MA Ecology and Spirituality, Dissertation Motherhood and Environmental Activism
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Acknowledgments
 
Firstly, I would like to thank my dissertation supervisor Andy Letcher at Schumacher College for his unwavering support throughout this dissertation. To the lecturers at University of Wales Trinity Saint David, particularly Nick Campion and Bernadette Brady, thank you for giving your expertise during the dissertation lectures and for replying swiftly to any questions I had.
 
Thank you to my eleven wonderful participants, all beautiful mothers and activists, whom I interviewed for this dissertation. I loved listening to your stories and wish you all the best in all your future endeavours. Thank you too to the children of those ladies, who have given them such inspiration.
 
Thank you to my partner Bradley for his support during this time and reminding me to get working when I felt like procrastinating! Thanks too to my friends and family who would keep asking me how the dissertation was going, even long after it was supposed to be finished! Finally, I extend a huge thank you to my mother Jill Martin for proof-reading the dissertation for me and for being a constant inspiration in my life.
 
Abstract
 
This research focuses on why and how mothers become environmental activists, including discussion on motivations for performing environmental activism, and the types of activisms mothers choose to participate in. The study is important to recognise what stereotypes and assumptions are often made about mothers who perform environmental activism, and to move forward into more non-dualistic thinking. The research approach adopted in this dissertation includes a review of academic literature, a study of primary sources related to the subject, interviews with mother activists, and self-reflection. The findings from this research provide evidence that mothers’ motivations and choices in performing environmental activism are often quite complex. Assumptions that mothers perform activism due to care for their children and future generations should be questioned, because often women are activists before they become mothers. The main conclusions are that differing generations of mothers, differing environmental concerns, and being in different social situations can all influence why mothers perform environmental activism, and that there are varying reasons for choosing different types of activism. The choices made often are due to circumstances surrounding familial responsibility, concern with how the mother is viewed by other people, or external societal pressures placed upon the mother.
 
Introduction.  

When I turned 30 I was living in Thailand. I decided to return to the UK and put down roots, so that I could have a family. My desire for having a child had grown. Eventually I settled in Glastonbury, Somerset, where I met people who were knowledgeable and caring about the environment. My activism so far had been mostly around women and children, volunteering at NGOs while travelling.
 
I learned about hydraulic fracturing (fracking), happening in the UK. Once I understood that fracking could be dangerous I felt, out of concern for my future child: ‘if fracking came to Somerset I might have to move’. Being new to Glastonbury, I naively said to a member of Frack Free Somerset that they must get a lot of support from the people of Glastonbury. She replied: ‘no, they are all navel gazing’, meaning they are concentrating on spirituality rather than environmental campaigning or activism. I began to question whether those ‘spiritual people’ cared about environmental degradation in a different way to activists. What is the best way that I, as a potential mother, could affect change for my child’s future?
 
This began my enquiry into environmental activism, and led to the questions I will explore within this thesis. Firstly, as I had come to environmental activism through concern of my future child, I question whether other women came to environmental activism through similar concerns. What are the reasons a mother becomes an environmental activist? The first two chapters will enquire into this first research objective: to identify why mothers become environmental activists.
 
Motherhood and Feminism focuses on why mothers perform various feminist activisms. I argue that early activisms performed by mothers were feminist rather than environmentalist. Greta Gaard says that ‘feminist research puts the lines of the oppressed (whether by gender, race, species, or other hierarchical systems enforcing inequality) at the centre’ (Gaard, 2017, pp 116). This can be extended through concepts such as peace activism. Linda Forcey (2014, pp 355) sees the connection between women and peace as ancient, but this denies women’s differences with other women, and exaggerates differences with men. Ecofeminists of the early 1990s believe that women and nature are both ‘threatened by the same enemy’ (Roszak (1979) in Pompeo-Fargnoli, 2018,  pp 1): patriarchy. Later the term ‘patriarchy’ was largely rejected for the idea of anthropocentrism, acknowledging women as part of the problem: ‘human centredness as a whole was killing the planet’ (Gaard, 2017, pp 118). I conclude that there is value in a feminist movement for justice as a whole, but associating women with peace, and men with destruction, should be rejected in favour of non-dualistic ways of thinking.
 
Motherhood and Environment concentrates on why some mothers have concern for the environment, and why some perform environmental activism. I argue that it is not necessarily the case, as it was for me, that concern for ones’ child preceded environmental concern. Sara O'Shaughnessy and Emily Kennedy (2010, pp 558) suggest that women today, especially mothers, are more likely to display concern for the environment. However, this assumes that women are in socially defined roles as mothers, and that their concerns are primarily for their children, secondarily for wider society or environment: the ‘eco-maternalist narrative’ (Sze, 2017, pp 162). Another issue that concerns mothers is overpopulation. Cameron Butler sees focus on overpopulation as failing ‘to criticize global capitalism for its role in human exploitation and ecological degradation’ (Butler, 2014, pp 279). I conclude that issues affecting mothers are often framed through the eco-maternalist narrative, which is essentialist in that it assumes mothers care more for the environment. Overpopulation issues also focus on mothers and ignore other factors, particularly over-consumption. Environmental destruction can affect mothers through emotions such as love for ones’ children, guilt for lack of action, and grief for environmental destruction, leading to a greater ‘caring for the natural world’ (Pompeo-Fargnoli, 2018, pp 2). Again, I cannot conclude that mothers emotionally show a greater environmental concern than men or other women.
 
The second two chapters investigate what specific actions mothers perform; whether different activisms are more or less effective than others; and why mothers choose specific activisms. This is the second research objective: to identify how mothers perform environmental activism.
 
Motherhood and Activism discusses the forms of activism mothers perform and how they choose these actions. I argue that mothers can perform different activisms at different times of life, and that activisms usually associated with motherhood are often generalisations. The assumption that more women are engaged in micro-level activisms,[1] because their local lives are more concerned with ‘human health and habitat’ (Mellor, 1997, pp 127), can be questioned, as men also engage in these activisms. Also, many women perform macro-level activisms, such as direct actions (Capdevila, 2010, pp 534). Anneleen Kennis and Erik Mathijs regard that micro-level activisms fail to ‘connect a person with real causes of climate change’ (Kennis and Mathjis, 2014, pp 151). However, private activisms can be performed alongside more public actions. I conclude that there are various ways in which mothers perform activisms, and assuming they perform some before others is not always accurate. Their reasons for choosing activisms are often quite complex.
 
Motherhood and Sacred Activism explores how mothers incorporate spirituality into their various activisms, and why they decide to do so. I argue that current narratives of spiritual-based activisms associated with motherhood are assumptions, which in various ways can be detrimental to both women’s liberation and environmental degradation. However, these sentiments can also motivate women to perform activisms. Sacred activism comprises both ‘a metaphysics of interconnectedness and employs relational modes of thinking’ (Keating, 2005, pp 242). There are many ways in which this is connected with motherhood, including concepts of Mother Earth or Mother Nature. Catherine Roach (1996, pp 55) questions the metaphor: associating earth with mothers could lead to further environmental degradation, because the patriarchal version of mother gives all and wants nothing in return. There are problems with the concept of nature connection as a whole. Robert Fletcher thinks that the term ‘erects a physical separation between humans and the “nature” to which they are then invited to reconnect by crossing back over this spatial divide’ (Fletcher, 2017, pp 227), reinforcing the barrier between humans and nature. Concepts that women are more connected with nature, or are more likely to ‘save the world’ should be questioned. I conclude that while issues exist with associating motherhood with sacred activism, overall mothers can gain immensely through these narratives. Ultimately, ‘Spiritual activism is spirituality for social change, spirituality that recognizes the many differences among us yet insists on our commonalities and uses these commonalities as catalysts for transformation’ (Keating, 2005, pp 242), and mothers have found beneficial ways of performing these activisms.
 

Literature Review

Motherhood and Feminism  

Gaard notices ‘From the start, feminism has been a movement for justice… feminist research puts the lines of the oppressed (whether by gender, race, species, or other hierarchical systems enforcing inequality) at the centre’ (Gaard, 2017, pp 116). First-wave, or liberal, feminism of the 1960s to 1970s takes the position that ‘women’s differences from men are minimal and should be minimized in the fight for equality’ (Forcey, 2014, pp 356). They reject traditional notions that women are inferior, more closely related to nature than men, and their roles are solely as mothers and nurturers (Plumwood, 1993, pp 21-22).
 
This relates to socialist or humanist-Marxist feminism, which sees woman as producer or worker (Plumwood, 1993, pp 27). This is not necessarily radical, as ‘women of colour and working-class women have always been in the ‘kitchen’ and ‘the workforce’’ (O’Reilly, 2014, pp 193) at the same time. First-wave feminism attempts to fit women into a masculine model, presented as the gender-neutral ideal human: man (Plumwood, 1993, pp 27).
 
From the mid-1980s, second-wave feminism conceived this as detrimental to motherhood, because in reproduction women are essentially different from men (Forcey, 2014, pp 356). However, this reversal usually emphasises women as superior to men, giving rise to such statements as ‘The Future is Female’ (Plumwood, 1993, pp 31). Some ecofeminists could be considered second-wave feminists, believing that women and nature are both ‘threatened by the same enemy’ (Roszak (1979) in Pompeo-Fargnoli, 2018,  pp 1). First-wave feminists criticise this as essentialist, assuming that ‘those of a particular race, gender or other category share the same traits’ (Pratt, Howarth, and Brady, 2000, pp 537).
 
Early feminists sometimes performed peace activism, rejecting absorbing women into a masculine culture of misogyny and death. They consider that ‘for women, the real task of liberation is not equal participation or absorption in such a male dominant culture, but rather subversion, resistance and replacement’ (Plumwood, 1993, pp 30). Forcey sees the connection between women and peace as ancient: peace symbolised by the giver of life. However, this denies women’s differences with other women, and exaggerates differences with men (Forcey, 2014, pp 355). Sara Ruddick recollects that mothers usually support war if it means employment for their children, and references to mothers losing their children to war often ignore the fathers (Ruddick, (1990) in Richards, 2009, pp 300).
 
From the early 1990s, third-wave ecofeminism rejects parts of both first- and second-wave feminisms. Val Plumwood notices that in both cases, dualistic assumptions are made. First-wave feminisms reject assumptions that women=nature and man=reason, but do not question that nature is inferior and reason is superior. Second-wave feminisms reject assumptions that reason is superior and nature inferior, but do not necessarily question that woman=nature and man=reason (Plumwood, 1993, pp 33-34). Mary Mellor agrees that ‘a radical approach to ecology would incorporate a fundamental reorganization of human-human relationships as an essential aspect of reformulating human-nature relations’ (Mellor, 1997, pp 130).
 
In the 1990s the term ‘patriarchy’ was largely rejected for the idea of anthropocentrism, acknowledging women as part of the problem: ‘human centredness as a whole was killing the planet’ (Gaard, 2017, pp 118). Ruddick proposed retreating from the institution of motherhood towards examining the experience of mothering. Anyone can be a mother ‘to the degree that they are committed to meeting demands that define maternal work’ (Ruddick, 1990, pp 17). Now, in the UK at least, more mothers are insisting on motherhood combined with paid employment, that fathers are involved in childcare, that they can engage in activism and have a life outside mothering (O’Reilly, 2014, pp 189), realising that ‘what a child needs is a free and happy mother’ (O’Reilly, 2014) pp 192).
 
Since the 2000s feminist theorists have discussed ‘intersectionality’, a term meaning ‘intersecting axes of inequality’ (Sauer, 2018, pp 87). This concept relates to the interconnectedness of different oppressions due to gender, race, class, sexuality, age, and religion. It combines political movements, such as women’s, queer, anti-racist, and worker’s movements (Sauer, 2018, pp 87). This is another narrative that suggests the ongoing aim of feminism to reject all forms of repression.
 
Motherhood and Environment
 
Françoise d’Eaudbonne coined the term ‘ecofeminsm’, calling for an ecological revolution grounded in establishing new relationships between man and woman, humanity and nature (Ling, 2014, pp 104). First-wave feminists contest linking women and nature as regressive and insulting: ‘images of women as earth mothers, as passive, reproductive animals’ (Plumwood, 1993, pp 20) do nothing for women’s liberation. However, many women around the world found this connection of woman with nature helpful. Ecofeminism became a list of worldwide activisms, most of which saw women protecting their local environments (Moore, 2011, pp 7).
 
Maria Mies and Vandana Shiva believe ‘The concept of… mata [mother] has automatically got connected with the whole movement’ (Mies and Shiva, 1993, pp 5). Mothers are more likely to display concern for the environment (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 558), because they may be more affected by environmental issues such as soil fertility reduction, chemicals, pollution (Ling, 2014, pp 105) and the various effects of climate change (Rylander, Odland, and Sandanger, 2013, pp 1). Susan Logsdon-Conradsen and Sarah Allred agree: ‘There is nothing quite like the mothering instinct kicked into overdrive and funnelled into the effort to protect and preserve the land, air, and water for our children’ (Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred, 2010, pp 142).
 
However, Butler suggests that ‘When the fundamental explanation for why people should care for the environment is ‘for the sake of the kids’, the strategy can fall flat with people who don’t identify with the heteronormative narrative’ (Butler, 2014, pp 279). Reasoning that women are more physically affected by environmental degradation assumes that women are in socially defined roles as mothers: concerned primarily for their children, secondarily for the wider society or environment. The ‘eco-maternalist narrative’ (Sze, 2017, pp 162), which ‘makes explicit links between women’s mothering and caring disposition and their unique propensity to care for nature’ (MacGregor (2006), in Ey, 2020, pp 6), obscures ‘the many ways in which women’s resistance to natural resource extraction is multiple, contingent, more-than-gendered, and more-than-human’  (MacGregor (2006), in Ey, 2020, pp 1).
 
A major environmental issue concerning mothers is overpopulation. George Monbiot rationalises that overpopulation is a huge issue, but sees the rise in global consumption as more important: ‘economic growth this century could be 32 times as big an environmental issue as population growth’ (Monbiot, 2008, pp 20). Women are caught up in this ethical dilemma precisely because they are birthing children. Issues focus on the global South, positioning women both as victims and as threats to Northern lifestyles, due to their potential to give birth. Again, this fails to acknowledge that people other than mothers need aid by focussing on heteronormativity and females (Butler, 2014, pp 279-280). Subsequent policies have sometimes led to human rights abuses, such as those arisen from Agenda 21.[2] Butler condemns Agenda 21 as racist and sexist; reinforcing current hierarchical structures; and failing ‘to criticize global capitalism for its role in human exploitation and ecological degradation’ (Butler, 2014, pp 279).
 
Alyson Pompeo-Fargnoli sees our separation from nature as the major cause of psychological disorders and human suffering. Many of our problems, emotional and physical, arise because we do not live in harmony with the world.  Sanity, a healthy psyche, is ‘dependent upon our reconnecting with and caring for the natural world we are part of’ (Pompeo-Fargnoli, 2018,  pp 2). This echoes Jem Bendell’s Deep Adaptation Agenda:  ‘climate change is… an indicator of how our human psyche and culture became divorced from our natural habitat’ (Bendell, 2018, pp 19). This has led to ‘inevitable collapse, probable catastrophe and possible extinction’ (Bendell, 2018, pp 19).
 
Bendell notices ‘a growing community of people who conclude we face inevitable human extinction and treat that view as a prerequisite for meaningful discussions about the implications for our lives right now’ (Bendell, 2018, pp 19). This leads to a curious duel state, in which our deepest grief can be expressed. Phyllis Windle suggests that when expression of environmental grief is supported through rituals of mourning and celebration, it can help people ‘reaffirm faith in ecology and evolution’ (Windle, 1995, pp 143). While nature connection narratives may be inaccurate, and even harmful (Fletcher, 2017, pp 226), they can also positively influence people’s motivations towards performing activism.
 
Motherhood and Activism
 
Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred discuss different ways in which mothers perform activism at the micro-level, which includes mothers expressing themselves on internet platforms, discussions with friends at social gatherings, and making environmentally-friendly purchasing decisions. Macro-level activism includes participating in grassroots activist groups, campaigning and direct action (Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred, 2010, pp 143).
 
These terms may reflect definitions of light-, mid-, and dark-green ecology, which are different ways in which people react to environmental degradation. Patrick Curry defines light-green ecology as where ‘consideration for the nonhuman is only indirect, insofar as the well-being of humans is affected’ (Curry, 2011, pp 61). Mid-green, in which ‘there is consideration for nonhuman individuals’ (Curry, 2011, pp 61), often manifests as animal-rights activism. Dark-green can be defined as ‘ecocentric, considering all species to be intrinsically valuable’ (Taylor, 2010, pp 13).
 
It could be that more women are engaged in light-green activisms because their local lives are more concerned with ‘human health and habitat’ (Mellor, 1997, pp 127). This is not necessary negative, as Graham Harvey recalls that ‘The personal is political’, so ‘using ecologically “friendly’’ washing up liquid… recycled paper and local products begins to affect wider economic and political realities’ (Harvey, 1997, pp 127). However, micro-level activisms may put more pressure on overburdened mothers (Plumwood, 1993, pp 23).
 
O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy expand micro-level activisms to relational activism: ‘attending protests and public action campaigns relies on an overlooked and underrecognized set of activist behaviours that are not “direct action”; we call these relational activism’ (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 555). They believe ‘when women form networks of individuals who can be called upon to engage in conventional activism, the very act of forming and maintaining a network constitutes relational activism’ (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 563-564). The ‘acts behind activism’ (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 555) are often performed by women, whose political activism can be ‘curbed or limited’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 533) due to marriage and childcare duties. Direct activism is ‘dismissed as something for those without such responsibilities’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 533).
 
This contrasts with lists of ecofeminist activisms (Moore, 2011, pp 7), and historical figures frequently show women as political leaders and instrumental in grassroots movements. For example: ‘As far back as Aristophanes' Lysistrata, we have accounts of women intervening in politics… On a more grassroots level, women were involved… in the anti-slavery movement… and the civil rights movement… in the Greenham Common protests’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 530). Mellor acknowledges that ‘women provide much of the grassroots support for environmental campaigning, but fall away when organisations become more formal and bureaucratized’ (Mellor, 1997, pp 127).
 
Kennis and Mathijs regard that micro-level activisms fail to ‘connect a person with real causes of climate change, the political and economic system’ (Kenis and Mathijs, 2014, pp 151). The best way to affect change is to challenge the status quo, through direct action (Kenis and Mathijs, 2014, pp 152). Some mothers see their duty as both a mother and an activist is to be fully involved in direct action. Rose Capdevila interviewed a mother at the Newbury Bypass protests: ‘involvement in the road protest was her responsibility “as a mother.”… she argued that a “good mother” is one who teaches her children to be aware of and involved in “the struggle”’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 534). However, Ruddick questions assumptions about ‘good’ mothers: ‘An idealized figure of the Good Mother casts a long shadow on many actual mothers’ lives’ (Ruddick, 1990, pp 31).
 
The Earth First! Movement encourages activists to put their bodies and lives at risk to defend the biosphere (Mellor, 1997, pp 132). Where do mothers’ bodies fit into this collective organisation? Capdevila thinks that ‘the involvement of mothers normalizes political involvement through their very subscription to ordinariness’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 534). However, I consider that performing direct action challenges this. Rich describes the stereotypes of mothers as pure and peaceful versus mothers as impure and dangerous (Rich, 1997, pp 34): both assumptions about mothers can be seen in direct action narratives.
 
Motherhood and Sacred Activism.
 
Peter La Coura et al. discovered six different understandings of the word spirituality among people in Denmark: ‘(1) positive dimensions in human life and well-being; (2) New Age ideology; (3) an integrated part of established religious life; (4) a vague striving, opposed to religion; (5) selfishness; and (6) ordinary inspiration in human activities’ (La Coura et al., 2012, pp 63). These practical understandings can be incorporated into AnaLouise Keating’s definition of spiritual activism:[3]
 
a visionary, experientially-based epistemology and ethics, a way of life and a call to action. At the epistemological level, spiritual activism posits a metaphysics of interconnectedness and employs relational modes of thinking. At the ethical level, spiritual activism includes specific actions designed to challenge individual and systemic racism, sexism, homophobia, and other forms of social injustice. Spiritual activism is spirituality for social change, spirituality that recognizes the many differences among us yet insists on our commonalities and uses these commonalities as catalysts for transformation (Keating, 2005, pp 242).
 
Themes often surrounding spiritual activism include non-violence and being of service. Ruddick (1990, pp 157) implies that non-violent engagement is a prominent aspect of mothering practice (rather than being intrinsic to mothers). While many mothers struggle with non-violence (Ruddick, 1990, pp 31), Ruddick has often been struck by ‘resilient, non-violent mothers under considerable provocation in difficult circumstances’ (Ruddick, 1990, pp 163).
 
Gandhi’s word ahimsa means ‘not injuring any living being, whether by body or mind’ (Godrej, 2012, pp 441). Through environmental activism ‘every breath we take and every decision we make is a pledge of service and allegiance to Gaia’ (Harding, 2009, 274).[4]  However, the common metaphor of Mother Earth could be ‘potentially liberating or simply a rationale for the continual subordination of women’ (Warren, 1996, pp xv). Associating earth with mother could lead to further environmental degradation, because the patriarchal mother gives all and wants nothing in return (Warren, 1996, pp 55).
 
Another aspect of spiritual activism includes religious practices: prayer, pilgrimage and ritual (La Coura et al., 2012, pp 74). Harvey mentions that ‘some Pagans go beyond meditation to symbolic action. If they cannot actually stand between a rainforest and a lumberjack… they might plant a seed of the next apple they eat in the hope that not only will it grow, but that a rainforest seed will grow too. The action combines imagination, intention and a first step in the direction of a reforested planet’ (Harvey, 1997, pp 127).
         
