“Our Mother Earth Says Me Too!”
“Our Mother Earth Says Me Too!”
It was a gorgeous but disturbingly warm day in London, seven years ago. I was inviting the crowd to chant with me, as I gave the opening speech of the international rebellion, in Oxford Circus. In the two weeks after April 15th, 2019, the campaign group Extinction Rebellion forced greater attention to how rapid climate change threatens our way of life, not just that of the polar bears. The #MeToo movement was in the news at the time, with people challenging defeatist attitudes on sexual harrassment and sexual violence. Seeing violence towards the environment as arising from the same heartless habits that harm women and girls, I wanted to make the connection in my speech. I also knew that many women were taking leading roles in the new wave of civil disobedience on climate ignorance. I wanted to make the big picture of how we collectively violate the Earth to be felt as something that is also expressed in our interpersonal relations.
“Today and this week, we will have the honour of seeing mothers and grandmothers putting their bodies on the line for the defence of Life itself. For the defence of your children. So I see the women protesting today as our elders. They are here for you. They are here for me. They are here for all of us. So to our police, I say, when you lay a hand on mothers and grandmothers you will not just be doing your job. It will be your personal decision to participate today, in a process of oppressing women and their wisdom that reaches back thousands of years. An oppression that is at the root of our crisis today. All of us, including the police, can remove ourselves from that chain of destruction. We can refrain from that act of uninvited touch. So I ask you to listen to the loving call of nature in your own hearts. And you might hear that Our Mother Earth Says Me Too.”
After the speech, one of the organisers joked that “the ecofeminists probably had an orgasm.” She was referring to people who regard the same hierarchical, paternalistic and dualistic thinking that enables the domination of women as also enabling environmental destruction. A core idea of ecofeminism is that Western ideology has associated women with nature and men with culture in a way which devalues both women and nature. You’ll know the stereotypes, where body, emotion, and intuition are associated with women and mind, reason, and civilization are associated with men. Whatever the biologically or sociologically shaped tendencies within women and men on such matters, regarding some qualities associated with the masculine gender as requiring prioritisation, is a root cause of both sexism and environmental destruction. In short, ecofeminism perceives that we cannot slow down the ecological crisis without addressing gender inequality, and vice versa.
The destruction being led by toxic masculine individuals on both the world stage and in bigtech is no surprise to ecofeminists, and seems to add weight to that worldview. The awesome work of women in responding to ecological and social malaise is also a pointer towards the relevance of a gender lens on the era of ‘metacrisis’ that humanity has clearly entered. Last year, a surge in environmental leadership by women’s organisations was described by Inside Climate News. It reported on the group Amazonian Women Defenders of the Rainforest, in Ecuador. They resist oil and mineral extraction on their ancestral lands, which has brought pollution, violence, and sexual exploitation. Their tactics include organizing protests, physical forest monitoring, legal action (such as winning a landmark case at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights), reforestation projects, and building Indigenous-led businesses. There are many other examples of women’s organisations being on the front line in challenging destruction. Sadly, much of that now involves challenging the mining activities of companies that are being supported by professional ‘environmentalists’ who prioritise electrifying everything over a smart, holistic, fair and accountable green agenda: AKA most ‘environmentalists’ you and I know today (see the ‘fake green fairytale’).
As the effects of accelerating climate change kick in, many women are leading the response in communities. A new film profiles some of that women’s leadership, called ‘Emergence: women in the storm’. I recommend the trailer alone, for its gobsmackingly inspiring string of statements from women who are doing what’s best in a bad situation. It reminded me that when the Deep Adaptation movement was taking off in 2019, I wanted to draw attention to the ideas and initiatives of women on environmental and social issues, so I hosted many Q&As with women leaders. Simona Vaitkute reviewed some of the crosscutting themes from those conversations. One theme she identified was that our environmental imagination needs to move beyond technological fixes and lifestyle changes. Instead, mainstream environmental movements need to drop the “progress story” of managerial salvation. In the place of such failing hubris, we could learn more from communities who have endured oppression and loss – including Indigenous peoples and those in the Global South already suffering climate impacts. The consistent message from the women I interviewed was not to focus on anger or blame, but on healing, including the recovery from a fictional “story of separation” between the Earth, each other, and ourselves. Those women told us of a path forward that involves vulnerability, reconnecting with intuition, and a place for inclusive rituals of healing.
