In this writing, taken from ‘The Ohio River Speaks‘, Will Falk describes the communication, the journey and the relationship shared. Through documenting the journey with the Ohio River Will seeks to strengthens others fighting to protect what is left of the natural world. Read the first and second part of Will’s journey.
My physical journey with the Ohio River began where she seeps up through a mat of mud, maple, and bigtooth aspen leaves high in a hollow ringed by round hills in Potter County, Pennsylvania. The brilliant documentary filmmaker, journalist, and Potter County resident, Melissa Troutman and her energetic, thoroughly aquaphilic terrier Runo, took me to find what the maps label as the headwaters of the Allegheny River. If you were presented with a map that displayed only the blue lines of the Ohio River and her tributaries but did not label the tributaries’ names, and you were asked to identify the Ohio’s headwaters, you’d most likely point to the beginning of the Allegheny. In fact, the word “Ohio” is an anglicized version of Ohi:yo’ which is the name given by the Seneca to the whole passage of water beginning in Potter County that runs all the way to the Mississippi.
But, I arrived at another destination, there, too. It was a destination that cannot be driven, hiked, or boated to. It was an internal destination, a place inside of me I needed to reach. As we hiked, I searched for the best place to introduce myself to the river. The Ohio River bubbles up from dozens of springs scattered across the hillsides. She picks her way through tree roots and moss-covered stones before enough of her waters join together to form the first ribbon resembling a stream. Rivers measure time in distance. And, the Ohio River doesn’t wait long – maybe a quarter mile – before she’s three or four feet across. After another quarter mile, she’s ten or twelve feet across and two or three feet deep in places. Rare, small brook trout dart from shadow to shadow in some of the deeper pools and patches of delicious wild leeks crowd together on the muddy banks. We arrived where two ridges crowd together, creating steep inclines on either side of us.
Water noisily pushes out of a spring and over a crop of stones.
The stones must have been arranged by the glaciers who left them there to form a staircase into the secret rooms of the Earth. When the glaciers left, moss moved in to cover the staircase with their rich, green carpets.
This was the place.
I have formulated two basic questions for the Ohio River to guide this journey: Who are you? and, what do you need? When you ask someone these two questions, you should be prepared to answer them yourself. So, standing where spring water joined the young river, I began with who I am. I started with my name and explained that I am a writer and lawyer. I told her about my mother and father, my sister, my extended family, and how much of my family lives downstream from where I stood. I told her that I was hoping to write a book about her.
This was easy enough. But, I dreaded the second question. I dreaded it because of what it meant I’d have to share with the Ohio River. More than anything, I need help with the despair that haunts me. As I stood next to the river, an impulse came to me. In a gesture of raw and spontaneous honesty, I placed my palm in the water and touched the river’s face. While doing this, I opened myself to the memories of my worst struggles with despair. I let the images flow unhindered through my mind.
This is how I told the Ohio River what I need.
I cannot touch my readers. And, even if I could, it is not possible to pour my experiences into you like I poured them into the Ohio River. I will, however, try to distill these experiences into words to describe what depression feels like for me. A major part of me wishes to keep these experiences secret. But, if William Styron is correct, and the prevention of suicide will be hindered until there is a general awareness of the nature of the pain of depression, then perhaps my experiences will contribute to this growing general awareness.
When the night’s shadows begin climbing through the bedroom window, the distractions have run out, and the last remnants of peace flee, the whispers persisting at the edges of my consciousness grow louder.