Examples of mothers performing spiritual-based activisms include the women’s peace camp at Greenham Common, connected to the Goddess Movement (Feraro, 2016, pp 226), and the Fridays for Future climate strikes and Extinction Rebellion demonstrations. Both include a range of rituals underpinning actions (Kidwell, 2019, pp 1). Ideas for ritual often come from ancient traditions or Indigenous cultures. Ralph Metzner implies a major change in environmental treatment will not arise ‘unless supplemented by a recovery of ancient traditions of initiation and ritual celebration and a strong dose of ecological literacy’ (Metzner, 1995, pp 63).
 
A further aspect of spiritual activism is nature connection. Harvey describes animism as: ‘the understanding that the world is a community of persons, most of whom are not human, but all of whom are related, and all of whom deserve respect’ (Harvey, 2019, pp 80). Judith Chen-Hsuan Cheng and Martha Monroe understand how ‘Children’s connection to nature, their previous experience in nature, their perceived family value toward nature, and their perceived control positively influenced their interest in performing environmentally friendly behaviors’ (Cheng and Monroe, 2012, pp 31).
 
Fletcher (2017, pp 226) rejects emphasis on Connection with Nature (CWN), because the phrase reinforces dualisms between humanity and nature, and displaces attention from larger political and economic issues, which should be the main focus of environmental concern. Elizabeth Dickinson agrees: ‘the core issue lies in how psychological, interpersonal, and cultural fracturing promote disconnection in the first place, leading to the notion that nature is outside of humans who suffer from decreased contact with it’ (Dickinson, 2013, pp 328).
 
Another aspect of spiritual activism is awareness of environmental issues in daily life. For example, intentional communities challenging the status quo and resisting social norms (Jarvis, 2017, pp 435). Another example is diet and attitude towards animals, such as 19th Century women challenging the use of ‘plumage’, or wearing feathers from exotic birds in hats; and 20th Century vegan feminists and ecofeminists trying to end animal suffering in scientific research, beauty product industry, and food production. Recent studies have emerged such as animal studies and post-humanism, positioning ‘humans as but one among many life forms on the planet, challenging the myth of human superiority’ (Gaard, 2017, 116-119).
 
Methodology
 
Research conducted for this thesis was threefold. Firstly I explored primary sources including memoirs, blog posts, YouTube videos and activist organisation websites, and reviewed the academic literature.
 
Secondly I performed interviews, the participants of which are detailed below. I used a semi-structured interview method, meaning I had questions in mind to explore with the participants, but mostly let them tell their stories and let the conversation unfold naturally. Tom Wengraf’s method of semi-structured interviews is: ‘a deliberate half-scripted or quarter-scripted interview: its questions are only partially prepared in advance (semi-structured) and will therefore be largely improvised by you as interviewer. But only largely: the interview as a whole is a joint process, a co-production, by you and your interviewee’ (Wengraf (2001) in Etherington, 2004, pp 77).
 
Kim Etherington discusses the benefits of this, suggesting that a ‘not knowing’ (Etherington, 2004, pp 21) attitude is ideal for researchers who seek new knowledge rather than knowledge that reinforces dominant worldviews. During this research I aim to listen deconstructively, without assuming I know anything about what the participant wishes to say. Mies and Shiva discuss methodological guidelines for feminist research, in which neutrality and indifference towards research objects ‘has to be replaced by conscious partiality, which is achieved through partial identification with the research objects… [which] enables a correction of distortions of perception on both sides and widens the consciousness of both: the researcher and the ‘researched’’ (Mies and Shiva, 1993, pp 38). To this end, I have chosen to call the women I interviewed ‘participants’ rather than ‘interviewees’ because I consider this reduces the gap between myself as researcher and the participants as researched.
 
Thirdly, I supplemented this research with my own reflections. Etherington (2004, pp 27-28) advocates for the use of mutual discovery in research. She includes her own story in her book, viewing this as an honest way of documenting her findings and as a moral and ethical approach to her work. While I agree, and include some of my own reflections in my research, I am aware that this will be limited, because I completed the interviews and the majority of the research while I was not a mother. I say the majority, because during my dissertation research I became pregnant, and my views have reflected the process of growing a child inside me. My own reflections will therefore be based on my feelings of being an impending mother and on my own experiences of activism.
 
Participants
 
The participants in this study are eleven women who live in Somerset, in the South-West of the UK, including Glastonbury, villages around Glastonbury, Wells, Yeovil and Bridgwater. They are all mothers and some are grandmothers, except Lucy, who has cared for many children and used to be a teacher. I included Lucy to hear a voice from outside of motherhood, and to potentially show that one can be ‘motherly’ without having a child. They all, as far as I know, identify as heterosexual women. These participants all have aliases to protect their identity.
 
The participants are: Elena (adult children, grandmother), a spiritual activist who formed the group Changing Times, exploring Jem Bendells’ Deep Adaptation Agenda. Lucy (no children, grandmother age), active Druid and member of Glastonbury Friends of the Earth. Grace (adult child, grandmother) runs activist leadership workshops, follows Goddess Spirituality, and works with Extinction Rebellion. Robyn (two children in 20s), long-term activist, active at the 1990s Newbury Bypass road protests, campaigns for Earth First!, Extinction Rebellion, and anti-HS2 actions. Bee (two children in 20s), performs many personal activisms and co-founded Frack Free Yeovil. Alison (two children in 20s), enjoys low-impact, community living, and enquires into different spiritualties. Juno (three children aged 10 and 20s), began many campaign groups including Frack Free Somerset, and is currently working with Stop Ecocide. Violet (two children aged 13 and 21), co-founded Southwest Against Nuclear and has performed many direct actions. Carol (teenage child) lives off-grid, is a long-term activist involved in many direct action campaigns and is a singer-songwriter for an activist band. Penny (child aged 6), is a yoga teacher, community land-owner, and member of local groups Extinction Rebellion and Sustainable Wells. Isla (young child), is part of the Goddess movement and co-founded the Glastonbury Mothers Collective.
 
Other campaigns these women have been collectively involved in include pro-social housing, anti-war, anti-racist, anti-fox hunting, anti-badger cull, anti-genetic engineering, campaigning against a local incinerator, various road protests and climate change actions.
 
The limits to this group of participants are that all of these women live in the same area, some of them know each other, and some of them know me to some extent. I have found, however, those who know me are likely to be more comfortable to go deeper into this enquiry.
 
Results and Findings  

Motherhood and Feminism
 
Introduction
 
I begin my discussion with feminism because the original mother-activists discussed in scholarship were usually involved in feminist movements. Gaard understands that ‘feminist research puts the lines of the oppressed (whether by gender, race, species, or other hierarchical systems enforcing inequality) at the centre’ (Gaard, 2017, pp 116).
 
I give a full explanation of the progression of feminist thought in the literature review. To summarise, first-wave feminism takes the position that ‘women’s differences from men are minimal and should be minimized in the fight for equality’ (Forcey, 2014, pp 356), rejecting traditional notions that women’s roles are solely as mothers and nurturers (Plumwood, 1993, pp 21-22). Second-wave feminism saw this as detrimental to motherhood, because in this way women are essentially different from men (Forcey, 2014, pp 356), which liberal feminists reject as assuming that people of a particular gender ‘share the same traits’ (Pratt, Howarth, and Brady, 2000, pp 537). Third-wave feminisms argue that assumptions about differences between men and women are social and historical: all dualistic assumptions must be rejected (Plumwood, 1993, pp 33).
 
I argue that feminism is integrated into mothers’ motivations for performing any kind of activism, including environmental activism. My participants were not explicitly asked about feminism, so the following chapter is my own interpretation. The first section, Feminist Mothering, focuses on the kinds of feminism articulated, particularly involving motherhood. Several participants mentioned feminism as part of their activism, discussed in the second section on Feminist Activism.
 
 
Feminist Mothering
 
Here I trace changes in feminist thought through the generations of my participants. The views of two Grandmother-aged participants allude to first-wave feminism, at a time when little had been communicated about other feminisms. Lucy is the only participant who does not have children, partly due to her academic lifestyle, partly because:         
 
I saw womanhood as being about restrictions, not opportunities… you couldn't have the same freedom that men could have
 
Liberal feminism attempts to fit women into a masculine model, presented as the gender-neutral ideal human: man (Plumwood, 1993, pp 27). Perhaps Lucy chose not to have children because she realised that while she would be restricted as a mother, she would be more ‘free’ as an academic and worker. Grace believes this was far from unusual:
 
There've always been women who've chosen not to have children in the feminist movement… because they couldn't bring them into a patriarchal world
 
Liberal feminism may have been difficult for women who would rather concentrate on motherhood, as Elena recalls:
         
I wouldn’t call myself a feminist because when I was bringing up my children at home on the farm my friends would question me, wondering why I wasn’t ‘liberated’ and going to work, when I just wanted to be at home with my family
 
Second-wave feminism perceived this so-called ‘liberation’ as detrimental to motherhood, because in reproduction women are essentially different from men (Forcey, 2014, pp 356). Elena wished to be a stay-at-home mother, and Lucy decided not to have children because of a perceived lack of freedom: both women struggled with liberal feminist pressures.
 
Elena’s sentiments articulate a past situation, but they are echoed in the present by the Trad Wives Movement. A blog-post expresses:
 
There is a growing movement of women that are choosing to forego a career to stay home and take care of their kids, husband and domestic duties… an increasing number of young women don’t feel that the feminist narrative speaks for them
                                                                                                                (Trad Life Movement, 2020)
 
Some of these women have experienced a ‘dreadful taste of the corporate world’ (Trad Life Movement, 2020), and would prefer to go back to traditional ways. Some understand they can give better love and care to their children than strangers. Others believe that for generations ‘men and women had a complementary and symbiotic relationship’ (Trad Life Movement, 2020), with men as providers and women as nurturers: a reversal of liberal feminism similar to second-wave feminism. They explicitly reject all feminism, but view the dominant feminist narrative as the liberal one. Perhaps second-wave feminism is also rejected because of its emphasis on women as superior to men, giving rise to such statements as ‘The Future is Female’ (Plumwood, 1993, pp 31). A woman caring for a husband and possibly male children may disagree.
 
I question whether the Trad Wives could attract all classes and races, because the economic reality for many mothers is the necessity to both work and perform childcare.  Two working mother participants, their children roughly the same age, express this economic reality. Juno recalls at a Woman’s Liberation Conference:
 
A woman… said… ‘feminism is a waste of time because we've got everything we need.’ That statement is so believed by so many people who have been groomed by liberal feminism to believe that it's all fine now… feminism is not about equality because there never will be equality under patriarchy[5]
 
This woman expresses liberal feminist beliefs, that women’s differences from men have already been minimised (Forcey, 2014, pp 356). Juno stands more with second-wave feminism, acknowledging that because women are essentially different from men (Forcey, 2014, pp 356) they will never be equal inside the current paradigm. Violet thinks:
 
Women should be able to choose [lifestyles]… what I actually see is women haven't had a choice. As well as managing the home and managing the children, we've now got the work… on top of [everything else]
 
Again this is a critique of first-wave feminisms, sometimes based on socialist or humanist-Marxist feminism, which sees women as producers or workers, the same as men (Plumwood, 1993, pp 27). As ‘women of colour and working-class women have always been in the ‘kitchen’ and ‘the workforce’’ (O’Reilly, 2014, pp 193) at the same time, liberal feminism does not speak for all classes and races, but neither does the stay-at-home lifestyle the Trad Wives advocate for.
 
In contrast, the two participants with the youngest children have different views. Penny describes her life as a mother as equal to her partner. They both work part time, and share both parenting and activism work. Perhaps we are noticing here a move away from institutional motherhood. Ruddick examined the experience of mothering, considering that anyone, Penny’s husband included, can be a ‘mother’, ‘to the degree that they are committed to meeting demands that define maternal work’ (Ruddick, 1990, pp 17). This is potentially a move towards third-wave feminism, arguing that all dualistic assumptions of motherhood must be rejected (Plumwood, 1993, pp 33).
 
Now, in the UK at least, more mothers insist on motherhood combined with paid employment; that fathers are involved in childcare; that they can engage in activism and have a life outside mothering (O’Reilly, 2014, pp 189). However, this assumes that mothers can share parenting with a partner or someone else. Penny acknowledges this: she does not know many families who co-parent in quite the same way. Isla struggled with this as a single mother, and in consequence co-created the organisation Mothers Collective (Glastonbury Mothers Collective, 2019), in which mothers help each other with practical and emotional support. Their vision is shown in Figure 1.
 

 
Figure 1: Glastonbury Mothers Collective Vision (Glastonbury Mothers Collective, 2019).
 
My own experience is closer to that of both Penny and Isla, and I am closer to them in age. Similar to Penny’s situation, when we have children my partner and I are planning on sharing childcare and both continuing to work. This is both a conscious choice, as we both want to be involved in our child’s life as much as possible, and an economic reality that we need both our wages to survive. Therefore I understand Isla’s sentiments: while she does not have her child’s father around to help, we do not have family close by meaning childcare is solely our responsibility. Having a network of other mothers to help with support, empowerment, community and well-being is vital for bringing up a child, because ‘what a child needs is a free and happy mother’ (O’Reilly, 2014, pp 192).
 
4.1.3. Summary
 
My participants articulate their views on motherhood differently depending on their age and economic reality. Grandmother aged, Lucy as an academic chose not to have children, while Elena chose to stay at home with her children on the farm. Both felt tensions surrounding these decisions, Lucy because she may have made different choices had women been more ‘liberated’ and Elena because she was questioned by her peers for not being ‘liberated’. The next generation of mothers, Juno and Violet, notice that women’s liberation has perhaps not worked the way the liberal feminists hoped. Violet thinks mothers have too much pressure to both work and look after the house and children, while Juno thinks women will never be liberated under the current system.
 
The mothers with younger children think differently again, recognising that sharing parenting either with their partner or with other young mothers is the way forward. This does not mean that mothers of other generations did not share parenting, only that while speaking about her lifestyle choices, Penny did not mention the word ‘feminism’ at all. These younger mothers have had less liberal feminist influence and cultivate non-dualism to some extent, more similar to third-wave feminism.
 
 
 
 
 
 
4.1.4. Feminist Activism
 
Gaard says that ‘from the start, feminism has been a movement for justice’ (Gaard, 2017, pp 116). Several participants’ motivations for early activism were centred around fighting against oppression in forms other than environmental. Grace states:
 
I was born an activist because to me, the heart of activism is… having a sense that something can be better and fighting injustice, oppression
 
Alison says:
 
I'm your babe in the 70s, left-wing socialist feminist. Active student and social worker union rep, bringing out social workers on strike… very much political action. Trade Union action against poverty, very involved in anti-apartheid
 
These two women from working-class backgrounds describe their early activisms in terms of fighting oppression, including women’s liberation, trade union actions, anti-nuclear,[6] and anti-apartheid. Two others expressed activist beginnings in a social context: Isla, who founded the Mothers Collective, and Juno, whose first concern was with social housing.
 
My own activist beginnings were social. As a traveller I volunteered in local organisations, usually helping children in developing countries. I returned home to the UK with a shock: the social and economic systems in place did not make it easy to reintegrate. My enquiry into Ecology and Spirituality during my MA motivated me to include social activism in future endeavours.
 
Carol considers that working-class women understand these oppressions better than people of other classes:
 
The people who need to be leading the world are working-class women, because [they] think well about the group… about how everybody will do best…
 
Here, Carol touches on ‘intersectionality’, meaning ‘intersecting axes of inequality’ (Sauer, 2018, pp 87):  the interconnectedness of different oppressions due to gender, race, class, sexuality, age, and religion. It connects political movements, such as women’s, queer, anti-racist and worker’s movements (Sauer, 2018, pp 87). Through mentioning class issues, Carol acknowledges where her own feelings of oppression originated and why she rejects oppression in all forms.
 
One of the early ways feminists performed activism was participation in peace movements, such as Greenham Common Peace Camp. Several participants cited war as motivation for activism. Penny states:
 
It wasn't until [my son] was about three years old that I felt comfortable enough to be able to look out and see what was going on in the world… I started… seeing the news and just crying. It was all of the [war] in the Middle East
 
Elena describes her experiences at an anti-Iraq war march, which she attended with her daughter:
 
That was an amazing day because there was everybody there. Grannies, babies, all nationalities, a million people and it was freezing cold. It was like being inside a prayer inside a song. That was a very powerful experience of an upsurge feeling from people, just ordinary people
 
Violet also attended an anti-Iraq War march, which was ‘the first thing that probably came into my consciousness as a mum’. However, her anti-nuclear and anti-war sentiments went back to her childhood, growing up under the threat of atomic war. War was the first thing these mothers were concerned about for their children, or that motivated their activism.
 
Forcey sees the connection with women and peace as ancient: peace symbolised by the giver of life. However, this simplification denies women’s differences with other women, and exaggerates their differences with men (Forcey, 2014, pp 355); a second-wave feminist viewpoint. Radical (second-wave) feminists reject masculine ideals, understanding that ‘for women, the real task of liberation is not equal participation or absorption in such a male dominant culture, but rather subversion, resistance and replacement’ (Plumwood, 1993, pp 30). My participants reject the dominant ‘culture of misogyny and death’ (Plumwood, 1993, pp 30), through feeling anti-war sentiments or marching in anti-war demonstrations.
 
4.1.5. Summary
 
Most participants were involved in feminist activisms, dealing with injustices and inequalities between genders (Mothers Collective), classes (Trade Unions and housing associations), countries (anti-war and anti-nuclear), and races (anti-apartheid). I term all these actions ‘feminist’ because feminism positions ‘the oppressed (whether by gender, race, species, or other hierarchical systems enforcing inequality) at the centre’ (Gaard, 2017, pp 116).
 
Feminisms mentioned include: ecofeminism, which insists on participation by different classes and races, expressed through mentioning working-class activism; and second-wave feminism, which rejects women’s participation in war. However, I consider that while anti-war sentiments are expressed here, they may not have a second-wave feminist core, because second-wave feminists reject perceived ‘masculine’ mindsets. To be truly non-violent, one must reject all dualism, including the opposition of male and female (Plumwood, 1993, pp 33-34), as Mellor advocates for: ‘a fundamental reorganization of human-human relationships as an essential aspect of reformulating human-nature relations’ (Mellor, 1997, pp 130).
 
I notice that when discussing Feminist Mothering, the participants seem to have trouble expressing feminist viewpoints, other than rejecting first-wave feminism. When in consideration of Feminist Activism, however, their feminist views are clearer: fighting against oppression in all forms; coming together as women to fight against social injustice; and anti-war sentiments as motivation for activism.
 

1. Motherhood and Environment

 

1. Introduction

 
This chapter will expand on feminist activisms to include environmental injustice and oppression. There are many ways in which mothers find their surrounding environment degraded or threatened, leading to environmental concern. I have identified two main areas in which mothers experience environmental concern: physical and emotional.
 
O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy suggest that women today, especially mothers, are more likely to display concern for the environment (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 558). This could be for physical reasons, such as mothers being more likely to be affected by environmental issues (Ling, 2014, pp 105), climate change (Rylander, Odland, and Sandanger, 2013, pp 1), and population reduction pressures (Butler, 2014, pp 279). Emotional reasons for environmental concern include feeling grief and guilt when experiencing environmental loss. I question throughout the assumption that mothers experience these concerns more than other people.

1. Physical Reasons for Environmental Concern.

 
Mothers are perhaps more likely to be affected by environmental issues such as soil fertility reduction, chemicals, pollution (Ling, 2014, pp 105), and various effects of climate change (Rylander, Odland, and Sandanger, 2013, pp 1). Sandra Steingraber describes how her pregnancy led her to further exploration of environmental issues, and inspired her to take action. She realises:
 
          A woman's body is the first environment. If the world's environment is 
contaminated, so too is the ecosystem of a mother's body. If a mother’s body is contaminated, so too is the child who inhabits it. These truths should inspire us all… to action
                                                                                                                (Steingraber, 2011, pp x).
 
This echoes some ecofeminist thinking, linking women and nature.[7] Françoise d’Eaudbonne named ecofeminism, calling for an ecological revolution grounded in establishing new relationships between man and woman, humanity and nature (Ling, 2014, pp 104). Ecofeminist activism includes a worldwide range of positions, voices, and locations of activism (Moore, 2011, pp 6), in which Mies and Shiva believe ‘The concept… of mata [mother] has automatically got connected with the whole movement’ (Mies and Shiva, 1993, pp 5). Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred accept, ‘There is nothing quite like the mothering instinct kicked into overdrive and funnelled into the effort to protect and preserve the land, air, and water for our children’ (Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred, 2010, 142).
 
However, this assumes that women are in socially defined roles as mothers, concerned primarily for their children, secondarily for wider society or environment: the ‘eco-maternalist narrative’ (Sze, 2017, pp 162). Eco-maternalism ‘makes explicit links between women’s mothering and caring disposition and their unique propensity to care for nature’ (MacGregor (2006) in Ey, 2020, pp 6). These generalisations exclude men and non-maternal women, and obscure ‘the many ways in which women’s resistance… is multiple, contingent, more-than-gendered, and more-than-human’ (MacGregor (2006) in Ey, 2020, pp 1).
 
Juno expresses concern for her child by not taking him to a fracking site ‘because of the pollution and the effect that might have on his physical body’. Juno was the only participant who directly expressed concern for her child’s health in a given situation, but this concern had no bearing on whether she performed the activism. No participant directly alleged that their activisms were performed to protect their children’s health: they did not fit into the ‘eco-maternalist narrative’ (Sze, 2017, pp 162). However, perhaps it is given that the health of the planet and local environments will affect children’s health. My own environmentalism began with concern for my future child’s health should fracking become widespread in the UK, so I understand concerns that parents, not only mothers, have about the health of local environments being linked to the health of children.
 
Another physical issue concerning mothers is overpopulation. Women are caught up in this ethical dilemma precisely because they birth children. Fear of overpopulation focuses on the global South, positioning women, especially mothers, both as victims and as threats to Northern lifestyles (Butler, 2014, pp 279). This fails to acknowledge that people other than mothers need aid by focussing on heteronormativity and females (Butler, 2014, pp 280). Policies have led to human-rights abuses, such as those from Agenda 21,[8] which Butler condemns as racist and sexist, failing ‘to criticize global capitalism for its role in human exploitation and ecological degradation’ (Butler, 2014, pp 279).
 
