Who By Fire, Who By Water
For whom do we atone for our climate misdeeds?
As unceasing and repeated heatwaves bore down on Texas this summer, prisons were not pleasant places to be.
This summer was the second hottest summer on record in the Lone Star State — and the extremes were relentless. In Dallas, there were 43 days with high temperatures above 100 F. In San Antonio, there were 64. In Austin, the state’s capital, the city saw 69 days with temperatures reaching over 100 F — and on 40 of them, temperatures got to at least 105 F.
But while most Texans hunkered down in their climate-controlled homes, many residents of the state’s prisons faced the ghastly heat without such help. According to the Texas Tribune, “more than two-thirds of Texas’ 100 prisons don’t have air conditioning in most living areas.” As the mercury peaked above 100 midday, those prisoners were either sweating outside, hopefully in the shade, or sweating inside, where it can sometimes get even hotter.
For some prisoners, that scenario was likely a death sentence.
The Tribune reports that dozens of prisoners died of cardiac or unknown causes this summer and that many advocates blame the heat. The paper reported that one woman, whose 36-year-old son died in a Texas prison this summer, cried out at a rally: “They’re cooking our babies alive!”
This past week, I sat in the symphony hall at New York’s Lincoln Center listening to the words of the Yom Kippur service. On Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, Jews gather to reflect on themselves and their misdeeds. When have I been a bad friend? When have I been neglectful? Or hurtful? When have I acted out of spite?
Notably, the words of the Yom Kippur do not ask us if we’ve been a bad friend, or if we’ve been neglectful, hurtful, or spiteful. One prayer lists, in alphabetical order, all of the things that we have done this past year: “We have betrayed, we have stolen, we have mocked.” All of us, even the most righteous person on Earth, are not above self-reflection.
And if you believe the tradition, the fate of the Earth for the next year is also decided on Yom Kippur:
How many shall pass away and how many shall be born,
Who shall live and who shall die,
Who shall reach the end of his days and who shall not,
If that’s not grim enough, the prayerbook then lists all of the possible ways that one could suffer and die:
Who shall perish by water and who by fire,
Who by sword and who by wild beast,
Who by famine and who by thirst,
Who by earthquake and who by plague,
Who by strangulation and who by stoning,
Who shall have rest and who shall wander,
Who shall be at peace and who shall be pursued,
Who shall be at rest and who shall be tormented,
Who shall be exalted and who shall be brought low,
Who shall become rich and who shall be impoverished.
But repentance, prayer, and righteousness avert the severe decree.
I’ve never quite cared for Yom Kippur; the pageantry and solemnity have never done much for me, and I’d much rather get on with it to other holidays like Sukkot, which celebrates the fall harvest season. But this year, as I read those words — But repentance, prayer, and righteousness avert the severe decree — I filled with rage.
Repentance, prayer, righteousness: these are introspective, personal deeds. They are not — not now, not ever — a way to change fate. Despite some people’s insistence that we can change the world with a change in mindset or through self-reflection or by doing therapy, the fact remains that our individual thoughts and feelings cannot change society, even if we all were to self-reflect very hard.
Who shall become rich and who shall be impoverished, we prophesize on Yom Kippur — but do we really believe that we can pray, repent, and righteous up our way toward closing the income gap? And what about those other fates, who shall perish by water and who by fire? Are we to believe that repentance, prayer, and righteousness can avert the misfortune of getting trapped in a flash flood? Of a wildfire engulfing your home? Of the prison where you’ve been incarcerated not installing air conditioning as temperatures reach 100 F or higher?
I’ve often said that no matter how much you’d like to believe otherwise, drinking with a reusable straw will not get you into environmental heaven. That is to say: even the most climate-righteous among us will not be spared if the world continues to warm. A Category 5 hurricane does not care if you ride your bike to work and turn off your lights, and it certainly does not care whether you believe that climate change is a threat.
Yet many climate advocates like these sorts of individual actions for one of two reasons. Some like to say that they add up, and if we all ride our bikes and turn off our lights, we can meaningfully lower the planetary thermostat. Other advocates acknowledge that these actions alone have an infinitesimally small impact, but champion them as a way to stave off dread, to feel like you are doing your part.
