In Terrestrial Ecotopias, Heather Alberro, Lecturer in Sustainability at the Global Development Institute, invites readers to imagine futures that break away from the fatalism of our current moment. Blending literary analysis, activist histories, and Indigenous futurism, she explores how more‑than‑human worlds might flourish beyond the confines of the ‘Capitalocene’.

To start us off, how did this book come about?

This book sprouted out of my PhD thesis, which examined radical environmental movements like Earth First!, Hambacher Forst, and earlier strains of the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society, and how their ecological worldviews and close kinship bonds with other earth beings informed their activist tactics, critiques of the status quo, and visions for sustainable futures. After discovering the diverse field of utopian studies, I started to frame such movements as examples of a particular type of ecotopianism (what I term ‘terrestrial ecotopias’ in my book) that struggles to create more harmonious and respectful socio-ecological relations in the here and now, on earth, rather than projecting such visions to distant times or places. I then realised how pervasive eco-dystopias are in popular culture (i.e. Mad Max, Snowpiercer, The Road) and academic discourses, and how much we tend to focus on what’s wrong with our fundamentally unjust and unsustainable global socioeconomic system. However, as crucial as critiques are, we also need some inkling of the kinds of worlds we wish to stive towards, otherwise we remain politically paralysed. So, I decided to write this book exploring positive visions and strivings for sustainable worlds. I also added a few new chapters beyond what I covered in my PhD, after stumbling upon and being hugely inspired by indigenous green speculative fiction.

 

What is an ‘ecotopia’? And where can we find them?

Ecotopianism involves (1) criticisms of the socio-ecological harms of industrial-capitalist, consumerist societies, and (2) strivings for more socio-ecologically sustainable worlds. Ecotopias come in many shapes, colours and sizes, as seen in social and artistic movements, literature, theoretical and academic debates, popular culture, policy, and virtually every other aspect of human (and more-than-human) endeavour. In the literary genre, (eco)utopias and dystopias are depicted as imagined societies usually displaced temporally or spatially- often, wherein you’ll have a character who serves as ‘the visitor’ experiencing the utopian (or dystopian) society from their position of unfamiliarity. This temporal and/or geographic displacement is what facilitates utopias’ and dystopias’ critical function- by placing the familiar world of the author under critical scrutiny via its juxtaposition alongside the imagined better (or nightmarish) world. This serves as an important reminder that no given ‘reality’ is ever natural nor inevitable, but always subject to change. Ecotopias can range from the more technocratic forms, or books, movements, etc. that centre technology and AI as central drivers of transformative change for sustainability, to the ‘deep green’ or more politically oriented ecotopias, which argue for fundamental changes in values, culture, political systems and power asymmetries for building more ethical human-nature relations. The sorts of ecotopias that I’m especially interested in, and which I examine in my book, are what I term ‘terrestrial ecotopias’- strivings for more sustainable worlds in the form of social movements and literary works rooted firmly on earth, and crucially, which foreground not only humans but also other earth beings as central players. Literary works in this vein include Starhawk’s The Fifth Sacred Thing, Ursula Le Guin’s Always Coming Home, and Joshua Whitehead’s Love after the end: An anthology of Two-Spirit and Indigiqueer speculative fiction.

 

Scholars play with a variety of terms to define the geological epoch through which we’re currently living. While the Anthropocene is widely popularised, many thinkers have suggested and adopted alternatives, from Donna Haraway’s ‘Chthulucene’ to Jason Moore’s ‘Capitalocene’ – a foundational term in your book. What is it about this definition that you find most elucidating?

I opted for the term ‘Capitalocene’ because its diagnosis encompasses a key systemic driver of contemporary socioecological breakdown, in my view and as shared by many of the movements and literary works that I explore in the book. That is, the current socio-ecological crisis, though complex and multifaceted, and in no way reducible only to capitalism (patriarchy, white supremacy, anthropocentrism and related systems of oppression also play a significant role), is very much fuelled by a global socioeconomic system predicated on endless expansion, exploitation and dispossession for elite profit maximisation. Rooted in colonialism, capitalism has now become a hegemonic global system whose inherent drive towards endless expansionism, privatisation and commodification not only generates a litany of social injustices but is also ecologically calamitous. Capitalism (and colonialism) is also an imaginary, powerfully influencing our desires and how we relate to the world: the earth and its inhabitants are simply ‘there for the taking’, a bottomless pit of resources to be extracted, commodified and sold to the highest bidders. Any appreciation of other earthlings’ inherent value, of focusing on being rather than having, on nurturing healthy relationships rather than amassing more wealth and power, gets sidelined. Unlike the Anthropocene, which suggests that humans as a homogenous whole are the culprits, the Capitalocene highlights that our socio-ecological woes are the result of historically specific, socially constructed systems that can be unmade.