Monbiot acknowledges that while overpopulation is a problem, ‘economic growth this century could be 32 times as big an environmental issue as population growth’ (Monbiot, 2008, pp 20). Considering that my participants all live in the UK, population growth is not the most important issue. It was specifically mentioned once, when Lucy voiced sadness that she never had a child, but acknowledges: ‘I wouldn't want to contribute to the population issue’.
 
However, consideration of whether it is right to have children arose frequently. Many activists question this, as Robyn recalls, at the Newbury Bypass protests her friends would say ‘I’m never having children because this planet is such a state’.[9] The environmental movement Birthstrike[10] has 650+ members, female and male: all decided not to have children. Their reasons include: the resources and time it takes to raise a child, meaning they cannot concentrate on activism; lessening their own impacts, or ‘mothering-the-world’ (Birthstrike, 2020); lessening the unjust high-consumer impact of the global North on the South; fearing what their child might go through physically and mentally due to climate change.[11]
 
I notice Birthstrike reasoning in two participants’ thoughts on environmental concern. Penny has decided to adopt her second child, for environmental and social reasons: ‘not having another child, which is a massive carbon footprint, there's already a child out there that needs to be looked after’. Bee fears what her children might go through in the coming years, which motivates her activism:
 
What have I brought these human beings into the world to, when they grow up?… I've always felt a lot of pressure to do something rather than just let the world go to wrack and ruin
 
My own decision to have a child drove me towards environmental activism. Once you make the decision to have a child, there is a huge motivation to change the world for them.

1. Summary

 
Only one participant directly expressed concern about how an environmental issue might affect her son’s health, but this had no bearing on whether she acted against that issue. However, all participants probably have their children’s, or future generations, health in mind when considering wider environmental issues.
 
The main physical issue that my participants face is the environmental impacts of having children, reflected in the movement Birthstrike. Two mentioned times in the past when friends had decided not to have children due to environmental or social concerns. Others seem concerned with their child’s carbon footprint, or with what their children will face in the future due to environmental degradation. One expressed directly that this is a major motivation for her activism, and it is likely that others agree. One participant expressed reluctance to add to what she perceived as the problem of overpopulation. However overpopulation was not a big concern, because the participants live in the global North, whereas overpopulation issues generally focus on the South. They were more concerned with over-consumption.

1. Emotional Reasons for Environmental Concern.

 
Pompeo-Fargnoli sees human separation from nature as the major cause of psychological disorders and suffering. Many physical and emotional problems arise because we do not live in harmony with the world. Sanity, a healthy psyche, is ‘dependent upon our reconnecting with and caring for the natural world’ (Pompeo-Fargnoli, 2018, pp 2). Fletcher (2017, pp 226) sees this emphasis on nature connection as flawed, because it reinforces a dualism between humanity and nature, and displaces attention from larger political and economic issues, which should be the main focus of environmental concern.
 
While most participants were aware of environmental issues before becoming mothers, some found their thoughts and motivations changing when they became mothers. Violet communicates:
         
Having children… made me start to think about the world a bit differently and to have concern for what the world is that my children are going to inherit… it's incumbent on me to do something
 
Penny cites this as motivation for activism, fearing that one day her son will ask her what she did to help the environment, and she will not have an adequate reply. Grace wrote a poem called the Grandmother’s Apology.[12] She describes how this poem impacted her listeners:
 
The youngsters love it because they're hearing [me] apologising on behalf of my generation… the older people… said: that absolutely touched me because I've not been able to apologise like that. I don't want all this guilt… But when we really go into the apology, you're not abasing yourself for it. It's just more, why didn't we do it? I'm so sorry… We didn't get it
 
Several mothers speak about how environmental concern can lead to deep grief, and how bringing a child into that is difficult. Alison describes her ‘terrible fears for [her children] and horrific grief of the future’. Elena expresses the grief of older generations, who have witnessed the effects of environmental degradation: ‘All this vanishing is so painful, all the land going under housing, all the flooding, and the change in the weather’.
 
I experienced deep grief after attending an Extinction Rebellion (XR) demonstration. The emotion came after acknowledging what extinction really means: killing beings before they are conceived. What dies is the ability to imagine a future generation of a whole species. It helped me comprehend how species that face extinction might feel.
 
Joanna Macy believes that grieving is important, because ‘these responses manifest in our interconnectedness’ (Macy, 1995, pp 258), bringing people together to organise political action. When the expression of environmental grief is supported through rituals of mourning and celebration, people can ‘reaffirm faith in ecology and evolution’ (Windle, 1995, pp 143). XR comprehend this, building into their campaigns opportunities to grieve together, such as funeral marches (Figure 2): ‘facing feelings is not a substitute for political action, nor is it a distraction from action… We need to mourn and organize’ (Farrell et al, 2019, pp 67).
 

Figure 2: Mourners placing soft toys of endangered animals into a coffin. XR Funeral March for Extinct Species, Glastonbury 2018. Photo by Amy Martin.
 
Several participants describe how grief or despair influenced their motives for activism: a positive feeling. Violet describes how despair is worse when she is inactive: ‘I don't try and suppress the fear that I have for the planet… I spend much of my time trying to channel myself into taking some positive action’. Grace agrees:
 
I have accepted that we may be going into extinction… that doesn't make me feel I must give up and run away and bury my head, it makes me feel sad sometimes
                   
Grace mentions Bendell’s Deep Adaptation Agenda, which sees that ‘climate change is… an indicator of how our human psyche and culture became divorced from our natural habitat’ (Bendell, 2018, pp 19). This has led to ‘inevitable collapse, probable catastrophe and possible extinction’ (Bendell, 2018, pp 19). However, ‘There is a growing community of people who conclude we face inevitable human extinction and treat that view as a prerequisite for meaningful discussions about the implications for our lives right now’ (Bendell, 2018, pp 19). Grace suggests accepting extinction as likely, and then moving forward through ‘nurturing, love, holding and resilience’. Perhaps for this to be successful, emotions such as grief and guilt need to be acknowledged in a healthy way.

1. Summary

 
Only one participant expressed how environmental concern increased upon having children: most were activists before becoming mothers. Therefore I cannot conclude that mothers show a greater environmental concern than other women or genders. However, several participants implied that concern for future generations motivated them to activism. Older generations may feel more guilt about why they did not act, younger ones may fear future guilt if they do not act.
 
Grief is a difficult emotion, mentioned by many participants. For some, it drives them to positive action; others see that expressing grief is vital for acting in loving, kind ways. Some view grief as important for creating community resilience for the inevitable environmental collapse. All participants who mentioned grief acknowledge it as a necessary emotion.
 

1. Motherhood and Activism.

 

1. Introduction

 
Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred (2010, pp 143) discuss different ways in which mothers perform activism at the micro-level, which will be discussed in the first section ‘Relational Activism’, and the macro-level, which will be discussed in the section ‘Direct Action’. These terms may reflect definitions of light-, mid-, and dark-green ecology, which are different ways in which people react to environmental degradation.
 
Curry defines light-green ecology as where ‘consideration for the nonhuman is only indirect, insofar as the well-being of humans is affected’ (Curry, 2011, pp 61). This could also be seen as micro-level, or relational activism. Next is mid-green, in which ‘there is consideration for nonhuman individuals’ (Curry, 2011, pp 61), often manifesting as animal rights activism, usually involving campaigning and occasionally direct action. Dark-green is ‘biocentric, or ecocentric, considering all species to be intrinsically valuable’ (Taylor, 2010, pp 13), often leading to macro-level, direct activism.
 
This chapter explores how my activist-mother participants articulate these different types of activism and the kinds of actions they choose to perform.

1. Relational Activism

 
This section reveals the ways in which my participants perform micro-level and relational activisms. Micro-level activisms include mothers expressing themselves on internet platforms, discussions with friends at social gatherings, and making environmentally-friendly purchasing decisions (Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred, 2010, 143). Elena articulates micro-level activisms:
 
My children have grown up with the values of treading lightly on the earth and not just buying stuff, we're a making do and mend household, most of the stuff is second-hand or third-hand
 
Penny hopes that discussing low-carbon issues with friends will encourage others to follow suit. Bee expresses herself on internet platforms, including signing petitions and through her Facebook group The Little Things We Do to Save the Earth:
 
All of those people making all these small changes becomes one big one… It's about being less of a burden on the planet
 
These are only a few examples; most of my interviewees expressed in some way that they consider the impact their own lives have on the planet and discuss these things with others.
 
It could be that more women are engaged in light-green activisms because their local lives are more concerned with ‘human health and habitat’ (Mellor, 1997, pp 127). This is not necessary negative, as Harvey recalls that ‘The personal is political’, so ‘using ecologically “friendly’’ washing up liquid… recycled paper and local products begins to affect wider economic and political realities’ (Harvey, 1997, pp 127). However, micro-level activisms may put more pressure on overburdened mothers (Plumwood, 1993, pp 23). The same could be said about other activisms, as perhaps mothers are more likely to perform environmental activism for future generations (Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred, 2010, 142). Penny remarks that a worryingly large portion of her friends:
 
Have either suffered from depression very recently, or anxiety… I couldn't tell you how much of that is to do specifically with the pressures of the climate emergency, but from the couple that I've spoken to, definitely… It's just another thing that they have to try and get right… really horrible pressure for them
 
O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy expand micro-level activisms to relational activism: ‘attending protests and public action campaigns relies on an overlooked and underrecognized set of activist behaviours that are not “direct action”’ (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 555). The ‘acts behind activism’ (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 555) are often performed by women, whose political activism may be ‘curbed or limited’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 533) due to marriage and childcare duties. Direct activism is ‘dismissed as something for those without such responsibilities’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 533).
 
My own activism probably falls into this category. While I have attended protests and marches, the majority of my activism has been through the local grassroots Friends of the Earth. Actions mostly concern informing the local community and creating community engagement, such as putting on film nights or campaigning for a Plastic Free Glastonbury. Lucy is also a member of Friends of the Earth and Penny is a member of a similar group, Sustainable Wells. However, these groups and the acts behind them, while important, are perhaps less valued because, as Juno articulates:
 
If you are lying across the Heathrow runway or locked to a tripod… those people get so much more attention than Margaret sat her back bedroom, with a six month old baby fast asleep searching through the planning applications… we should be celebrating the back office woman…
 
O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy believe ‘when women form networks of individuals who can be called upon to engage in conventional activism, the very act of forming and maintaining a network constitutes relational activism’ (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 563-564). Some participants have experience of creating and sustaining such networks, for example Juno, whose first major success she did mainly at home:
 
I could do Genetic Engineering… It didn't involve me going to a camp with a baby… I had tech skills… I could write a press release… I did a lot of political lobbying cos I had two small kids… I stopped GM crops getting planted in Somerset
 
Sometimes activists can feel guilty for not participating when their situation changes. Participants often expressed that direct action was important to them, but they restricted their participation due to consideration of their children. For example:
 
Three weeks after she was born there was a big gig for a Stop the War campaign in London… I stayed at home with the baby and we were both massively affected… it deepened commitment but there wasn’t much time to do anything. In the first year I don’t think I took part in any activism
          Carol
 
Because I'm their sole parent… when I first started my job… [I thought] I get arrested, I'm not sure [my employer] would be happy with me… that's what's paying for the house and everything that they need… it's taught me to have more self-control     
          Bee
 
I was very focused on the GM test sites… [my children] walked in looking all vulnerable and said ‘mummy we want you back’, so… I stopped doing any activism or campaigning
          Juno
 
All these women decided to curb their activism in consideration of their children, but none stopped activism completely. They changed how they performed activism, focusing more on the micro-level or relational activisms: Carol maintains an extremely low-impact home and others continued to create networks and community. Many went back to more direct action later.

1. Summary

 
Many participants perform micro-level or relational activisms as part of their daily lives. Sometimes there is pressure to get things right, as Penny expresses about her friends. Other times they enjoy the challenge, such as Bee’s ‘Little Things’ Facebook page.
 
Some mothers may consider these activisms as less important than macro-level direct actions, but they still perform them. The last three examples above show that mothers perform different activisms at different times of their lives, according to what is possible around their current familial responsibilities. Not all have the inclination or the luxury to do direct action all the time. Therefore I consider that for mothers, no type of activism is necessarily better or worse. That they still consider the planet in their everyday actions, even with a tiny baby to look after, is remarkable.

1. Direct Activism

 
Kennis and Mathijs regard that micro-level activisms fail to ‘connect a person with real causes of climate change, the political and economic system’ (Kenis and Mathijs, 2014, pp 151). The best way to affect change is to challenge the status quo, through direct action (Kenis and Mathijs, 2014, pp 152). Macro-level activism includes participating in grassroots activist groups, including campaigning and direct action. This can also be understood as dark-green activism, involving protecting ecological systems, such as the Newbury Bypass protests, or the entire biosphere, such as climate change activism.
 
Mellor acknowledges that ‘women provide much of the grassroots support for environmental campaigning, but fall away when organisations become more formal and bureaucratized’ (Mellor, 1997, pp 127). Juno embraces this ‘falling away’ when the organisation becomes larger: ‘I've always been at the beginning of a campaign or started it. Once the movement’s happening, I move onto the next one.’         
 
Some mothers identify their duty as both mother and activist as to be a direct activist. For example, lists of ecofeminist activisms show examples of more recent women’s movements (Moore, 2011, pp 7), but historically ‘As far back as Aristophanes' Lysistrata, we have accounts of women intervening in politics… On a more grassroots level, women were involved… in the anti-slavery movement… and the civil rights movement… in the Greenham Common protests’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 530).
 
Capdevila interviewed a mother at the Newbury Bypass protests, who said: ‘involvement in the road protest was her responsibility “as a mother.”… A “good mother” is one who teaches her children to be aware of and involved in “the struggle”’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 534).[13] While this lady states that to be a good mother one must encourage a child to be involved in ‘the struggle’, and some participants agree, most consider good mothering to be the opposite: protecting their children from the struggle.
 
Robyn would probably agree with her. We discuss bringing up children to respect nature:
 
I wouldn’t call that activism, that degrades activists… that’s responsible parenting and being a responsible human being… activism is you do something to actually stop something, it’s not giving out leaflets, activism is where you are activating other people, it’s not about you being active, it’s doing something to either stop something happening or making other people think… activism is where you actually take a risk, whether it’s your own personal liberty, you’re stepping outside of any comfort zone
 
Carol perceives that performing direct activism means she is a good role-model for her daughter:
 
I am planning on getting arrested [at XR protests in London]… While she was little I wouldn’t risk arrest… until I think she is ready, I see it as part of my empowerment of her… I want her to know it’s not just her dad who does this, it’s her mum, who cares as passionately and is as brave and can stand up, cos there is a role-model thing here for young women
 
Participants who have performed direct actions include Violet, who says:
 
Being a mum, there's a limit to how far I can take it… [However] it's funny, the amount of people that talk to me ‘I’ve got children, I couldn't do that’… I'm a single mum and I still found ways to do it... You [find childcare] for an action
 
Robyn took her children with her to the Newbury Bypass protest camps. She considers this better for her mental health than had they not been there:
 
I’d try and shelter them, try to make things normal, try to keep things calm… I turned into camp mum usually… the girls would go off either with my mum or their dad and then I’d full sprint ahead. I didn’t go into depression like most people… I think I was safe because I had children… there might have been absolute annihilation,… they just made me smile
 
A more extreme example is the Earth First! Movement, which encourages activists to put their bodies and lives at risk to defend the biosphere (Mellor, 1997, pp 132). Robyn became involved with Earth First! and agrees with putting one’s body at risk to defend nature. However, she views the macho thinking behind this kind of activism as uncaring, often leading to burnout:
 
          Our bodies were tools and we had to use those tools to stop a machine
          …
That’s all you can do, put yourself in front of a machine that is killing your mother, that is killing your earth
 
Where do mothers’ bodies fit into this collective organisation? Capdevila thinks that ‘the involvement of mothers normalizes political involvement through their very subscription to ordinariness’ (Capdevila, 2010, pp 534), but this contradicts Robyn’s example of putting her body in front of a machine. These contrasting images of mother as ordinary and mother as direct activist perhaps reflect differing views of mothers as pure and peaceful versus impure and dangerous (Rich, 1997, pp 34). Both stereotypes of motherhood could be used affectively within activism.

1. Summary

 
Mothers consider many things when performing direct actions. Issues such as: when to leave a campaign; how to perform direct action whilst being responsible for children; when do mothers feel they can be arrested for an action; how do mothers become good role-models for their children; and how are mothers’ bodies used during actions? Some mothers see direct action, including putting ones’ body and freedom on the line, as vital, whereas others view less extreme activism as more appropriate when they have children.
 
This chapter contains contrasting and contradictory views, many questions that have no easy answers. These complex issues often have their roots in questions surrounding what makes a good mother; what are motherly duties concerning looking after both children and our planet; and whether seeing mothers performing direct action changes the mindsets of onlookers.
 
 
4.4. Motherhood and Sacred Activism
 
4.4.1. Introduction
 
Keating defines spiritual activism as:
 
a visionary, experientially-based epistemology and ethics, a way of life and a call to action. At the epistemological level, spiritual activism posits a metaphysics of interconnectedness and employs relational modes of thinking. At the ethical level, spiritual activism includes specific actions designed to challenge individual and systemic racism, sexism, homophobia, and other forms of social injustice. Spiritual activism is spirituality for social change, spirituality that recognizes the many differences among us yet insists on our commonalities and uses these commonalities as catalysts for transformation
                                                                                                                         (Keating, 2005, pp 242).
 
I will use the terms spiritual activism and sacred activism interchangeably. These definitions bring together the previous chapters through: feminism (chapter 4.1), as spiritual activism challenges social injustices; environmentalism (chapter 4.2), which includes non-human beings as worthy of ethical consideration; and activism (chapter 4.3), how ethics become ways of life and calls to action.
 
This chapter investigates how spiritual activisms are articulated by my participants. As I did not directly ask my participants to define spirituality, I will utilise the study by La Coura et al, who discovered six different understandings of ‘spirituality’ in secular Denmark: ‘(1) positive dimensions in human life and well-being; (2) New Age ideology; (3) an integrated part of established religious life; (4) a vague striving, opposed to religion; (5) selfishness; and (6) ordinary inspiration in human activities’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 63). As my study is based in another secular country, the UK, I apply these understandings of spirituality to the ways in which my participants articulate spirituality in regards to their own motherhood and environmental activism, but acknowledge that this list may not be exhaustive.
 
4.4.2. 1. Positive Dimensions of Human Life and Well-being.
 
This expresses ‘positive human feelings, activities and characteristics’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 72), such as ‘gratitude, love, wisdom, meaning in life, light, identity, sharing, profound person, engagement’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 72). This was articulated by participants in two ways: through acts of non-violent communication, and through acts of service and self-sacrifice. Both show love, sharing, and engagement.
 
Examples of non-violent engagement include Carol’s actions at the Newbury protests:
 
Part of my effectiveness was communicating with the police and the security guards that had been hired to stop us from getting to the diggers… I wrote a song with the security guards, [it] went onto BBC2, which was really great, cos it was their words… someone wrote this verse ‘chainsaws gleaming as the trees are screaming for mercy’… we’ve got to remember that we’re on the same side
 
I consider this an example of spiritual activism, using Keating’s definition of ‘spirituality that recognizes the many differences among us yet insists on our commonalities and uses these commonalities as catalysts for transformation’ (Keating, 2005, pp 242), as Carol recalls the commonalities between activist and opposition, and utilises this to transform that relationship. 
 
The miracle of non-violence in difficult circumstances is prominent among activists such as Gandhi, whom Carol mentions as one of her influences. Gandhi uses ahimsa, meaning ‘not injuring any living being, whether by body or mind’ (Godrej, 2012, pp 441). This has spiritual connotations, as Alison states that her Buddhist sentiments meant that she practiced not harming any living thing.
 
With regards to motherhood, Ruddick implies that non-violent engagement is a prominent aspect of mothering practice (rather than being intrinsic to mothers) (Ruddick, 1990, pp 157). While many mothers struggle with non-violence (Ruddick, 1990, pp 31), Ruddick has often witnessed ‘resilient, non-violent mothers under considerable provocation in difficult circumstances’ (Ruddick, 1990, pp 163).
 
Grace uses acts of service and self-sacrifice:
 
My sacred activism, it's always been through people… The sacredness and the activism is from the interconnectedness… Service is huge for me. Sacred activism is a form of service
 
Robyn views protecting each tree as a sacred act of service:
 
After the sacred is destroyed, activism kicks in… cutting down trees… the life force of the planet, this was something that was seen as so sacrilegious
 
Harding suggests that through environmental activism ‘every breath we take and every decision we make is a pledge of service and allegiance to Gaia’ (Harding, 2009, pp 274).  Robyn connects this with motherhood:
 
When you have a child you are working for something greater than yourself… that’s true of activism… you are nurturing something outside of yourself
 
This association between mothering children and being of service to either community or the environment can be problematic. Ideas of Mother Earth and Mother Nature could be ‘potentially liberating or simply a rationale for the continual subordination of women’ (Warren, 1996, pp xv). Roach questions the metaphor: associating earth with mother could lead to further environmental degradation, because the patriarchal version of mother gives all and wants nothing in return (Roach, 1996, pp 55).
 
However, seeing Gaia as Mother Earth interconnecting all life also gives motivation for environmental activism. This is especially strong for those who consider the liberation of women as how the world will be saved. My participants mainly communicate this in terms of Indigenous worldviews. Violet mentions the Abenaki tribe,[14] who say:
 
Your warriors, who are always gunning for a fight because they're trained to be warriors, don't give them the decision making power: they're gonna take you to war. The women and the mothers and the grandmothers made those decisions… because they know… what's gotta be done for the tribe and for the children.
 