Both of these arguments are correct, but insufficient. In their book The Ecological Thought, the philosopher Timothy Morton writes:
Denying the problem, like the Bush administration of 2001-2008, amplifies the danger. And more subtle forms of denial exist. Wishing the problem away by “doing ones bit” — I use wartime rhetoric deliberately — is also avoiding the void. In the Second World War, British people hoarded tin cans to be made into aircraft and weapons. Whether or not the government really manufactured these products as a result, repetitive, compulsive activity kept horror at bay. Helpful as they are, recycling and other forms of individual and local action could also become ways of fending off the scope of the crisis and the vastness and depth of interconnectedness. These responses fit contemporary capitalist life. (emphasis mine) Being tidy and efficient is a good idea, but it isn’t the meaning of existence. As Barack Obama memorably told his campaign staff in Fall 2008, “‘we can’t solve global warming because I f—ing changed light bulbs in my house. It’s because of something collective.”
While Barack Obama may not have governed as a champion of collective action, the former president was right on the money here. Our individuality, whether that manifests in what we do or what we believe, does not shape society. We can repent and pray and be righteous and use our plastic straws to feel like we are good people but we will still burn when the fire comes. Adding insult to injury, those of us in society who have done the most to perpetuate and profit from the climate crisis will probably be less likely to suffer, compared to someone like an inmate at a Texas prison, who has likely done nothing, individually, to perpetuate or profit from this horror.
Who by fire? And who by water?
Who by heat? And who by wildfire?
Who by hurricane? And who by drought?
Who shall be rich? And who shall be poor?
If you were to add up all of the fossil fuels I’ve ever burned, you could figure out just how much I, personally, have warmed the planet. And climate science has now advanced to the point that we can pinpoint just how much climate change has affected individual weather events — we can say, for instance, that a hurricane had 40% more rain because of human-driven warming, or that climate change made a heatwave 2 degrees hotter. With these data combined, one could, theoretically, see how much hotter a single heatwave was because of one person’s carbon footprint. You could even estimate how many more deaths from climate disasters were caused by a single person’s carbon footprint. How many more deaths I’ve caused.
Climate skeptics and their relatives like to point out when climate advocates do things that use fossil fuels, like taking airplanes or eating meat. This is, of course, a ridiculous argument best countered by this cartoon/meme, which notes that we are allowed to participate in the reality we live in while still wanting it to be better. To live in society today you need to use electricity, and electricity is still made with fossil fuels. And again, there are people who have had more power than most of us to stop or slow this crisis and have failed to do anything at all, and they should pay a hefty price for that failure.
On Yom Kippur, we are atoning for our own failings — we have betrayed, we have stolen, we have mocked. But while those words may cause us to think of ourselves (singular), perhaps they’re better read as referring to ourselves (plural).
Did I cause Hurricane Harvey to drop more rain on Houston in 2017? No. Did we? Yes. Did I cause the American West to experience unprecedented drought over the past 20 years? No. Did we? Yes. Did I cause the inmates at those Texas prisons to die? No. Did we? Yes — and I am a part of we.
Some of those prisoners may have died from the heat even if there had never been climate change — after all, Texas has been hot for thousands of years. But we did not give them air conditioning, even though such technology has been available for a long time. We did not listen to the mothers crying out for their children who live in those prisons. And we did make our heatwaves hotter and more frequent by burning fossil fuels — and I am a part of “we.” I am not the only part of “we”, but I am a part of it. And so are you.
Repentance, prayer, and righteousness for ourselves feels nice but is ultimately futile. What we need — if we are to avoid the severe decree — is repentance, prayer, and righteousness for ourselves (plural). It is not up to us, individually, to do our part to make this world a place for life, it is up to us, collectively, to do the whole goddam thing. And that repentance better not be half-assed.
The climate crisis emphasizes that we cannot live without each other. But we damned well sure can die without each other.
Interesting connection and concept— Yom Kippur and the climate issues. Thoughtful reading.