Canada (https://btlbooks.com/book/the-end-of-this-world). The other authors of the book are Emily Eaton, Joël Laforest, Crystal Lameman and Bronwen Tucker. We focus primarily on The End of This World, an absolutely indispensable text for understanding and acting on our climate crisis paradox. There is far too much in that book for me to even attempt to summarize it, but what I'd like to emphasize is that it is proactive, decolonial, and radical, in the sense of identifying the fundamental roots of our climate emergency in a relationship to land that they and others describe as “extractivist.” That term can be tricky; as Imre Szeman and Jennifer Wenzel have explained, it is a term that designates not just the practice of extraction, but the ideological project of making extraction from the earth for private gain and consumer use seem completely natural, normal, and inevitable. Against that, and in response to the threats inherent to global warming, Angele and David, along with their co-authors, look to imagine alternative futures, futures that aren't even just limited to decarbonization, but that respond in rigorous ways to the question of what it will mean to decolonize and decarbonize as two aspects of the same mission to save our planet. For Angele, the point is to emphasize the possibility and urgency of imagining ways of “building an economy based on systems of care” to replace what she calls our “death economy.” She and David make it crystal clear that the goal has to be not only respecting Indigenous sovereignty and inherent rights, but supporting everyone. This is a struggle for the future of a habitable planet, after all. And the push for a just transition has to confront that challenge with a sober sense of how to lift up not just workers in the oil and gas industry, but also people in the service industry who work to facilitate that industry, the people who take care of all the care labour, the domestic forms of caring that are usually performed by women and that are always left not only unattended to, but unrewarded. I'm releasing this interview around Earth Day for these reasons, but listening again to their insights, it struck me that Earth Day or Earth Month, or even making the claim that Earth Day is every day, is insufficient. These are good reminders, sure. But they're incomplete. Their book isn't just a reminder, it's a roadmap. And even though a roadmap is a metaphor rooted, to an extent, in our current regime of fossil fueled freedom, it's the right metaphor for thinking about how to get on and stay on a pathway that takes us out of the accelerationist race toward blowing our carbon budget, blowing our chance to stop the measurable, material, and tangible effects of runaway global heating. As they say in the book, “new political possibilities can be opened up quickly and change often happens in a non-linear way,” and that means that there isn't a “strict deadline after which hope is lost.”

Moira Weigel is a scholar and founding editor of Logic magazine. Originally trained in modern languages, including German and Mandarin Chinese, she now studies digital media in a global context. You might have heard of her first book, Labor of Love: the Invention of Dating, from 2016, which is about how modern dating co-evolved with consumer capitalism and other forms of gendered work. Her second book, co-edited with Ben Tarnoff, is Voices from the Valley: Tech Workers Talk About What They Do and How They Do It. It is based in interviews that Weigel and Tarnoff conducted with workers at every level of the Bay Area tech industry, from startup founders to cafeteria workers. Her current research focuses on transnational e-commerce entrepreneurs, and that's really our main focus here, since Moira recently published an incredible overview of Amazon's reach and global strength: a lengthy report that she titled “Amazon's Trickle-Down Monopoly.” (https://datasociety.net/library/amazons-trickle-down-monopoly/) What's interesting is that she acknowledges the fact that we might not be particularly keen to sit and theorize the impact of the restructuring of the retail business in the 21st century, but it's actually really important. What, we might ask, does “Amazon's lack of accountability to the sellers that use it” indicate, in terms of the nature of platform capitalism? Weigel points out that “businesses [like Amazon] are really governed algorithmically in a way that undermines their [sellers'] entrepreneurial autonomy.” And yet, the way that Amazon often justifies its existence is by saying that it is a staunch “ally of small business.” Weigel unpacks this paradox by looking at what her interviewees said about negotiating the Amazon marketplace. The lack of accountability that Amazon enjoys, despite employing hundreds of thousands of people, expresses itself through, in part, these seemingly arbitrary decisions that the company makes—so, things like banning accounts, restricting certain sellers or constraining the flow of certain products. Those decisions are often experienced by sellers as “mistakes,” according to Weigel's research. But in her analysis they could be part of what she describes as a sort of “regulatory risk shift,” a means of both policing an increasingly complicated marketplace and navigating a complex regulatory environment. Making things circuitous benefits Amazon by keeping things opaque. And understanding the make-up of the company's power is similarly muddy. It was difficult for Moira to even do this research because of how hard it was to actually locate people to interview. That difficulty itself, she says, revealed something about the way that Amazon's monopoly is maintained. As she puts it, “recruiting failures [were] an important finding.” Nonetheless, the report she's put together came about as the result of building trust with sellers and realizing that people, if given the chance, wanted to talk about their experiences in the world of Amazon. And they had specific words for describing that world: they talked about the “old times,” the “wild west,” and “the jungle.” These terms were ways for people working within the system to understand that system.

