Don't Blame Climate Change Deniers
Ira Chernus, is Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Colorado at Boulder and author of "Apocalypse Management: Eisenhower and the Discourse of National Insecurity."
MythicAmerica is on a forced hiatus while I deal with health problems. But over 300,000 people in New York City the other day reminded us all that no one's health will matter much unless we take care of the planet's health. So I felt moved to polish up a previously unpublished column and share these thoughts with you:
The old joke, "Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it," is no laughing matter any more. It's dead serious. Yet the United States seems politically paralyzed on this most vital issue.
It's easy to
blame the climate change deniers. But it's wrong. In Gallup's
most recent poll only 18% of us denied climate change. In a CBS poll,
only 11% were outright deniers.
The vast
majority of Americans are well
aware that there's a
real problem. More than four
out of five agree with the overwhelming scientific consensus that climate
change is happening now or surely will happen soon. And a solid
majority believe that what they read in the news about climate change is
either accurate or underestimates the problem.
Nevertheless, Americans
put the climate almost
dead last on the list of problems facing the nation.
30% of Americans
believe climate change is here or on the way but simply do not worry about it. Virtually
the
same percentage believe it's already happening or will in their lifetimes
but doesn't pose any serious threat to them.
Another public
opinion study, by scholars at Yale and George Mason (Y/GM), found Americans
falling into rather clear-cut categories. The "Cautious" and
"Disengaged" -- neither true believers nor deniers -- add up to
exactly 30%. A sizeable majority of them believe climate change poses a high
risk to future generations. Yet virtually none of them "have thought a
lot" about climate change.
The biggest
political stumbling block is not the deniers. It's all those ignorers. How can so
many ignore what they know is coming?
The Y/GM study
found one crucial reason: uncertainty about the facts. Though most of the ignorers
see a danger looming, few are really sure that it's happening now. Only about a
third of them think that scientists agree on the facts. About four out of five
say they "need more information to form an opinion." Nearly all say
they could "easily" change their minds.
Don't be too
quick to blame the 30% though. Even those the Y/GM study calls the "High
Involvement Public" show surprising levels of uncertainty and apathy. About
two-thirds of the "Concerned" say they're sure climate change is
happening now. Yet four out of five say they need more information to make up their
minds and 70% could "easily" change their minds. And only a tiny 13% have
thought about it "a lot."
Among the thin sliver of the public (16%) who are "Alarmed" -- who all know climate change is happening and poses a danger to future generations -- roughly half say they need more information, and nearly a quarter are open to changing their minds. More than one-third have not thought "a lot" about the issue, and only about a third have expressed their concern to any public officials.
Which means (I'm
embarrassed to admit) that I'm a pretty typical American. For years I've
written thousands of words on a wide range of subjects. Yet I've rarely
addressed climate change, even though I've known that it's happening and poses unthinkable
danger.
When I look in
the mirror and try to figure out why I've avoided the issue, what I see staring
back at me is that word unthinkable. When
I write I try to be sure I know what I'm talking about. When it comes to
climate change, the science seems so complex, so daunting, so far over my head
that I hesitate to say or even think anything. I can never feel certain.
And I know that
even the best scientists have to deal with uncertainty. They understand, as
Elizabeth Kolbert recently
noted in the New Yorker, that
"while it is possible that the problem could turn out to be less serious
than the consensus forecast, it is equally likely to turn out to be more serious."
That's why one
of my friends, who is on the UN's Nobel-Prize-winning Intergovernmental Panel
on Climate Change, taught me long ago to call the problem "climate chaos."
She and her colleagues are sure that climate change is happening. But they also
know that the dangers to human life come from the unpredictable, erratic, and
often massive weather events that it causes (like the storm that dropped some
20 inches of rain in just a few days on her neighborhood, triggering unprecedented
flooding).
Moreover, my
friend tells me, climate scientists have been talking about all kinds of uncertainties
for years. Recently she organized a conference on "Uncertainty in Climate Change Research: An
Integrated Approach," because "uncertainty is present in all
phases of climate change research."
Even climate
change philosophers deal with uncertainties that make our national conversation
on the issue chaotic. Dale Jamieson points
out that we can't be sure who to blame: "A
lot of our thinking about policy tends to be oriented around a sort of good
guy-bad guy polarization. Climate change is an issue that doesn’t fit very
neatly into that stereotype. ... We’re all involved in contributing to the
problem to some extent and we’re all involved in suffering from the problem to
some extent."
