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fycanadianpolitics · 7 years ago

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Prime Minister Trudeau tweeted today in response to the recent decision by Kinder Morgan that “Canada is a country of the rule of law, and the federal government will act in the national interest. Access to world markets for Canadian resources is a core national interest. The Trans Mountain expansion will be built.” Many progressives will argue that the national interest is instead in protecting the country from the impacts of climate change. But arguing about what is in the national interest isn’t really getting us anywhere.

What are we to do instead? Before we can discuss solutions to the problem of climate change, we need to ask how we got ourselves into this mess in the first place. Sociologist Andreas Malm notes, “The spiral of climate change is set in motion by the act of identifying, digging up, and setting fire to fossil fuels: … For most of human history, the deposits were left untouched, safely locked out from the active carbon cycle. Then a qualitatively novel type of economy interrupted into them.” In the 19th century, deposits of the resources were extracted on an unprecedented, massive scale by cheap labour commanded by an elite class of wealthy British landowners.

The first capitalists can be credited as the engineers of the climate crisis, but their extractivist nature was merely a reflection of their class interests; to acquire as much capital as possible regardless of the social and ecological consequence--something that has not remotely changed in the contemporary era (see former CEO of ExxonMobile and Secrectary of State, Rex Tillerson who says “My philosophy is to make money. If I can drill and make money, then that’s what I want to do.”). The British capitalists of the 19th century desperately sought out more coal to propel their steam boats to new, distant lands to acquire more land, where more resources could be extracted. However, much of this land was already occupied by indigenous peoples, who had to be violently dispossessed in order for their land to be acquired for further production of capital.

This is because the logic of capital is predicated on infinite growth and expansion. The surplus profit generated by private firms is perpetually reinvested into new production, which requires more land, and land, historically, was acquired through any means necessary. This is why capitalism, colonialism, and climate change are inexorably bound up with one another: the three faces of a mutually reinforcing system of violence that is killing our planet. This continues in the 21st century through the violation of indigenous land rights as pipelines and other carbon infrastructure are created on ancestral lands without the consent of the first peoples. It is then fair to say that the climate crisis can be attributed to capitalism, an economic order that engenders imperialism and colonial land theft in pursuance of feeding the infinite appetite of the capitalist class.

It’s not uncommon to hear from self-professed liberals that “green capitalism,” can solve the climate crisis. That we can shop our way to a stable and clean environment, a prospect that appears to be increasingly untenable as the exponential increase in availability of “green” consumer goods has done little to prevent 2017 from being a record high year for global CO2 emissions. The reality is that the kind of radical, paradigm changing climate policy we need to protect the planet would also be a direct threat to the economic profits of corporations and the national GDP which politicians of every nation fetishize.

Capitalism, as it exists today, has no way of contending with the climate change crisis. World renowned climate scientist, Kevin Anderson, has spoken at length about how the economic growth imperative of capitalism is not compatible with reaching our Paris commitments. A recent study has stated that we have a 5% chance of reaching these goals under the economic statis quo. Anderson's research indicates that we must radically change our economic paradigm to save our existence on the planet. The mainstream economic orthodoxy of economic growth cannot be reconciled with the most up to date climate projections, which say, in very clear terms, that we are on course to rocket past our 2 degree Celsius commitment outlined in the Paris agreement and on towards 4 then 5 degrees, creating a very dire situation for humanity to say the least.

Our current economic situation has proven to be untenable in the long run. Global food insecurity is on the rise for the first time in decades due to climate change, global water pollution is steadily increasing, global air pollution is getting worse, there have been dramatic increases in exposure to toxic chemicals, the worlds slums are growing, there are record levels of coral bleaching, we are facing unprecedented levels of biodiversity loss. Pollution kills nearly 15 times more people than all the world's wars and violence combined, and is three times as deadly as AIDS, malaria and tuberculosis all put together.

