The importance of the sacred

Water is sacred. It is the Earth's blood. This is the worldview of the Ojibwe Native American tribe, who live in the upper Great Lakes region.

Standing in stark contrast is the worldview arguably held by much of the rest of America: water is a servant, existing to meet the needs of humans.

This comparison is not an original of mine. An Ojibwe woman brought it to my consciousness during an environmental history workshop I recently attended, which sent over 30 faculty and graduate students from the University of Wisconsin-Madison on a four-day tour around Wisconsin to experience and contemplate landscapes of health--places that evoke themes in the relationship between health and the environment. Among our stops was the reservation of the Ojibwe's Sokaogon Mole Lake band in northeastern Wisconsin. This was perhaps the most emotional stop for many of us.

The Ojibwe woman I just mentioned, Tina, the co-director of the band's environmental department, told us that the sacredness of water is firmly rooted in Sokaogon legend. They believe they are destined by the creator to live off of "food that grows on water." Centuries ago the band settled along the shores of Rice Lake, where they found this food--wild rice--which they believe to be a gift from the creator. They have been harvesting wild rice from the lake ever since, and it remains an important part of both their livelihoods and spirituality.

Rice Lake. Photo: Sokaogon Chippewa Community

But, in the mid-1980s, pressure to build a zinc and copper mine at the headwaters of the Wolf River, just two miles upstream from Rice Lake, began to threaten their livelihoods and spirituality. Over a period of about 25 years, the Sokaogon people courageously defended their sacred water against a series of national and transnational mining companies that claimed the mine would bring jobs and money to the otherwise impoverished region. However, in the process of "wealth creation," the mining activities would have dumped highly toxic heavy metals into the watershed, threatening the long-term health of the water, wild rice, and the Sokaogon people.

Fortunately, sacredness eventually defeated short-term economic gain. In 2003, the Sokaogon people were able to buy the land slated for the mine, thus protecting it from mining activities. You can read more about this story here and here.

Victory! Photo: International Indian Treaty Council

Tina was one of the band members who led the charge against the mine. She told us the story with immense passion and emotion, occasionally breaking out in tears and causing audience members' eyes (including my own) to well up. She explained that her father has harvested wild rice every year of his life, and the threat of the mine ending this tradition was utterly heartbreaking.

She also recounted how, in one meeting, she pleaded with federal government officials to stop looking at the data on their papers as she spoke to them and, instead, to look at her face and listen. The real effects of the mine cannot be seen in the data, but in the faces and hearts of the people.

One of Tina's colleagues, an engineer from Eastern Europe with a thick accent who had worked alongside Tina in the mine battle, supported this notion as he movingly explained to us that the human stories are what really matter, not the faceless quantitative data used to determine whether or not an environmental risk is strong enough for concern. And this was coming from an engineer. 

Such emotion is often missing from the decision-making process, and yet emotion is the element that brings the "human" to the table.

To add to the poignancy of this experience, it came at the start of another battle against mining pressure faced by the Ojibwe people. The Bad River band of northwestern Wisconsin are up against a proposed iron mine at the headwaters of Bad River, which poses a number of troubling threats. Among the important environmental assets the region hosts are the largest undeveloped wetland complex in the upper Great Lakes, the highest quality rivers in Wisconsin, and the largest natural wild rice bed in the Great Lakes basin, on which the Bad River people are dependent.

Harvesting wild rice on Bad River reservation, circa early 20th century. Photo: Marquette University Archives

Unfortunately the Bad River people have been thrown an added challenge--the mining firm eying the site, Gogebic Taconite, is lobbying the Wisconsin legislature to rewrite mining law to shorten the permitting process from seven years to 300 days. The shortened permitting process also shortens the amount of time the Bad River people can organize to fight against the proposed mine.

The legislation would also eliminate important environmental protections, such as restrictions on dumping toxic mine waste and a mandatory environmental risk assessment.

A couple members of the Bad River tribal council, including their president, unexpectedly attended our meeting with the Sokaogon representatives to learn about how they can build their defense. Their president spoke briefly about their predicament with eyes soaked in worry. They have a tough fight ahead of them and will need a lot of support. What's at stake impacts not just the tribe, but also all creatures--both human and nonhuman--that depend on the region's natural resources.