The noisy climate
change deniers bear some of the responsibility, of course, but surely not all.
The fossil fuel corporations are a big part of the problem, too. Yet, as Paul
Krugman recently
wrote, "it’s not mainly about the vested interests. ... The monetary
stakes aren’t nearly as big as you might think."
Then there are
the huge greenhouse gas emissions from poorer countries, especially China and
India. Can we really say they are part of "the enemy" on this issue,
when we Americans emit so much more per capita? Millions of us in the U.S.
drive our cars, and use more energy than we need, every day. We have met the
enemy and they is us.
The evildoers in
this tale are such a vast, diverse, vaguely-defined mass of people they're
virtually invisible.
If we think of carbon
dioxide as the enemy, it's also invisible: "tasteless, odorless -- it
doesn’t present to our visual systems," as Jamieson says. David Ropeik, an
expert on risk perception, agrees.
The public doesn't worry because the threat "doesn’t feel
immediate/imminent. It doesn’t feel…well…real. It’s more of an idea, a concept,
an abstraction."
And we can't even
be sure how big a problem carbon dioxide is. Methane may
be the major culprit here.
Moreover, the
effects of climate change are creeping up on us so slowly that they, too, are
largely invisible. If this is an apocalypse, it's an agonizingly gradual one,
the kind we just don't know how to think about or even
believe in, much less deal with.
All in all, when I try to grasp the chaotic truth about climate change, I think I've got good reason to feel unsure and confused.
So I ask myself:
Is there anything I know pretty much for sure? I know that in politics "a
narrative is the key to everything," as Democrat polling guru Stanley
Greenberg once wrote. The Yale/George Mason scholars agree that if there's any
chance of motivating the ignorers to get involved, new narratives are a key:
"Narratives
foster involvement with a story and characters, and prior issue involvement is
unnecessary for drawing the audience's attention. Memory of narrative content
tends to be high ... and studies find that the persuasive effects of fiction
can be as high as for non-fiction."
I know that the
best politicians of every stripe -- from FDR to Reagan, from Elizabeth Warren
to Ted Cruz -- are always great storytellers. Of course they aren't novelists. Though
they may lie when it's useful, the stories they rely on most to get themselves
elected and their policies enacted have to include some dose of real facts. Yet
those facts have to be embedded in a simple, emotionally powerful narrative
rooted in familiar cultural traditions.
The best
politicians understand that shared stories are the glue that hold communities
together. People cling to comfortable narratives because they want to cling to
the other people in their comfortable group. Research
now shows that even among the small minority who actually deny climate
change, many probably know the scientific facts. They deny them mainly to
reinforce their status as "true conservatives" -- the group bond that
gives them a sense of identity.
Here's another
thing I know pretty much for sure: The dominant narrative of climate change
activists isn't working well enough. " We are absolutely certain,"
that narrative insists. "Virtually all scientists agree. Unless we act
urgently we are doomed." What could be simpler or more emotionally
gripping?
Nevertheless, this
story has not in made much headway in the American political arena. The group
Gallup calls "Concerned Believers" has held steady at only 39% for
the last 14 years. And, as we've seen, not many of them are moved to
consistent action or even apprehension. Hence the lack of political action.
Maybe that's
because most of them, like the "Cautious" and "Disengaged,"
aren't impelled by a narrative that relies on a claim of absolute certainty. As
long as climate change activists don't have any other kind of story to offer,
they aren't likely to win any big political victories.
That doesn't mean
the activists should throw out their prevailing narrative. Because here's
another thing I know for sure: Every good political campaign needs niche
marketing. There's still a sizeable minority of the U.S. population that
believes the claims of scientific certainty, and they should hold on to their
story.
The people I
worry about are in all those other niches, the ones who will respond only to
stories that begin with "No one knows for sure, but ..."
Then I ask myself, "Why worry?" I study and write about political narratives all the time. It should be fun to find some that allow for uncertainty. And it should be easy. In fact there's lots to choose from already.
