SUBSCRIBE TO OUR FREE NEWSLETTER
Daily news & progressive opinion—funded by the people, not the corporations—delivered straight to your inbox.
5
#000000
#FFFFFF
5
#000000
#FFFFFF
sustainability
Reclaiming a Disposable Planet
Tossing out the trash is something you’re just supposed to do, no questions asked, at least if you want to live a normal, respected life. But what if you're missing something wondrous?
Feb 21, 2026
Hey, want to read a poem with me? Warning: It opens several disturbing doors, the least disturbing of which is the “crazy old coot” part, i.e., me. Once you start getting lost in the paradoxes of life, you need to watch out. They could start coming after you.
But more disturbing is the paradox itself, which is both environmental and spiritual. And it’s right there on my front lawn. The life I’ve been given—the lives we’ve been given—are partially disposable, apparently. Mostly I took this for granted, but suddenly one summer afternoon, as I was pushing my hand mower up and down the lawn, something shifted in me. I started feeling... reverence for garbage? Tossing out the trash is something you’re just supposed to do, no questions asked, at least if you want to live a normal, respected life. Doubting this could be a tad problematic.
The poem is called “Buddha’s Lawn.” I wrote it a decade ago. Back when I still had a lawn to mow.
I mow the lawn and feel gratitude
my neighbors
haven’t pigeonholed me as a crazy old coot.
I’m stalled in my transition
from a lifestyle and sense of order based on
killing things,
like weeds, mice, whatever,
to one based on reverence for all stuff,
however weird.
It’s a cool day but
I work up a sweat.
On the lawn, I pick up a shred
of burst red balloon, a used napkin,
a transparent plastic juice container.
This stuff is all just litter
and the weeds are still weeds.
If I really let myself
see them differently,
I’d be the crazy neighbor, right?
Well, sorry (I apologize to myself.) I can’t help it. Once the door opens and a ray of awareness shines in, burst balloons, tossed straws, plastic grocery bags, discarded pop bottles, etc., etc., aren’t what they used to be. There’s an inner awareness that won’t go away. You might call it “litteracy”—an awareness of what happens next.
For instance, according to the Center for Biological Diversity: “In the first decade of this century, we made more plastic than all the plastic in history up to the year 2000. And every year, billions of pounds of more plastic end up in the world’s oceans. Studies estimate there are now 15-51 trillion pieces of plastic in the world’s oceans—from the equator to the poles, from Arctic ice sheets to the sea floor. Not one square mile of surface ocean anywhere on Earth is free of plastic pollution...”
The analysis goes on:
Thousands of animals, from small finches to blue whales, die grisly deaths from eating and getting caught in plastic...
Hundreds of thousands of seabirds ingest plastic every year. Plastic ingestion reduces the storage volume of the stomach, causing starvation. It’s estimated that 60% of all seabird species have eaten pieces of plastic, with that number predicted to increase to 99% by 2050. Dead seabirds are often found with stomachs full of plastic, reflecting how the amount of garbage in our oceans has rapidly increased in the past 40 years...
Dead whales have been found with bellies full of plastic.
I can’t dismiss this with a shrug... just toss the plastic in the trash and go on mowing my lawn, being normal. I start to stare with curiosity and wonderment at the litter. And this is where the old coot starts looking, or at least feeling, crazy, at least until his sense of awareness expands: “The word ‘garbage’ means a resource nobody is smart enough to use yet.”
Hmmm. Really? I quoted these words in a column I wrote in 2013. Called (I kid you not) “Reverence for Garbage,” it talks abouts the documentary Landfill Harmonic, about a Paraguayan village built on a landfill. Reclaiming and reselling the trash was the residents’ primary means of survival. But they did something else as well. Inspired by a local musician, the residents also started making musical instruments out of the trash: “violins and cellos from oil drums, flutes from water pipes and spoons, guitars from packing crates.”
Real instruments were beyond expensive, far more costly than anyone there could afford. But children in the village learned to play the instruments hand-crafted from the landfill trash. And what was worthless became heavenly.