 

You write that this Capitalocene, the world we are living in now, is not inevitable. How can we reject “capitalist realism” and imagine different ecological futures when capital’s influence over our lives feels so totalising?

Indeed! Political apathy and fatalism seem so pervasive, no doubt a hangover of the famous Thatcherite maxim that ‘there is no alternative [to neoliberal capitalism]’. But we must remember that capitalism is only around 500 years old; for the overwhelming majority of human history, thousands of diverse cultures, socioeconomic and political systems existed and continue to do so. This is why I draw so much inspiration from alternative local and indigenous traditions and social movements- they are living reminders that other worlds and ways of being are always possible. Unlearning this false sense of realism is not easy. However, a starting point is to actively engage with scholarly and speculative fiction works by BIPOC movements and academics which shatter the myth of the inevitability of capitalism. The Environmental Justice Atlas (EJAtlas) by Leah Temper, Federico Demaria and colleagues is also great platform for keeping up with the global movement of ecological distribution conflicts that are actively resisting extractive enterprises and bringing alternatives socio-ecological worlds into being.

 

A big theme in the book is the question of how we centre other‑than‑human beings in our visions of the future. Why is this important, and what does it look like in practice?

This is a crucial gap in a lot of (green) utopias that I’ve come across, as well as in mainstream debates such as ‘sustainable development’. Often, the emphasis is on safeguarding the earth and its resources largely for ensuring human But, in addition to the ethical case for considering other-than-human beings as inherently valuable beings warranting respect, there’s also the more practical argument that other animals, plants, fungi, etc. enable our existence. There is no such thing as human flourishing without safeguarding the wellbeing of our microbial symbionts who mould our physical and mental health, aquatic and terrestrial plants who produce the oxygen that we breathe, pollinators who support our food systems, etc. Flourishing is always a collective endeavour. For centuries, particularly in the West, human supremacy has dominated, the idea- with secular and religious origins- that humans are superior and separate to the rest of nature. Often nature, other animals, plants, etc. are depicted as mere objects or resources for humans to use at will. How do we begin to turn the tide? It’s a multidimensional endeavour. For instance, in the book I cite examples from indigenous ecotopian literature and ethical principles, wherein other animals and plants are often regarded as persons with whom we must interact respectfully. This involves referring to other earthlings not as an ‘it’, but as a ‘she’ or ‘they’; when hunting, care is taken to take only those animals needed for subsistence so as not to over exploit populations; it involves rethinking how we design our cities to make them more accommodating to other beings (i.e. greening facades and rooftops, expanding wildlife corridors); another example can be seen in the global movement to assign legal personhood to animals and whole ecosystems, such as rivers.

 

Your book is grounded in literary analysis. What role does literature (and other forms of cultural production) play in fomenting hope and dissent? How does it interact with climate activism?

Storytelling is crucial for offering novel perspectives that challenge mainstream narratives, the status quo and prevailing assumptions about what’s possible. Literary works are uniquely adept at depicting worlds and relationships in vivid detail, which is vital for being able to imagine alternatives worlds and ways of being. Similarly, the utopian movement Solarpunk has been instrumental in designing rich artistic illustrations depicting what ecotopias might look and feel like. However, the book also focuses on activism as another unique modality of transformative change and form of ecotopianism. From the suffragettes to anti-apartheid, civil rights movements, Fridays for Future and Extinction Rebellion, social movements are the lifeblood of transformative change, whose popular discontent puts needed pressure on established political systems. Importantly, literature and social movements are not separate entities, but often influence one another. For instance, during my research with Earth First! activists, some cited Ernst Callenbach’s seminal work Ecotopia as an inspiration for their ideas and mobilisations. I see the radical movements and literary works discussed in the book as different manifestations of ecotopianism performing distinct yet often complimentary functions.

 

Utopian forms of thinking have long been subject to allegations of idealism or impracticality. What do you find generative or useful about utopianism?