Wendy Hui Kyong Chun holds the Research Chair in New Media in the School of Communication at Simon Fraser University. She's also the Director of the Digital Democracies Institute there. The Digital Democracies Institute is a group of scholars and stakeholders from around the world who collaborate across disciplines to generate more democratic technologies and cultures. Wendy herself has studied both Systems Design Engineering and English Literature, which she uses to understand contemporary trends and threats within digital media and emerging technologies. She is the author of books like Control and Freedom: Power and Paranoia in the Age of Fiber Optics, Programmed Visions: Software and Memory, Updating to Remain the Same: Habitual New Media, and Discriminating Data: Correlation, Neighborhoods, and the New Politics of Recognition. In this episode, Wendy and I talk about how existing network structures reinforce discrimination. She's one of a string of theorists who have been critical of what she calls the “segregationist defaults” that exist within these networks that we're supposed to assume are mechanical, other-than-human, and thus somehow devoid of prejudice. Instead, she says ‘no': in fact, “Twentieth-century eugenics and twenty-first-century data analytics… both promote or presume segregation.” This gives us a new way to approach the problem of political polarization. Chun argues that the assumption that people typically seek to associate with those that are like them—that look and think and act like alike—this assumption about a seemingly intuitive human tendency to group together in homogeneous ways is an assumption that historically produces itself as a fact. So it is not that homogeneous groups will somehow just naturally clash with other homogeneous groups, it is that an “unsustainable” assumption about homogeneity and homophily as baseline realities has obscured the inherent democratic virtue of difference and a diversity of worldviews. This “erases conflict,” but not in the sense of finding a way to cope with it or resolve it. And so, especially in an algorithm-driven era, polarization proliferates with overwhelming force. We talk about these ideas that challenge the common sense assumptions that folks often have about the nature of contemporary technology, and also tackle things like facial recognition technology, the fact of artificial intelligence being an increasingly normal part of our lives. Wendy's point is that facial recognition and machine learning are used in insidious, often exploitative, and almost always in discriminatory ways, but that they don't need to be. AI, she says, doesn't need to be a “nightmare” that undermines and displaces “human decision-making.” What if these technologies were democratized? What if—and it may seem implausible, given the tech monopolies that silently govern many of our interactions through the diffusion of different technologies—what if there was broader public power and greater participation in deciding what AI should and shouldn't do? The point here is to, as she says, “point to realities and futures [that need] to be rejected.” Prediction does us no good without power.

Alexander Etkind joined the Department of International Relations at Central European University in 2022. He previously taught at the European University Institute in Florence, and at several other institutions. His research looks at the extreme challenges of global decarbonization and security in Eastern Europe. Much of his past writing is concerned with the question of memory, of European intellectual history, and of empires and decolonization. He's the author of many books, including Eros of the Impossible: The History of Psychoanalysis in Russia, Internal Colonization: Russia's Imperial Experience, Warped Mourning: Stories of the Undead in the Land of the Unburied, Nature's Evil: A Cultural History of Natural Resources, and a really interesting new book called Russia Against Modernity which comes out in April. Here we talk about the war in Ukraine, but in the longue durée of various societies' relationship to the natural resources they use and abuse for the purpose of development. Etkind says that the patterns that we see play out in terms of what is sometimes called the “oil curse” are not totally new. This is a big part of the argument of Nature's Evil: he sees the “resource curse” unfold at a number of points in human history with other sources of energy, like wood and peat. There are ways that oil is unique, though. The “paradigmatic relationship,” for Etkind is between resource-rich and resource-dependent states, when it comes to oil. And he sees that division in terms of degrees of democracy. In the resource-rich state of Russia, the current regime sees the need to maintain a monopoly on information in order to perpetuate its unequal command of the revenue from the carbon-intensive resources it is founded on. Etkind writes about the dilemma of confronting autocratic petrostates on the problem of climate change, and confronts the seemingly unsolvable problem of how the state—which, he states, is actually the only entity that “stands between the energy barons and the tragedy of drowned cities”—can be made to radically disentangle itself from fossil fuels. He senses that, in Russia, the monopoly on information is weakening. That within the country there is an intergenerational war taking place over the future of the federation, given that a mass exodus of young people fled to what he says are “not very hospitable environments” rather than accept the propaganda and suppression that staying in the country would have meant. While, for him, this is admittedly a “modest grounds for hope,” it is still a source. The persistent problem, though, is that reducing emissions and saving the atmosphere from the death-dealing effects of CO2 will require a sustained period of peace. Once war breaks out, energy transition becomes inconceivable. Forms of feminist organizing and protest, the environmental movement, organized groups who refuse the trauma of war and the tragedy of drowned cities, these are sites of hope for Etkind, but the ongoing “asymmetrical sacrifice” is still, at the moment, stunning us into a kind of clarity.