My fellow workshop participants and I left this experience changed. We witnessed a clear example of how a deep reverence for the Earth can prevail over greed. As Tina explained to us, the sacredness of the Earth fuels her people's passion and hope for continued health and happiness. This passion and hope sustained them throughout their fight.

If the sacredness of Earth and its resources imbued everyone's worldview, just like the Ojibwe people's, I wonder how different our world could be.

Recommended reading:
Reynolds, Glenn C. (2003). A Native American Water Ethic. Transactions, 90, 143-161.
 
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If you are interested in supporting the Bad River band's defense against the proposed mine and live in the upper Great Lakes region, they told us about the Mother Earth Water Walk, which will take place June 11-13, 2011. It is an annual event organized by Native Americans to raise awareness about the importance of clean water. The event could be a powerful way to garner people power against the mining threat.

The perfect gift for Mother Earth

What are you going to give Mother Earth for mother's day this year?

Whatever it is, your gift might have a hard time competing with what Bolivia is considering: her legal rights.

A recent article in Yes! Magazine highlights the movement of indigenous people and small-scale farmers in Bolivia who are advocating that their government pass a "Mother Earth" law. And it looks like they're going to succeed.

Based on the indigenous concept of Pachamama (Mother Earth), the law would state, “Mother Earth is a living dynamic system made up of the undivided community of all living beings, who are all interconnected, interdependent and complementary, sharing a common destiny.” It would require all existing and future laws to incorporate the rights of nature, and would shift the focus of Bolivia's economy and society to another indigenous concept, Sumaj Kawsay--living in harmony with nature and people. I suggest reading the article to learn more.

Bolivia is not the first country with this idea. Ecuador was actually the first to write Mother Earth's rights into its constitution, which it did so in 2008.

Communities across the U.S. have started to jump on board, too. For example, last November Pittsburgh, PA passed a law banning fracking, the hot new way to suck natural gas from the ground...and by hot, I mean horrible. The process contaminates drinking water and soil with highly flammable gas and toxic chemicals. This law essentially put the rights of nature above the rights of the natural gas-hungry corporations.

The ecofeminism movement is also a passenger on this startup bandwagon. Ecofeminists generally agree that humans must end the patriarchal domination of nature and recognize Mother Earth and all her children as our equals.

There is even a global grassroots campaign advocating for the long-ignored rights of nature to be ignored no more. So, you too could organize your community to participate in the nascent groundswell.

But even if you can't rally your grass roots to start a movement for Mother Earth's rights between now and this Mother's Day, consider doing something special for her at least. Maybe abstain from gas-fueled transportation for the day or volunteer for a local ecological restoration project. Whatever it is, make it a gift from the heart.

Read more on nature's rights here and here.

Growing food and harvesting values

The students of Lakewood Elementary School are learning more than just the ABC's of modern childhood. They are also learning the ABC's of survival--how to grow their own food, that is. 

The St. Petersburg, Florida school is a test plot for the Values Project Roundtable's budding philosophy. Kip Curtis, a Roundtable member and professor of environmental studies at Eckerd College, started an organic garden there in 2009 as an opportunity to educate youth about the long lost skill of growing food, as well as to experiment with the Roundtable's ideas.

Lakewood is somewhat of an unlikely place for a project like this sprout from. It is one the most at-risk schools in St. Petersburg, populated by many of the city's poorest kids. Relatively recently, the school got an entire new batch of teachers after failing the state's standardized exams. And prior to the garden, the PTA was quite lackluster, according to Curtis.

The project, called the Edible Peace Patch, is a cooperative learning endeavor between Lakewood and Eckerd that began as a response to Curtis' students curiosity about organic farming. “Most of them have a romanticized idea about agriculture, but have never done it, which is why they have a romanticized idea about it," he said.

Eckerd students ready the garden

Curtis would know. He grew up on a sustainable farm in Massachusetts, daily performing the rituals of farm chores. While he loathed the agrarian life as a child, he realized in adulthood that it had planted the seeds for his environmental ethic. His hope is that Peace Patch will grow not just vegetables, but also a set of environmental ethics that the students will carry throughout their lives.

