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Ignition Table of Contents Introduction by Bill McKibben I. It¿s Time Ch. 1 Igniting Action for a New Movement By Jonathan Isham Jr. and Sissel Waage Ch. 2 Groundswell By Gus Speth Ch. 3 Shaping the Movement By Mary Lou Finley II. Finding Your Voice Ch. 4 Irrationality Wants to Be Your Friend By Kenton de Kirby, Pamela Morgan, Ted Nordhaus, and Michael Shellenberger Ch. 5 Communication Strategies to Mobilize the Movement By Susanne Moser Ch. 6 Coming Home to Roost By Bill Shutkin III. Finding Your Allies Ch. 7 Focus on Health By Bob Musil Ch. 8 Binding Life to Values By Rebecca Kneale Gould Ch. 9 Climate Justice By Julian Agyeman, Harriet Bulkeley, and Aditya Nochur IV. Getting Mobilized Ch. 10 The Tidewater By Julia West and Ben Gore Ch. 11 Your Mission: Focus the Nation By Eban Goodstein Ch. 12 Practical Steps to Create Change in Your Organization By Bob Doppelt V. Getting Results Ch. 13 Let¿s Cause Trouble, Good Trouble, Necessary Trouble By John Passacantando Ch. 14 Policy Pathways By Christopher McGrory Klyza and David J. Sousa Ch. 15 Climate Change and the Business Challenge By Eileen Claussen Ch. 16 Taking it to the States By Barry Rabe Ch. 17 The Sound of Birds Not Singing By William Chaloupka Afterward by Jared Duval and Nathan Wyeth Ignition By BILL MCKIBBEN In mid-summer 2006, I had a feeling of despair (a strong one) and an idea (a bad one). I imagined walking from my home in central Vermont fifty miles to the state¿s main city, Burlington, and, once there, getting myself arrested on the steps of the federal building to protest Washington¿s inaction on global warming. I wasn¿t sure what good it would do, aside from make me feel a little less helpless, but that didn¿t stop me from emailing friends and neighbors, asking if they wanted to go along. Surprisingly, a good many did¿better yet, many wanted to help out. Those colleagues proved to be more astute planners than I was; it took them just a few phone calls to figure out that you really couldn¿t be arrested in Burlington, not without breaking something, which was not our style. And so we jointly evolved the idea of a march across the same fifty miles, but with a different aim: we would ask all the federal candidates in the fall election to meet us by Lake Champlain, and pledge to support strong climate legislation. Thus began a month of non-stop organizing¿most of it done by more competent people than me. Will Bates, for instance, a recent Middlebury graduate with a quiet knack for getting things done; Becca Sobel, a Greenpeace organizer who was already in the state working on global warming and now joined our efforts; Connie Leach, who at the very first coffee shop meeting said ¿I¿ll take care of the food¿ and proceeded to do just that; Steve Maier, our local state representative, who started calling his fellow politicians; Jon Isham, one of the editors of Ignition. And on and on and on. Here¿s what we learned in those weeks: Many people want to do something about climate change. Something real and large and meaningful. They¿ve already put in some compact fluorescent lightbulbs; maybe they¿ve even bought a Prius. But they realize that those are small stabs in the dark, that if we¿ve got a chance at dealing with global warming it¿s going to require quick and decisive political change. Almost everyone that we asked said either ¿Count me in¿ or ¿I¿m away on Labor Day weekend; otherwise I¿d be there.¿ They were in many cases overjoyed to be asked¿people kept thanking me over and over for giving them the ¿opportunity¿ to trudge across the late summer countryside. Which should give us a clue: the climate change movement is rich in scientists and economists and engineers; we have no shortage of answers, of analysis. But until now, we¿ve never bothered to build the movement part of the movement. There¿s been no way for people to really engage in the process of fighting for change, no way to make very deep fears and hopes public and powerful. Given that opportunity¿well, given that opportunity, three hundred people showed up on Thursday noon to start the walk. Which may not sound like so many, except that it was a work day, we were gathering in one of the state¿s smallest and most remote towns, and we were planning on going eleven miles before supper. We listened to a few talks¿most notably John Elder, one of Vermont¿s most beloved writers, who dressed as an endangered maple tree and read from Frost¿s poem ¿The Road Not Taken.