Elena speaks about sacred activism being women’s work, saying that ‘bringing the sacred back into life… [is] work that only women can do, because… If women don't do this work, then something new can't be born that is trying to be born’. Her version of sacred activism comes through sitting in meditative circles with groups of women.
 
Alice Walker would understand Elena’s wisdom: ‘women united in close circles can awaken the wisdom in each other’s hearts… As bringers of life, the Grandmothers say, we have no choice but to join together and raise our voices for humanity and for our Mother Earth, for the sake of the next seven generations to come’ (Schaffer, 2006, pp 144).
 
Some feminists would disagree with the sentimentality of women saving the world, another way of associating women with love and nurture. It is highly questionable whether women are more emotional towards environmental degradation than men (Ruberg and Steenberg, 2011, pp 5). Again this is an eco-maternalist narrative, positioning ‘caring’ women as closer to nature (MacGregor (2006) in Ey, 2020, pp 6). This excludes men and other genders from the narrative and puts further pressure on women who may already feel societal pressure (Plumwood, 1993, pp 23), by encouraging them to be ‘of service’.
 
4.4.3. 2. New Age Ideology.
 
This includes ‘healing, crystals, clairvoyance, alternative treatments, astrology, and energies’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 73), including yoga, guru-worship, breath-work and meditation. In my introduction I mentioned my conversation with an activist who expressed a negative attitude towards this kind of spirituality, because these people are ‘navel-gazing’ rather than actively taking care of the planet. Others may disagree with this, for example Penny, who discovered a deeper love of Earth through yoga:
 
Spirituality was a bigger factor in connection with the earth than having a child… I link it heavily to yoga because of the concept behind yoga being… a union between the duality of life
 
While no participant mentions crystals, clairvoyance, and so on as part of their activisms, Isla mentions healing people through massage, and Alison, Elena and Grace use meditation as part of their spiritual and activist practice. I consider all these as valid means to perform sacred activism, agreeing with Macy, who says there are many different ways of being responsive to environmental degradation: ‘for some of us it can be through study or conversation, for others theatre or public office, for still others civil disobedience and imprisonment. But the diversities of our gifts interweave richly when we recognize the larger web within which we act’ (Macy, 1995, pp 259).
 
4.4.4. 3. An Integrated Part of Established Religious Life.
 
This means ‘search for the sacred, striving towards God, personal relation to God. Spirituality is the natural inner life and practice of the religious person’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 74). Religious influences mentioned by my participants include Buddhism (Grace, Alison), Sufism (Alison, Elena), Paganism (Lucy, Isla) and practitioners of Western Shamanism (Violet).  Activists can call upon all these traditions for inspiration and guidance. Violet says:
 
My spiritual practice is concerned with looking after the water and food, that's ecologically really important… There's so many different spiritual traditions that we can draw on to inform us… I think there's wisdom in a lot of them… it's all very linked to me, the spirituality, the ecology. The ecological crisis is also a spiritual crisis; does one exist without the other?
 
The only participant who declared themselves belonging to a particular religion was Lucy, a Druid. Druidry[15] allowed her to find a spiritual connection with nature, which translated into her activism. She says: ‘I'd always loved the countryside, but it wasn't until I became a Druid that I began to feel nature as a living entity’.
 
Druidry and other religious practices include prayer, pilgrimage and ritual (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 74). Harvey mentions that ‘some Pagans go beyond meditation to symbolic action. If they cannot actually stand between a rainforest and a lumberjack… they might plant a seed of the next apple they eat in the hope that not only will it grow, but that a rainforest seed will grow too. The action combines imagination, intention and a first step in the direction of a reforested planet’ (Harvey, 1997, pp 127). Robyn discusses activism through ritual as follows:
 
I don’t think the sacred on its own is enough, the activism [is needed]… you do a ritual on a piece of land that you are about to occupy so that it keeps you safe… you can’t do activism without the sacred, and you can’t do sacred without activism
 
A direct example is Juno’s experiences with the ‘Nannas’ initiative the ’Women in White’, at Preston New Road fracking site. The success of this sacred activism was more poignant because they are women: ‘Nannas’. The women gather in white outfits, walk to the site and stand in silence:
 
It was called a Call for Calm. There was a really clear intention. Let's be calm, let's be quiet, let's be silent. Let's protect our young. It's just women. It was a way of communicating to the security and the police… After the quiet time was over… some women would dance, others would sit, knit and crochet
 
This weekly ritual, while not directly connected to a religious practice, has elements of pilgrimage, silence, prayer, harmony and balance that are often associated with religious practices (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 74).
 
Examples of mothers performing spiritual-based activisms include the women’s peace camp at Greenham Common, connected to the Goddess Movement (Feraro, 2016, pp 226), and the Fridays for Future climate strikes and Extinction Rebellion demonstrations, both including a range of rituals underpinning actions (Kidwell, 2019, pp 1). Ideas for ritual often come from ancient traditions or Indigenous cultures. Metzner implies a major change in environmental treatment will not arise ‘unless supplemented by a recovery of ancient traditions of initiation and ritual celebration and a strong dose of ecological literacy’ (Metzner, 1995, pp 63).
 
 
4.4.5. 4. Spirituality as a Vague Striving, Opposed to Religion.
 
This involves ‘striving for the essence of existence, universal consciousness’, and ‘striving… for another world than the mundane’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 74). This could refer to the epistemological aspects of sacred activism: the ‘metaphysics of interconnectedness’ and ‘relational modes of thinking’ (Keating, 2005, pp 242). Participants mostly articulated this interconnectedness through reference to nature connection.
 
Women articulate nature connection through pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood. Steingraber describes how through being pregnant she found a greater connection to Earth, a feeling she terms ‘mother-earth-hood’:
 
Childbirth anthropologists call this growing awareness of a two-in-one-self "motherselfhood." It's the sensation that one is now inhabited by another conscious being whose moods, needs, and habits are not identical to one's own. What I am experiencing in Alaska during my seventh month of pregnancy is another kind of identity shift. Call it mother-earth-hood: an awareness of how my own doubled self is contained within the body of the world… Prenatal care means taking care of water, fish, and glaciers
                                                                   (Steingraber, 2011, pp 148).
 
If this is true, then motherhood and environmentalism seem to go hand in hand. Violet considers that spirituality, motherhood, and environmentalism are very closely linked.
 
To me, ecology and spirituality are deeply interwound because… giving birth is a profoundly spiritual experience… it gave me another level of spiritual awakening… really powerful, empowering... I see them as linked, the earth is our mother
 
Elena describes an animistic[16] connection with the Earth since childhood, and has transferred this spirituality into her mothering and activism:
 
I talk to everything in the garden… my kids were just used to me talking and seeing to everything… we talk to everything. Everything's alive. Everything's got a soul. Everything's family
 
Cheng and Monroe comprehend that children’s connection to nature results in a sense of responsibility towards nature: ‘Children’s connection to nature, their previous experience in nature, their perceived family value toward nature, and their perceived control positively influenced their interest in performing environmentally friendly behaviors’ (Cheng and Monroe, 2012, pp 31). Nature connection could be a catalyst for future activists to emerge.
 
Fletcher (2017, pp 226) sees this emphasis on Connection with Nature (CWN) as flawed, because it reinforces a dualism between humanity and nature, and displaces attention from larger political and economic issues, which should be the main focus of environmental concern. Dickinson agrees, arguing that: ‘the core issue lies in how psychological, interpersonal, and cultural fracturing promote disconnection in the first place, leading to the notion that nature is outside of humans who suffer from decreased contact with it’ (Dickinson, 2013, pp 328).
 
4.4.6. 5. Spirituality as Selfishness.
 
This person ‘possesses neither serenity nor harmony, nor tranquillity nor peace. Meditation and healing are not related to her/him’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 75). They are anti-intellectual, unappealing, superficial, self-absorbed, and connected with egoism (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 75). While I do not consider this applying to any of my participants, as all of them mentioned some kind of personal spiritual practice, several articulated this regarding other activists.
 
Elena articulates how she usually avoids protest marches because she witnessed several times a peaceful march becoming a riot. She rejects the anger she sees as inherent in many activists, including some of her friends who were involved at Greenham Common. While some activists may see themselves as spiritual in their care for the environment, egotistical traits may take over. Juno refers to this when she expresses that some direct actions are performed for superficial and self-absorbed reasons, such as recognition for being a ‘hero’.

1. 6. Spirituality as Ordinary, Secular Inspiration in Human Activities.

 
This includes ‘activities such as sport, general and medical science, diet, coziness, and sex… such activities can be inspired and improved by spirituality and that spirituality, as understood here, is a completely secular affair’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 75). This kind of spirituality could be present in some participants’ understanding of community and how their children were brought up. Activities such as cooking, gardening, education, even knitting and crocheting, as Juno mentions above after the ‘Women in White’ ritual, could be considered secular activities that may be ‘inspired and improved by spirituality’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 75).
 
An example is the emergence of intentional communities that challenge the status quo and resist social norms (Jarvis, 2017, pp 435). Several participants have been members of such communities, where their ways of living could be considered spiritual. Alison reminisces:
 
We were growing food… it was the social psychology of it rather than necessarily for the land… We always lived in community, we always shared, we always were non-competitive
 
Penny is currently creating a community on her land, focussing on educating people about permaculture principles and lowering carbon footprints. Grace mentions how the village she lives in has many ways in which people live differently to social norms, including permaculture farms and people living off-grid. These examples show that secular activities such as growing food, creating community, and child-rearing have activist aspects to them, which can be ‘inspired and improved by spirituality’ (La Coura et al, 2012, pp 75). 
 
However, speaking about communities in this way can sometimes feel idealistic, as Lucy expresses:
 
It is easy to romanticise, but sometimes when I hear people talking about little communities… if I hadn't been able to get away from my family, I would have, probably, lived my life with severe mental health problems. There must have been loads of people who grew up… in difficult conditions… especially women who didn't have the wherewithal to go. They live lives of miserable repression and desperation. I do think of that when people are talking about how lovely it would be to live in a small community
 
Another dimension mentioned as a spiritual part of the secular is diet. Several participants mentioned being either vegetarian or vegan as part of their activist lives (Carol and Alison), while others are considerate of where their food comes from (Bee), or have previously attended vegan activist events (Robyn). Veganism is closely connected with animal rights activism, which has a long history in feminist activism. 19th Century women challenged the use of ‘plumage’, or wearing feathers from exotic birds in hats; 20th Century vegan feminists and ecofeminists tried to end animal suffering in scientific research, beauty product industry, and food production. The 21st century sees scholarly studies emerging such as animal studies and post-humanism, which positions ‘humans as but one among many life forms on the planet, challenging the myth of human superiority’ (Gaard, 2017, 116-119). 
 
 

1. Summary

 
Participants articulated sacred activism in many ways including: through non-violent communication with ‘the opposition’; acts of service and self-sacrifice for both people and environment; meditation and yoga; women’s circles; ritual and pilgrimage; interest in religious traditions such as Buddhism, Sufism, Paganism and Indigenous traditions; direct action to save specific parts of nature (whether or not one practices spirituality and non-violence); belief in and practice of nature connection; creation of community; and vegetarianism/ veganism.
 
Motherhood can be incorporated into these activisms through the following sentiments: mothers practice non-violence; mothers are naturally self-sacrificing; mothers are associated with Mother Earth; women will be the ones to ‘save the world’ from environmental destruction; environmentally-friendly community is a positive thing for families. These assumptions are still present within the current narratives around sacred activism, and which in various ways can be detrimental to both women’s liberation and environmental degradation. However, these sentiments can also motivate women and lead to positive actions for the environment, as well as personal spiritual growth.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

1. Conclusions.
   1. Introduction

 
The overall aim of this study was to advance an understanding of how motherhood and environmental activism complement or contrast each other. The specific research objectives were to 1) to identify why mothers become environmental activists and 2) to identify how mothers perform environmental activism. This section will revisit these research objectives, summarise the findings of the work, and offer conclusions based on these findings. Recommendations for future research will be discussed, and the limitations of this study explored. Finally I have included a section reflecting on the research process of the study.

1. Research Objectives: Summary of Findings and Conclusions

 

1. Research Objective 1: to identify why mothers become environmental activists

 

1. Summary of Findings

 
My findings suggest that firstly, it was not only environmentalism that impelled mothers to perform activisms, but that feminism is often an underlying influence. I did not specifically question my participants about feminism, but it frequently arose in discussions around both motherhood and activism. According to both my literature review and the interviews, I found that feminism informs each generation differently according to dominant narratives at the time, including liberal feminist thinking about how women are repressed under patriarchy; notions that liberal feminism has not worked to liberate women; and finally an ignoring of the concepts of feminism, to the extent that equality between the sexes, at least concerning parenthood, appears to have been somewhat achieved in the younger generations. 
 
Feminist activism generally focuses on inequality between genders, races, classes and countries (Gaard, 2017, pp 116). This was articulated by my participants in the following ways: fighting against oppression in all forms; coming together as women to fight against social injustice; and anti-war sentiments as motivation for activism. I discovered that these feminist notions of activism informed mother-activist views of environmental activism, as they can easily extend to include inequalities between and injustices against species, nature, and planet Earth.
 
Secondly, in consideration of environmentalism, much of my literature review focused on how mothers care more for the environment or are more likely to perform environmental activism (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 558). Ecofeminist writers often express that mothers get involved in environmental activism to protect their children and communities from environmental degradation (Moore, 2011, pp 7). The assumption is that mothers and children are more physically affected by environmental degradation (Rylander, Odland and Sandanger, 2013, pp 1). However, through my interviews I discovered that the reality is more complex than that. The majority of my participants care about the environment despite being mothers; most were activists before becoming mothers. Also, the main concerns my participants articulated were about global over-consumption rather than overpopulation issues, which may affect mothers in the Global South to a greater extent. Different people are affected in different ways in different places by environmental degradation, and assuming that mothers and children are affected more than others is not necessarily helpful.
 
When discussing emotional reasons for environmental concern, the emotions expressed can often appear negative: grieving and guilt. However, my findings suggest that these emotions are precisely why mothers are often motivated to perform environmental activism. I cannot conclude that mothers feel these emotions more than other women or men, or that these same emotions do not lead people other than mothers to perform environmental activism. Concern for future generations is often articulated as predominantly a mothers’ prerogative (Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred, 2010, pp 142), but I have found that others also show these concerns and emphasis on future generations may exclude others from environmental activism if they consider other concerns more important. 

1. Conclusions

 
My findings suggest that mothers become environmental activists for various reasons including differing feminist influences about inequality and injustice; performing early activisms including feminist, social, anti-war and anti-nuclear; environmental concern in general, not necessarily focussed on children or future generations; concern about global over-consumption; emotions such as guilt and grief about environmental degradation.
 
My findings appear to reject dominant assumptions, such as: environmental activism being separate from previous, more social, activisms; mothers caring more than other people about the environment and therefore being more likely to perform environmental activism; mothers being more concerned about their children and future generations than other people, and therefore being more likely to perform environmental activism; and mothers and children being more likely to be physically and emotionally affected by environmental degradation.
 
Therefore, through discussions of why mothers become environmental activists, I have concluded that there are various and complex answers to that question. Differing generations of mothers, differing environmental concerns, being from different parts of the world or in different social situations can all influence why mothers perform environmental activism.

1. Research Objective 2: to identify how mothers perform environmental activism.

 

1. Summary of Findings

 
My findings suggest that, firstly, mothers perform different activisms at different times of their offspring’s development. Many perform micro-level (Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred, 2010, 143) or relational activisms (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 555) all the way through their motherhood years, but often they begin this kind of activism before becoming mothers and continue after their children have grown up, and often this is performed alongside other kinds of activism. These are not necessarily activisms that only mothers perform, but many participants did increase participation in this type of activism and decrease activisms such as direct action, when their children were young. However, the assumption that more women are engaged in micro-level activisms because their local lives are more concerned with ‘human health and habitat’ (Mellor, 1997, pp 127) can be questioned.
 
Secondly, in consideration of more direct actions, or macro-level activisms (O'Shaughnessy and Kennedy, 2010, pp 555), the view is contrasting. Macro-level activism is often perceived as more important than micro-level activisms (Kenis and Mathijs, 2014, pp 151), which can lead to mothers feeling guilty that they are not doing enough, or to other people being hero-worshipped for doing larger actions than mothers are able to. My participants hold differing opinions on how mother-activists can be good role models for their children, how mothers can use their bodies during direct actions, and how a mother is rewarded for performing activism. These issues often have roots in questions surrounding what makes a good mother, what are motherly duties concerning looking after both children and our planet, and how mothers are viewed by society.
 
Thirdly, mothers often perform sacred activisms in the following ways: through non-violent communication with ‘the opposition’; acts of service and self-sacrifice for both people and environment; meditation and yoga; women’s circles; ritual and pilgrimage; interest in religious traditions such as Buddhism, Sufism, Paganism and Western Shamanic traditions; direct action to save specific parts of nature (whether or not one practices spirituality and non-violence); belief in and practice of nature connection; creation of community; and vegetarianism/ veganism. These actions can be performed through a mixture of micro-level and macro-level activisms, which I suggest blurs the line between the two. Bringing the sacred into activism means that micro- and macro-level activism can be performed at the same time, bringing the personal and the political together.
 
Mothers can be caught up in assumptions surrounding sacred activism, including: mothers practice non-violence; mothers are naturally self-sacrificing; mothers are associated with Mother Earth; women will be the ones to ‘save the world’ from environmental destruction; environmentally-friendly community is a positive thing for families. These assumptions are still present within the current narratives around sacred activism, and which in various ways can be detrimental to both women’s liberation and environmental degradation. However, these sentiments can motivate women to perform positive actions for the environment, and contribute to personal spiritual growth.

1. Conclusions

 
My findings suggest that for mothers, no kind of activism is necessarily better or worse, they simply adapt to what is available to them at the time in terms of alternative childcare, child development or age, and considerations of what is best for their child at different stages. These stages are far from the same for every mother, for example one participant was happy to live with her children at a direct action camp, while another decided not to take her child to direct actions.
 
These findings appear to reject dominant assumptions, such as mothers only performing micro-level or relational activism; micro-level or relational activism being less important than macro-level activisms, therefore mother-activists not being as ‘good’ as other activists; being a good mother means being an activist; and the list of assumptions above concerning women and sacred activism.
 
Therefore, through consideration of how mothers perform environmental activism and why they choose these types of activisms, I conclude that there are varying reasons for these choices. The choices made often are due to external circumstances surrounding familial responsibility or concern with how the mother is viewed by other people (their employer, or their own children). Societal pressures placed on mothers can inform their choices in subtle ways that are sometimes imperceptible to the mother herself. All of this can inform how and why mothers perform different types of environmental activism.

1. Limitations and Recommendations

 
These conclusions were based on an extensive review of related literature and on participant interviews, and only on these two sources. Therefore the study has limitations in that it may not apply to activist-mothers in other places and societal situations, or those of different races, ages and experiences. The main limitation of this study is that all my participants were based in Somerset, UK. All are white and heterosexual. Interviewing mothers of different backgrounds in different places around the UK and in other countries would have added richness to the study, but this would have compromised the focus of my research and made the workload unmanageable.
 
For further research I would recommend narrowing the study to focus more on one particular type of activism, such as direct action or sacred activism. My conclusions suggest that there are many variables considering the types of activism mothers perform and reasons for doing so, that a focus on one type of activism may bring deeper insight. Another option is to widen the study to include parents of all genders, as it often came up in my conclusions that it is not only mothers who feel drawn to environmental activism.

1. Self-reflection

 
I immensely enjoyed conducting this study and especially found conducting the interviews enlightening. As mentioned in my introduction, my own motivations for conducting environmental activism, and the activisms that I have chosen to perform, were very specific to my own perceptions at the time I realised I wanted to have children. Therefore it was fascinating to me to listen to the experiences and perceptions of other mothers, some of whom had similar views to me, others vastly different. I would advise anyone conducting a dissertation to choose something that is close to your heart, as this kept me going even when I felt demotivated.
 
Being a distance learner and not connected much with my university throughout this study, I struggled with motivation on several occasions. I found the help of my supervisor Andy Letcher invaluable during these times, and indeed at all times. It has now taken me a year and a half to complete this dissertation, whereas I aimed to complete it in one year. Personal circumstances sometimes held me back, and on one occasion even halted the work completely for several months whilst I recovered from a miscarriage. The delicate emotional nature of the thesis, concerning motherhood and environmentalism, combined with my desire for a child, meant that I could not face the research for several months. However, I am now grateful for the learning and development through combining the academic and the emotional, that this experience gave me.
 
During the last stint of this dissertation, the write-up stage, I have been growing another baby, which has been a journey in itself. Feeling propelled into primordial soup for the first few months as my baby developed his body, I felt I understood many sentiments connecting Earth with motherhood, and I sometimes struggled to keep my academic head on. Now I am reaching the end of both the dissertation and the pregnancy, I feel I have grown through the writing at the same time as growing a person inside me. My two creations, my child and my dissertation, have excelled side by side and I am now feeling excited for what the next chapter will bring.


[1]     Micro-level activism means small tasks or actions one takes during day-to-day life, making small changes within society. Macro-level activism is the larger campaigning actions or direct actions, aiming to make big changes within society (Logsdon-Conradsen and Allred, 2010, pp 143).

[2] Agenda 21 is a climate change document drawn up at the Rio Earth Summit in 1992 (United Nations Conference on Environment & Development, 1992).

[3]  I will use the terms spiritual activism and sacred activism interchangeably.

[4]  James Lovelocks’ (1960s) Gaia Theory tells the story of the world as a singular organism: Gaia, or Mother Earth (Harding, 2009, 274).

[5] In the 1990s the term ‘patriarchy’ was largely rejected: ‘human centredness as a whole was killing the planet’. (Gaard, 2017, pp 118)

[6]   While I discuss anti-war and anti-nuclear under the branch of feminist social issues, both can also be considered environmental issues.