The garden provides experiential education for both college and elementary students. Under Curtis' leadership, Eckerd college students manage the garden and mentor the Lakewood students, teaching them about organic gardening and related science concepts. The project also recently gained a wellness kitchen, started by a graduate student intern, where the Lakewood kids get to learn how to cook the food they've grown.

Learning to cook

Through the Peace Patch, these students get to encounter the hard work required to feed oneself, as well as learn that working with the land requires cooperation--not just between people, but also between people and the landscape. Herein lies the Roundtable's underlying principle of confronting the limitations of our own existence. We can't live without hard work, each other, and the land.

Cooperation!

With enthusiasm, Curtis explained that the project has generated an unlikely community. Upper class, white college students and poor, minority elementary kids are forming meaningful relationships with one another, when they probably would have never otherwise interacted.

Community-making is further enhanced with a harvest festival, which the students organize to celebrate the end of the long growing season (long, thanks to Florida's climate). While the PTA used to have difficulty pulling parents to their events, the festival drew more than 200 people in its first year, according to Curtis, whose own kids attend Lakewood.

For Curtis, the Peace Patch exemplifies how interwoven people and the environment are--the health of one is dependent on the health of the other.

The Peace Patch offers a promising glimpse into what the Roundtable's philosophy could look like on the ground. I also find it hopeful that such a project seems easily replicable and maintainable. If you want to learn more about the Peace Patch and follow its progress, check out their blog.

Curtis leads another project with which he is testing out the Roundtable's philosophy: the restoration of a natural area on Eckerd's campus. Since I talk more about this project in a longer article I am working on (and hoping to get published), I won't delve into that one here.

And so ends my series about the Values Project Roundtable, but they are certainly a group to keep an eye out for.

*All photos courtesy of Edible Peace Patch.

A ritual renaissance

Have you ever tried to hunt, gather, and grow all the food you'd need to prepare just one meal? Well, if you've kept up with your environmental bestsellers, you'll recall Michael Pollan's attempt at this feat in his book The Omnivore's Dilemma. Hunting, gathering and growing are all encounters with nature that require you to face the difficult side of your relationship with it in some fashion (refer to my previous post for what I mean by this "difficult" side).

To illustrate the next piece of the Values Project Roundtable's philosophical hypothesis, let's pretend you're inspired to follow Pollan's suit (or perhaps you actually did? In which case, please share your story!)...

Despite your giddiness over bagging a prize-winning (well, in your mind at least) wild turkey, you also realize that you've killed a fellow earthling. You ended this creature's life at the expense of your own need to eat.

As you forage for the mushrooms for your grandma's infamous gravy recipe, you may enjoy your time in the woods for a while, until your back starts to hurt from bending over, or the bugs surpass your tolerance threshold, or nature has hidden the mushrooms from you and you frustratingly have to spend another day on the hunt for mushroom jackpot. Not to mention you suffer from a nagging paranoia that you'll misidentify a mushroom and meet an early death, or at least spend the night in the ER, because of your mistake. Nature can be fickle like that sometimes.

Photo: EuroKulture

And then, to make your grand vision for veggies a reality, you've started a garden. While you enjoy spending your weekends digging in the dirt, after a while you realize there are some not-so-romantic notions that come with gardening. A strange fungus infects your tomatoes and thus kills your dreams of canning them for a winter's supply of pasta sauce. Or a gopher discovers your garden. To his delight and your dismay, he eats your carrots and peppers.

Yet, through it all, you've found yourself on the other end. After a long day of cooking, you're sitting at the dinner table with your nearest and dearest, regaling your adventures and follies in creating the meal, laughing with your best friend over her recent dating fail, and feeling the warmth of community wash over the room and your spirit.

Despite the road bumps in negotiating a meal out of nature, you were able to build or strengthen a few values along the way. Perhaps on both your turkey and mushroom hunts, your appreciation for the forest's beauty deepened, as you realized you're a part of its food web. Or, despite your squabbles with fungus and the gopher, your gardening experiment made you more aware of the ecological community in your own backyard. And, even after a long day in the kitchen, the meal you shared with your loved ones nurtured your sense of human community.