The ruling class has decided that any threat to their economic hegemony is unacceptable, therefore it would be better to have the world become a scorched hell rather than to have their profits jeopardized. Even liberal leaders like Obama and Trudeau, who have paid plenty lip-service to climate change, only support climate initiatives insofar as they won’t disrupt the economic status quo, but sadly it is the economic status-quo that is accelerating climate change to begin with. While the Republican party seems to deny the scientific reality of climate change, the liberal elite denies the economic and sociological realities of climate change. They want to have their cake and eat it too; to advocate for environmental sustainability while also promoting economic growth and unregulated free trade, unaware or indifferent to the fact that these things exist in contradiction. Neoliberalism and climate justice are mutually exclusive, as the former precludes the latter.

Here in Canada, the pseudo-progressiveness of Justin Trudeau is farcical; he puts on a great show of apologizing to various marginalized groups with teary eyes and feigned concern, while approving the construction of disastrous pipelines (Kinder Morgan Trans Mountain Pipeline, Enbridge Line 3) to the outrage of indigenous land defenders and environmentalists throughout the nation. Apologists for the Liberal party propagate the fairy tale that the government can still construct pipelines, and “balance,” environmental goals with economic ones.

This appeal to moderation cannot be substantiated based on what we know about oil emissions. Many studies have shown (here and here) that constructing new carbon infrastructure is incompatible with reaching the Paris accord commitments of 2 degrees C. Pipelines have lifespans of decades and we simply cannot afford to be pumping oil for decades. This is why Trudeau’s tweet today is so unsurprising. With Trudeau’s pipeline endeavours, he is merely continuing Canada’s long-held tradition, which started with John A. Macdonald, of appropriating indigenous land to consolidate Canada’s colonial power.

Trudeau's politics of reconciliation is incredibly deceptive, obscuring indigenous demands for land restitution with the spectacle of televised, performative repentance, which, in material terms, does nothing to address stolen land. The reality is that it doesn’t matter which empty suit any of the political parties puts forward; it doesn’t matter how sad or guilty they might seem about past national transgressions; they will always be subordinated to the logic of the colonial-capitalist state: dispossession, accumulation, and expansion. That “rule of law,” that Trudeau refers to, is the colonial legal framework that has been designed to facilitate the extraction of natural resources from stolen land. It is this framework that needs to be dismantled.

This is why reformism is entirely inadequate in addressing the climate crisis; it is the socio-economic structure itself that is producing climate change. Therefore the changes we need have to be systematic, sweeping, and ultimately anti-capitalist in nature. But how can we get there? Only mass social movements can challenge the hegemony of neoliberal governments and corporations. Only through mass organization and mobilization can we begin to bring about a society organised along ecological principles. While the statistics may seem grim, there are reasons to be hopeful.

In the last few decades there have been several awe-inspiring, grassroots movements that we can draw inspiration from moving forward. For instance, the Ogoni protests in the 90s are a stunning example of collective, direct action that kicked out Shell oil out of their country. In collusion with the Nigerian government, Shell oil was responsible for the displacements of tens of thousands of Ogoni people, which gave birth to the Ogoni Peoples Movement, a grassroots social movements that succeeded in dismantling Shell’s corporate stranglehold over the region. Without receiving any help from their failing and corrupt government, the Ogoni people used militant, non-violent direct action to shut down oil operations. The movement continues to battle a corrupt government while facing the environmental catastrophe of degraded and leaking carbon infrastructure left in Shell’s wake, and although their struggle continues, there is a commendable victory here.

Like the Ogoni, Indigenous people all over the world have been at the forefront of environmental protection. This was seen with the recent Dakota Access Pipeline protests, where the Standing Rock Tribe and other indigenous groups came together to protect water and ancestral burial grounds. This was perhaps the single most monumental environmental social movement in recent history, dominating the headlines at the time. In October 2017, several energy activists dubbed the “valve turners,” shut down five separate pipeline in a coordinated act of fossil fuel resistance, a sophisticated and flawlessly executed example of the kind of direct action we need on an even larger scale.

It is necessary that we build upon these movements and work together in creating the kind of mass social movement that can challenge the capitalist system itself and replace it with a new kind of economic arrangement that is based on ecological sustainability and social equity, not private profit. Without system change, climate change will continue to ravage our planet.

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canadian-buckbeaver · 7 years ago

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A Touching Fear - Kustard

For the first time, Undertale and Underfell monsters came to the Surface together, somehow breaking the constant cycle of Resets that they had been forced to undergo at the hands of the seventh soul. Now monsters and people are slowly learning to cope with one another, and their other versions of themselves. Comic and Red find each other drawn to each other through their love of puns and greasy food, but there is a rather large barrier in their way... Red suffers from haphephobia. The fear of touch.