The whispers sew dissatisfaction, discomfort, and despair. They gossip about my fears, inadequacies, and insecurities. I try two things at first. I ignore them. Then, I reason with them. Ignoring them works for a while, but they always come back, especially when I am tired or stressed. Stress seems perpetual. Writing publicly and honestly about ecocide is stressful because to do so you must gaze at the problem without looking away. Arundhati Roy was correct when she wrote: “The trouble is that once you see it, you can’t unsee it. And once you’ve seen it, keeping quiet, saying nothing, becomes as political an act as speaking out. There’s no innocence. Either way, you’re accountable.” Being a lawyer comes with a different set of stresses – the deadlines, the desire to represent my clients to the best of my ability, the undeniable, first-hand experiences of injustice in the so-called “justice” system, the frustration accompanying that sadistic irony…
Reasoning with depression works for as long as I have energy to argue with it. “If writing is so stressful, if being a lawyer is so difficult, why not quit?” the whispers ask. At the first, tiniest sign of doubt, the whispers become bolder, more aggressive. I scramble to fight them off, but I tire. My back spasms. My legs tremble, wobble, and cramp. The acid of anxiety rips through my gut. Finally, I collapse. The whispers seize their opportunity to feed and I sink deeper and deeper with ravenous doubts burrowing into me.
I’m desperate for peace, but I’d settle for the absence of war.
Sleep is a viable tactic, at first. But, when I sleep, I dream. And, depression poisons my dreams. Nightmares hold me in replays of the worst times in my life. Or, they project the worst possible futures. Night terrors force me awake as I spring up in bed screaming and shivering. I try to remember a time when I did not feel like this. Memory’s well opens before me. I know, from experience, the water is cold. Maybe the fear that accompanies my plunge attracts the worst. Or, maybe it’s a harsh rule of consciousness that says you cannot use memory to run from memory. Seeking any memory opens you to all memory.
I am met, first, with the darkest images. I thrash about trying to get away and then, failing that, simply to produce some warmth for myself. My personal history appears to me in those freezing waters like a funnel. I see my life descending, even from birth as if it was predestined, to those chilling moments where I stand in front of the bathroom mirror grinding sleeping pills into a powder with a butter knife. In my countless replays of these memories, I have pressed my consciousness so forcefully over the events that the details are preserved in crystalline clarity. I remember how wrinkly the dress shirt I still wore that evening from my day’s work as a public defender was. I remember the satisfaction I felt upon realizing I’d never have to wear a tie again. I see the wry smile that formed on my lips as I opened my wallet to find one single dollar bill – my bottom dollar. I remember the smell of lacquered wood through the paper as I pressed my nostril to one end of the rolled bill while pushing the other end into the powder. I remember the mild, humorous surprise at the ease at which the actions came to me. Where did I learn to do this? I had never snorted anything before.
After I inhaled the ground pills, I dumped the rest of the bottle into my hand. I remember how one pill stuck in the lines on my palm. I wondered what a palm reader would say about that. I remember the way the pills clacked against my teeth. The scariest detail I remember – the memory that haunts me the most – is the strange sense of calm that washed over me as I put on my pajamas, climbed into bed, pulled the blanket to my chin, and folded my hands on my chest. The pain, I knew, would soon be over. There was ecstasy in that knowledge. I wish I never felt that ecstasy. It can be so seductive sometimes, so welcoming, as it reaches towards me with a warm smile offering what it promises is the ultimate antidote for the pain.
I flee the memory and swim as hard as I can for the surface, but shades of guilt catch me on the way up. There’s the residue of guilt that surrounds my memories of attempting suicide. There’s the guilt that attaches to my inability to stamp the memory of that poisonous ecstasy out. There is also the guilt that accompanies my realization that I am cycling again, that I have forgotten all that I have learned, all that I have promised myself about revisiting the past.
I wonder if I am an addict – addicted to despair, addicted to guilt. I remember that the word “addict” comes from the Latin addicere. The definition of addicere includes “to be bound to” or “to enslave.” I definitely feel enslaved, bound against my will, to depression.
At times, these memories cause me to want to fall to the ground, punching and kicking like a child throwing a temper tantrum. I am angry, but more than anything I want to convert the emotional pain into a physical pain. Physical pain, at least, has an identifiable source. The pain of depression is rooted nowhere, but hurts everywhere.
I do not punch and kick the ground. Instead, I weep. Eventually, I exhaust myself. I sit wet from sweat and tears. My mind settles down, but an empty, hungover feeling takes hold. It’s happened again like so many times before. I am scared it will never not happen again. The void remains.