[7]    First-wave feminists contest these links as regressive and insulting: ‘images of women as earth mothers, as passive, reproductive animals’ do nothing for women’s liberation. (Plumwood, 1993, pp 20)

[8]  Agenda 21 is a climate change document drawn up at the Rio Earth Summit in 1992 (United Nations Conference on Environment & Development, 1992).

[9]   Grace states on page 25 that historically, many feminists also made the decision not to bring children into a destructive patriarchal society.

[10]   Birthstrike is closely connected with Extinction Rebellion.

[11]    (Birthstrike, 2020) This last reason strikes me in particular as interesting, their concern for their yet-to-exist child is such that they believe it better for the child not to be born at all.

[12]  See Appendix 1: The Grandmother’s Apology.

[13]  However, ‘An idealized figure of the Good Mother casts a long shadow on many actual mothers’ lives’ (Ruddick, 1990, pp 31).

[14]    The Abenaki are a Native American tribe who live in Northeastern Vermont. (Abenaki Tribe, 2017)

[15]   Harvey describes Druidry as ‘a variety of Paganism, an honouring of Nature and of ancestral sacred sites’ (Harvey, 1997, pp 29).

[16]   Harvey defines animism as: ‘the understanding that the world is a community of persons, most of whom are not human, but all of whom are related, and all of whom deserve respect’ (Harvey, 2019, pp 80).

​The module Sacred Activism is the reason I applied for the Ecology and Spirituality MA at Schumacher College, and I will begin my reflective journal with this story. A few years ago, shortly after discovering the truth about the fracking industry, I met a member of Frack Free Somerset activist group in Glastonbury. In my naivety, having only recently moved there, I said to her: ‘you must get a lot of support from people in Glastonbury’, to which she replied ‘No, everyone is navel-gazing’. This prompted me to write an article called ‘Spiritual Activism’, advocating for a balance between inner and outer activism; suggesting that the world could benefit from people getting off their yoga mats and actively doing something, but also that many activists could benefit from some inner healing. On discovery of this MA, I read the words ‘Sacred Activism’, and my choice was made.

The first module, Ecology and Spirituality, was headed by Andy Letcher, who was present at the Newbury Bypass direct actions 1995-1996. Although the Newbury bypass was built, the Conservative government cut the original £23 billion road project plan to only £6 billion (Letcher 2003: 64). The documentary The Battle of the Newbury Bypass (2017) states that the protests were so successful due to support from the charity Friends of the Earth. This encouraged me to join the Glastonbury Friends of the Earth group, which is working on Glastonbury’s own road dilemma. The A361 road has ever-increasing traffic, causing many problems for local residents, and Conservative MP James Heappey’s proposed solution is to build a bypass, paid for by building an industrial estate and housing (Garrard 2018). It would potentially run behind Glastonbury Tor, cutting the sacred Tor from the rest of the landscape, which could lead to huge opposition from local residents and Glastonbury-lovers worldwide.
 
This situation is an excellent case study for discussing the intricacies of Sacred Activism. In this reflective journal I will consider my thoughts and feelings concerning the 1995-1996 Newbury Bypass protests, anti-fracking movements currently happening in England, and potential future direct actions in Glastonbury. My discussion falls under several headings: rhizomes, separation and human agency, beyond the human-centred story, the inner journey, and delicate activism.
 
Rhizomes
 
Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari developed the idea of the rhizome: a root system that uses other root systems to grow, like ginger. Its random growth means everything is in the middle, so: ‘when A becomes B, A does not give up being A. It continues to be A, yet it becomes B without transforming itself into B’ (Van der Klei 2002: 48). Letcher expressed that while his time campaigning at Newbury was the activist stage of his life, he never stopped being an activist, even while he was ‘being’ other things, such as a lecturer or musician (Letcher: lecture 2018). Every act can be seen as activism. Satish Kumar says he will be an activist until his last breath, and even then, to die is sacred activism, because he will give his body for the trees (Kumar: lecture 2018).
 
The rhizome concept means that modern society will always perpetuate itself, because everyone touched by it will always be what they are right now (e.g. a Tory MP, an activist, or compost for the trees). Gandhi may have been the ultimate sacred activist, but he still lived within the modernity rhizome. He completely rejected modernity, so that ‘The alternative to modern civilisation thus had to be located outside its domain and among people who were untouched by modern civilisation and uninfluenced by it’ (Mukherjee 2009:35). Is it possible to change things from the inside?
 
Gandhi understood that resistance can perpetuate what the activist already knows. His Swaraj movement in India had to be non-violent because ‘to oppose modern civilisation in India through violence would be to Europeanise India or to take it along the path of modernity’ (Mukherjee 2009: 35). Gandhi’s resistance is named Satyagraha: ‘the force which is born of truth and love or non-violence’. Gandhi’s Swaraj failed, because: ‘"People… took to non-violent resistance against the British government because they wanted to offer some sort of resistance. But their non-violence… was born of their helplessness… it was the weapon of the weak". Gandhi's Swaraj became a victim of the mass forces that Gandhi himself unleashed’ (Mukherjee 2009: 38). The rhizome grew, and India’s new rulers followed the mentality of the British. So the question remains: can activists act outside of the rhizome they were born into?
 
Separation and Human Agency
 
The modern society Gandhi rejected is still expanding, spreading its message that separation and individuality is the norm. Separation mentality is evident at the Newbury Bypass protests, anti-fracking movements, and potential A361 direct actions through opposing sides: activist vs government/ police/ County Council/ fracking company. During an A361 public meeting (2018), there was a lot of support for direct action and an almost unanimous opposition to Somerset County Council, which could, if persuaded or forced, ‘with the stroke of a pen’ (https://soundcloud.com/glastonbury-uk) de-designate the A361 as a major freight route, thereby negating the need for a bypass.
 
At Newbury the protesters regarded their lifestyle[1] as ‘exemplary and as that which separates them from the mainstream’ (Letcher 2002: 82): in itself separatist mentality. Also, looking carefully at the ‘exemplary lifestyle’ of the Skyward camp, where Letcher stayed, shadows emerge:  ‘In theory new members were always welcome, but this was not so in practice… some new arrivals were made to feel quite unwelcome: Skyward had an extremely well-formed group identity, which could be difficult to penetrate’ (Letcher 2002: 83). In attempting to separate themselves from others, the protesters reflect what they abhor: namely the road-builders, who separate themselves from nature. The rhizome extends: protesters re-enforce ideas of separation and individuality within their ‘exemplary’ society.
 
Another mentality of modern society is that humans have sole agency, and the natural world is a dead resource to be used by humans. Newbury activists would argue with this, as the Eco-Pagan spiritualities that arose out of the anti-road protests were marked by the sanctity of nature. ‘Nature, they claimed, is not simply a set of material resources, its worth to be economically determined according to its instrumental usefulness for humans, but is, rather, sacred, enchanted, sentient and crying out for protection from further human amelioration’ (Letcher 2003: 63).
The documentary (2017) shows that ‘other-than-human persons’ (Hallowell 1960: 172) also have agency. In one scene, two black horses run around a field of people and police horses, showing their distress at some huge trees being felled. Are activists trying to save the world or is the world is trying to save itself? Bayo Akomolafe says ‘maybe the world also wants to make us a better place’ (Akomolafe 2017: 266). By trying to save nature or considering that nature is ‘crying out for protection’ (Letcher 2003: 63), activists may put human agency at the centre of the story.
 
Beyond the Human-Centred Story
 
How can activists move away from this human-centred story, while still acknowledging the necessity for action? At Kirby Misperton fracking site in Yorkshire (2017), three people climbed the fracking rig and stopped construction-work for over twenty-four hours. Resonant of Newbury, these activists aim: ‘to add so much extra to the cost of construction, by virtue of the fact that they had to be evicted or removed for the work to proceed, that future projects would be rendered economically unviable’ (Letcher 2003: 64). These feats are impressive: these people are heroes! These reflections are not from a lack of empathy or understanding: I think these activists are doing the best they can in this current socio-political-economic climate, and these acts do make a difference. However, I question whether these human-centred hero-based actions will ultimately achieve what activists say they want: a different system, a ‘saved world’, and a beautiful one. Will anything truly change if force[2] is the dominant weapon?
 
It seems that road-builder-mentality is still present today. Firstly, while the 1990s road-building scheme was reduced, many roads were still built surreptitiously, potentially even the Glastonbury bypass in the future. Secondly, the road protests were the first of its kind in the UK: the government had to invent ways to deal with them. Now, the government has learned tactics for dealing with direct action, such as the large-scale police presence at Lancashire fracking site Preston New Road.
 
However, activists have also improved tactics: the Lancashire activists are extremely well-organised, careful and safe; they know the risks and benefits of every action. Government and activist have grown together, flexed muscles against each other, and neither will back down: they both exist in the same rhizome. Activists exist in the current system, forcefully playing out the old story of the hero-of-the-hour, because these are the tools available to them. There may be limits to their success because ‘we discover that there is something strangely conservative at the heart of almost all approaches to change… The question then becomes –how to walk that terrain differently’ (Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 5).
 
The Inner Journey
 
At the 2017 Earth First! gathering, I met wonderful activists who find this muscle-flexing extremely tiring. The situation is improving: people now turn to spirituality and other methods to look after themselves. However, Akomolafe notices: ‘In many of my engagements around the world, I am coming to see… the deep and ponderous sea of despair, disenchantment and exhaustion that envelopes activists’ conversations about change. The once high notes of idealistic hopes for a radically different world are losing octaves, crashing into a bass of cynicism and anger. It seems that no matter how much we try, we keep reinforcing and reproducing the very realities we hope to address’ (Akomolafe 2015).
 
So what is the alternative? Akomolafe shares a Nigerian saying: ‘the time is urgent, let us slow down’ (Akomolafe 2015). Slowing down is not the same as stopping; perhaps instead of acting with an oppositional I’m right, you’re wrong mentality, activists slow down, listen to themselves and the world, and look at their own shadows. Even three people sat on top of a rig, a moment of bright light in the anti-fracking movement, casts a shadow. Bron Taylor (2010) states that even a wonderful, light-filled belief in the sacredness of nature can be ‘dark’: it might ‘have a shadow side- it might mislead and deceive; it could even precipitate or exacerbate violence’ (Taylor 2010: ix).
 
Gandhi thought that if everyone adopted a life of humility, self-reflection (or shadow-noticing?), moderation and fearlessness, then each would be their own ruler, giving each person freedom ‘to regulate their own lives without harming one another’ (Mukherjee 2009: 36), negating the need for a ruler of nations. Even as Gandhi practiced Swaraj, he was aware that through his rejection of modernity, his own son felt neglected, uneducated, and lost in the world: ‘On Harilal's life had fallen the shadow of Gandhi's quest’ (Mukherjee 2009: 36). Ghandi’s awareness though, is perhaps what really matters: he acknowledged his shadows.
 
Delicate Activism
 
This is the idea behind A Delicate Activism, which is ‘is truly radical in that it is aware of itself, and understands that its way of seeing is the change it wants to see’ (Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 1). One of these ways of seeing change concerns the successes of my activist examples: ‘So determined can we become to achieve our goals, that we do not notice that things are changing around us all the time, changing sometimes because of the very success of our work, and as they change new readings must be taken, new meaning must be made’ (Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 6). The danger comes when activists ‘push the radical path to its limits– with certainty and without question– and we arrive at fundamentalism’ (Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 6); extending the rhizome that activists are trying to escape. During the course I felt some level of fear of this rhizome concept; I felt trapped as if there was no way to escape it.

On the other hand, I felt free, as if I belonged here in this world. Instead, maybe we embrace the rhizome through delicate activism, which advocates for a phenomenological[3] approach. Concepts of the world ‘inform what we see, but equally that what we see then further elucidates our concepts… This open conversation leads to an increasing wisdom both inside ourselves and inside the world that lies outside of us’ (Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 11). One post-apartheid South African action-group, working near Cape Town with local nature and communicommunities, made some incredible discoveries during their delicate activism process:
 
‘Cape Flats Nature asked how we care for biodiversity in a context of urban poverty and inequity, a context of ecological, social and institutional fragmentation… What emerged… was a practice of seeing and engaging with the biophysical and social systems of ecological and social communities in and around these sites as an integrated whole, in the very same holistic way that natural ecosystems function… The ‘magic’ lay in the quality of conversation we were able to engage in, and the space we created for it– the ‘magic’ is ordinary... yet magical in that it is so often elusive... relying as it does on a quality of conversation that asks for a deep level of integrity and trust in relationship that is grown in a myriad of ‘ordinary’ everyday interactions and activities. The ‘magic’ of this practice is essential if we are going to conserve our ecosystems and our communities anywhere, and its ordinariness means it is transferable...’ (Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 13).
 
Through this kind of ‘quality of conversation’ several fundamental changes in the way people think and feel came about: firstly, ‘Throughout… this process no-one has regarded nature as a ‘thing’ to be ‘saved’; rather, nature has been regarded as alive, as a whole organism– as many organisms– with its own integrity and dignity, deserving of respect, of being listened to, having intention (the ability to intend) as every organism does’ (Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 21). Akomolafe asks: ‘What would become of economics and politics if we sought the wisdom of trees and acknowledged the collective intelligence our modernity pretends we are divorced from?’ (Akomolafe 2015).
 
Secondly ‘They noticed that, with more and more people and groupings actively observing, paying attention to themselves and to the other, the quality of adversarial boundedness that had characterised relationships before, fell away, dissolved, evaporated like mist. This was revelatory for the practitioners– that, as they expressed it, for the person who is really paying attention there are no adversaries!’ (Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 26. Italics in original). How would it be during the A361 discussions, if all sides really felt this way and properly listened to each other?
 
Vaclav Havel said: ‘Man’s attitude to the world must be radically changed. We have to abandon the arrogant belief that the world is merely a puzzle to be solved... We must try harder to understand than to explain...’ (Havel in Kaplan and Davidoff 2004: 28). The conversation is more important than the solutions and answers. Karen Barad says ‘there are no solutions; there is only the ongoing practice of being open and alive to each meeting, each intra-action, so that we might use our ability to respond, our responsibility, to help awaken, to breathe life into ever new possibilities for living justly’ (Barad in Akomolafe 2015). How can I, as activist, really understand? How do I already play out the belief that the world needs saving?
 
Akomolafe agrees that we put too much emphasis on answers, but he embraces questions. Christopher Bowers questions in Akomolafes’ How do we respond to crisis? article: ‘If we are not to be dichotomous about good and bad, what is the alternative that won’t lead us into a moral relativism that accepts the harm being done as something blameless, unaccountable or even acceptable? And what response would promote accountability without purity, without moral righteousness and without some reified goodness? What process can get us engaged in a relationship with responsibility in a world so ‘queer’ and ‘preposterous’ as this?’ (Bowers in Akomolafe http://bayoakomolafe.net/project/how-do-we-respond-to-crisis/). As throughout the Sacred Activism course, Akomolafe gives no answers, but he starts the conversation.
 
Throughout this reflection I have been having a conversation with myself. Many times I have written something that I feel very awkward about writing. For example, I discuss direct action yet have never been involved in one, and so I feel like, as Akomolafe would say: a ‘Sacred Hyprocrite’ (Akomolafe: lecture 2018). However, beginning the conversation is the important part, not being perfect, or reaching a conclusion. The new story will be made with humility, no matter how awkward it gets (Akomolafe: lecture 2018). As Akomolafe wrote to me: Your grace- your awkward grace- will be what saves us. 
 
 



[1] They lived with nature and slept in the trees to protect them from being cut down (Letcher 2002, 2003).

[2] For a discussion on using force in activism see Charles Eisenstein (2013) Chapter 6: Force. For example, ‘We habitually apply force to politicians and corporations as well. It could be the threat of public humiliation or the incentive of public praise and a positive image... It could be financial threat or incentive… What worldview, what story, are we reinforcing when we use these tactics? It is the worldview in which things happen only through the application of force’ (Eisenstein 2013: https://charleseisenstein.net/books/the-more-beautiful-world-our-hearts-know-is-possible/eng/force/).

[3] David Abram defines phenomenology as the philosophy that gives ‘voice to the world from our experienced situation within it’ (Abram 2016: 47).
​

​Introduction

The aim of this project is to explore the affect that clouds, and weather, have on the subject: myself. During the months of June to August  2018, I conducted research on the clouds, using my Sky Journal (Figure 2) to interview myself connecting with them. The journal entries were all made in Somerset, at different places, times of day, and weathers.

Jane Goodall describes a moment, while immersed in the jungle; when a rapid weather change led her to profoundly feel ‘that self was utterly absent’ (Goodall in Taylor 2010: 29). She describes merging with the air and nature around her. I shall research how the sky, and in particular clouds, create in me a sense of oneness with my surroundings; how different clouds and weathers play with my emotions; and how different cultures’ stories and mythologies mirror cloud-experiences, through reflecting on images I see in clouds, and conversations held between myself and clouds.

Methodology

While conducting my research, I spent as much time as possible, at different times of day and in different weathers, observing clouds and reflecting on how they make me feel. I wrote notes in my Sky Journal about the time, place and weather conditions at the time, and any thoughts and feelings that arose for me during the observations. The journal is based on three places in Somerset: Glastonbury, Wells and the Somerset Levels. The research took place through the months of June to August 2018. I also include photographs of cloud-formations to support my research.

I consider the views of phenomenologist Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1908-1961). His methodology is to watch the sky and feel himself plunging into it: ‘I abandon myself to it and plunge into this mystery... I am the sky itself as it is drawn together and unified... my consciousness is saturated with this limitless blue' (Merleau-Ponty in Ingold 2007: 29). I contemplate during this research whether I am ‘plunged into’ the sky, as Merleau-Ponty describes.

Christopher Tilley’s (2004) exploration of landscape phenomenology suggests that while a painter observes a tree as he is painting it, so the tree observes the painter: not using eyes, but through effecting the painter (2004: 18). I reflect on how clouds affect my emotions through my observation of them: in affect my ‘painting’ is my reflective Sky Journal. David Abram defines phenomenology as the philosophy that gives ‘voice to the world from our experienced situation within it’ (Abram 2016: 47).Through this research I speak from within my experience of clouds.

Literature Review

My first research section is about sensing oneness with clouds and weather. Tim Ingold (2010) considers that by overwhelming the senses, wind and rain can ‘drown out the perception of contact with the ground’ (Ingold 2010: 131), to allow oneness with the sky itself. Alexandra Harris (2016) says that poet John Keats (1725-1821), while surrounded by cloud, disrupts boundaries between himself and clouds by asking:  ‘what is a ‘thought’… but more of this mist? Turning himself inside-out, Keats makes the cloud around him a projection of his own mind’ (Harris 2016: 246). I also draw on the work of Peter Knight (2016), who describes how he received inspirational messages from the Dartmoor landscape, while immersed in cloud.

Secondly I contemplate how weather plays with one’s emotions. Ingold considers that terrestrial inhabitants of Earth are constantly subject to weather, so that ‘The experience of weather lies at the root of our moods and motivations’ (Ingold 2010: 122). Stanley David Gedzelman’s (1990) work on Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890) shows how his painting A Wheat Field with Cypresses(1889: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City), reflects movement and emotion through the images of wave-clouds. I also draw on Nick Hunt’s (2018) work Winds of Awe and Fear on how extreme weather affects people emotionally.

Thirdly I discuss how story and mythology mirror weather and clouds, through sky imagery and divinity. The word inspire is related to spirit, and to breathing: the air. So story and mythology can be said to have been inspired by the air, weather, and clouds. As Harris (2016: 12) points out, an ancient Christian image portrays Adam’s thoughts fashioned from clouds. I also draw on David Abram’s (1996) discussion of Native American cosmologies of air and wind, and his views on perception and communication between human and air.

Oneness with the clouds

Taylor (2010) describes Goodall’s experience of merging with nature:
‘she was deep in the forest with the chimpanzees when the weather changed rapidly, leading to one of her most profound experiences, which she considered truly mystical: ‘’Lost in awe at the beauty around me, I must have slipped into a state of heightened awareness… that self was utterly absent: I and the chimpanzees, the earth and trees and air, seemed to merge, to become one with the spirit power of life itself…’’’ (Taylor 2010: 29).

Is it possible, while cloud-watching, for the self to become ‘utterly absent’? Phenomenologist Merleau-Ponty describes how, when sky-watching, ‘I abandon myself to it and plunge into this mystery... I am the sky itself as it is drawn together and unified... my consciousness is saturated with this limitless blue' (Merleau-Ponty in Ingold 2007: 29). Phenomenology is the philosophy that gives ‘voice to the world from our experienced situation within it’ (Abram 2016: 47- Italics in original).

Merleau-Ponty identifies ‘the experiencing ‘’self’’-with the bodily organism…’ (Abram 2016: 45), because ‘without this body… without any glimmer of sensory experience, there could be nothing to question or to know’ (Abram 2016: 45). Goodall’s experience may be less an abandonment of body-self than a merging of her body-self with ‘earth and trees and air’ (Goodall in Taylor 2010: 29), into a full sensual experience.

The Cloud Appreciation Society’s (CAS) manifesto states that: ‘clouds are for dreamers and their contemplation benefits the soul’ (CAS website). This association with clouds and dreamers is nothing new. During Aristophanes’ play The Clouds (423BC), Socrates declares: ‘They are the Clouds of heaven, great goddesses for the lazy …’ (Aristophanes: online). It seems when people are in ‘contemplation’ (CAS website), while immersed in cloud, rain, or wind, they receive revelations: Goodall’s experience happened when the weather changed.

Knight (2016) experienced similar moments on Dartmoor: ‘I was literally ‘cloud-walking’, surrounded by the breath of the dragon. I once sat down and tuned into the simulacra at Hound Tor, and words entered my head, as if the rocks were speaking’ (Knight 2016: 73- Italics in original). This can be compared with Keats’ journey up Ben Nevis: he arrived in a white-out, and faced a ‘revelation of how nothing is clearly revealed. What is a ‘thought’, he asks, but more of this mist? Turning himself inside-out, Keats makes the cloud around him a projection of his own mind. If the cloud has besieged him from above and below, he responds by claiming those clouds as vast mental space. Standing in the mist we are suddenly looking round at the great interior of Keats’s brain’ (Harris 2016: 246). 
 