¿ It was in homage to Frost that we¿d come to this small burg of Ripton¿the great poet¿s summer writing cabin was a few hundred yards from the roadside turnout where we stepped off. With his words (¿I took the one less traveled by/And that has made all t he difference¿) ringing in our ears we hit the road, a crew of real pros from Greenpeace out front to slow down traffic and keep us safe. And what do you know? Three hundred people walking two and three abreast down a winding country road turns out to be one hell of a long line. We felt buoyant from the very start, a crowd of kids and elders and moms and college students and golden retrievers on a perfect late summer morning, walking through a landscape we loved and also knew to be threatened by a warming atmosphere. By late afternoon we¿d reached Middlebury¿s town green, where more people were waiting for us¿waiting with banners and with music and with food. We had speeches, from our Middlebury College president and from a chief aide of Pat Leahy, one of our state¿s two senators. And then dinner¿a potluck pulled together by one of the local churches¿and then sleep. That was the rhythm of the next few days¿long walks (ten miles on pavement is way more tiring than ten miles on mountain trail), long conversations (with the whole day stretching out, there¿s no reason to give the short version of any story), and a steadily growing sense of optimism. We mostly hiked along the shoulder of Route 7, western Vermont¿s main north-south thoroughfare¿the left shoulder, facing traffic, which meant we could see drivers as they passed. They¿d read our signs, and by the time they were halfway down the line of marchers three quarters would be honking or waving or both. (The great danger was over-excited hybrid drivers veering wildly in their enthusiasm). It was clear that, at least on this road, climate change was not an iffy proposition or a hard sell; the reaction fit those polls showing eighty percent of Americans understanding that we have a problem (even if they might not be willing yet to march themselves, or even to countenance higher gas prices). . Every night we¿d have a wonderful meal¿a wheat farmer used a newly built cob oven to bake us pizzas by the score; an activist opened her waterfront home not only for supper but for a much-needed swim in the lake. We got used to stirring welcomes¿a rock band on the lawn of the senior center, say. And as we walked, and as our numbers grew, we began to pull in rumors that many of the politicians we wanted to hear from were actually planning to come to our final rally. Sunday morning began with a church service¿a church service so crowded that people were spilling out every door of the sanctuary, so crowded that they ran out of communion wine before everyone was served. Which didn¿t matter much, for there was a communion of song and spirit that rocked the halls. That night we bedded down at Shelburne Farms, one of Vermont¿s great institutions, a conserved farm on the shore of the lake which features, among other things, the hemisphere¿s largest wooden building, originally built to breed horses to pull cabs, but this night put to use for a dance and for talks from local businessmen, local farmers, local clergy. In the morning, a bagpiper waked camp¿by now there were 600 of us wrapping blisters and munching bagels, ready to take our cause from the small country towns into the heart of what passes for urban Vermont. As we marched by the car dealerships and strip malls, the line kept growing¿soon, more than a thousand people, with television crews and wire service photographers hustling to get their pictures. Vermont¿s a small state¿this was its largest political demonstration in many years, and as we wound through the streets of the downtown, a line too long to see from any one corner, we could feel our power. A power confirmed when we finally reached the rally site¿there, along with many supporters, were all the major candidates for federal office. Not just the obvious suspects like Bernie Sanders, our progressive congressman now seeking a Senate seat, but also the rightwing Republicans. Like Sanders¿ opponent Rich Tarrant, for instance, who for weeks had been running vile ads about immigration. Or Martha Rainville, the former commander of the state¿s National Guard, who just weeks before had declared at her first campaign press conference that she wasn¿t sure global warming was even caused by humans¿maybe it was just a natural cycle, perhaps we should do some more research. She seemed to have changed her mind. But how much? One thing we¿d decided from the start was that we didn¿t want vague declarations of concern from our politicians, nicely worded promises of shared worry and possible action. We wanted them to sign on to the legislation that our retiring Senator Jim Jeffords had offered earlier that