Many critiques which tend to dismiss utopianism as unrealistic tend to come from conservative figures and discourses intent on proclaiming the current ‘reality’ of western/neoliberal capitalism as the only possibility. As discussed above, ‘reality’ has always been pluralistic, and systems like colonialism, capitalism, patriarchy, etc. are far from natural or inevitable, but socially constructed. Like with ecotopias, utopias come in many forms. There indeed have been some utopias, like Plato’s Republic and Soviet-style communism, that attempted to implement a fixed, top-down blueprint of an ideal society to the detriment of the many. This is why when assessing a utopian vision or proposition, one must always ask: utopian for whom? Who might be excluded from this vision? However, many contemporary understandings of utopianism, such as the ones explored in the book, approach utopianism not as a place or fixed end state, but as a process of ceaselessly striving against injustice and oppression, and for better, more liberated and equal worlds. There is no perfect world to be had, but there are better worlds and worse worlds from the standpoint of social and environmental justice. Utopianism also reminds us that another world is always possible, but never guaranteed- what kind of world we bring into being, whether it’s a utopia or dystopia, depends on our actions today and every day. This is what makes utopianism so powerful, and so essential for transformative social change.

 

What role do Indigenous epistemologies have to play in countering the Capitalocene? How can those of us embedded in Western institutions approach Indigenous thought in an ethical and productive way?

Engaging with alternative, activist, indigenous, etc. worldviews and epistemologies is essential for decentring Western-capitalist and Eurocentric perspectives. Other ways of thinking and being remind us of the pluriverse of possibilities that constitute our shared earthly existence. For instance, social and ethical systems based on reciprocity, respect and care for the natural world, common rather than private management of resources, and socioeconomic systems based on balanced subsistence rather than endless growth and accumulation have been the norm for many cultures. However, the mode of engagement matters. It’s crucial to do our best to avoid replicating ‘epistemic extractivism’, or appropriating local and indigenous ideas and practices as our own and subsuming them into Western knowledge systems, without meaningfully acknowledging the original knowledge-producers or their contexts and attendant struggles. Coming from a standpoint of humility, respectful curiosity and allyship, engaging with alternative ideas, movements and works as distinct yet equally valid ways of knowing and being in the world, is a good place to start from. And remembering that knowledge is always situated and partial.

 

You talk about “great refusals” within ecotopian social movements. Could you explain what this means? How can these refusals become ways of building new worlds rather than just pushing back against the old ones?

The ‘great refusal’ is a concept by utopian critical theorist Herbert Marcuse in reference to the function and power of social movements. I draw on this concept in the book to refer to social movements, and ecotopias more widely, as ‘refusals’ of the hegemonic status quo which masquerades itself as natural and inevitable. By refusing the globalised, (neo)colonial-capitalist order, ecotopian movements are also annunciating alternative worlds and ways of being in the form of post-anthropocentric values, intentional communities (i.e. eco-villages, housing coops), pushing for more progressive social and environmental policies, and building intersectional alliances with other radical movements around the globe.

 

You describe hope as something active rather than passive. What forms of hope feel most significant right now, and where/how do you see them taking shape in the world around us?

Perhaps my favourite definition of active or ‘concrete’ hope in Ernst Bloch’s terms is Rebecca Solnit’s in her poignant work, Hope in the dark: Untold histories, wild possibilities (originally recommended to me by one of my Earth First! research participants!):

Hope is…”an axe you break down doors with in an emergency; because hope should shove you out the door, because it will take everything you have to steer the future away from endless war, from the annihilation of the earth’s treasures and the grinding down of poor and marginal. Hope just means another world might be possible, not promised” (2016, p. 4).

Crucially, hope is the opposite of blind optimism, because the latter, by assuming the inevitability of a particular outcome, extinguishes the grounds of possibility that are essential for hope to flourish. Hope is only possible when we don’t know what will happen, so we actively fight to bring about the outcome or world we desire. I see this sort of hope in action everywhere. For instance, in the global network of ecological distribution conflicts chronicled by the EJ Atlas (over 4,500 cases and counting!), in the multi-tribe alliances across the Amazon daily keeping extractive industries at bay, in the youth-led Fridays for Future movement refusing elder generations’ inaction on climate change. Hope is also alive in HE spaces wherein staff and students insist on embedding climate justice into their curricula. These manifestations of hope are what ensure that we don’t fully descend into a dystopian hellscape of endless war, racial and xenophobic hatred, misogynistic violence and ecological annihilation.

Top image by Anna Kharkivska on Unsplash

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