Those themes were important to two of my friends, who were important women leaders on environmental change and justice and passed away last year. One was Joanna Macy. After she discovered my work on Deep Adaptation, she and I chatted with some fellow travellers, online, once a month for over a year. I had used Joanna’s workshop guidance for years previously, to help people viscerally sense that we are part of a web of life, rather than atop a pyramid of domination. As the Deep Adaptation framework and networks took off, I realised her methods for how we honour and express our difficult emotions about the state of the world would be key. She reminded us that our pain is a result of our love. It was an invitation to escape the dishonest and toxic optimism that the culture of patriarchy promotes, especially in our professional relations.
I remember when I visited Joanna in her house in Berkeley that there was a wall crammed top to bottom with pictures of all her family and friends. As I looked at it, I immediately had the voice of Ram Das in my mind. A famous American spiritual teacher, associated with the New Age, he once joked that he sometimes fell back into being the lecherous Dick Alpert, and would ask a fan he fancied: “would you like to come up and see my spiritual pictures?” As I looked at Joanna’s wall of love, I thought these were her spiritual pictures. An embodied spirituality, without a separation between life and the divine, is one that does not rely on images of Gods or Gurus.
Joanna lived into her 90s, but sadly Stella Nyambura Mbau left us much younger. Previously a youth climate activist, she had become a lecturer in Kenya, and worked on the Agroforestry Regeneration Communities initiative. I enjoyed working with Stella, including presentations at COP27 in Egypt. In her quiet voice, she didn’t flinch from a damning critique of the mainstream agenda on agriculture (here and here). She helped me understand how that self-appointed expert on all things, Bill Gates, had rather dumb ideas on how to improve the resilience of farms and farming communities in the face of rapid climate change. The analysis reminded me of one most coherent voices against ‘Gatesian’ managerialist approaches to society — the ecofeminist Vandana Shiva. Over the years, I was pleased to help Stella get her views published for an international audience, even if only in the niche publication Resilience.
When discussing these issues, the term “patriarchy” comes up. I need to keep reminding myself that most people think it simply means ‘rule by men’ and that a critique of it means blaming men for all of humanity’s ills. So, the academic in me wants to pause and define terms. For me, and most people who use the term as a useful one for understanding our situation, the term ‘patriarchy’ describes a cultural system that advances characteristics and values that are regarded as masculine, subordinating those regarded as more feminine. That enables societal systems where men typically exert more power, in areas including political leadership, moral authority, social privilege, the control of property, and the value of work. These systems are produced by both men and women, although with differing agency, and can oppress people of any gender, sometimes compounding other unequal hierarchies of identity. The term ‘feminist’ is also widely misunderstood as something only describing women who focus on women’s issues, rather than referring to any of us who recognise that unequal power relations between genders goes against our core values of human dignity, freedom, and self-actualisation.
Not all women who we might recognise as ecofeminists choose that description for themselves. Any term can ‘pigeon hole’ people, as much as convene them. My own misunderstanding that feminist analysis could only be about women held me back for years from exploring the resonance between my critiques of research methodologies and those made by feminist scholars. When, far later in my career, a committee blocked my institutions’ participation in a ‘women’s leadership’ research consortium, as they regarded it as ‘off topic’ to sustainability, I was reminded that patriarchal ‘pigeon holing’ of the feminine as niche and marginal remains widespread, and with major implications for resources and attention. I mention that past experience as what’s key today is that we recognise that women leaders can be leaders for all of us, and that feminist critiques in general can be holistic agendas for all of us.
Ecofeminist inspiration for living in the metacrisis
I think ours is a moment to be bolder in exploring what ecofeminist-related philosophies could help us to see and imagine during the myriad disruptions and breakdowns ahead. Could we better respect, revere, and remunerate, the roles of caring, of nurturing in the home, of dialoguing in our neighbourhoods, and of stewarding the commons? Could we escape, through serious economic redesign, the requirement of transactional value for so much of the paid labour in our societies? Could we have confidently relaxed attitudes about gender identities so that no one feels compelled to fit into a simple binary, whether by behaviour or biological modification? Could we develop healthy masculine identities, rather than merely complain or resist the toxic forms, or swap out more men for women in senior roles? Could we even identify what we like from within the system of patriarchy, if separated from its ills?