Is there a larger cultural takeaway pulsating in this story? Could it be that we value too little of our own planet? I wonder if maybe.. maybe... we should begin crumpling up our certainties and tossing them in the trash.
Keep ReadingShow Less
The US Leads the Global Race to the Bottom—and Still Pretends to Be the Victim
Trump’s tariffs are not a departure from business as usual; they are an extension of it and will overwhelmingly benefit the world’s financial elite.
Apr 28, 2025
Global trade systems are not free, nor are they neutral. They were built to facilitate capital transfer and to transfer wealth upward—benefiting the rich while harming workers worldwide. This arrangement can feel too big, too abstract, and too disconnected from our experience. For these reasons, and as a sociologist across decades and schools, I have facilitated this race to the bottom activity to help students understand the problems inherent to our complex global reality.
In the Transnational Capital Auction: A Game of Survival simulation, students role play as leaders of countries with less wealth than GDP leading nation states. They are instructed that they rely on trade and economic development from wealthier countries such as the United States and powerful transnational corporations.
Capital flight occurs when transnational corporations move their factory or industry from one geographical area to another in order to seek better conditions for their bottom line, profits, or for shareholders. These moves highlight the antagonism between the working class and the owning class. For example, in the activity, teams gain points when they satisfy corporate demands: being lax on child labor laws and environmental regulations, maintaining a low minimum wage and corporate tax rate, and suppressing unionization of workers. This is not just a game with hypothetical conditions, it is a microcosm which echoes real-world socioeconomic and political dynamics.
Rather than denying our power and privilege in order to justify more bad behavior, we need to do our part to realign around policies that are internationally, socially, and environmentally sustainable.
We have seen this play out domestically and internationally. Sociologists have documented how corporations leave the United States to go to places more favorable to capital. For example, when an area develops unions, industry can flee to what it considers a safer space for business. In this way, capital for transnational corporations can accumulate faster when workers’ rights and environmental policy is lax. These conditions have led to countless deaths, especially among women and people of color, and have fueled global climate destabilization. These corporations are helped by policies and loopholes such as international tax havens like Nauru.
The human cost of this system is staggering. Body-catching nets were installed around Foxconn buildings because workers were unaliving themselves by jumping off their job site. Women, including mothers, leave their families and countries in order to work in other locations where the wages are higher.
The unjust arrangements are often complex by design. There are free trade zones or “special economic zones” in places like Jamaica, which allow companies to operate under a different set of laws than the rest of their country—sometimes with fewer worker protections. Meanwhile, local markets neglect or dispose of their natural resources because of the flux of imported goods dictated by trade agreements.
To be sure, the global working class harmed by these lopsided systems includes American workers who have lost their jobs, houses, and communities through capital flight. And yet, American consumers love the low prices these systems enable. The products we rely on—the food, the technology, the entertainment—these things are not created in a vacuum, and they are also not free. We have access to fast fashion and too soon obsolete technologies because people spend their lives working in conditions and receiving wages that we would consider un-American. Yet they are so very American.
The United States is no one’s victim. It helped create the race to the bottom and continues to benefit from its downward spiral. Trump’s narrative, justification, and chaotic enactment of tariffs are more than problematic. They are not a departure from business as usual, they are an extension of it and will overwhelmingly benefit the world’s financial elite.
Change is needed. The United States needs to reevaluate its relationship with itself and as part of a global community. We need reciprocal, resilient, and renewable structures in place. We will not get there by the same policies of violence, domination, and extraction that got us to the asymmetrical and disproportionate power that we have now. Rather than denying our power and privilege in order to justify more bad behavior, we need to do our part to realign around policies that are internationally, socially, and environmentally sustainable. We can all start by reflecting on our personal commodity chains, which tether us to global enterprise and its bottom rungs.
Keep ReadingShow Less
6 Reasons for Communitarian Living
As disasters become more frequent and politics destabilizes, it feels more important than ever to live connected to other people.
Apr 13, 2025
This spring my husband and I are moving three tenths of a mile and 200 years back in time.