@silverryu25 - their prize for the follower draw!

UnderTale and UnderFell. Two universes, both exactly the same, but so very different. Two sides of the same coin. One was one of brightness and hope, of peace and love. The other of war and blood, EXP and hate. Like looking through a mirror and seeing an opposite reflection, of seeing how things could have been for the other.

The monster skeletons that inhibited these worlds only added further evidence to this claim. Both universes had two skeleton brothers – one tall, lanky and energetic, the other short and stout, and incredibly lazy. They even had the same names as the other, and yet there were many unique differences that separated the two. Tale Papyrus (Rus) was a sweet skeleton, one that had hoped and had dreams of joining the Royal Guard to help everyone, one who loved cooking and his brother. Upon first glance he seemed young and innocent, childish even, despite his twenty years. UnderFell Papyrus (or Edge) was completely dissimilar to him. Sharp mouthed, in every meaning of the word, he was a foul mouthed solider, one well-trained in magic and weaponry, the one who lead the Royal Guards. He lacked the brightness and hope that Rus had, he was one who had seen dust and had dusted. He was the one who had been forced to kill in order to survive.

The Sanses were the same way, but more similar. Red of Fell was angry and foul mouthed, Comic often describing him as a snappy Chihuahua, but at least he had the LV to back up his bark. Comic was more laid-back, but perhaps that was because his universe allowed him to slack off. One who didn’t need to be constantly on alert.

Fell and Tale. Two completely different universes, but both bound by the same fate. Monster races who were sealed beneath the Surface after the Monster-Human war, they had both awaited the falling of the seventh human, the seventh child. The child who would clear the Underground...

The Determined soul with the power to Reset.

They remained stuck in this constant cycle for countless resets, both blissfully unaware of the other's existence until the fated soul finally brought them to the Surface... for the last time. During this journey both peaceful Frisks, as if by fate, released the monsters at the same time. The portals aligned and Tale and Fell met for the first time upon the Surface, meeting each other under the setting sun.

It was not love at first sight. Humans, after centuries of ignorance, were not as accepting to the monsters as the ambassadors had hoped. They had worried over magical abilities, racial profiling, and, particularly from the Fell monsters, revenge for being locked up for so long. As the humans debated to what to do with them, Tale and Fell monsters were housed together, and even worked similar jobs. They had no break from the other. Every time they turned a corner, went shopping or sneezed, there was a double. Arguments and fights were common, often the Fells trying to see what they could get away with and the Tales standing up for their beliefs. Just as it seemed like they were on the cusp of a gang war, something clicked with the monsters and things returned to peace...

Well.... as peaceful as life on the Surface is. We truly know how un-peaceful these days and nights are.

But, let us return to our favourite skeletons....

Surprisingly, it was the skeletons that were the first to develop any sort of friendship with one another. Rus had found a Papyrus that was amazingly cool and confident, one who he could look up to, was already in the Royal Guard, could cook and knew more than just one special attack. He idolized Edge, and Edge, one who thrived off all the attention, allowed him to worship the ground he walked on. It was common to see Rus following Edge like a lost puppy, as Edge let him quietly adore him. The Sanses enjoyed greasy food and those terrible and degrading puns, the more terrible, the better. They would laze around, a bag of Grillby’s best food nestled between them, and would pun or nap the day away.

Eventually these lazy days turned to lazy nights, puns turned to serious talks of stars and resets, and the days at home changed turned to dates in coffee shops, on the hill overlooking the town, or even walks through the planetarium. To no one’s surprise but their own, they were soon dating. No dating manual required, the sparks and conversation flowed better than their respective condiments.

There was just one problem though.