Natasha Lennard is a Contributing Writer for the Intercept, and her work has appeared regularly in the New York Times, Esquire, Vice, Salon, and the New Inquiry, among others. She teaches in the Creative Publishing and Critical Journalism program at The New School for Social Research and is the author of two books: Violence: Humans in Dark Times, co-edited with Brad Evans, and Being Numerous: Essays on Non-Fascist Life, from Verso Books. In this interview I ask Natasha about the recent murder, by police, of Tyre Nichols, Keenan Anderson, and the environmental activist known as Tortuguita. She talks about the fact that these are just three of the more prominent deaths this year alone at the hands of police, and explains the relationship of these losses to the inherent violence of policing. What she makes clear is that, despite the fact that cops don't stop or prevent crime, and actually produce more violence than they stop, it is still the case that, for a number of reasons, the burden is never on those who align with carceral thinking to defend the police. And why is that the case? Because there is a deep ideological attachment to police and policing, to so-called “justice” in a carceral world. And that attachment is fed by a regime of representation that reinforces the heroism of cops in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. As a means of working through this problem, Natasha talks about Antonio Gramsci's notion of “common sense” as a tool for understanding some of the baseline assumptions that exist to regulate action and reaction. These are some complicated issues. And she admits that it's tricky. While we can fall into the trap of using what feel like exhausted ideas, the trap of political theatre, Lennard's analysis has a way of cutting through the contradictions and centring the fact of ongoing oppression. If you do that, then you move out of the theoretical debates about strategy and into the streets. For this reason, she celebrates the small but nimble and durable protests against Cop City in Atlanta. She speaks ardently in support of the need for trans liberation, and articulates that imperative against the array of powerful revanchist far-right forces who stand against it.

Sarah King is the Head of Greenpeace Canada's Oceans & Plastics campaign. Pushing for a plastics-free future by holding corporations accountable for the growing plastics pollution crisis, Sarah has worked to protect our oceans and ocean-dependent communities for over a decade. She studied in the Environmental Applied Science and Management programme at Toronto Metropolitan University, and has worked at a consulting firm doing environmental impact assessments in order to help determine the scope of negative impacts associated with various development projects. I speak with her about the place of plastics in our everyday lives, the impact that plastics have on the environment, and the many ways that the Trudeau government's plastics ban is woefully inadequate. I won't summarize everything that Sarah explains here, but I will quote a particularly pithy summary of her position: she says that, in fact, “the entire category [of single use plastics] is a problem,” because of the overwhelming scale of production and our “lacking and disjointed infrastructure.” She stresses that the government is actually “very scared… to take strong action to hold industry… accountable. The result tends to be policies that benefit industry and do nothing to protect the environment. Loopholes can be found throughout Canada's environmental regulations, and that means profit over survival. We have a new set of policies that the Liberal government is claiming will give us a “zero plastic waste” future by 2030, but King is very pointed in her assertion that, actually, the government has to know that this is a false promise: in her words, “they have to be looking at that [target] knowing that it's impossible,” given the state of environmental protections in this country and the incredibly minor push to end plastics production and pollution. Confronting industry and closing loopholes is all about moving radically in a different direction. King says that embracing a “reuse and refill revolution” would legitimately “signal the end of the plastic era” and begin to seriously challenge “our fossil-fuel-dependent system” in which “the wrong things are valued.” Getting to that entirely reasonable, feasible alternative will take a project of accelerated solidarity-building, though, because the lobby for fossil fuels and petrochemicals is very strong. For this reason, King is really looking for more alignment between segments of the environmental movement. We're starting to see this, and to see a shift both toward the centring of “the people that are most impacted” when it comes to “crafting solutions and a way forward” and toward, as Sarah puts it, “addressing not just our planetary crisis, but also our social justice crises around the world.”

