Hope, but not right away

This is more of a half-formed thought than a complete article, so bear with me, but I wanted to put it out there especially on this gloomsome spring day, where the sun is mostly hidden by clouds that will not resolve into anything so reliable as precipitation.

Spring is often a time of joy, full of bright pastels, celebrations of life, rebirth, renewal, the return of green things to our lives. I think part of the reason that we put the focus so much on these things is their singularity within a world that is more often full of mud, grey skies, and barren trees. The snow melts away to reveal a rotting corpse, as it were, for the first few weeks of spring, at least around here. Branches stab at the sky and are not so much full of potential as skeletal imagery.

The solarpunk lens of rumination on this would focus on the way that the rotting detritus of last fall is composting, pregnant with possibility, working to become the literal ground from which life will spring. But I worry that, in that focus, we too often skip over the dull feeling of drear that can come between the absence of snow and the advent of greenery.

Ugly feelings, to poach a phrase from theorist Sianne Ngai, are very valid and worth acknowledging. Especially when the world around me is ugly, I have some pretty ugly thoughts. I mourn the fact that the double-whammy of climate weirding and El Niño meant that we didn’t really get a winter at all in these parts. I resent the rawness of the wind, too cold when the sun isn’t shining, and still wet as hell and - it seems - tailored to produce the most amount of misery in the least amount of time. I am frustrated by the fact that every single one of my coats (ranging from heavy-duty winterwear to light rain jackets) are needed within the span of a week, and yet none of them are truly adequate for the weather conditions I walk through. I think dark thoughts about the humans of this city when I walk the trails and see the incredible amount of litter - plastic bags/bottles, old Timmies cups, cigarette butts, wrappers, and other detritus - on the sides of the path, now revealed by the melting of the snow.

These are all problems that I know will pass, or that at least my brain will skim over. Take climate weirding and El Niño for example - I can’t do anything about weather patterns, and I’m doing my best right now to tackle climate change and catastrophe given my situation; they’re not going to go away any time soon, and they are a reality that I can accept, like the shitty wind. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to change my behaviour or do something about them, but it’s not like I myself can just nip the problem in the bud. Given past experience, I know that temperatures will continue to climb, solving my multiple coats problems. The City has already emailed me and many others subscribed to its newsletter that it is time for an annual spring community clean-ups: and if one registers with a group, they will provide gloves, grabbers, and garbage bags for each person, along with a tips sheet about safety, especially with handling any sharps such as broken glass or discarded needles.

So I can pass pretty quickly on to feeling fairly okay about my immediate situation. As I’ve said before both here and on the podcast, I really do believe that solarpunk is about looking around at the detritus of the early twenty-first century, then choosing deliberately to roll up one’s sleeves and get to work making a better world using the materials at hand, despite all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. However, moving rapidly away from negative feelings does them a disservice, and more importantly, may be doing solarpunk a disservice. Let me explain.

This is because solarpunk’s investment in optimism and hope is explicitly not a dismissal of badness, but instead a deliberately positive affective orientation arising from negative conditions, and so I am of the firm belief that there is room in the solarpunk movement to acknowledge and sit with the terrible truths of our existence.

I confess to being extremely inspired and deeply affected by JD Harlock’s conversation with Christina in our second season, especially the bit where he baldly states that he has no hope that the conditions in Lebanon will improve, and yet he still calls himself a solarpunk and works towards a better future anyways. It reminds me of an article I came across while doing research for my masters - this time explicitly about hope within the environmental movement, and the first part of the title says it all: “Hope, But Not for Us”.* It is by scholar Gerry Canavan and it came out in 2014, years before the Jonathan Franzen article. The basic gist is that yeah, there’s plenty of hope for people and animals in the future, even if we ourselves are stuck in this time of the Anthropocene, so we cannot see or access that future place of hope, but we can contribute now to making conditions better for beings we will perhaps never meet.**

If solarpunks were solely interpreted as liberal individuals fantasizing about a better world that they themselves will get to enjoy, the skeptical charge that solarpunk is naively optimistic would be pretty accurate. In that estimation, there is no room for negativity, for accepting the world as it is, for allowing for people to feel kinda crappy sometimes, for acknowledging that serious mental health struggles with depression can’t be cured by just getting a plant or going outside for a walk on the regular, et cetera. There’s no room for the actual reality of being human. The solarpunk strawman (strawperson, really), has zero nuance or grounding in the actual lived experience of being human in 2024.

That is why I am such an ardent proponent of holding space for negative emotions: whether that’s through seeing a climate grief counsellor or chaplain, attending climate grief circles, simply talking to friends and loved ones about fears about the climate, creating art about it, venting in a Discord channel, et cetera. Note they’re all community actions. Solarpunk is a deliberate reaction to and disruption of the status quo in which we are mired: pretending that we’re not experiencing terrible things is not going to get us anywhere, literally and intellectually.

I confess I don’t actually know how to end this. Academic articles tend to build towards a triumphant or at least neat conclusion and I’d like to leave you with more than just a mess. Perhaps it’s appropriate, though, since emotions, especially the negative ones, are messy and complicated.

Don’t feel bad for feeling bad, I guess? It’s from that ground that radical solarpunk action is grown.

*The full title is “Hope, But Not for Us: Ecological Science Fiction and the End of the World in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood” and given that my master’s major research was interpreting the MaddAddam trilogy through the lens of posthuman feminism, it was pretty much exactly up my alley. This also, sidenote to the footnote, was one of the articles instrumental in my feeling extremely alienated from my peers who weren’t also taking Masters courses in ecocriticism, because nobody around me / on the corners of the Internet that I frequented at that time seemed to be talking at all about climate breakdown, or even admitting that maybe global warming was a problem (except the environmental activists, of course). It was a weird, WEIRD time.

**I imagine that this is how society as a whole used to think about doing noble things like building housing and implementing social policies for the sake of future generations, which seems to have largely exited the concern of the majority political discussion these days around everything except perhaps climate change, since it forces people to think according to a scale of deep time. (I’m aware of the fact that most Indigenous groups on Turtle Island tend to have a tradition of thinking/principle about how actions taken now will reverberate seven generations into the future, but settler society isn’t exactly taking that cue up)