The world of UnderFell, as previously explained, was a rough world. One that had no mercy to its subjects. Monsters would turn each other in a blink of an eye, drunk to the effects of LV and EXP, drunk to what power brought to them. Status, gold, mates, resources… the list went on. The weak, sick, vulnerable or trusting made easy targets for the others looking to climb to status quo. “Kill or be killed” was its motto. You couldn’t trust anyone, not even family, out of fear that you would die by their hands, your dust accelerating their own agenda. Red, as a result, was untrusting of others the best of times. As a mere 1 HP monster, he had been considered an easy target by many rogue monsters. Something that could be used to indirectly attack his brother, thus wounding the Royal Guards. Thus, growing up in UnderFell and in the multiple resets, he had learned to be weary, check every corner, to thoroughly search the darkness for enemies. He had learned to be “the bad guy”. Take no prisoners, dust everyone that he crossed in case they attempted their form of revenge. Any food could be potentially poisoned so nothing was eaten until everything had been checked over carefully. Any friendly hello could be the beginning of a surprise attack or a diversion. Any second glance that was given to them could be someone sizing them up, preparing for battle. Frisk use of the Resets hadn’t helped Red’s fragile trust either. Some runs she would bring them to the Surface, others Red would see her slaughter everyone, even his brother. He had stood in the Judgement Hall more times than Comic had, had painted the hall red with her blood until the smell of meat and rust was permanently written into its code.

Red’s greatest downfall his greatest weakness, was that he suffered from haphephobia – the fear of being touched.

* * * * *

Comic could still remember the first time that he discovered this condition. It was still in their early days, back when they weren’t quite friends but more than acquaintances, Red and him sitting on the couch, watching his Mettaton being interviewed by one of the many talk show hosts on the Surface. As he was finally beginning to perform one of his more well-known songs, Red had sighed and turned to Comic. “man. i would have expected him to play some heavy metal, not this fucking hip hop/pop shit.”

It took Comic a moment to recognize the pun but soon he was snorting like an idiot. “nice one.” he said, gently clapping Red on his back, congratulating him.

Red had frozen, seemingly blue screening in front of Comic’s eyes. The eye lights in his sockets shrank to the size of needles, but somehow the magic was burning even brighter, tears forming in his sockets. Pale red sweat began to bead off of his skull, all the bones in his body beginning to shudder and twitch. Hyperventilating, his ribs shuddering, he curled in on himself, covering his skull and making himself as small as possible. In front of Comic’s eyes, he seemed to become half his size. “burns…” he had whispered to himself, “it burns…” Comic couldn’t believe it. With such a small, innocent touch he had reduced the strong, kick ass monster to tears, quivering like a baby bones.

It had taken what felt like forever to completely calm Red down, Comic wasn’t sure how he managed to, and even longer to convince him to explain the problem from him. “why didn’t you just tell me?” Comic asked gently, gripping his shorts to avoid trying to comfort him as he would Rus. “i would have never touched you and this would have never happened.”

“listen, this fucking problem is a weakness. my weakness. i can’t let everyone know about it otherwise everyone would take fucking advantage of it.” Red told him as he looked away. “you’ll be just like Boss. his soul is in the right place, but he keeps trying to toughen me up. get me past my issues. randomly touching me, trying to help me wash the crack in my skull, and the like. i don’t need more of that ‘help’. this is something that i need to work on in my own time. all you would want to do is help, it is in your Tale code after all.” he snapped. He knew it was unfair that he was treating Comic as such, but he had just reveled a huge weakness, one that could result in his destruction.

Comic swallowed hard. “no.” he firmly said, causing Red to look at him, giving him an annoyed look. “well, you’re about half right. this is your anxiety, you know what makes it better, how you want it to be treated. and yes, i would like to help you. i’ll be here for you, for whatever you need. but i won’t touch you until you are ready, or until you tell me to be touched.” Comic said, stuffing his hands in his own pockets and looking Red over in a new light. It suddenly made sense for him. The entire skeleton dressed, acted and stood in a way that screamed ‘stay back and don’t fucking touch me!’. What better way than to camouflage his own weakness? The golden fang, once labeled as edgy, Comic realized was slightly too long for Red. It stuck out of his jaw at an odd angle, protruding past the bottom jaw, like someone couldn’t measure the length or angle properly before positioning it in place. His jacket was too big, like someone couldn’t measure him properly before making him clothing to wear. And the crack in his skull had never healed, perhaps no one was allowed near it?