For Keats, boundaries between himself and the external world around him have disappeared, much like Goodall’s experience of the self being absent. I did not experience my ‘self being absent’ during this research, mainly because, I confess:
 
Sunday 5th August, 7pm, Glastonbury, sunny and warm, some cloud-cover.
I’m realising how little time I have in my life for cloud-gazing.[1]
 
However, I did experience feelings of non-separation. There are two examples, and both occurred during what could be considered bad weather:
 
Friday 13th July, 3pm, Somerset Levels, raining.
A raincloud is made of the same ‘stuff’ as water, which falls from it, soaks me, everything around, and flows into the ground. So what looks like a separate ‘thing’: a cloud, in fact is not separate at all. (Figure 1)

                       Figure 1: Friday 13th July. Rain-clouds. Somerset Levels. Photo: Amy Martin.
​
Saturday 14th July, 8pm, Glastonbury Tor, bright and windy.

I felt like walking up the Tor…and on the way we bumped into a few friends. They said it was windy up the Tor earlier (as it often is)-and I said ‘good I feel like being blown around a bit!’ It did the trick-one feels more alive in the wind, slightly out of control and like all the ‘stuck’ feelings are being swept away, disintegrating among the clouds.

In the former example, I could see and feel how a cloud, which might be considered separate (from earth, myself), was in fact all-encompassing to everything around it. In the latter example, I felt how the self can be immersed in weather: my-body-self felt different after this experience.
Ingold considers that: ‘To inhabit the open world… is to be immersed in the fluxes of the medium: in sunshine, rain, and wind’ (Ingold 2007: 30). This immersion happens predominantly in extremer weather. By overwhelming the senses, wind and rain can ‘drown out the perception of contact with the ground’ (Ingold 2010: 131), which is what happens to both Keats and Knight, as they become one with the surrounding cloud.

In conclusion, I find myself envying those who can immerse themselves in cloud and weather, and find that absence of the self. I understand feelings of non-separation, and can see how it could happen, while I have not experienced it myself. If ‘clouds are for dreamers’ (CAS website), then I would like to dream more, and give myself more time to experience oneness with the clouds.

Emotional reaction to clouds

As inhabitants of Earth, humans are constantly subject to weather: ‘The experience of weather lies at the root of our moods and motivations’ (Ingold 2010: 122).[2]  Van Gogh, who painted the picture on the front of my journal cover (Figure 2): A Wheatfield with Cypresses (1889), used emotion and mood in paintings of clouds. In this description of another of Van Gogh’s paintings, Starry Night (1889), Gedzelman (1990) could well be describing the former painting: ‘Everything seems almost to flow, bending or wavering… but still remaining clearly identifiable… the contorted and up-thrust mound-like hills… the undulating ground, clouds, and cypress…’ (Gedzelman 1990: 109).

Ingold suggests that Starry Night is emotive ‘because it both resonates with our experience of what it feels like to be under stars and affords us the means to dwell upon it-perhaps to discover depths in this experience of which we would otherwise remain unaware’ (Ingold 2016: 220). Feasibly the same applies for A Wheatfield with Cypresses: the viewer, swept up in the flow of the clouds, experiences a depth of emotion unusual in every-day life. In short: I can ‘feel’ the clouds in the painting.

This journal extract illustrates how I contemplate the painting whilst looking at the sky:

Tuesday 26th June, Somerset Levels, 11 am, sunny and clear sky. 
First time in so long I’ve seen a clear blue sky with absolutely no clouds. Beautiful day, beautiful colour sky, but I am also aware that if it were like this all the time, how boring that would be- imagine A Wheatfield with Cypresses (Figure 2) with a clear blue sky instead of swirling clouds.

                              Figure 2: Sky Journal. Saturday 18th August. Photo: Amy Martin
​
It is easy, though, to miss clouds on sunny days, but the rainclouds will come, and heavy emotions can come with them. Harris indicates that ‘our thoughts are affected by the kind of weather we‘re in. Dark clouds are liable to engender gloomy feelings. The weather can be responsible not just for our own mood but for the mood of the entire town or country’ (Harris 2016: 14).

Hunt (2018) would agree that the weather affects people’s moods. He journeyed to find the big winds of the world, and discovered that they can make people sick, and mad: ‘Not for nothing is the Mistral, which can rage for weeks on end in the south of France, known as the “wind of madness”‘ (Hunt 2018: online). He also encountered a German wind called Foehn, which affects locals (and eventually himself) ‘on a deeper, psychic level’ (Hunt 2018: online). Recording people’s stories, he said: ‘mostly people complained of stress; fretfulness; anxiety; nerves; irritability; angst; paranoia’ (Hunt 2018: online).

When Van Gogh painted A Wheat Field with Cypresses in the south of France, had the Mistral ‘wind of madness’ (Hunt 2018: online) been blowing? Van Gogh is not the only artist to have been affected emotionally by the sky. Harris says that John Constable (1776-1837), famous for his cloud paintings, names the sky as ‘a feeling organ, but the sentiments are surely those of the perceiver’ (Harris 2016: 245). Is this true? The CAS manifesto says ‘We seek to remind people that clouds are expressions of the atmosphere’s moods, and can be read like those of a person’s countenance’ (CAS website). The society considers clouds to have their own moods and emotions, just as Constable suggests.

Tilley (2004) understands how painter and subject feel one another: 'The painter sees the tree and the tree sees the painter, not because the trees have eyes, but because the trees affect, move the painter… In this sense the trees have agency and are not merely passive objects' (Tilley 2004: 18). Constable, CAS, and Tilley, all imply, then, that clouds have agency, emotions, and sentiments that affect people, just like meeting another person in a certain mood. Perhaps Van Gogh would agree.

Monday 16th July, Wells, 4pm, pouring with rain.
I resigned myself to living as part of a world where the weather has no regard for the people around. But is that true? The whole day was strange- people agitated, cross, insulting. People losing things. Everything that could go wrong, did! Someone even got arrested outside the Cathedral. A stormy day, indeed!

That day I experienced how the weather affected people’s moods, and perhaps how clouds have agency, as Tilley (2004) suggests. Many times during this research I felt myself caught up in the mood of the weather: happy and energetic on sunny days, gloomy on rainy ones, and swept away by Van Gogh’s wave-clouds. I conclude that my emotions are most certainly affected by clouds and weather, and quite possibly I affect the clouds in return.
 
Cloud images, stories and conversations

If one accepts that clouds have agency, is it then possible to speak to and learn from them? One of my journal extracts describes a conversation with clouds. It was so clear, and yet unexpected: the images I saw in the clouds were a direct communication.
 
Sunday 29th July, Glastonbury, 6pm, sunny/ cloudy, warm.
I was thinking about my life and how I should live it- when suddenly a blue heart-shape appeared out of the cloud (Figure 3). It reminded me: I am loved… As I was about to go inside I looked up once more to see a giant turtle face gazing at me (Figure 4)… that’s when I knew for sure the clouds were talking to me: I already know my turtle spirit-animal very well. 

​Attributing life, or agency, to the natural world has been named animism, which is ‘not a system of beliefs about the world but a way of being in it, characterized… by sensitivity and responsiveness to an environment that is always in flux’ (Ingold 2007: 31). Martin Heidegger (1993) suggests that ‘’’on the Earth’’ really means ‘’under the sky’’ also ‘’remaining before the divinities’’…’ (Heidegger 1993: 351). This primal oneness merges earth, sky, divinities and mortals, together in one, felt through being sensitive and responsive to the ever-changing environment.

One of the main characteristics of clouds is that they are ‘always in flux’ (Ingold 2007: 31). Many cultures have cosmologies that relate clouds to divinities, including the above example of Aristophanes’ cloud-goddesses (Aristophanes: online). Harris attributes this cloud-divinity link to the fact that one cannot touch a cloud: ‘This elusiveness, combined with tremendous power, means that in almost every culture the weather has at some stage been thought divine’ (Harris 2016: 12).

Harris continues: ‘The immateriality of weather has made it a potent means of figuring not only our gods but the most immaterial part of ourselves – our ‘spirits’ and thoughts... There was a strand of early Christian mythology that imagined Adam’s thoughts to have been fashioned directly from the clouds’ (Harris 2016: 12). The word inspire is related to spirit, and to breathing: the air; and so perhaps this is where the inspiration for mythologies and stories come from: the air itself, just as I received inspiration from the clouds that day.

Some mythologies feature clouds and wind very heavily. The Native American Creek people tell that ‘Hesakitumesee, the Master of Breath… sends fog, wind, and other weather across the land, affecting the destiny of the people’ (Abram 2016: 228). Holy Wind in Dine culture ‘suffuses all of nature, and…grants life, movement, speech, and awareness to all beings. [It is] the means of communication between all beings and elements’ (Abram 1996: 30- Italics in original). The Lakota honour the four winds: ‘As messengers of the gods, the winds are the first powers to be addressed in any ceremony’ (Abram 1996: 229). It may be imperative to consider how winds, clouds, and weather are addressed and reacted to, because they affect people’s destiny and allow communication between all things.

Knight (2016) mourns the loss, in the modern world, of seeing divinity in natural features: ‘nowadays a face in a rock is just a coincidental action of weathering, whereas it may once have been perceived as an ancestor or an element of tribal myth’ (Knight 2016: 5). He sees in simulacra faces, animals, and natural elements, which I saw many times during my cloud-gazing study (Figures 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7). Knight thinks ‘perhaps we need to recapture that primeval eye, that mode of perception that finds sermons in rocks…’ (Knight 2016: 31). 

          Figure 5: The Eagle. Thursday 21st June, Glastonbury, Somerset. Photo: Amy Martin.
​
Abram would agree that recapturing ones’ perception of invisible air is vital: ‘only as we begin to notice and to experience, once again, our immersion in the invisible air do we start to recall what it is to be fully part of this world’ (Abram 1996: 260). Perception is ‘a sort of silent conversation that I carry on with things, a continuous dialogue that unfolds far below my verbal awareness’ (Abram 1996: 52). My conversation with the clouds reflects this phenomenological, silent conversation.

I conclude that mythologies and stories can be inspired by air, through images perceived and silent conversations taking place. Native American and other cultures honour and respect clouds and weather, because they are aware of how people are affected by the constant flux. I aim in future to consider my reactions to clouds and weather, because this is a two-way conversation. I would like to end with a sentiment from the CAS manifesto: ‘Look up, marvel at the ephemeral beauty, and always remember to live life with your head in the clouds!’ (CAS website).

Figure 6: Joni Mitchell’s (1968) ‘Rows and Floes of Angel Hair’. Sunday 5th August. Glastonbury, Somerset. Photo: Amy Martin.
​
Conclusion
​
This project explored the phenomenological effect of clouds on myself, using a Sky Journal to record my cloud-gazing experiences. Firstly I investigated how clouds create a sense of oneness with my surroundings, drawing on Goodall’s experience of absence-of-self; Ingold’s (2010) discussion of weather-immersion; Keats’ disruption of boundaries (in Harris 2016); and Knights’ (2016) experiences of receiving messages while immersed in weather.

Secondly I considered how different clouds and weathers affect my emotions, again drawing on Ingold’s (2010) weather-work, as well as Van Gogh’s emotional paintings (in Gedzelman 1990), and Hunt’s (2018) exploration of extreme winds affecting people emotionally. Finally I discussed how story and mythology reflects clouds and weather, through images seen and conversations held between myself and clouds. I contemplated Harris’ (2016) views on Christian imagery, and Abram’s (1996) Native American cosmologies, to understand how people’s reactions to clouds affect them on a personal level.

My research has led me to discover that I am more affected by clouds than I previously considered. I can imagine a sense of oneness with my surroundings, and I would like to give myself more time to explore this further. While I did not experience the merging self-with-weather, as Goodall and others have done, I understand more fully how non-separation is experienced. Another definite conclusion is that clouds and weather affect my mood, and the emotions of others around me. I am uncertain whether, as Tilley (2004) suggests, clouds have agency and can therefore also be affected by interaction with myself. Again, this is something that calls for extra research.

Finally, I consider seeing certain images in the clouds as a direct communication between clouds and myself. I found that exceptionally inspirational. Other cultures are extremely careful in how they interact with clouds and weather: they watch and listen and reciprocate, and I would like to do more of the same. I agree with Abram (1996: 260) that through this exploration in air, I do feel more part of the world, more immersed and more listened-to in turn. My aim in future is to do as the CAS suggest, and live my life with my head in the clouds!

​Figure 7: The Phoenix. Thursday 28th June. Glastonbury, Somerset. Photo: Amy Martin.

​​[1] Harris would empathise: ‘I am the most amateur and faddish of weather watchers. I cannot sit looking at the sky for long without getting restless’ (Harris 2016: 19).

[2] The English word ‘temper’ means both ‘mood’ and ‘weather’. Ingold says: ‘The fact that a whole suite of words derived from this common root refer interchangeably both to the characteristics of the weather and to human moods and motivations is sufficient proof that the two are not just analogous but fundamentally identical’ (Ingold 2010: 133).

​Discuss how story has informed the narrative of activism. With references to examples, indicate how story could inform our understanding of sacred activism.

​Both movies Robinson Crusoe on Mars (1964) and The Martian (2015) involve a male astronaut who has suffered an unexpected disaster that leaves him stranded on the uninhabitable planet of Mars. He goes through many hardships, including solving the problems of breathable air, drinkable water, food shortages, dangerous terrain and fluctuations in temperature. Against all odds, both men survive and are rescued by their astronaut peers.
 
I will compare and contrast these two American-made movies in terms of the cultural and historical moment in which they were created. The main themes I will address are: the cultural hype of space travel; concepts of colonialism; and the significance of finding life on other planets. I will conclude that while details of these themes appear to have changed over the 51 years between these two movies being created, the underlying mentality of a world that sensationalises space travel, and in particular the potential for human habitation of Mars, remains the same.
 
Only twelve men have set foot on an extra-terrestrial body (the moon), so ‘popular understanding of outer space is chiefly a product of images and representations’ (Geppert 2012: 13), including these movies. I would like to explore what these representations mean about people’s mind-sets at the time they were created.
 
The Cultural Hype of Space Travel
 
Robinson Crusoe on Mars[1] was created in 1964, the year after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Kennedy was instrumental in perpetuating the hype around Space Travel, when he announced in 1961 that America would send men to the moon and return them safely to Earth. This was realised in 1969, when Neil Armstrong walked on the Moon and ‘rekindled the excitement felt in the early 1960s’ (Launius 1999).
 
A huge aspect of Kennedy’s (1961) speech was to ensure that people all over the world would have access to television in order to witness America’s success. Alexander Geppert (2007) describes this as a ‘carefully orchestrated, global media event’ (Geppert 2007: 594), seen by 600 million people, in 49 countries, symbolising ‘the central role of space exploration in the process of globalization’ (Geppert 2007: 594).
 
The two movies show the contrast between mentalities before and after the lunar landings. In 1964 Robinson Crusoe was very much alone. He had zero contact with Earth, and the viewer had no way of knowing if his peers were coming for him, as the movie was set entirely on Mars.
 
The Martian, on the other hand, was alone for a while, but then he was able to make contact with Earth and sustained communications until his rescue. There are scenes within NASA’s headquarters, and of mass-audiences watching a ‘global media event’ (Geppert 2007: 594), as the rescue mission was attempted. People worldwide witnessed the event, which could not have been imagined by the creators of Robinson Crusoe, who had not yet seen men on the moon or witnessed the wider implications of the Space Race on communications and technology.
 
Kennedy’s dream of globally televising the moon landings could be seen as a stroke of genius if we consider the long-standing desire of humanity to view the Earth from space. Cicero touches upon this theme in his Dream of Scipio (in The Republic 51 BC). Scipio is asked, when observing the earth from outside it, how he can truly seek glory among men when only scattered parts of Earth are inhabited, and between the breaks ‘no communication can pass from one set to another’ (Pearman 1883).
 
Scipio’s glory will not spread far, and the men who talk of him will soon cease to talk. Kennedy found a way to bridge these communication breaks, so that even the most remote regions of the Earth could witness America’s success. Everybody was talking about Kennedy’s dream-come-true, and they still are, hence the scenes in The Martian that directly mirror the moon landings.
 
Concepts of Colonialism
 
Both Robinson Crusoe and The Martian include themes of colonialism. Robinson Crusoe says he feels like Columbus going to new lands, and erects an American flag outside his cave-home, and The Martian is told that he has colonised Mars by cultivating his potatoes: ‘in your face Neil Armstrong!’ These themes are reminiscent of Kennedy’s notion of the ‘mastery of space’ (Kennedy 1961).
 
‘Mastery of space’ (Kennedy 1961) could be synonymous with the concept of mastery of nature, inherent in many western mind-sets since the time of Descartes, who said I think, therefore I am, creating a split between mind and matter, man and nature, man and space, and man and woman[2]. To see space as separate from oneself is to view it with fear or indifference; to seek to master it therefore breeds colonialism.
 
Nicholas Campion (2015) asks: ‘how is it possible to persuade people who see space as either empty or dangerous that it needs protecting?’ (Campion 2015: 1). Both protagonists, it could be said, see Mars as empty and dangerous, and neither is concerned with protecting it or consider that they have contaminated its environment simply by being there. This view appears not to have changed at all between 1964 and 2015.
 
Robinson Crusoe and The Martian both see Mars just as the Europeans saw Australia: empty and unknown. It has now been acknowledged that ‘Australia, when the Europeans arrived, was neither empty nor unknown, but occupied and known. By the same token, to regard outer space as empty and unknown will always raise the risk of an ethical blunder’ (Campion 2015: 7). Just like seeing the planet as an extension of the human body, without which the human could not live, we can also see space, including Mars, as an extension of Earth: the Cartesian split has caused this illusion of separation between all things. Even ‘environmentalists and ecologists generally have nothing to say about space, confining their theories to terrestrial nature’ (Campion 2015: 7).
 
Within ecology, the image of Earth from Space is used widely to promote a spiritual connection, unity and wonder at our planet Earth. This is known as the Overview Effect[3]. I found it intriguing watching Robinson Crusoe, as he casually points out to his escaped-slave alien friend, whom he names Friday,[4] the distant star that is his home. It is a simple conversation, almost devoid of emotion. In 1964, no images have been captured of Earth from beyond it, or none that were widely circulated, and so the Overview Effect would not have been in the public consciousness.
 
There is no mention of this in The Martian either, suggesting that this ecologist view is still not in the mainstream mind-set. The astronaut does not look out longingly at the planet he calls home, but he does show a huge respect for earthly life, shown by the respect and tenderness with which he treats his potato plants. The further we get into space exploration, the more the images come through of blurring Earth-life with Mars. Robinson Crusoe found Martian food he could digest, whereas The Martian grew Earth food on Mars.
 
The Earth exists in relation to other bodies, and so boundaries disappear. Both movies portray this: in Robinson Crusoe boundaries between humans and other space-beings are fluid, for example when Friday eventually starts speaking English. In The Martian it is the technology that melts boundaries. That he can communicate by email with Earth from Mars, a distance of 140 million miles (Space Website), is testimony to how this idea of separation is an illusion.
 
Another aspect of colonialism is that it was generally performed by heroic, explorer, masculine men. Dario Llinares (2011) considers how historically, astronauts take on a persona of idealised masculinity, while describing an excited man at a Buzz Aldrin[5] audience and his less than enthusiastic wife. Llinares comments: ‘This moment, for me, encapsulated the implicit gendering that underpinned the perception of space history and specifically the social construction of astronauts themselves. Space exploration was a story by and about men to which women were only peripherally connected’ (Llinares 2011: 2).
 
Therefore ‘Space exploration is conceptualised as another milestone in the advancement of humanity, indicative of the innate need (of men) to explore and gain knowledge about the external world’ (Llinares 2011: 3). This idea is reflected in both these movies with their male protagonists. The 1964 movie is devoid of females, excepting a photograph of one of the astronaut’s wives. In The Martian there are female astronauts, including the captain, although the protagonist is male.
 
Llinares sees that in the 21st Century ‘space exploration is no longer a pioneering venture into the final frontier and the moon does not represent the gateway to an inevitable colonisation of the stars’ (Llinares 2011: 196), which it was seen to be in 1964. Space is now actually a ‘functional foundation for the global communications infrastructure, home to thousands of orbiting satellites, which facilitate our highly mediated interconnectivity’ (Llinares 2011: 196), which explains why The Martian is able to communicate with Earth, while Robinson Crusoe is not. ‘The awe of utopian futurism has been sucked out of space flight, and as a result, today’s astronauts no longer symbolise the idealised masculinity of the Mercury and Apollo era’ (Llinares 2011: 196), which may somewhat explain why there are female astronauts in 2015 but not in 1964.
 
The Significance of Finding Life on Other Planets
 
In 2020, NASA’s Mars 2020 rover will be sent to seek for signs of life, an aspect of space travel prominent in both movies. Robinson Crusoe has no real mission on the surface of Mars: he is there accidentally. However, whilst there he continually records what he has found to enable him to survive and any signs of life. The Martian, in contrast, already has an established base on Mars, and his task as a biologist is to collect rocks and soil samples, which is described as ‘another aspect of the Mars 2020 rover mission’ (NASA Website).
 
What is not mentioned by NASA, or in The Martian, is the possibility of extra-terrestrial life currently living on or visiting Mars. Long before Sputnik (1957) the Space Age was dawning, and people spoke of a ‘“multi-planetary society” peopled by… “interplanetary man”,’ (Geppert 2007: 597). Discussions of whether life on Mars had evolved to the human level were portrayed in the War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells (1898). For Robinson Crusoe viewers it was still a possibility that other life lived on or visited Mars, hence the arrival of aliens from another planet. For The Martian no such imagination existed, but he was still searching for signs of life.
 