In a sense--and I hope I myself am interpreting this correctly--the meal with which you culminated your adventure can be seen as a ritual that mediated your encounters with the negative side of nature and with your own limits as a human. As a result, you were able to strengthen your sense of community--with both people and the land--as well as uncover a deeper layer of an ecosystem's beauty.

And so, the Roundtable argues that, in order to cope with the difficulties in our relationship with nature, we need to infuse our lives with more nature-focused rituals and other "technologies of the mind" (as they like to call them), such as art, performance and festival. In turn, these rituals transmute the troubling aspects of nature and of our own limitations into opportunities to create values, such as community and beauty. In other words, rituals could be the cultural tools to help us cultivate environmental values on a very deep level.

Burning Man is one extreme example of modern day ritual and art that builds community. Photo: (c) Pmatt Freedman.

To throw a blanket statement out there, probably every culture and definitely every religion uses ritual to create meaning within human life, often as mediators in relationships—whether between humans and humans, humans and animals, or humans and the divine.

Take, for example, the Communion ritual in Christianity. While it symbolizes the crucifixion of Jesus, it also signifies the close relationship between Christians and God, and Christians and other Christians--i.e. community.

Or, many cultures have (or had) ceremonies that initiate adolescents into adulthood. In exchange for childhood innocence, the adolescent gains acceptance into the adult community via the ceremony.

Unfortunately, American culture has become relatively impoverished in terms of ritualized encounters with nature...and rituals in general. We've become divorced from many of the duties of survival, such as growing or hunting our own food. Meals are often eaten on the run and by ourselves, and the plants and animals that we eat have been rendered merely "commodities."

And perhaps the closest thing we have to an initiation ceremony is fraternity hazing.

And so, the Roundtable is calling for a renaissance of ritual, art, performance and celebration in our relationship with nature. While scientists and engineers are working hard in the lab to come up with scientific solutions to our environmental problems, they are proposing this renaissance as one possible solution on the humanistic front.

Photo: Wildlands Restoration Volunteers

The renaissance would not entail more of just any kind of experience with nature, from what I understand. While research has shown that spending time with nature can contribute to one's proclivity toward environmentalism, several of the Roundtable members think that merely a walk in the woods, for example, is not enough. Value creation requires getting our hands dirty in what it means to be in this complex relationship.

A flagship example for the Roundtable is ecological restoration. While the ultimate goal of restoration is to revive an ecosystem, it often entails "sacrificing" species, usually invasive ones. If we were to create more rituals or celebrations around restoration, however, the sacrifice would not be in vain. Instead, restoration would become an opportunity for building community, as well as a beautiful, healthy landscape.

In this vein, rituals could be the mechanism for creating Leopold's land community.

My next post will highlight one Roundtable member's real-life experimentation with their philosophical hypothesis. 

In sickness and in health

In any deep human relationship--from friendship to kinship to romantic partnership--you can't really claim richness unless you know both the goods and bads of the other person. According to the Values Project Roundtable, the group of scholars I introduced in my last post, the same can be said for our relationship with nature.

And yet, the Roundtable claims ours is a culture that continually denies or ignores the negatives of our relationship with nature. We've become too "sentimental" in the matrimony. In a sense, we are stuck in the honeymoon phase, and have not yet been ready to deal with the real dynamics of a deeper, more meaningful relationship.

But what is on the negative side of this relationship?

Well, for one, we need to eat to stay alive. But in order to eat, we have to kill other creatures, be they plant, animal or fungus.

Also, nature often eventually becomes our doom. We all die--a natural part of the life cycle. And many of us meet our ends because of "nature," from old age to disease to natural disaster.

And one more: survival is hard work. Well, it used to be, at least, before most of us became alienated from all the things we had do to survive, like grow, hunt and gather all our own food, chop wood for cooking and heating, build our own houses, etc.

Have I burst your bubble of bliss? I promise I'm not implying that we should all become 1970s back-to-the-landers.