Speaking of a bolder agenda for ecofeminism in this age of consequences, one of the founder members of Extinction Rebellion, Skeena Rathor, mentioned to me the idea of ‘rematriation’. The concept arises from the insights and demands of Indigenous women leaders, as they seek to defend or regain stewardship of their lands and space for their cultures. Some think it could become a broader agenda for modern cultures that have lost their connection to the landscapes that hold them and nourish them today. I am hopeful that by introducing ‘Regeneration’ as a 6th R into the Deep Adaptation framework for reflection and dialogue, I am better recognising the way many people are acting on their collapse awareness. I hear that they are nurturing life in various ways, through their love of life rather than belief in a theory of what might ‘save the world’. I am happy to be asking myself and others: how are we nurturing life?
What the Indigenous elders who Skeena is working with are pointing to is a deeper spiritual subjugation that has been occurring through patriarchal cultures. Over millennia, religious institutions increasingly regarded the living world as less intrinsically valuable than a separate divine entity or realm, which humans could seek to ascend to or reunite with. This deep and subtle alienation with the natural world around us, and not experiencing our own bodies as part of that wondrous nature, is a core revelation from Indigenous teachings. But it is also one revealed in some of the ancient religious texts that were rejected by the Roman Empire when codifying Christian belief. One such text, The Gospel of Mary, spoke about a spirituality centred on inner awakening, unity, and direct experience of the divine. Salvation is not achieved through external authority, doctrine, or hierarchy, but through awakening the divine presence inside oneself. A key theme is the “sacred interbeing” of all existence: all life exists “in and with each other,” reflecting a holistic, relational cosmos where divinity permeates everything. The text shows that in the earliest years of Jesus-followership, Mary Magdalene was regarded as a spiritual authority who embodied intuitive, experiential wisdom rather than institutional power. Excluding her teachings, and, later, even speculating she was a prostitute, reflects the wider pattern of religious institutions suppressing mystical experience and female authority in favour of male-dominated hierarchies.
I was so pleased to read about her ideas that I wrote and performed the Mariam Mantra. But in the process of discussing the teachings of Mary, and discovering the sub-cultures associated with her, I noticed that patriarchal habits are hard to kick, even amongst those who see themselves as liberating the feminine. For instance, there is a widespread sexualising of Mary Magdalene, where she is portrayed as both sensual and as relevant to us because of her intimacy with Jesus. But if we drop patriarchal assumptions that centre men in our understanding of the world, we can be open to possibilities such as whether she might have been a key teacher of Jesus, or that she might not have desired him intimately. Yes, even Christ could learn from someone; and not be sexually appealing to every woman! Such speculations are just as likely as any, once we drop patriarchal assumptions. And the fact they might jar with some people reflects the power of those assumptions. Without them, questions of whether they were intimate or married become very secondary.
Ecofeminist ideas can also help us to imagine and inhabit healthy masculinities within the metacrisis. To begin with, men can simply respect and value women more, as well as the qualities that have been categorised in our societies as feminine. However, a healthy masculinity can be more than that. It can retain and repurpose what we culturally associate with masculinity. What is true strength? True protection? True courage? True rationality? True merit? True authority? In a culture that learns from its mistakes, all of those qualities can be reconceived and reborn for everyone, without ‘essentialising’ them as only masculine. That would be smarter than the ideas coming from traffic-hungry pundits speaking to the economically and socially disadvantaged men in late capitalist societies. I am pleased to see a few initiatives explicitly working on this opportunity (such as Starfish Collective). Many men’s support groups embody similar thinking, even if not explicitly recognising feminist critique as having contributed to the building blocks of their approaches.
Beware the close enemies of ecofeminism
Loads of people talk about feminism and women’s leadership in relation to social and environmental problems. But that doesn’t mean they are not reproducing patriarchy and accidentally oppressing others, and aspects of themselves. Therefore, I can’t finish this essay on ecofeminism in the metacrisis without mentioning the ideas and behaviours which I have witnessed and consider to be the ‘near enemies’ of true feminism.
First, there is the patriarchal women-washing of dominant organisations and systems. Being a female leader doesn’t necessarily involve the person behaving differently to the role as it has been defined by society before them. Instead, we all know many female executives and politicians who appear to be copies of their male predecessors, whether in terms of their rhetoric or decisions. To avoid any doubt, we could label this with the rather oxymoronic term: patriarchal feminism. It is a superficial feminism, often counter productive, that does little to challenge the masculine-coded values that are considered superior in patriarchy, such as competition, forcefulness, transactionalism, reductive rationality, emotional suppression, hierarchy, and the domination of nature. Instead, it enables a select group of women to participate in wielding power within existing systems and cultures, and to strive for that power in ways that disrespect (or even damage) people in its pursuit.