Sharing is dangerous. Writing these experiences on a page gives them a physical reality.
Speaking them out loud – even softly, just above the sounds of flowing water – gives them a life they did not have before. And, what is shared, cannot be unshared. Though I was exhausted, I was reluctant to pull my hand from the water and the Ohio River’s face. I was reluctant to break this connection with the her. When at last I did, I found a stone to sit on, and sighed. I gathered myself and finally asked the Ohio River who she is and what she needs. At first, all I heard was my own anxiety. Is that how you introduce yourself to a river? Will the Ohio River think I’m just feeling sorry for myself? Am I just feeling sorry for myself? As these thoughts bounced around my skull, the breeze blew some lingering rain from the aspen branches above me.
The drops fell into a nearby pool with the small sounds of distant chimes. And, the song began.
I focused on the rain water dropping into the pool for a few moments. Then, a few feet away, my ears located the liquid murmurs of water brushing a submerged stone’s face. After a few seconds, my hearing drifted to a melodic trickle deftly running over a bed of gravel. Each instance of moving water colliding with a pebble created a new and unique note. Each of these notes formed a tune more complex and soothing than any human has ever played. I don’t know how long I sat there. My consciousness spilled across the landscape, gently beckoned by a diversity of sensory details. My awareness flowed over each inch of water I could see. Inch by inch, I experienced new delights and fascinations.
Finally, I slipped back into myself. As I returned, I realized my mind was empty of anxiety.
The river pulled me from the war in my head and embraced me with her calming voice. She approached me sensually, intimately. She showed me her softest parts, those fragile motions of water that form her body. When I asked the Ohio River what she needs, she answered with what I need. Peace.
Caste-based discrimination and violence has been prevalent in Nepalese society for a long time. Although both have been made illegal, Salonika explains why incidents occur, highlighting the harmful system that maintains the violence.
May 23, 2020 marks the nine-year anniversary of the day when the parliament passed a law against caste-based discrimination in Nepal. The day was marked by two incidents that highlight how far caste-based hierarchy is from elimination from the Nepalese society.
A young Dalit man, planning to elope with his “higher”-caste girlfriend arrived at the woman’s village with a group of seventeen friends. Some days later, the bodies of five men from the group were found floating in the Bheri river. One of them is still missing. On the day of the planned elopement, the group was met by a mob of “upper”-caste members who brutally thrashed them to death.
The body of a Dalit girl (aged 13) was found hanging from a tree near her in-law’s house. The girl had been married to her 25-year old rapist (from a “higher” caste) earlier the same day, at the behest of the local authorities. The girl was beaten by her in-laws before her death.
These incidents are not isolated. Violence against marginalized groups like Dalits have been persistent in the Nepalese society. Privileged groups have turned a blind eye to this for a long time. They refuse to see relationship to caste in such incidents, interpreting as solely criminal cases. Unfortunately, when the cases get legal attention, that is how they are labeled instead of a form of systemic oppression. I would argue that the caste of the victims, at least in these two cases, are a salient feature.
Caste system
Caste system has a strong historical root in the Indian subcontinent. It first originated as an open form of social organization. A person’s caste was determined by the work they did, i.e. their function in the society. However, over time, the system became a closed one. The caste of a person (as well as the work they did in the society) became based on the family they were born into. With changing times, a person’s work is no longer determined by their caste, but their caste is still determined by their birth. The rigid hierarchy still prevails.
Like every form of oppression, the caste system has dehumanized the oppressed group. The Dalit group, which occupies the lowest rung of that hierarchy, historically, have been barred from basic civil rights. They were not allowed to touch the water source of the so-called “higher”-castes. They were not allowed to enter temples. The dehumanization then becomes a justification for the group’s oppression, which has been perpetuated by the entire culture.