Heather Davis is an assistant professor of Culture and Media at The New School in New York whose work draws on feminist and queer theory to examine ecology, materiality, and contemporary art in the context of settler colonialism. Her new book, Plastic Matter (Duke University Press, 2022), explores the transformation of geology, media, and bodies in light of plastic's saturation. Davis is a member of the extraordinary Synthetic Collective, an interdisciplinary team of scientists, humanities scholars, and artists, who investigate and expose plastic pollution in the Great Lakes. Mark Simpson is a settler scholar and professor in the Department of English and Film Studies at the University of Alberta, where he investigates US culture, energy humanities, and mobility studies. He is Principal Investigator for “Transition in Energy, Culture and Society,” a multi-year research project with Future Energy Systems at the U of A. His work has appeared in South Atlantic Quarterly, Radical Philosophy, Postmodern Culture, and English Studies in Canada, among other venues. In this conversation Heather and Mark talk about how we are, in general, “so saturated by” an animated, often willfully hopeful communication style when it comes to environmental threats that it becomes easy to “turn off” and ignore the direness of present and future ecocide. We focus on figuring out what it could mean to adopt different communication strategies that are organized around conveying a sense of “vulnerability,” “embodiedness,” and “kinship.” If plastics are, in Davis' words, a “much more intimate manifestation of oil,” and represent a major gap between, to quote Simpson, the experience of the “unseen” and the experience of the “invisible,” then it might be necessary to approach the problem using methods that aren't familiar, but that are actively “defamiliarizing.” Keeping in mind that their focus is on inquiring about what is not known about plastics, Heather points out that the “timeline for plastics is actually incredibly undetermined” and that “we really don't know what we're doing,” fundamentally, when it comes to the whole life cycle of plastics, from feedstock extraction to chemical processing to material production and distribution, to dematerialization. The way Heather puts it is that “we're fumbling around in the dark,” and in “our hubris” think we are in control. Part of Mark's research focuses on how this hubris cannot be divorced from the unstable sense of mastery bred by petroculture. He's written on the simulated sense of smoothness that the energy regime of fossil fuels tries to maintain, even as it becomes more and more of a struggle to maintain it, as the obviousness of the truth of climate breakdown becomes apparent. There is a sort of circularity or stuckness that, they say, we're still, reluctantly, mired in. And plastics are a primary aspect of that: plastic forms a barrier, a “barricade” that lets us preserve a false sense that we are invulnerable, impermeable, protected. What recourse do we have when the thing we use to control contamination is exposed as a major source of contamination? If people now increasingly understand that plastics fail to protect us from infection and contamination, and that they actively endanger our health, it is because a faith in plastics as a way of living in a bubble has been replaced by a sobering ecological knowledge of this petroleum product's toxic effects. And that knowledge is spread through networked acts of activist organizing, by artists and theorists who “allow us to sit with the world,” to see it in a new way and shift our “patterns of thinking.”