A back-to-the-land wedding. Photo: State of West Virginia

As Juliet is to Romeo, humans cannot live without nature (though nature could probably live just fine without humans). And this dependency entails some things that are hard to love. But the Roundtable believes that accepting these more troubling parts of the relationship and finding ways to deal with them could turn an otherwise doomed relationship into something truly wonderful.

To briefly step away from the marriage metaphor, the success of which I am wary, I'll give you a couple more concrete examples to further illustrate the ambivalence of this relationship.

Take hunting and fishing. People in Western cultures hunt and fish for a variety of reasons, such as a chance to spend time in nature, the thrill of the catch, and (less commonly) for subsistence. While these positive aspects motivate people to hang out with nature, there lies a more difficult notion on the flip side--a successful hunting or fishing expedition results in the death of other creatures.

Or, take ecological restoration. A big focus these days is on getting rid of invasive species, because of the harm they cause to native ones--namely they bully the food and habitat away from native plants and critters and, thus, take over the joint. However, in order to restore a habitat so native species can move back in and thrive, we must kill the invasive species. Thus, in nurturing life for some species, we take away the lives of others.
 
And so, the first step in the Rountable's hypothesis is this need to embrace the whole of our relationship with nature...in sickness and in health, til death do us part (sorry, had to). Only then can we really begin the work of creating the values foundational to a long, happy and sustainable life together on Earth.

My next post will attempt to explain the next step of the Roundtable's hypothesis. Coincidentally, it has something to do with ceremonies...but I promise to save you from the marriage metaphor.

Land ethic, the next generation

As a Wisconsin resident and student of environmental studies, I can't really get away from Aldo Leopold (but not that one would want to). His legacy turns up everywhere.

Among the marks that Leopold, a Wisconsinite, has left on the world is the land ethic, a philosophy he defined in his seminal book A Sand County Almanac. The land ethic calls for the recognition that humans belong to a community that includes the land and all it entails: soil, water, animals, plants, and microorganisms.

In Leopold's words, "In short, a land ethic changes the role of Homo sapiens from conqueror of the land-community to plain member and citizen of it. It implies respect for his fellow-members, and also respect for the community as such."

Aldo Leopold. Photo: Aldo Leopold Foundation

Few people would dare to argue against the concept of community. In essence, it is a value, one that is coveted and upheld by many, including the environmental movement. Facets of the movement such as localism, Smart Growth, and community supported agriculture reflect the quest for community.

But, aside from constructing programs and policies that foster community, how do we actually create the value of community at a deeper level?

“Everyone is in favor of community on the face of it. But what does it mean and how do you get to it?” asked Bill Jordan, author and co-director of Depaul University's Institute for Nature and Culture.

Jordan is the unofficial leader of an interdisciplinary batch of scholars that is trying to answer this question. As the cast of the environmental movement continues to grapple with how to rally the masses toward a more ecologically sustainable lifestyle, these scholars are setting out to provoke a new conversation in environmental thinking.

“We don’t have body of environmental thought yet that is commensurate with the size of the problems we face,” said Liam Heneghan, professor of environmental science at Chicago’s DePaul University and the other co-director of their Institute for Nature and Culture.

Informally calling themselves the Values Project Roundtable, the group runs the academic gamut, representing fields such as religious studies, history, philosophy, and ecology...and they are still trying to recruit more disciplines. I have been following them for the past year, as they endeavor to articulate their philosophy, test it out, and present it to the world.

What I find most interesting about their endeavor is their bravery to tackle the complexity of values and ethics--intellectual fodder that is relatively scarce in the mainstream. While most of the conversations within the environmental community these days seem to be wrapped up in politics and economics (well, that's my perception at least), the Roundtable is targeting the foundation of individual and collective behavior.

Taking Leopold's lead, they are essentially digging to the very roots to figure out how we actually create a land ethic and the values on which it is based.

The crux of their theory is that the path to these values may require the collective "we" to do two things. First, we must accept the negative realities of our relationship with nature. Second, in order to cope with these negative realities, we need to infuse our lives with more ritual.

Huh?

Let me take the next few blog posts to explain. Stay tuned.