This caste based hierarchy has also translated to an economic and political hierarchy. Previously, the Dalits were not supposed to own money, relying on Brahmins and Chetris, whom they provided services to, for basic necessities. This has stripped them of considerable economic power. The same is true for political power. Even today, they are overrepresented among those living in poverty, and underrepresented in positions of authorities.
Crimes like honor killings, rapes, and domestic violence against newly married brides occur across all castes in Nepal. Caste is often a salient feature in particular crimes.
Caste-exogamy in marriage
Nepalese society still values caste-endogamy in marriage, that is, marriage among people of the same caste. In both cases described above, the marriages were exogamous. In the case of the young couple, a “higher”-caste woman was planning on eloping with a “lower”-caste man. Had the elopement been successful, it would have brought disgrace not only to the woman’s family, but to her entire community. It was perhaps to ‘protect the community’ from that disgrace that five young men were beaten to death.
Similarly, when the adolescent girl reached the home of her abuser, she was physically abused by the man’s family. The crimes of the man were not visible to his family members, neither was the suffering of a child who was forced to marry the man who exploited and raped her. Instead, they beat the girl because a low-caste girl was about to become their daughter-in-law.
Whether it is the marriage of a ‘higher’-caste woman with a ‘lower’-caste man, or of a ‘higher’-caste man with a ‘lower’-caste girl, it is the ‘lower’-caste individual who has been the victim of the violence at the hands of the family of the other.
Involvement of authorities
After the rape of an adolescent girl, instead of reporting a First Investigation Report (FIR), the society’s idea of a punishment was to ensure the rapist marry the girl. The local representative held the same view. In fact, no official complaint was registered, neither in the local representative’s office, nor with the police authority. Due to this, the representative is now denying any role in approving the marriage of the perpetrator to his victim.
The local representative had a more direct role in the case of the five dead men. The representative is among the twenty people named by the victim’s family as part of the mob that beat and killed their son. Although all twenty of them are currently under police custody, the actions of police administration in cases of ‘lower’-caste victims is inadequate.
After being brutally abused by her rapist’s family, the girl’s body was found hanging with clear marks of physical violence. The police authority failed to register the crime, stating that the girl had killed herself. Usually, even clear suicide cases are registered by the police in Nepal for investigation. It was only after four days that the case was finally registered, after pressures from activists. Even after the man has been registered as the prime accused, the police have not yet arrested him.
“Often the police refuse to even register cases – such as rape – when the victim is a Dalit.” -Meenakshi Ganguly, Human Rights Watch
This is not an isolated event either. Oftentimes, police try to settle matters without registering a case if the victim is from the Dalit community. Even when they do, the chargesheet for the case is so weak that the perpetrator gets away with a minimal sentence from the court.
The indifference of law enforcement agencies and the involvement of elected officials in crimes against people of the oppressed groups further fuel the impunity among the privileged groups. This is a common phenomenon in every oppressive system. Every time a white cop kills an unarmed person of color, White people justify the abuse against people of color. Every time a sexual predator walks free due to a lack of ‘evidence,’ men gain confidence in physically violating woman, ignoring their boundaries. It is this impunity that makes sure that the oppressed group cannot rise from the dehumanization.
Casteism is ‘Dead’ in Nepal?
All forms of caste-based discrimination have been legally abolished for years. According to the law, it is illegal for a person to discriminate against anyone based on caste. The latest constitution of Nepal (released five years ago) even makes a provision to include at least one Dalit in every local political entity. These recent developments have many members of the privileged group consider casteism as an issue of the past. But that is the nature of privilege: it is invisible to the one benefitting from it.
But the caste system still has a stronghold in the Nepalese society. In fact, an elected political representative was beaten to death by two of her neighbors. Her crime: she touched the common water source. In a society where an elected representative (who holds more power than an average person of her community) could be beaten to death, what level of violence could be inflicted upon other members of her community?
Within the nine years since the law was passed against caste-based discrimination, a total of seventeen Dalits have died within the country, who probably would have been alive had they been a member of a “higher” caste.