We are moving from our super-energy-efficient, passive solar home built in 2001 to a farmhouse built in 1800. (And looking for someone to buy the cozy green home we raised our family in. Check it out here and spread the word!) We are excited to have more space to share with extended family. And, we will have a project on our hands! Regaining some of the features we are leaving behind—heat pumps, PV, a composting toilet, and more—will take time. A fun and satisfying challenge we hope!
The great news is that we will still be part of the experiment we have participated in for almost 30 years: Cobb Hill Cohousing, a multi-generational community of 23 families in Vermont’s Connecticut River Valley. The house we are moving to is located within Cobb Hill, just a bit further from the cluster of houses we’ve called home.
We will still share 280 acres of farm and forest and participate in community celebrations and decision-making. We’ll still have neighbors to help and to rely on. We’ll still have maple syrup, eggs, flowers, herbs, vegetables, milk, and cheese all produced by our neighbors on our shared land. We’ll have learning companions to navigate alongside in an increasingly destabilized world.
No one knows how to live sustainably and equitably in our current society or how to prepare for coming climate shocks. So we need to learn. And learning is faster with more minds in the mix.
A big move like ours prompts reflection. We had to move, but we didn’t want to go anywhere else. Here are six reasons that came to mind when we paused to ask ourselves why.
- People: As disasters become more frequent and politics destabilizes, it feels more important than ever to live connected to other people. People who can be there in an emergency or help make sense of the tumult. But not just people, these specific people. We are connected to our neighbors by shared work, shared fun, and shared history. We are watching their children grow up and hopefully adding something to those kid’s lives. These are the people who brought soup when I broke my ankle, who loaned me a walker to get to the ER, who visited and cheered me up. These are the people I want to bring soup to when they need it!
- Land: There’s the pleasure of coming to know a piece of land deeply. Of walking its paths in spring and summer and skiing them in winter. Of watching for the return of familiar birds and wildflowers with each season. There’s also the work and joys of stewardship, of seeing a once over-harvested forest slowly return to good health. And, by putting most of our shared land under permanent conservation easement and making it open to our neighbors for enjoyment, we find ways to share these gifts now and into the future, which is its own kind of satisfaction.
- Learning: No one knows how to live sustainably and equitably in our current society or how to prepare for coming climate shocks. So we need to learn. And learning is faster with more minds in the mix. We took three tries to get a PV system at Cobb Hill. I led the first two, which ran aground. Then Sandy came in with new determination and a new path in mind. Every day when I walk past the solar-panel-covered barns I think about all three tries, how my “failures” and Sandy’s fresh eyes cracked the code. I think about the need to reinvent community meals after they paused for the pandemic (thanks Audrey!) or the need to wire EV charging ports on infrastructure that didn’t anticipate them (thanks Jesse!) And so on. We have a lot to learn at this moment in human history, but we don’t have to do it alone!
- Food: There’s the taste of a fresh strawberry or an ear of corn moving from field to plate in five minutes. Then there’s the satisfaction of growing some of what you eat and knowing the people who grew more of it. In these times when the federal government’s ability to keep the food system safe is faltering, there’s also peace of mind in seeing at least part of the supply chain right outside your door.
- Resilience: From the connections between good people, a well-loved bit of land, the capacity to learn, and the capacity to grow at least some food comes something bigger than any piece alone. It’s the capacity to cope. It is, hopefully, the capacity to help each other and offer support to wider circles when surprises come and the pace of change speeds up.
- A link to the future: Many have passed through Cobb Hill. Some stayed for a growing season, some for their childhood, some for the length of a learning program. They’ve moved on to start (or join) other communities, farms, nonprofits. I like to think they’ve all taken something with them, a new skill, a lesson in what NOT to do, a belief that dreams can become physical stuff. Maybe in the end that’s the main reward of trying to do things differently—the encouragement to others that they can create the possibilities they see.
Cobb Hill isn’t the only way to find these six things, thank goodness. You’ll find them in smaller groups and larger ones, in cities, in the tropics, on the coast. In this time of transition and reflection in my own family, I hope that knowing they exist in one place might make it easier for you to imagine (or create) them elsewhere, too.
Keep ReadingShow Less
Most Popular