While Robinson Crusoe’s alien is very humanoid, other movies created more elaborate conceptions. Shukaitis believes that ‘the rise of science fiction films in the 1950s with their imagery of bizarre alien races functioning by some sort of incomprehensible totalitarian collectivism, in many ways reflect the recoded and redirected imagery of communism’ (Shukaitis 2009: 99). Communism appears as a UFO, which may seem quite absurd to viewers of the 2015 movie. 
 
‘Absolute deterritorialization can easily end in death, insanity, or absurdity’ (Shukaitis 2009: 100), which is very evident in both de-territorialised men Robinson Crusoe and The Martian. Robinson Crusoe could have died many times; he hallucinates due to loneliness; and there are absurd moments, mostly concerning his monkey companion, ‘Mona’. The Martian could have died many times; he has moments of insanity, for example when trekking across the Martian desert in a rover calling himself a pirate, while people on Earth are concerned about his mental health; and moments of absurdity, including frequent allusions that the only music available is terrible 80s disco. One of the main things these movies have in common is that they are both really funny, and could even be described as comedy.
 
Perhaps the absurdity of humanity leaving the planet, or of finding alien life, has always been there. Perhaps deep down everyone knows that we are supposed to be fully connected to our mother planet at all times, or face death or insanity. One cannot say that either Robinson Crusoe or The Martian lived on Mars: they suffered, and they survived, against all odds.
 
Conclusion
 
Many of the themes of Robinson Crusoe on Mars and The Martian are similar, including the main premise of the movies; the similar character and plights of the male astronaut protagonists; the adventurous, explorer, hero, colonialist mentality of the movies; the search for life beyond Earth; and the portrayal of the comic absurdity of the situation.
The differences include the increasing globalisation of hype around Space Travel, at its peak around the 1969 lunar landings; huge improvements in global technology and communication; changing attitude to women-astronauts: astronauts are no longer seen as masculine-heroes; belief in alien life has diminished in the mainstream mindset, as has the view that the moon is a gateway to colonising the solar system.
However, the simple idea of sending people to Mars, which NASA clearly still has their hearts set on, is becoming more and more of a reality. People today watching The Martian could perhaps see how all of this could really occur, while Robinson Crusoe would seem outdated and fanciful.  Kennedy’s blatant colonialist expression about ‘the mastery of space’ is perhaps expressed more subtly now, but the underlying Cartesian dualist mentality is still there in the mainstream media, expressed in many ways in The Martian.
 


[1] I will henceforth refer to the movie Robinson Crusoe on Mars simply as ‘Robinson Crusoe‘. Although this is not the name of the main character, which is Christopher Draper, played by Paul Mantee, it is a theme on which he draws during the movie. I will use ‘Robinson Crusoe’ synonymously to refer to both the movie and the lead character. I will use ‘The Martian’ synonymously to refer to both the movie and the main character Mark Watney, played by Matt Damon.

[2] This is an ecofeminist viewpoint. See for example Merchant (1980) and Warren (in Curry 2011).

[3] Archibald MacLeish describes the Overview Effect as: ‘To see the Earth as it truly is, small and blue and beautiful in that eternal silence where it floats, is to see ourselves as riders on the Earth together, brothers on that bright loveliness in the eternal cold—brothers who know now that they are truly brothers’ (MacLeish in Launius 1999). The modern ecology movement was spurred on by this image and the new perception it creates of the need to protect planet Earth.

[4] Friday is the character in Daniel Defoe’s (1719) Robinson Crusoe novel, whom the protagonist Robinson Crusoe meets and cannot communicate with at first. He names the stranger Friday because they meet on that day. A similar situation occurs in this movie, and the lead character refers to the original ‘Friday’ when he gives the escaped-slave alien a name.

[5] Buzz Aldrin was the second man on the moon.

​I have taken excerpts from my journal throughout March 2018, during the Indigeny Today module, which refer to the theme of ‘Time’, including speed, Right Time, ancestors, and future generations. I highlight the excerpts in italics throughout this paper. I consider each excerpt’s relevance to how indigenous worldviews can inform western worldviews about time.

​Northern lights teaching shoaling fish teaching
swarming flies teaching clouding ink
would never learn the –
Ghostly swirling surging whirling melting
murmuration of starling flock.
 - Robert MacFarlane

The aim of this study is to discuss the meaning of sacred landscape by exploring the Somerset Levels phenomenologically, and to answer these questions: is the Somerset Levels a sacred landscape? Does the presence of Starling murmurations enhance that sacredness? Is sacredness a human construct? 
 
The most spiritual encounter I have had around Glastonbury is observing the Starling murmurations, which occur on the Somerset Levels at sunrise and sunset every day between November and February. Glastonbury and the surrounding landscape have many sacred features and stories: mythological, archaeological and historical. So what is it about this phenomenon of the Starling murmurations that has drawn me in and made me feel more connected to the landscape of my chosen home?

​​The Avalon Marshes is a wetland habitat covering 5 square miles of the northern Somerset Levels, created from worked-out peat diggings. The Ham Wall section is about 575 acres (230 ha) of land, managed by the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) since 1994. The RSPB describe the process of creating wetland from peat-works:
 
'After the peat has been extracted down to the level of the clay beneath and with the cessation of artificial drainage, the large holes that remain gradually fill with water to the levels held in surrounding ditches. The RSPB believed that this offered an ideal opportunity to help replace some of the wetland habitats that are continually under threat and being lost elsewhere in the country' (http://ncosbirds.org.uk/RSPB_Ham_Wall_introduction.pdf). ​

the audience at Ham Wall
​Is this landscape ‘activated’ by the people, or the Starlings, or both? Tim Ingold describes how 'a parliament of lines' (Ingold 2008: YouTube), joins together to create a knot. By observing the Starling murmurations, we 'join with the thing in its thing-ing' (Ingold 2008: YouTube). To inhabit a landscape is to join in the processes of formation.
 
A sense of wonder is created by the feeling of ‘belonging’. Each Starling has its place, all are welcome; none are left out. I have my place too: down here, observing. I long to be a part of their movement, to belong with them, to be closer – Reflective Journal 16.12.17
 
Lane’s (2016) second axiom says one can move through a sacred place and not be present to it. If you are present, then you feel like you belong, as I describe above. What you long for is already within you, but you cannot realise this without wilderness.
 
Martin Heidegger (1993) discusses the fourfold: sky, divinities, earth and mortals. Sacred spaces exist where the fourfold come together. The Starlings remind me of the fourfold: the sky is where the performance happens; divinity is in the awe and wonder we feel; earth is reflected in the creatures we share our planet with; our mortality (our own essence within the fourfold) is reflected in feelings of ‘longing’. Ham Wall has a dedicated space to reflect on our mortality: an otter statue where people place plaques to remember loved ones. ​

    

​Conclusion

In conclusion I would like to address the Gaia Foundation definition of sacred sites and those of the nineteen points which indicate that the Somerset Levels (with Ham Wall being the main location) is a sacred landscape, and the Starling murmurations enhance that sacredness, using my reflective journal and academic literature to support my arguments.

Ham Wall is definitely ‘a place in the landscape, occasionally over or under water’ (Thorley and Gunn 2008: 12). It could also be a place ‘especially revered by a people, culture, or likely religious observance’ (Thorley and Gunn 2008: 12), if we agree with Durkheim (in Field 1995: xix) that something is sacred if people believe it to be. People ‘revere’ this landscape because they believe it to be a special place, due to feeling connection to and wonder at the Starling murmurations.
Ham Wall is ‘a natural topographical feature’ (Thorley and Gunn 2008: 12), even though it is man-made. It is a place ‘functioning in the full spectrum of [its] beauty' (Hughes 1991: 25), and its artificial creation means it has been set 'free into its own essence' (Heidegger 1993: 352). The Starling murmurations enhance this essence.

Ham Wall is ‘recognised as carrying special manifestations of wildlife, natural phenomena, ecological balance’ (Thorley and Gunn 2008: 12), which is shown to its fullest in the Starling murmurations. We see seasonal and daily balance during winter sunrise and sunset, which brings us ‘something infinitely healing’ (Carson 1996: 24).

The Somerset Levels (though not necessarily Ham Wall specifically), shows evidence of ‘a memorial or mnemonic to a key recent or past event in history, legend, or myth’ (Thorley and Gunn 2008: 12). History, archaeology, legend and landscape memory lie in the water itself: in its ethereal quality, in the chaos of the floods, and the in mastery of the landscape, all of which is reflected in creation mythology. This mythology manifests in the Arthurian and Arimathean legends, and in the history of a landscape that took many generations to create out of chaos ‘conditions in which human beings could live' (Hawkins 17: 1973).

Ham Wall has ‘palpable and special energy or power which is clearly discernible from the landscape’ (Thorley and Gunn 2008: 12), enhanced by the Starling murmurations. It has a 'Spirit of Place' (Tilley 1994: 26), which is the ‘palpable ecstasy of being alive’ I felt from all the species of bird one dawn. However, as sacred places invoke a sense of 'awe, emotion, wonder or anguish' (Tilley 1994: 16), watching the Starlings does enhance the Spirit of Place.

Finally, Ham Wall ‘is a place of spiritual transformation for individual persons or the community’ (Thorley and Gunn 2008: 12), as those who enter it may experience 'healing, meaning, transformation, strength or connectedness with nature' (Hughes 1991: 15). This is reflected in my feelings of wonder, of belonging, connectedness to nature, and love for my home, all of which were enhanced by the Starling murmurations. Although Lane (2016) says that to be in a sacred landscape you must be present to it, suggesting that not everyone would consider the Somerset Levels as sacred, I do not think this diminishes its sacredness. He also says: what you long for is already within you, but it is wilderness (and the Starlings) that helps you realise it. 

​NASA states that even if we stopped producing all greenhouse gases today, we will still be affected by climate change for generations to come. They suggest a two-pronged approach to limiting the effects of climate change: Mitigation, meaning reducing climate change, which involves reducing the flow of heat-trapping greenhouse gases into the atmosphere, and Adaptation; adapting to life in a changing climate, which involves adjusting to actual or expected future climate (climate.nasa.gov).

The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) made many assessments aiming to provide governments with 'the science, the impacts, and the economics of—and the options for mitigating and/or adapting to—climate change'. The global temperature graph on the NASA website shows that climate change has only worsened since the 1950s, and 'scientific evidence for warming of the climate system is unequivocal'.
 
The sharp increase suggests that human activity has a large part to play in global climate change, so clearly it is useful to find an equitable basis for an international agreement. Attfield refers to the classical ethics of Plato and Kant, and how long-term side-effects of anything humans did could be disregarded. Now, with our new technology, we affect large swathes of the biosphere and damage the Earth for future generations. 'Preserving the conditions for the continuation of human life on our planet has become an ethical issue'.
 
 
First let's discuss a few ethical principles that go some way to encouraging an international agreement on climate change. Jamieson thinks that our existing values are insufficient to the task, as they evolved relatively recently, within 'low-population density and low-technology societies, with seemingly unlimited access to land and other resources'. These values encourage a responsibility which 'presupposes that harms and their causes are individual, that they can be readily identified, and that they are local in time and space'. As climate change fits none of these criteria, a new value system is needed. His answer is to develop 'twenty-first century virtues,' including 'humility, courage… moderation,' 'simplicity and conservatism'.
 
Henry Shues’ No Harm Principle is a little less radical (therefore more likely to be adopted by international governments) stating that the main moral problem is that climate change will subject future people to severe harm, so we must act in spite of economic and scientific uncertainty. The Precautionary Principle is gaining popularity in international law and policy, and it says: 'when an activity raises threats of harm to human health or the environment, precautionary measures should be taken even if some cause and effect relationships are not fully established scientifically'. Both of these principles are controversial, and are stated to be ' either obscure or else overly conservative when taken literally. However Gardiner thinks these principles are reasonable, as 'widespread endorsement of the view that stabilizing emissions would impose a cost of “only” 2 percent of world production, one might claim that we care little about the potential gains—at least relative to the possibly catastrophic costs'. So the cost of not doing anything would be a lot more than of doing it and it not working. But this raises two questions: firstly, which precautionary measures should be taken, and secondly: who should pay? This second question I shall discuss further.
 
Philosophical writers are virtually unanimous in that developed countries should take the lead. The Polluter Pays Principle (PPP) says that the polluters themselves should take responsibility for climate change, pay for it, and take steps to mitigate it. Caney questions whether it is indeed the developed countries that should pay: individuals, corporations, states, the international community, or other entities may be required to pay. A report of the IPCC says 'individuals must change their energy-intensive lifestyles', but is it fair that they should pay for mitigation and adaptation if the country they live in supports that energy-intensive lifestyle? Or should we charge international regimes and institutions such as the International Monetary Fund, for promoting economic growth and encouraging the use of fossil fuels?
 
Neumeyer advocates for 'historical accountability'. But as the policies that caused global climate change stem from previous generations, is it fair to make current people pay for the mistakes of their ancestors? The individualist position suggests that inhabitants of a country can bear responsibility for their ancestors because their quality of life benefited from those decisions. The beneficiary has a responsibility not to pursue that policy (mitigation) and/or to address its harmful effects (adaptation). Caney suggests this would change the principle completely from PPP to 'Beneficiary Pays Principle'.
 
The collectivist view is that if, for example, Britain as a collective caused pollution, Britain should pay. However Britain, as a collective, was ignorant of fossil fuel effects until the last 30-40 years. Peter Singer says ignorance is inapplicable for emissions before the 1990s, but Neumayer says the same for the mid-1980s. Which do we follow? The historical approach may also seem unfair to impoverished countries that emit greenhouse gases. We could supplement PPP with: the poor should not pay. However, as millions of high-polluting people live outside 'developed' countries, Paul G. Harris calls for a shift from international to global climate justice: 'People, rather than states alone, are agents of climate change and the bearers of related rights, responsibilities and obligations'.
 
Caney concludes that the PPP is incomplete, so he came up with a principle called 'The Hybrid Account', and the duties are:
- not to emit greenhouse gases above a set quota,
- if countries exceed/ed the quota (since 1990), they must compensate others (a revision of PPP),
- the most advantaged have a duty to reduce greenhouse gases (mitigation) in proportion to the harm resulting from previous generations, excusable ignorance, and polluters who won't pay, and address the ill affects resulting from these things (adaptation),
- Discourage polluters from not paying by constructing institutions that discourage future non-compliance.
 
While I agree with Caney's principles, they are still clearly incomplete. For example, Caney says 'persons have the human right not to suffer from the disadvantages of climate change', but what about non-human species, and the biosphere as a whole? An anthropocentric basis for climate change mitigation and adaptation may not go far enough to reduce our emissions because it aims to keep humanity living at current economic levels. All the PPP does is throw money at the issue, but our anthropocentric economic solutions are clearly not solving the problems: if human well-being is enough to treat the environment with respect, why are we in a worsening mess?
 
 
Robin Attfield argues for an international approach that calculates emissions quotas according to the country's population, called the Equal Per Capita Entitlement. There would be a heavy responsibility to reduce carbon emissions (mitigation) and to ensure human needs are still met (adaptation). One question is: who decides what 'human needs' are? Needs are shaped by cultural, communal and individual values. The fundamental principle behind Equal Per Capita Entitlement is that all people have an equal right to the absorptivity of the atmosphere, but how do we know for sure what the atmosphere's absorptive capacities are?
 
And surely we can respect the atmosphere in its own right? 'It is time to eschew human self-interest and recognise the inherent worth and surpassing values of Earth's miraculous ecosystems whose workings we do not understand. Anthropocentrism says we know how to control and manage them; ecocentrism says ''not yet, maybe never''. One of the reasons we may not have reached a satisfactory international agreement yet is that no one wants to admit the truth: we do not understand the Earth's ecosystems, and we don't know how to mitigate and adapt.  'Scientists aren’t any time soon going to give politicians some magic answer. Policy makers for a long, long time are going to have to deal with a situation where it’s not clear what the costs and benefits are, where lots of people disagree about them, and they can’t wait until everything is resolved'.
 
The risk is that climate change may be upon us before an agreement has been reached. Attfield suggests it's better to introduce a more limited system as it can be agreed quicker. He believes international agreement must be reached, as the precedent will be set for reaching agreement, and momentum is there for future agreements. However, there is a weakness in our democratic system: governments slant policy to please the next potential electorate, and do not look far enough into the future. When it comes to climate change this has been detrimental.
 
With Equal Per Capita Entitlement there is also the issue of equity between peoples. Countries and governments must act on behalf of the people, and some do not. It might encourage population increase or distorted consensuses, but this can be avoided if we backdate the population to the last consensus, and implement international monitoring for future ones. Another idea is that poor countries with a large population who are not using their quota may trade with affluent countries who wish to exceed their quota. However, I see too large a similarity with carbon trading, which clearly doesn't work. Carbon trading caps firms' emissions and those who want to emit more can trade with those who have surplus. So while there is a financial incentive to reduce emissions, it doesn't actually reduce overall carbon emissions. 
 
 
Curry thinks the problem is: 'the public want to avert climate change... (and) go on holiday, drive to work... they hope for technical innovations or efficiency improvements... rather than contemplate radical changes in lifestyle'. Meyer suggests the 'Contraction and Convergence' method is the answer: allowable totals are annually contracted to prevent an increase in global temperatures (contraction) and the entitlements of humanity are gradually adjusted until parity is reached (convergence).  Contraction and Convergence appears like it will achieve what the public want: it will mitigate climate change and allow current lifestyles to continue. It will allow a gradual decrease of fossil fuel emissions, and because there is time, an increase in renewable energies will allow the same quality of life. However, Curry believes it's too late: the battle against greenhouse gas is over, but most of us are too stubborn to admit it. Even with radical emissions cuts (for which there is little popular or political will), the time lag means that the Earth is still likely to warm up by 4 degrees.
 
Attfield believes that Contraction and Convergence is the best prospect for addressing global problems, allowing mitigation and adaptation, and can be used as a spring-board for other problems including poverty and under-development. While I agree that Contraction and Convergence is the most equitable basis for reaching an international agreement, it must be supplemented by a huge individual, local, regional and national effort for it to work. It just won't work on its own, I agree with Jamieson: what is needed is new values based on 'moderation,' 'simplicity and conservatism'. While we are too focused on the economics, politics, and science, we are wasting time.
 
 
Gustavo Esteva says: 'we must stop asking governments and international organisations for solutions they don't want to - and can't - implement. And we must stop pretending to be God, thinking we can 'fix' the planet'. Our only hope is to bypass the government and market, take control of our own lives by rejecting waste rather than recycling it, and by reclaiming mobility using bicycles and public transport rather than increasing 'green' cars. Strengthening sustainable local communities will mitigate effects of unavoidable climate change, and help us and other species to survive what cannot be stopped. Attfield agrees that great good could be achieved through communities and individual consumers, together with NGOs and governments adopting environmentally-friendly practices.
 
The problem with PPP and Contraction and Convergence is that they both assume that integrating environmental and economic goals are compatible with each other. When the two are in conflict, which comes first? We know that the economy damaged the environment, now we are seeing that environmental degradation damages the economy: it is a two-way interaction. 'Reversing the accelerated pace of production with its overconsumption of energies means moving back toward a local and non-specialized economy... When production and consumption both become localized, the temptation to speed up production, indefinitely and at any price, disappears'.
 
We need: less consumption, more conservation. We need less development and global trade, more self-reliance. Curry's solution is that we let go of this self-important delusion that without the 'stuff' of capitalist modernity life is not worth living. However, people's romantic vision of retreating into a cabin into the woods doesn't help us either, for the one thing we need the most is: community. It's the best chance we have to save who we are and what we have (Curry 2011). We can do this ourselves, within our communities, with or without involvement from international governments. And we can include our whole environment within the 'community', which is not a new concept: respect and care for all life is an important theme for many individuals and societies for millennia.
 
I do not think it is impossible for governments to come to an ecocentric agreement on climate change. There have been progressions in this area in several countries and institutions. The Earth Charter at the UN summit of Sustainable Development in 2002 is a visionary ecocentric document: ‘all beings are interdependent and every form of life has value regardless of worth to human beings'. Ecuador in 2008 signed a new constitution that enshrined the rights of nature, and constitutional reforms in Bolvia in 2010 include ‘Law of the Rights of Mother Earth’. These advancements can be held up as examples to all nations. So the idea is there, but the will to implement it, as far as I can see, is not.
 
Therefore I argue that while PPP and Contraction and Convergence are the most equitable basis for an international agreement on climate change mitigation and adaptation, this is only because they are the best we've got that fit into the current system of trying to continue on, business as usual, with our economy and lifestyle. What is actually needed is an overhaul of our values, promoting ecocentrism rather than anthropocentrism (PPP and Contraction and Convergence are unavoidably anthropocentric), and encouraging community and individual sustainable solutions. If Curry is correct that it's too late to battle climate change, our best option is to reduce the impact of it by halting the use of greenhouse gases in our own lives as much as possible (mitigation), and bringing our communities together to create local, sustainable ways of living together (adaptation). I just can't see international governments agreeing to anything that reaches this conclusion: PPP and Contraction and Convergence are the best we've got, and they do not go far enough, fast enough. So we must do it ourselves!

Book review of 'The Land Ethic' chapter in Aldo Leopold's book: A Sand County Almanac. 

''That land is a community is the basic concept of ecology, but that land is to be loved and respected is an extension of ethics.''  - Aldo Leopold
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​Leopold is writing in 1948, shortly before he died. His career began in 1909 in the U.S Forestry Service, later becoming Associate Director of the Forest Products Laboratory in Wisconsin. In 1933 he became involved in game management. He was posthumously honoured at the National Wildlife Federation's Conservation Hall of Fame. J.Baird Callicott describes Leopold as the founding father of recent environmental ethics, and his 'Land Ethic' as a modern classic. 
 