Systemic casteism is rampant. It is evident in the power differential that is still present. A power differential that was borne out of historical oppression of one group of people over another. It is evident in the police administration’s refusal to register cases where the victims are Dalit. This makes it easier for perpetrators to target Dalit victims. It is evident in the basic civil rights that have been denied to Dalits. It shows that despite the laws banning it, the concept of pollution associated with one group of people is still strong, at least among ‘higher’-caste individuals.
The caste system is an oppressive system that benefits a certain group of people at the expense of another. A familiar pattern, in varying contexts, across the globe. Those who benefit have a strong motivation (and also the means) to keep this system alive. Dismantling the caste system, like any other oppressive system, is not easy, neither is humanizing a group of people that have so long been dehumanized.
A just society cannot be born as long as an oppressive system is in place.
Salonika is an organizer at DGR South Asia and is based in Nepal. She believes that the needs of the natural world should trump the needs of the industrial civilization.
Male violence against women is one of the most serious problems in the world. The numbers are staggering. Every year in the US, more than 230,000 sexual assaults are committed. At least 1 out of 6 American women have suffered rape or attempted rape, and 1 out of 3 women worldwide.
Native American women are the most likely targets of sexual violence. 44% of sexual assaults and rapes target children under the age of 18. Almost 2/3 of all sexual assaults are perpetrated by a non-stranger. Sexual assault is one of the most under-reported crimes – 60% of sexual assaults are not reported to police. Only 3% of rapists ever spend a day in jail.
Resistance Radio with Wendy Murphy
In this podcast Derrick Jensen interviews Wendy Murphy, who talks about the level of sexual assault experienced by women and girls. She describes how, in our culture, language can be used passively and therefore lead to accepting sexual violence as the norm. Wendy states that how language is used connects with real world experiences and can be translated in the courts as unjust verdicts.
Changing the way we talk about sexual violence can change the way we feel and shift from passive to proactive in relation to harms towards women and girls. Wendy created a multi-disciplinary team – The Judicial Language review – which enabled the team to review decisions in courts and state whether language is appropriate. The project critically analyses discourse, providing alternate phrases and use of language to the courts. Wendy gives real life examples of how language is used in the media and the courts to minimise (brush aside) the harms done towards children and strongly advocates a cultural shift, including the need to challenge passive use of language.
In this writing, taken from ‘The Ohio River Speaks‘, Will Falk describes the urgency in which he seeks to protect the natural world. Through documenting the journey with the Ohio River he strengthens others fighting to protect what is left of the natural world. Read the first part of the journey here.
The first headwaters of my journey with the Ohio River are located in despair. Despair and I have a long-term, intimate relationship.
Seven years ago, I tried to kill myself. Twice.
Suicidal despair is a failure to envision a livable future. The future never comes, so the future is built with the only materials at hand – experience. At times, my experience is so painful, and the pain lasts so long that, when I peer into the future, I only see more pain. When this happens, I sometimes ask: If life is so painful, if life will only remain so painful, why go on living?
I cling to my reason. I live for my family. I have seen the pain my two suicide attempts have caused my mother, father, and sister. My family also includes the natural world. I have been enchanted by the stories the Colorado River tells. I have watched the stars next to ahinahina (silverswords) on the slopes of Mauna Kea. I have seen a great horned owl dance on setting sunlight filtered through pinyon-pine needles.
This doesn’t mean, however, that I do not experience despair anymore.
Sometime last year, a spark flew from our shared global experience to fall into a tinderbox of my recent personal experiences and ignited the strongest inferno of despair I’ve felt in a long time.
I ended a long-term romantic partnership with a woman who, at one time, I thought was the love of my life. I moved in to my parents’ basement in Castle Rock, CO. And, an environmental organization I love working for almost internally combusted.
These realities are personally painful. But, they’re not unique. It is a global reality – the intensifying destruction of the natural world – that is the deepest source of my despair.