Kim Fry is a co-founder and board member for Music Declares Emergency Canada along with her daughter Brighid Fry from the indie rock band Housewife. Music Declares Emergency is a group of artists, music industry professionals and organisations that are looking to create solidarity in declaring a climate and ecological emergency and demanding an immediate governmental response to preserve life on Earth. Kim has worked on energy efficiency and climate but has also spent a lot of her career as an elementary school teacher, a union activist, a staunch climate justice activist and environmental campaigner. She's worked for a number of environmental organizations, which is part of the reason she's found herself devising strategies for Music Declares Emergency, which is moving to get a seat at the policy table by using the specific capacities of music to move people. Our conversation covers a number of different things that we're both curious about in relation to these capacities. But we also dwell with the material problems associated with the music industry at a time of escalating climate emergencies. How does the music industry contribute to climate change and what should be done to correct some of its impacts? Thinking in these terms helps us move beyond the tempting, but also fairly limiting, logic of condemning particular artists for their hypocrisy, their ostentatious lifestyles, etc., and into a conversation about the kind of music scenes and spaces of meaningful local music participation we'd like to see. What kinds of structural and infrastructural changes might have to be put in place for that to be realized? We're also concerned here with problems around genre, what kinds of music resonate, which tones seem out of touch with the complexity and urgency of the crisis created by an unaccountable fossil fuel industry and infrastructure… And we can't help but land on the fact that it's extremely complicated: there is undeniable power and influence in celebrity, and there is an inarguable concentration of power in a still quite monopolistic music industry. Transforming these things takes time that we do not have. The pace of change we need is more like a metal song, but what we've got is plaintive folk. It's not an easy problem to solve, this stuckness, but Kim encourages us to remember the meaning of the word folk – it's meant to be the music of the people. Just as pop is meant to be the music that is popular at a given time. This might give us an opening for thinking about the emergence of a new music nomenclature for conveying the climate breakdown that is coming if nothing stands in its way.

Tanner Mirrlees (https://twitter.com/tmirrlees_) is the Director of the Communication and Digital Media Studies program at Ontario Tech University. His current research focuses on topics in the political economy of communications such as war and media, work and labour in the creative and digital industries, and the links between far-right hate groups and social media platforms. He's the author of Hearts and Mines: The US Empire's Cultural Industry, Global Entertainment Media: Between Cultural Imperialism and Cultural Globalization, co-author of EdTech Inc.: Selling, Automating and Globalizing Higher Education in the Digital Age, and the co-editor of Media Imperialism: Continuity and Change and The Television Reader. He's also heavily involved in efforts to spread the knowledge practices of academia beyond the university. So, he has appeared in documentaries like Theatres of War (https://vimeo.com/ondemand/theatersofwar) and Myths on Screen, and contributed to putting together podcasts like Darts & Letters' Dangers of Techno-utopianism series. Our conversation is an attempt to wrestle with American militarism, especially but not exclusively as it finds form through popular cultural representation. There is a very long history, Tanner points out, of the US Department of Defence investing in media products that project American military power in precisely the way the DoD wants. While this collusion is now loosely understood, Mirrlees' insights point us to specific aspects of the ongoing partnership. We talk about the massive popularity of films like Captain Marvel and Top Gun: Maverick—spending a lot of time unpacking the dizzying spectacle of Maverick, one of 2022's biggest movies: truly a dizzying spectacle, in terms of the gap between dramatized surreality and the actual logistics of military operations. Even though the DoD's stated policy is that it will support films that give a “realistic” and “authentic” representation of the military, the reality of the representational choices in Maverick expose how tenuous that grip on reality needs to be, and in fact how films benefit financially and technology from the Pentagon when they fudge the facts firmly in their favour. There are long standing fears that drive this sort of forceful fabulation: one is the fear of a decline in the United States' imperial power, relative to other influential states like China and Russia. Another is the threat of nuclear annihilation. The Pentagon's particular investment in how Hollywood represents this threat has shifted over time, with Tom Cruise's last two big action films, Mission Impossible: Fallout and Maverick, centring on this threat as a chief way to threaten the integrity and hegemony of American empire. Mirrlees offers some valuable commentary on how Maverick was written out of a time in the recent past where the threat of Iran enriching uranium was front of mind in US security planning. The United States has waged wars without end for a very long time. The country dominates in virtually every corporate sector. And yet the US empire functions in ways that are distinct from past modes of colonial imperial command. Multiple spheres interlock and interoperate in sometimes subtle ways, and while force is fundamental, cultural impact is also critical. As Tanner puts it, “no corporation sees itself as an emissary” of the US national security state, and yet they are incentivized or compelled to serve its ambitions. What are the foundations of that sort of power? How can we examine its constitutive elements?