'The Land Ethic' chapter can be condensed into seven main points:
1. The Ethical Sequence: Leopold defines ecological 'ethics' as: 'a limitation on freedom of action in the struggle for existence'. There is currently no ethic for man's relation to land, but Leopold believes that free-for-all competition can be replaced by co-operative mechanisms, or 'symbiosis'.
2. The Community Concept: The land ethic expands our biotic community to include soil, water, plants and animals. Humanity's role shifts from land conqueror to community member.
3. The Ecological Conscience: The aim of conservation is to create harmony between people and land. Changing the content of our education systems can help change our current values. When land owners follow government conservation regulations, they usually do so with economic self-interest. Obligations have no meaning without conscience: our inherent values must change.
4. Substitutes for Land Ethic: All members of the land community are entitled to continuance. The stability of the whole depends on the integrity of individual members. Historically, members of the biotic community only had value if they were economically valuable to humans. This lack of value has been extended to whole communities: marshes, deserts etc. Assign more obligations to private landowners, and encourage pride in the diverse communities on their land.
5. The Land Pyramid: The bottom layer of the ‘Land Pyramid’ is soil, above it plants, then insects, and so on until the largest predators at the top. The number of individuals decreases upwards through the layers. The pyramid is based on what the species eat, so energy moves upwards, and death and decay moves the energy back down to the soil. There are many chains of energy moving through the pyramid, through many species. It may seem chaotic, but it's stable, although it depends on co-operation of all individuals. When changes occur, other parts must adjust. This is not always negative if it's slow and local: it's evolution. Humanity's rapid, violent, global actions have for the first time made food chains shorter. Can the land adjust? If so, how long for?
6. Land Health: Land health is 'the capacity of the land for self-renewal.' The A-B Cleavage of common viewpoints: A- land is a commodity for production, B- biota are important for their own sake. Leopold gives examples of the A-B cleavage in forestry, wildlife management, and agriculture. All cleavages show: man as conqueror vs man as biotic citizen and land as slave vs land as collective organism. 
7. The Outlook: Some concluding points: a land ethic can only exist with love, respect and admiration for land; the major obstacle is our educational and economic systems; for an ethic to work we need social approval for right action, and disapproval for wrong action.
 
 
One of the main questions of environmental ethics is: what beings should be taken into ethical consideration, known as ‘moral standing’? Anthropocentric (human-centred) views are that only humans have moral standing, because only humans are conscious, rational beings. There are other opinions that extend moral standing to sentient animals (beings that feel pleasure and pain), to 'beings-of-a-life' (that have beliefs, desires, memory, emotion), or to individual living organisms.
 
Leopold's ethic is at the other end of the scale: moral standing should be extended to the whole biotic community, including soil, water, plants and animals. This view is holistic, meaning that systems such as lakes, rivers, species and ecosystems should be given moral standing too. 
 
One objection to Leopold's Land Ethic is that it does not go deep enough into why the biotic community deserves moral standing. He quickly jumps from a description of how the land is, to what we ought to do. 'It is one thing to say how nature is, but quite another to say how society ought to be'. If Leopold can offer no answer, there is no need to build environmental obligations around this ethic. However, Leopold's aim is not to arrive at an impeccable theory, but to express a set of clear, consistent principles.
 
Perhaps the more important question is: how do we feel about the land? Lawrence E. Johnson points out that feelings may not be suitable foundations for an environmental ethic, as interests are not always tied to conscious experience. Some people feel no emotion for the biotic community, so will ignore the ethic. Benson suggests using intuition in decision making, but people have different intuition. To create ethical principles out of intuition may cause some to reject them.
 
Benson thinks these difficulties are enough that we should take a cautious approach: the same results may be obtained by applying traditional principles, even if they are human (or animal) centred. Human well-being will always be a reason to treat the environment with respect. True, humanity will always need to use and modify land for food, shelter, clothing and water, but if human well-being is enough to treat the environment with respect, why are we in a worsening mess?
 
Leopold discusses the duty land owners have over their land. Is it necessary for landowners to extend moral standing to the whole biotic community, or can they achieve same thing by acting according to their own interests? Concluding something is bad for humanity is a strong force against it happening, but many think the biotic community deserves consideration in its own right. Midgely says: 'To insist that it is really only a duty to the exploiting human beings is not consistent with the emphasis often given to reverence for the actual trees, mountains, lakes, rivers...'. Leopold would definitely agree with this.
 
Gould would agree too: 'we cannot win this battle to save species and environments without forging an emotional bond between ourselves and nature as well - for we will not fight to save what we do not love'. Emotional and even religious appreciation of nature is part of an ecological ethic. One way to increase this appreciation is through Leopold's shift from man as conqueror to man as citizen. Rowe agrees 'we are Earthling's first, humans second'. Once this is fully grasped we can become Leopold's 'plain citizen' of the biotic community. 
 
Yet there is still the suspicion that the Land Ethic is grounded in human interest, because a whole, stable environment is obviously better for humanity. Leopold clearly believes enlightened self-interest doesn't go far enough: the Land Ethic requires 'love, respect, and admiration for land, and a high regard for its value'. Callicott thinks that if it's possible to value people in and of themselves, we can do the same with land.
 
 
Another criticism of the Land Ethic is that holistic philosophies condone sacrificing individuals for the sake of the whole. We can shoot rabbits to save a plant species, but are unhappy about doing the same to humans: the most abundant species destroying biotic communities. Regan (1983) calls this 'environmental fascism'. However, granting moral standing to the whole is not the same as taking it from individuals. But the question remains: when interests clash, who wins? Leopold's answer is: 'a thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise'. This has become one of the maxims of holistic ethics.
 
Callicott believes the Land Ethic will add to and contextualise other ethics, but will not replace them. The biotic community matters, but so do other communities. We are part of many, and can judge clashes of interest based on community commitments. But who decides the strength of community commitments? Surely our strongest commitment is to the human community, which brings us back to anthropocentrism. 
 
Attfield suggests we need to take account of ecological systems, as it is pointless rescuing individuals while the system that supports them fails. However, 'systems matter because of the individual lives which depend on them and which they make possible'. So ethicists must take both individuals and systems of nature into account without becoming sentientists (who believe only sentient animals have moral standing) or holists.
 
A further criticism, from animal liberationists, is that the Land Ethic does not prohibit hunting, killing or eating animals. Leopold himself was a hunter and writes about it in his book. Does this make him stupid or hypocritical? Or does he consider hunting as consistent with his ethic? In Leopold's Land Pyramid, he puts homo sapiens in the same layer as squirrels, raccoons and bears, because they are all omnivores. This would not exclude humans from killing animals and eating meat. Leopold would not hunt endangered species, as a classical 'law' of ecology says: 'diversity contributes to stability', so rare species must have preferential consideration.
 
 
Richard Sylvan thinks that Leopold does not go far enough with his ethic. Leopold extends our current anthropocentric ethic to include the whole biotic community. 'But it is not, as Leopold seems to think... that an extension of traditional morality is required... [but] a change in the ethics and in attitudes, values, and evaluations'. I think Leopold does promote a new ethic: his message is to change consciousness around how we treat the land. Arne Naess, founder of Deep Ecology, believes: 'once the appropriate consciousness is established, one will naturally protect the environment and allow it to flourish, for that will be part and parcel of the protecting and flourishing of oneself'.
 
Sylvan hopes that a brand new ethic will cause immoral environmental conduct to rouse the indignation of others. Leopold also believes this is key, 'the mechanism of operation is the same for any ethic: social approbation for right actions: social disapproval for wrong actions'. Perhaps it is impossible to create a 'new' ethic, as all ethics are extensions of the old. Sylvan looks at current social ethics, shifting them into environmental terms: dominant (anthropocentric), despotic (man as steward) and co-operative (man as perfecter). He finds them all wanting in terms of the environment, so concludes: we do need a new ethic.
 
Curry believes that the new ethic should begin from a different starting point: 'I start from the belief, or perception, that nature - which certainly includes humanity - is the ultimate source of all value'. Sylvan and Bennett (1994) say we must imagine and aim for 'what lies entirely beyond the bounds of present practice, thinking the unthinkable'.
 
I think Leopold's Land Ethic goes far enough for this, and that it constitutes an excellent starting point for an ethic. Curry agrees, and thinks Leopold's virtues are significant. For one, it specifies right and wrong: it is certainly an ethic. Secondly, the focus is ecocentric: it excludes nothing. Lastly, the clarity and simplicity help to get the message across. And the change is radical indeed: enlarging the community re-frames all ethical discourse.
 
Curry says that ethics in ecology is not missing, it's just largely unconscious, and what is needed is a revival of an ancient ethic. 'There is something ancient about an ecological ethic; it is more something we have forgotten than something we have never known'. It is still present in Indigenous peoples, and in ethics such as Leopold's. Deep ecologists Bill Devall and George Sessions (1985) say that the change needed involves 'reawakening something very old'. Curry concludes that we need a new ethic based on an ancient, almost forgotten one. 
 
The issue is 'how to encourage enough people to behave in a sufficiently co-ethical way, and discourage them from acting otherwise, and sooner rather than later'. Most people currently think Bernard Brecht's way: 'Grub first, then ethics', but Curry thinks ethics is not optional: it's in every choice we make. Callicott suggests that instead of imposing laws and rights, we accept natural, biological laws and their limitations on human spheres, just as indigenous peoples do. It may be impossible for the Western world to return entirely to that life, but the ethos can be integrated.
 
Des Jardins (2001) suggests that we proceed with caution and respect, using a light touch. We can work with evolutionary changes, encourage native species, and take preference over biological engineering. As Leopold says 'think like a mountain': see things from that perspective, with the mountain's time-scales and priorities. This metaphor has been adopted by Deep Ecologists. One group putting this ethic into action is led by Ted Mosquin and Stan Rowe, writers of A Manifesto for Earth. 'The goal is restoration of Earth's diversity and beauty, with our prodigal species once again a co-operative, responsible, ethical member'. Exactly Leopold's philosophy. 
 
 
Leopold's Land Ethic is a gateway to how we ought to organise our society to protect our Earth. It could be extended to include the Ocean Ethic, and the Earth Ethic. The Land Ethic does not give all the answers, but gives a clear set of principles that can be built upon. Views that only humans, animals, or individuals have moral standing are worth considering, but holistic values such as the Land Ethic should also be taken into account, as it can reach into areas the others cannot. We will always need to compromise on environmental solutions, but I think taking into consideration the whole (species, ecosystem, planet) is fundamental to our survival. I do not see this as antropocentric, if 'our survival' can be extended to include all beings, living or non-living, on Earth.
 
Can we make acceptable environmental decisions using emotion or intuition? I would say that a lack of emotion and intuition is what drove humanity to this destructive point in the first place. Any ethic that promotes 'love, respect and admiration for the land' is worthy of consideration. When thinking about forsaking individuals for the benefit of the whole, it pays to be cautious and to work with natural biological laws, and use a light touch. I think Leopold’s chapter promotes the light touch, using love and respect for the land, and extends full moral standing to all biotic communities. If we use these basic principles, we can find solutions to our environmental problems.

Excerpts from my Journal: January-February 2017.
 
Jenny said 'Choose a room on this side of the building, then you can see the beautiful tree.' During the welcome party I was given a piece of paper, a wish, which said the words: 
'May you grow to know a tree as an old friend’.
And so I began to wonder how I would begin speaking to the tree outside my window.
 
Andy sang and played his lyre to the ancient Yew tree, knowing that the tree could hear him. 
One night we went to watch Pagan Morris Dancing, with a Wassailing ceremony afterwards.
We sang to the apple trees and put cider soaked bread on the branches.
These traditional folk festivities are for the apple trees to know that they are celebrated and loved, so they will wake up and bear fruit when the season comes.
 
Steph said she had a connection with a Yew tree, close by to the ancient one.
We went to visit, and Steph told me that this was the masculine to the ancient feminine Yew that everyone visits.
She said when she walked past him it was like a pull she felt in her heart.
An intuition. A knowing.
And the messages come as feelings. This one told her that it is the masculine that needs healing in the world, more than the feminine.
 
Nicola said 'I was walking one day, and I heard a voice calling out my name.' 
She looked around and no one was there: she realised a plant was talking to her.
I asked her how to talk to trees, and she told me trees are much slower than us,
so we must give them time to speak.
If a person walks through the forest, everything stops.
We must be still and let the forest re-balance itself.
Sit under the tree, introduce yourself, and then just write, or draw, whatever comes to you.
 
Stephan said 'touch the trees and plants as if they can feel your touch.'
And the daffodils purred when I stroked them.
And the tree enjoyed my massage, especially in the knots.
And I stood and looked at the trees, in awe, and they could see me and were in awe of me too.
 
Pat said 'I choose rocks for my sweat lodge by asking them politely and with humility to come with me.
These are ancient rocks. One rock may have been having a conversation of infinite wisdom for thousands of years with its neighbour. 
So I reach out to the ancient ones, and ask which of them are happy to help me and my relatives on our humble, human journey. 
And as I am walking around, some catch my eye, or I get a feeling that they are saying 'yes, I will come with you'.
I thank them all for allowing their family member to come with me.'
 
Jenny watches, Andy sings, Steph knows, Nicola hears, Stephan touches, and Pat gives and receives.
 
I have connected with non-human beings before, though not with trees. 
I am a crystal artist, I can meditate with a crystal,
and draw the images and colours that come to me.
And so I decide to take Nicola's advice, and I do the same with the tree outside my window.
I go to it, introduce myself, wait patiently. It does not take so long before the images come.
I collect the images, keep them in my mind, draw them.
As I am drawing I realise a simple truth: this is not what I saw.
I am so limited by my memory of what I saw, by my terrible artwork, by the medium of my expression: the paper and pencils.
What I saw was so alive, vibrant, pulsating, living,
that I could not possibly express it in words, or in art.
What I drew on my paper was the closest approximation of what I saw,
but it does not even come close. 
And so I must conclude that all the watching, singing, soul-connections, hearing, touching, giving and receiving that all the people I have spoken to have described to me:
None of it comes close to the persons' actual experience.
And so, I will never know what people really mean when they say 'I speak to trees.'
  
Critical Commentary.
 
In this reflective journal I touch on the subject of animism. Animism is a type of religion that engages a wide community of living beings, with whom humans share the world. Earth holds a wide range of persons, only some of whom are human. 'All that exists lives' and 'all that lives is holy'. 
 
Animism could be the first and only universal religion. Quinn believes so, as animism has existed for tens of thousands of years, and is still in place now with indigenous peoples. The word animism itself comes from the Latin word for soul or spirit and views the world as 'a sacred place, and humanity belongs in such a world': humans are as sacred as everything else.
 
Harvey tells us how animists assert that 'it is possible to ''speak with'' and ''listen to'' trees...'. To some in the West this may seem a little far-fetched. But I love Campbell’s explanation of animism. He says that the tag of animism has been so caught up in ideas of classifying religion that the point has been lost. It shows Western separation from the idea: 'behind the term lurked the grounding idea that whereas we [the West] know what is alive and what is not, they [indigenous peoples] don't'.
 
There are two notions of what animism is: one is that indigenous peoples think that everything around them is alive, and the other is that all things have a soul or spirit that makes them alive. Campbell doesn't believe that 'calling one or the other 'animism' marks any great divide between us and them', because we (the West) already take it for granted that animals are alive. So begs the question: what is the difference between talking to my cat, and talking to the tree outside my window?
 
In my journal, Steph spoke to and listened to the Yew tree. She received a message: that the masculine energy of the world needs to be healed, just as much as, if not more than, the feminine. Maybe it was her specifically who was supposed to receive this message, or perhaps she was just open enough to hear what the tree had been saying for many years. Harvey says 'the ''speaking with'' and ''listening to'' trees may not be a pursuit of information, though some Pagans assert trees are willing to communicate in some way things that we would otherwise be unaware of'. So while Steph was not consciously looking for information, the tree was 'willing to communicate' something that she 'would otherwise be unaware of.’ Harvey's italics of how a tree communicates in 'some way', suggests there is no definitive way of communicating with a tree: Steph experienced the communication through her heart and intuition, and others have different experiences.

In the language of the Native American Ojibwe people, words are grammatically animistic: different grammar is used depending on whether an object is alive or not. It makes sense, as people can speak with animate objects, but can only speak about inanimate ones. For example, anthropologist Hallowell asks an Ojibwe man whether all rocks are alive: he replies that not all of them are, and advises how to know. If we can recognise a rock’s life, agency, will, or intellect, we can engage in social reciprocity with that rock-being, just as with a human-being.Hallowell observes: ‘relationships are both moral and reciprocal, not only among humans but between humans and "other-than-human persons" as a necessary, vital, and everyday part of life’.

In my journal I mention Native American Pat McGabe relating to rocks by asking permission to take some for her sweat lodge. In a similar way, trees can teach us 'the virtue of respect, the pleasure of intimacy and the vital importance of eco-responsibility'. This is exactly what Pat indicates: respecting rocks as beings in their own right; taking pleasure in creating an intimate relationship with them; and eco-responsibility through asking permission before taking, being humble and recognising that the human is entering the world of the rock, not the other way around.
 
If rocks have their own lives, communities, families and conversation, then they have a culture. Bird-David says 'culture is not the preserve of humans, but is evident (when seen as those indigenous peoples see things) among other-than-human persons too'. The animist perspective is that everything lives and is involved in culture, and that culture can include other persons human or non-human. In my journal Stephan Harding invites us to 'touch the trees and plants as ifthey can feel your touch.' Trees can give and receive touch, just as rocks can give gifts to humans and also receive gifts that initiate relationships.
 
Let’s go back to the idea of eco-responsibility: by giving to the world, we will receive gifts back. 'Animism promises the enrichment of human cultures by fuller engagement with what is too often taken as background or resource available to the construction of culture'. If we can avoid the idea that nature is used to create human culture, and instead realise that nature=culture, then all of life can share in relationship.
 
This is what I experienced with Andy's singing, dancing, and the Wassailing ceremony. We give gifts of our culture: music, dancing, bread and cider, that we may receive the gifts of the trees' culture: the fruit. This is far from using the trees as a 'resource available to construction of culture' (i.e. the apples for cider), but a tradition of equal reciprocity. Snyder’s phrase reflects this: ‘performance is currency in the deep world’s gift economy’. This idea of giving and receiving through performance (the Wassailing rituals), allows humans to understand what it means to lose something they would rather keep (the bread and cider). ‘What the creatures have to lose in the gift economy is their lives. What the people have to lose is their false sense of themselves as superior’. We are taught humility.
 
Pat attempts to 'reach out to the ancient ones’ with this same humility, and this can be applied to any non-human person. 'Being silent so as to pay attention to elders may be matched by practising silence in the woods that are home to many of your other-than-human neighbours'. The exact advice that Nicola gives me about talking to trees: if we are still and silent in the woods we can hear the messages of the trees much clearer. Her method of introducing oneself to the tree first reflects Pat's humility with the rocks. This is also the underlying notion written on the piece of paper I was given, that glorious wish: 'May you grow to know a tree as an old friend.'
 
In the conclusion of the journal I reflect that when people narrate their story, we cannot know what they actually experience. I will never really know what people mean when they say 'I speak to trees.' We can say the same about dream-telling. E. B. Tylor (1832-1917) says that attributing life, soul or spirit to inanimate objects comes from the 'primitive' inability to distinguish between dreams and waking consciousness. If a 'primitive' person dreams about a deceased relative, they assume that the persons' spirit has actually visited them. Out of dreams evolved the 'doctrine of souls and other spiritual beings in general'.
 
Tylor's idea completely ignores:
1. Evidence of spirit visitation occurring in dreams. One Zulu man was visited so often in his sleep that he described his body as 'a house of dreams';
2. That these dreams are experienced by adult, functioning human beings sharing the same time on earth as us, and that there is no primitiveness, childishness, or ignorance. This language 'simultaneously insists on the veracity of Western notions about personhood and materiality, while denigrating other understandings as childish and/or primitive’. Western belief at the time is that Europeans are the pinnacle of evolutionary development, and the word 'primitive' suggests that indigenous people are from a previous time. Tedlock addresses the misuse of 'typological time', saying that it denies that people are living at the same time, and is used as a 'distancing device'.
3. What people say they see in dreams is not necessarily what they actually experienced.
 
I would like to elaborate on this last point. Tedlock discusses the idea that dreams are mental, private acts, never recorded during the actual occurrence, whereas dream accounts are public social performances shared after the dream. Some dream workers say that they can recover the dream itself through producing a dream-report, but Tedlock believes this cannot be the case.
 
The same principles can be applied when a person describes communication with a tree: the conversation is a mental, emotional or soul-felt private act, rarely recorded during the actual occurrence, and the account of the conversation is shared in an appropriate context. The speaker chooses an audience (usually one open to the idea of speaking to trees), and an auditory or visual modality, with all its limitations. So we get the multi-performance list that I describe in the journal: 'Jenny watches, Andy sings, Steph knows, Nicola hears, Stephan touches, and Pat gives and receives'.
 
Each person describes connections with nature in these ways, in an attempt to explain to the listener what they mean, but the listener can never know what the speaker truly experiences. The issue may be in the limitations of language (or music, or art). Tedlock calls this the 'basic axiom of semantics'- the word is not the object and 'dream narratives are not dreams': neither narrating nor re-enacting can recover dream experiences. Neither narrating nor re-enacting the event of speaking to a tree can recover the communicative experience.

I discovered this through my drawing of the tree.
I came to the tree in respect and humility; 
​I asked the tree permission to communicate with it:
I gave what I had to give.
And the tree communicated with me in a beautiful way.
I saw visions of coloured light, purple and gold concentric rings at the top, 
and lines of different coloured light in a sphere around the bottom.
Outside the tree was dark with little spots of light here and there. 
I realised the darkness is what the tree experiences: 
it has no eyes or ears to sense the world as we do.
Instead the tree senses other beings as energy fields, like little spots of light, 
as they (birds, wind, grass, insects, me) enter the trees' own energetic sphere.
I sensed the truth of the tree, I drew it, and I used words to describe it just now.
​But no one will ever know what I truly experienced. ​