The love I feel for my mother and father, for my sister, for rivers, mountains, and forests, for ahinahina, great-horned owls, and pinyon-pines makes me deeply vulnerable. It wasn’t until I noticed the way people have been obsessively tracking confirmed cases of COVID-19 that I realized most people do not pore over studies about rates of ecological collapse like I do.
While COVID-19 is very scary, I find reports like the one from Living Planet Index and the Zoological Society of London in 2018 documenting a gut-wrenching 60% decline in the size of mammal, bird, fish, reptile, and amphibian populations in just over 40 years to be even scarier.
I am cursed with a profound sense of urgency to stop the destruction of the planet.
If millions of people are killed every year by air pollution, then each passing year is, to me, a heinous disaster. If dozens of species are driven to extinction every day, then each passing day is an unspeakable tragedy. If thousands of acres of forest are cleared every hour, then each passing hour is a horrific loss.
If all these things are true, then each passing moment screams more loudly than the last for the destruction to stop. I haven’t found many others who possess a similar sense of urgency. I haven’t even found many others who possess this sense of urgency among fellow environmentalists. The lack of urgency displayed by environmentalists is especially frustrating because environmentalists are aware of the problems we face. Despite this awareness, most environmentalists are still drinking a stale Kool-Aid brewed with the substanceless sugar of ineffective tactics.
For example, I am a practicing rights of nature attorney. In 2017, I helped to file a first-ever federal lawsuit seeking rights for a major ecosystem, the Colorado River. For the past few years, I’ve worked for a nonprofit law firm, the Community Environmental Legal Defense Fund (CELDF), that has developed a strategy for enshrining rights of Nature in American law.
American law defines Nature merely as property. Property is an object that can be consumed and destroyed. CELDF’s strategy, specifically, and rights of Nature, generally, seek to transform the status of Nature from that of property to that of a rights-bearing entity. This is similar to how ending American slavery required transforming the legal definition of African Americans as property into African Americans as rights-bearing citizens. Those with rights have power over those without rights.
And, in a culture based on competition, those with rights oppress those without rights.
A key component of CELDF’s strategy involves helping communities affected by environmental destruction to use their local lawmaking functions to enact laws granting Nature the rights to exist, flourish, regenerate, and naturally evolve. These laws also give Nature legal “personhood” which empowers community members to bring lawsuits to enforce Nature’s rights. Currently, under American law, if community members want to sue to stop environmental destruction, they must frame the problem as violating their rights as citizens. It is often more difficult to prove that environmental destruction directly harms humans than it is to prove that an activity harms an ecosystem.
If Nature was recognized as a legal person and communities simply had to prove that an activity violated the rights of Nature, then many destructive activities would become illegal. On the surface this may seem like a great strategy. However, this strategy depends on convincing too many people in power, who directly benefit from the status quo, to embrace and enforce rights of Nature. The powerful derive their power by exploiting Nature. Enforcing Nature’s rights would undermine their power. This is why they react so violently whenever their power is truly threatened. Even if convincing all these people to give up their power is possible, it will likely take decades to change the legal system into one that respects rights of Nature.
In CELDF, we are working hard to reinvent our strategy to reflect the recognition that legal change, by itself, is taking far too long.
Nevertheless, most tactics employed by environmentalists are based on achieving a voluntary transition to a sane and Earth-based culture. But, do we really think this voluntary transition is possible? And, even if we do, don’t we have to admit that this voluntary transition is taking a long time? As time slips away – and so much is destroyed and so many are murdered – shouldn’t we be most concerned with stopping the dominant culture as quickly as possible? When I suggest that we have an open and frank conversation about what it will take to truly stop the destruction, I am often dismissed as being unrealistic and too extreme.
This causes me to despair. When I despair for too long I become depressed and anxious. When I am depressed and anxious I shake, tremble, fidget, and pace. Over the years, I’ve learned that when this happens, my body is telling me to move. Unsurprisingly, one of the best medicines I’ve found for mental illness is exercise. Lately, though, my typical regimen for managing despair hasn’t been working. No matter how much I exercise, no matter how much stress I shed from my day, no matter who I spend time with, the flames of despair keep on licking the edges of my consciousness. The lack of urgency I find reflected around me also causes me to question my perception of reality.