Red was staring at Comic with a slightly stupefied expression. His eyes were large and sparkling, his damaged skull once again white. Comic began to feel slightly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “… do i have something on my face?” he asked.

The Fell monster shook himself before glaring back at Comic. “i’m perfectly fine working it out on my own. i don’t need to be babysat.” He spat again, clutching at his knees.

Comic shrugged his shoulders at him, as if trying to shrug off the accusation. “who said that i was babysitting? after all, we both know that i am far too lazy for that.” Comic told him. “all i am saying is that, as your friend and ally, i am here to support you. i won’t force touch you or spew facts or figures or treatments. all i am saying is that you know where i’m at if you do need help.”

He returned his attention back to the TV, now painfully aware of where his body was in comparison to Red’s. After a while, Red too had returned half of his attention between the TV and Comic, watching him out of the corner of his socket. His extended life in Fellverse told him to be careful, weary. That Comic would do what he thought was best to help Red, no matter the cost

Yet Comic did nothing. He continued on like nothing had happened, like Red hadn’t had an outburst. Like Red hadn’t shown him a major weakness. Nor did he do anything the next day. Or the next. Red could only notice one, single change. Comic seemed to be more cautious and aware of where he was in comparison to Red. He still sat next to Red at the table or on the couch, but he made sure that there was a respectful distance between them. Nothing that would crowd Red, causing him to suffocate, nor anything that was too far away to be overly cautious.

That was the first time that Red had ever felt intrigued by the other version of him.

* * * * *

As they figuratively danced together, Comic never treated him like a lesser being, or like he was special. He didn’t force any touches, instead allowing Red to decide when he wanted to be touched. He also made sure that he didn’t sit too far away from Red, not giving him an unnecessarily wide berth like he was contagious. Nor did he demand any exchanges in return for “complying” with his wishes. That alone was unheard of.

No… if Red had to guess, it was almost like Comic had dealt with something similar in the past. If he had, he didn’t tell Red about it. And Red knew better than to press. Slowly Red found himself becoming more comfortable with Comic. His guard slowly lowered, and he found himself enjoying spending time with Comic, even going out of his way to hang out with Comic. Skipping naps, skipping Grillby’s for food, or spending their breaks together. Slowly and surely a bond developed between the two of them. Perhaps it was the natural curiosity of how their universes changed them, but perhaps it was something more?

On one hand Red was almost thankful for that little outburst. It had allowed Comic and him to grow together, even allowing Red to drop some of his natural guard. He began to realize that Comic was a true ally, not someone who was slowly infiltrating him and his brother. He was, dare he say, a real friend? It was almost odd for Red to have someone like that in his life.

Red found himself drawn to Comic. Perhaps in the way that his brother would say “romantically”? But that should have been impossible. He was a Fell through and through. He shouldn’t be trusting anyone this much. And who would ever like him with this condition? This paralyzing fear of the slightest touch?

Yet, around Comic, he almost found that he didn’t feel his fear as before. The thought of being touched, especially around Comic, did not cause him to feel hot or pain. He was safe here, safe with him. Comic wouldn’t betray him…

Comic cared about him.

Months slowly passed, and the monsters slowly adjusted to their new daily lives on the Surface. Fewer fights, fewer interactions with humans. It seemed like the monsters were truly adapting to their new home, their new situation, their new jobs and neighbours. They began to feel and act more like a real community, especially with their two, TWO, incredible ambassadors on their side, fighting for their rights. Edge of all monsters was no different. He behaved more calmly, less stressed and less likely to jump down your throat if you looked at him the wrong way. His sockets had softened and he had even taken to laughing occasionally. Though that could be attributed to the little blue skeleton that was named Berry. Yes, while they were on the Surface, another underworld was freed. UnderSwap. If the Fells were confused by the Tale monsters, they were baffled by Swap. How could such creatures survive, creatures that were so sickeningly sweet and innocent? The Papyrus of this universe drank honey for Asgore’s sake!

Yet, it was nothing to what Edge had seen change in Red. Red… he was like a totally different monster. He was more open and relaxed around humans and other monsters, not quite as uptight and prickly. He still didn’t like to be touched or if someone invaded his personal space, but he was slightly better. Especially around Comic. Around Comic, Red could almost be mistaken for a normal monster. Like the horrors of UnderFell had never occurred, the constant cycle of Resets never took place – yes, Edge knew about those now (and as a result he was keeping a fair distance from their Frisk for the next millennia), like their Gaster had never existed.