summer¿the companion to California Congressman Henry Waxman¿s house bill, it called for 40 mile per gallon cars, 20 percent renewable energy by 2020, and 80 percent carbon reductions by 2050. Not enough to solve global warming, but by far the most ambitious law introduced in Washington so far. Not even the Democratic leadership was embracing it. But we were. We had the key points written on a huge sheet of paper, and we had the youngest marcher who¿d gone the whole distance, 13-year-old Schuyler Klein, ready with a giant Sharpie to hand to the pols as they stepped to the mike. But first¿a word from the future. Three of the nation¿s most dedicated climate activists, college students May Boeve and Jamie Henn and recent college graduate Jared Duvall (another contributor to Ignition) stepped to the mike. They¿d walked every inch of the trail, and now they asked the other young people in attendance to come join them on the stage. Toddlers toddled, high school kids sidled shyly up¿soon there were about 120 young people standing on the stage. The three leaders took turns saying pretty much the same thing: these are the people who will deal with the effects of your decisions the rest of their lives. Look them in the eyes, damn it, and then tell them you¿re not ready to take real action. After that, it was kind of spooky. One by one, the candidates came forward, took the pen, made their mark, spoke their piece. Sanders, of course, delivered big time¿he promised to a mighty roar that he¿d re-introduce the Jeffords bill on the very first day of the next Congress. Tarrant was almost as vigorous; ditto Rainville and her Democratic opponent Peter Welch. Only the incumbent governor didn¿t show¿which was his mistake, because the crowd was generous to a fault, cheering everyone no matter their party label. Cheering, but not kowtowing¿that afternoon we had the unmistakable sense that for once the political leaders were responding to our agenda, not the other way around. We let each of them speak for three minutes only; we¿d walked far enough, acquired enough moral capital, that we got to set the ground rules. It was a true Vermont town meeting, with business to accomplish, not a setpiece photo op controlled by the candidate¿s advance team. What stood out was how easy it was to get agreement from even those candidates who had never made the issue a priority. It reminded me of a political truth that¿s easy to forget: you don¿t need everyone. You don¿t even need fifty one percent. All the moaning about how ¿the average guy¿ doesn¿t really understand climate change is beside the point; five percent of the population is plenty to roll politicians, as long as that five percent is committed. As long as they¿re willing to get up and walk. We¿ve won the battle of the science, and even the battle of perception¿most Americans believe our impact on climate is a real problem. Now we¿ve got to win the political battle, the one where we¿re pitted against Exxon Mobil. They made $36 billion in profit last year, which buys plenty of politicians¿but only if there¿s no one pushing from the other side. A thousand people are enough to push back and win three votes in Congress. Sure it¿s Vermont; sure it will be harder in Texas. But it¿s worth a try anywhere¿it¿s worth more than a try. One of the small secrets was: we had fun. There was lots of music along the way¿a good reminder that most of the movements that have worked in this country have been singing movements. And lots of religion too¿I kept haranguing the pastors who showed up to march in their collars, to demonstrate that the faith community was finally understanding the centrality of these issues. But the other secret, the really crucial one, is that people get it. Twenty years ago climate change was hard to understand, obscure. Not anymore. Plenty of people, more than enough to constitute a movement, understand what¿s going on, feel it in their hearts. And plenty more, even if they lack that commitment, will wish us well. We¿ve been banging our heads against this wall for so long that we¿ve become accustomed to thinking its impossible, that the forces on the other side are just too strong. That Exxon Mobil will always carry the day. Indeed, we¿ve intimidated ourselves into not even trying¿at best we try to work out ¿partnerships¿ with industry. Which is fine and useful work, but history indicates the best partnerships happen when both sides have reason to be on board. Our job is to be noisy and joyful and footsore and clever and devoted enough to create that reason. Onward!
Library of Congress Subject Headings for this publication:
Climatic changes.
Global warming.
Environmental protection.