Are things really as bad as I think they are?
It is natural to seek validation from other humans. But, most humans I know would rather not join me in my despair. Psychologist R.D. Laing in The Politics of Experience was correct when he wrote:
“If Jack succeeds in forgetting something, this is of little use if Jill continues to remind him of it. He must induce her not to do so. The safest way would be not just to make her keep quiet about it, but to induce her to forget it also.
Jack may act upon Jill in many ways. He may make her feel guilty for keeping on ‘bringing it up.’ He may invalidate her experience. This can be done more or less radically. He can indicate merely that it is unimportant or trivial, whereas it is important and significant to her. Going further, he can shift the modality of her experience from memory to imagination: ‘It’s all in your imagination.’ Further still, he can invalidate the content: ‘It never happened that way.’ Finally, he can invalidate not only the significance, modality, and content, but her very capacity to remember at all, and make her feel guilty for doing so into the bargain.
This is not unusual. People are doing such things to each other all the time. In order for such transpersonal invalidation to work, however, it is advisable to overlay it with a thick patina of mystification. For instance, by denying that this is what one is doing, and further invalidating any perception that it is being done by ascriptions such as ‘How can you think such a thing?’ ‘You must be paranoid.’ And so on…”
Similarly, it is easy to seek answers from television and computer screens. The internet provides more access to certain forms of information – like graphs, statistics, and written reports – than ever before. However, answers provided by graphs, statistics, and written reports will always be secondhand. I do not want to risk the invalidation of the experience of others that many humans are so adept at. Neither do I want to settle for secondhand answers.
I want to see for myself.
Earth is vast. Ecocide is extensive. I have neither the time nor the resources to rely solely on firsthand knowledge. Fortunately, the Ohio River is vast enough to implicate global reality while remaining small enough for me to witness with my limited budget and finite time. Meanwhile, my body urges me to move. So, why not put that movement to good use? Instead of killing birds, I’ll kill two drones with one stone, by embarking on a journey with the Ohio River. I can write, with eyewitness testimony, about how bad ecocide has become in the Ohio River basin. At the same time, I can ask the Ohio River if her waters can quell this despair burning within me.
I know I am not alone in my despair.
William Styron wrote in his poignant exploration of despair, Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness: “The pain of severe depression is quite unimaginable to those who have not suffered it, and it kills in many in stances because its anguish can no longer be borne. The prevention of many suicides will continue to be hindered until there is general awareness of the nature of this pain.”
As I travel with the Ohio River, witnessing her many wounds, I will describe my pain. If she will help me bear that pain, I hope my story will show how a river can save your life.
Deep Green Resistance is a radical feminist organization, because all oppression is connected. The freedom of women as a class cannot be separated from the resistance to the dominant culture as a whole. Racism is connected to patriarchy, patriarchy is woven together with the destruction of the planet, and ecocide is interlinked with class oppression.
This episode of The Green Flame focuses on “Pornography Men Possessing Women,” one of Andrea Dworkin’s most influential and important books. In this episode we highlight reflections from the Deep Green Book Club to approach the heart of Andrea Dworkin’s analysis and life’s work.
Poetry and Music
We thank Trinity La Fey for a special live recording of her poem “Tintinnabulation.”
Thank you to Beth Quist for sharing her live acoustic performance of her composition, Angel of Death. Beth is playing all the instruments as well as being the solo vocalist. The “studio” is her RV!
Musicians and artists have lost much of their their ability to create a livelihood as a result of social distancing during the pandemic. Please, if you are able, send some love and support their way.
The Green Flame is a Deep Green Resistance podcast offering revolutionary analysis, skill sharing, and inspiration for the movement to save the planet by any means necessary. Our hosts are Max Wilbert and Jennifer Murnan.
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