Red still had his panic attacks, but they were slowly becoming less severe and less in frequency. Comic had truly been a huge help. As much as Red had tried to reject Comic’s help, he had somehow snuck in there.

His heart had started to open to him. Although he still hated and feared touches, he found that occasionally, very occasionally, he could handle some light touches. Red would reach out to Comic and gently take his hand, nudging him closer to him. He could slap his back in jest, cackling at a new pun. Or, and these were most magical of all, he would wake up from a nap on the couch, finding himself slumped against Comic’s shoulder.

This particular day was turning out like no other. Not that Red had a problem with that. Comic had come over after work and they had spent the evening together. They had ordered pizza and drank their favourite condiments they talked and punned and laughed the night away. Red could feel himself relaxing, allowing himself to come closer to Comic, slowly opening up to him. This was the part of the day that he had truly become to look forward to. After supper they climbed up on the couch and turned on the TV. There was a special, the MTTs of all three worlds were coming together for an hour special, showing the world what talents that they could offer.

Halfway through the program Comic had nodded off, his sockets slowly lidding shut and his breathing deepening. Red watched as he fell against the back of the couch, resting. Red chuckled, gently tossing the blanket over him and turning back to the TV. This special was definitely more on the boring end. Perhaps there was too much demanding robot ass in it.

* * * * *

Comic couldn’t move. He was transfixed at the sight in front of him. Papyrus seemingly standing alone in a snowy fields, arms outstretched. The snow was heavy, the wind whipping it up to a frenzy. Sans could hardly see who was standing across from his brother.

A small child, with glowing red eyes, covered in grey dust and a broken knife in their hand. They stared at Papyrus with empty, unfeeling eyes. Not saying a word, just staring…

But Sans knew that stare. It was the face of a killer.

“… YOUR LIFE IS GOING DOWN A DANGEROUS PATH!” Comic happened to overhear him say to the child.

Oh no… oh no no no no no no no…!

Comic began to run to Papyrus. He could save him yet! He had seen this before, he knew what was coming. He could save him, he could save him…

The child took a step towards him.

WHY WEREN’T HIS FEET MOVING FASTER?

As he watched, Paps’ face changed to Red. The edgy skeleton with the glinting gold tooth, cowering before the child. “don’t touch me, don’t touch me…” he pleaded, his red eye lights growing large and shiny.

The child took another step.

Comic began to breathe heavily, pleading with whatever god or star was out there that he could reach them in time, that he could help Red. For star’s sake, Red was his friend! He needed to do something!

The child took another step.

He needed to-

* * * * *

“COMIC! WAKE UP!” a voice shattered the dreamscape into tiny silvers of colour, destroying the image in front of him. No more child, no more cowering Red or forgiving Papyrus. There was a whirlwind of sight and sound and colour and…

Red was shaking him. “WAKE UP! IT’S JUST A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”

Comic took a shuddering breath in, his pupils widening and desperately glancing around. This wasn’t the house in Snowdin. The house he and his brother had shared was smaller, more cramped. This was larger, more open, and they had never had a suit of armour in the front doorway…

The red skeleton stopped shaking him. “thank Asgore that you woke up…” he said, his hands slowly trailing down Comic’s sides. “i now know what my brother goes through when i have them… stars that was terrifying…”

Red continued to talk and babble, his voice calm and deep, slowly bringing Comic back into the present world. Red seemed to know exactly what Comic needed after his nightmare. Reassurance and calming, slowly pulling him out of the drudges of the dream. His soul began to slow, his sweat and tears stopped, and he began to focus again.

There was one thing that he couldn’t get past though.

“Red… you’re… you’re touching me…” Comic told him, speaking softly, trying not to break his spell.

“yeah… yeah i suppose i am.” Red said, smiling slightly. “but don’t you get fucking used to it!” he said in his signature roughness.

Comic couldn’t help it. He chuckled softly, wiping the remains of tears from his eyes. “course not Red. but this is a touching moment after all.”

Red groaned.

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