Pat Taub
GUEST POST by JANET WEIL
I was not in a good mood as my husband John and I exited the LA Metro station for the Extinction Rebellion rally. An hour and a half on the terrifying freeways driving west from Palm Springs, followed by nearly an hour on the crowded, noisy Metro from Azusa to downtown Los Angeles, may illustrate some of the reasons to join the climate justice movement, but the trip made for a pretty unpleasant morning.
Youthful gathering for launch of Extinction Rebellion in Los Angeles
My heart sank as I sized up the mostly youthful crowd on the steps of Pershing Square. Maybe 60 in all, with a man basically mumbling into the bullhorn. Three banner holders spread the message ‘CLIMATE EMERGENCY’ across the sidewalk. A couple of other folks passed out chant sheets and info flyers from the Extinction Rebellion (or XR) website: https://rebellion.earth/resources/
A couple of pro photographers roamed the space, but no reporters with mic or notebook were there to cover the event. I took a few photos and declined to help pass out flyers, barking out “I’m tweeting!”. Grumpy Old Gal – on the scene. John held one of our handmade signs: “Free Banana Bread.”
Since November 2018, I’ve been avidly following the UK-initiated movement, which has arisen out of the stalemate of inaction on the climate crisis by the UN, individual nations, and corporations.
Three demands anchor the peaceful yet militant XR – truth-telling by governments and media about the climate crisis; reduction of carbon emissions to net zero by 2025; and a national Citizens’ Assembly to oversee the transformation of society and economy. A tall order indeed!
Blocking an intersection in downtown LA
The international movement seeks to name and create a “rebellion” against near-term human (and other species’) extinction. Scientists in the recent Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report warned the world of disaster, as greenhouse gas emissions continue to rise.
The next 12 years are crucial. Already with a rise of “only” about 1 degree C, California has staggered through years of unprecedented drought, huge rainstorms and fatal mudslides, and the worst wildfires in history. Glamorous Malibu was devastated only a couple of months ago. The LA march was one of several US Extinction Rebellion actions on January 26th, in the very epicenter of car culture and capitalism.
The huge hard question we need to face
As we XRLA folks took to the streets, blocking the intersections for a few minutes, I alternated chanting (“Whose planet? Our planet! What kind of planet? A green planet!” among others) and taking photos.
I was amazed at the patience of motorists stopped by our “swarming” in the intersections; the only honks I heard were friendly ones. People opened their windows and took flyers. The few pedestrians we passed were either friendly or neutral. Two teen boys on skateboards bent their heads over the flyer, then turned and joined us.
Extinction Rebellion flyer handed out mostly to motorists stopped at intersections
Two young indigenous men proudly carried the flag of the American Indian Movement, and two elders wore their AIM jackets. A few folks carried the iconic prop of this new movement, a black casket symbolizing the horror of planetary death. One of the organizers had a British accent, and I wondered if he had recently come from London to jump-start the US movement. John and I were among the very few elders, and I was increasingly glad that we had made the long slog to show up.
Strong indigenous presence at XR (Extinction Rebellion), LA
The appeal of the climate justice movement to young(er) people who will live through decades of consequences of global climate change is obvious.
For me as a woman in late middle age, facing the prospect of my old age made grimmer by ever-worsening conditions on our only home planet, I am taking action out of feelings of solidarity and compassion for other humans, and gratitude for our vulnerable natural world.
The author, thinking ahead, feeling grim
As John and I peeled off near the end of the march, he passed out banana bread to two homeless men, and I paused to watch children dabbling their feet and hands in the cool fountain in Grand Park. On a day in late January, the temperature was 77 degrees F – nine degrees above LA’s historical average.