El Jones is a poet, journalist, professor and activist living in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She teaches in the department of Political and Canadian Studies at Mount Saint Vincent University. She's the author of Live from the Afrikan Resistance!, a collection of poems about resisting white colonialism. Her work focuses on feminism, prison abolition, anti-racism and decolonization. In Rehearsals for Living, Robyn Maynard describes El as a “Black liberation visionary and long-time prison abolitionist [who] was nourishing abolitionist freedom dreams for years before the public would listen.” Since 2016, El has co-hosted a radio show called Black Power Hour on CKDU-FM. We talk about the important role that show played in producing the sorts of bonds that allowed for more substantial and sustained prison organizing. El explains how the show translated into building relationships, which translated into legal advocacy, a significant prison strike, and the creation of a manifesto demanding justice for those behind bars. The show led to the creation of a “kind of trust where” people like Abdoul Abdi could get to know El, feel connected, and from positions where they are made to feel utterly disconnected from the rest of the world. El's been on the podcast before, but this is a special occasion, because she's just put out a book that represents, as she's put it elsewhere, her “life's work.” The book, which you should order from Fernwood right now, is called Abolitionist Intimacies. It's started to appear on a number of lists of the best nonfiction books of 2022, and it is a difficult-to-describe intervention. As El describes it, the different parts of the book, the different approaches to writing in it, are kind of “in conversation with each other;” she says that different images and events “preoccupy” her throughout and tend to show up again and again in this iterative, poetic, meditative way. But the main idea of the book, she states very simply, is “friendship,” it's about love. What is by no means simple, though, is the book's preoccupation with the barriers to that friendship and love. Those barriers are not housed in the hearts and minds of the incarcerated, she says, but in the phone system that makes it near impossible to maintain communication with the world, the guards who police contact in the prison, the administrators who ban people from coming in. El is asking: How can anything like intimacy be sustained under those conditions? One way that she has cultivated over time is by thinking a lot about the power and the intimacy of voice. So much of Abolitionist Intimacies is about voice, voices heard over the phone, over the radio. There is so much joy there. And pain, too. Someone's voice, and the feeling of connection, can change your day. Take you away. There are some indelible moments in El's book where she documents exactly this sort of witnessing: witnessing the strength of connections across borders and through walls. Against the tyranny of a carceral society. And she points out that changing the world we have is within our grasp, even if it's difficult to imagine. Like, she admits that “it's difficult to live a different kind of life.” Of course it is. But the point is that it can be done, just not through separated acts of individual behaviour change. It has to happen collectively. Sacrifices, in her words, are also blessings.

Baijayanta Mukhopadhyay is clinical faculty at the McGill Department of Family Medicine, focusing on supporting rural and low-resource practice. Mukhopadhyay organises around issues related to extractivism, migrant rights, policing, public services and decolonizing global health within local and international networks and collectives. Alexis Shotwell is a Professor in Carleton University's Department of Sociology and Anthropology. Her academic work addresses impurity, environmental justice, racial formation, disability, unspeakable and unspoken knowledge, sexuality, gender, and political transformation. She is the co-investigator for the AIDS Activist History Project (aidsactivisthistory.ca), and the author of Knowing Otherwise: Race, Gender, and Implicit Understanding from 2011, and Against Purity: Living Ethically in Compromised Times from 2016. We discuss Baj's new book from Fernwood Publishing, Country of Poxes: Three Germs and the Taking of Territory. In the book, we get an innovative technique for telling the history of colonialism and its effects on past and present capacities for collective survival, threatened as it has always been by microscopic entities that enter our bodies and undermine a misplaced and sinister pretence to mastery. In this conversation we talk about the question of culpability. Baj's book prompts Alexis to think about agency and how illness is distributed. In her reading, its argument stresses how social actors have made consequential choices in the past, and how, as Baj writes in the book, “reflecting on these experiences in the past” can enable “those of us who believe in a more just, a more healed… future” to “contribute in some way to cobbling together a truer liberation.” You won't just learn a lot by reading Country of Poxes—a text that focuses on the colonial continua of smallpox, tuberculosis, and syphilis—you'll also learn, I think, to think differently about the tendency to accept suffering and death. The book historicizes contemporary diagnostic tools, dominant and subordinate ideologies of care in health, as well as the struggle for radical alternatives to the “fragile” health care systems we currently have. Mukhopadhyay's articles from Briarpatch and Upping the Anti: https://briarpatchmagazine.com/articles/view/the-labour-of-care https://uppingtheanti.org/journal/article/19-care-as-colonialism Country of Poxes: https://fernwoodpublishing.ca/book/country-of-poxes