A Republican
stalwart, Henry Paulson, says
flatly: "It is true that there is uncertainty about the timing and
magnitude of these risks ... We’ll never know enough to resolve all of the
uncertainties. " But "we must not lose sight of the profound economic
risks of doing nothing." Good businessmen don't wait for certainty. They calculate
the odds and then take action.
That story about
benefits to the marketplace from an all-out attack on climate change is growing.
And it's bipartisan. Tom Steyer, perhaps the nation's wealthiest climate change
activist, funds Democratic
candidates and NextGen Climate, whose slogan is: "Act politically to avert
climate disaster and preserve American prosperity."
EPA head Gina
McCarthy took a similar tack when
she announced the Obama administration's proposals for limiting coal plant
emissions: "The plan will create demand for designing and building
energy-efficient technology ... It spurs ingenuity and innovation. ... All this
means more jobs” -- regardless of how big the threat really is.
However it's a
gamble whether such a naked bid to economic self-interest will have a big
impact, when so many Americans often vote against their own best economic
interests.
A
recent experiment tested a more idealistic message. Conservatives, in
particular, proved more favorable to safeguarding the environment when they
were told that "it is patriotic." Most moderates and even many liberals
may respond to that kind of call too.
The Pentagon has
long been touting its version of that story. Its latest Quadrennial
Defense Review "identified
climate change as one of our most significant national security problems";
at least that's the way the commander-in-chief read
the report. Obama agreed with the Joint Chiefs that "climate change
could end up having profound national security implications."
Look at it this
way, and suddenly uncertainty is even less of a problem. Whenever American
public opinion has believed that a potential risk to our nation and our way of
life loomed the horizon, no matter how small, we've never waited for absolute
certainty. We acted first and got all the facts later.
Sometimes we've
prepared for war -- and even gone to war -- no matter how
slim the odds of real threat, because when it comes to protecting our
homeland we take no chances -- as today's events in Syria and Iraq make
painfully clear.
Risk analyst
Ropeik is pessimistic. He thinks the patriotic vein won't be tapped deep enough
to yield political results unless we "feel we were at war --
bullets-flying ... NOW 'I am in Danger' war." He might
be right; the "Climate
Patriots" meme has been around for several years without garnering
very much attention (perhaps because it's been yoked to a meme of absolute
scientific certainty).
But political
narratives are germinating, unnoticed, all the time. Occasionally,
unpredictably, one bursts into powerful prominence. People were talking about
abolishing slavery, for example, for more than a century before the Civil War
and the Emancipation Proclamation. Christopher Hayes, for one, thinks we need a new
abolitionism, though he knows it will be a tough fight.
Ever since
Franklin D. Roosevelt called on the nation (in his first inaugural address) to
"wage a war" against the Great Depression as if "we were in fact
invaded by a foreign foe," Americans have united to resist all sorts of
non-military dangers -- poverty, drugs, cancer, and even fat -- as long
as the campaign was
dubbed a "war."
They've also
learned to pay big bucks for research and development in wartime that led to
all sorts of unexpected and profitable technological
breakthroughs. So the economic benefit, patriotism, national security, abolition,
and war stories might all fit together in a tale
I suggested recently: a gradual apocalyptic transformation from the
possibility of catastrophic risk to the possibility of a far better world.
On the other
hand, maybe the best to hope for is an endless a war of containment, like the
cold war. For decades most Americans assumed that the apocalyptic communist
threat could never be vanquished; we'd be staving it off forever. National
security was reduced to
risk management in a world of permanent uncertainty.
Now the U.S.
government is funding an international project treating climate change
precisely as an exercise in risk
management. These scientists call it "a problem imbued with deep
uncertainty." Their first, still unanswered question is "How large
are the uncertainties?"
All these
narratives -- and surely there can be lots more -- can start with the words, "No
one knows for sure. But why take chances?" Any one of them might, or might
not, be a political game-changer.
In any event, looking
over all the climate change narratives, there's one last thing I know for sure:
The dominant story of the American mass media, "doom-sayers versus
deniers," is far too narrow to reflect the true complexity of the political
landscape.
So I say let a
thousand narratives bloom. Or at least plant a thousand seeds, and see which
ones bloom into political successes. No one can be certain about the future.
All we can do is
keep nurturing all those stories and embrace the uncertainty. Because the
political landscape of climate change, like the climate itself, is bound to be
chaotic at least for a while. Right now, it seems to me, the more chaotic the
better.