Second, and related to patriarchal feminism, is when women leaders use deep patriarchal tropes to discipline our dialogue and behaviour. Eternal optimism, for instance, can be regarded as a form of emotional suppression that then invites a level of acquiescence to power. Some of the most senior women in climate science and climate politics have, for years, exhorted us to be stubbornly optimistic. Sometimes that can involve censorship. For instance, there was a period when my XR launch speech was taken offline, due to a woman executive deciding they shouldn’t platform anything so negative. The Deep Adaptation videos only survived due to the founder Stuart H. Scott pushing back (despite being preoccupied with terminal cancer at the time). It led to a split in the organisation, and the birth of Facing Future TV.
When critics of ‘collapsology’ imply, or directly claim, that it is harmful or morally deficient not to be optimistic, they are expressing the patriarchal trope of shame. It is true that the concept of shame exists across most, if not all, cultures, but is a particularly powerful means of social control in patriarchal societies. Therefore, a third expression of patriarchal feminism is the use of shame in public discourse. In particular, I have noticed the use of apparently feminist concerns to invite shame upon people that some women leaders disagree with. In my case, a number of senior women, with higher academic rank than myself, used my maleness and age as a basis to frame my response to inaccurate criticisms of my work and character as evidence of my patriarchal attitudes. That was at a time when the backlash against Deep Adaptation from the mainstream environmental professions, and the nuclear industry, had begun. The aim of some of the criticism was to encourage people to feel principled in hostility towards my character, and thereby dismiss the veracity of my analysis of the environmental predicament, as well as anyone who might agree.
Once again I noticed the patriarchal preoccupation with opportunities for shaming when a newspaper missed what was rare in the story of my interaction with Jeffrey Epstein. I never met him in person, and he didn’t fund my work, but we had phone calls and correspondence. To make amends for the limited interaction I had with him, I spoke about it publicly in 2023. I believed the survivors deserved more attention to his crimes, and that people like me, and the people who introduced us, needed to re-assess why we didn’t take these issues more seriously in the past. It was the launch of my book Breaking Together, and I explained I had learned to have less deference to power and money, and work instead at the grassroots. Nearly three years after that speech, with the release of my emails with Epstein, a local journalist reported on the matter as if I had spoken in response to forced disclosure. That meant some readers would interpret the story as being one of scandal and shame, rather than about someone having pushed for attention to the case and expressing contrition as they shared what they learned. If we can’t welcome people being open about their past limitations in not always quickly or fully standing up for what is right, then we aren’t helping a shift in culture. It would be wrong to assume that any coverage of this topic is pro-feminist. Instead, the survivors want attention to the aims and resources of the networks of power that produced the criminal behaviour by, and associated with, Epstein — and then covered it up. When coverage falls short of that, it could be part of the effort to avoid deeper accountability and change.
On the one hand, the idea that a guy has no legitimacy or contribution to make in talking about feminist issues, including some criticism of some women’s views and actions on these issues, is prejudiced and counterproductive. On the other hand, it is also true that men like me need to accept there will always be some criticism for sharing our views on these matters, and that some of it might seem unfair and arising from unresolved trauma. I have experienced that a few times in my life, and it was painful to be subjected to anger and condemnation. My initial reaction was to try to understand better and explain myself more fully. With time, I realised that if expressing themselves from a traumatic wound, there is little opportunity for understanding. We men weren’t harmed in the same ways by patriarchy, and we benefited in so many ways (that only ignorant males refuse to see). So sometimes our best contribution is to find the strength not to react. That doesn’t mean always ‘holding space’ for, what might be, trauma-driven responses. Sometimes, it can mean not responding at all. If we have been fortunate and strategic enough to surround ourselves with wise women, then they will be better suited to respond.
Sources of inspiration and what to support
I am grateful for the way the co-founders of Extinction Rebellion welcomed my work and invited my contribution to their early work. Over the years, I have kept in touch with the three women at the heart of its launch: Clare Farrell, Skeena Rathor and Gail Bradbrook. Each of them have continued to lead, beyond XR, in ways that reflect some of the many dimensions of women’s leadership in the metacrisis.
Clare Farrell is convening the Humanity Project UK, which is supporting the development of grassroots ‘assembly culture’ towards an agenda for self rule. She is also director for Absurd Intelligence, which she describes as “a thinktank for the shit show”. More recently, Clare has been seeking out the wisdom of those who specialise in spiritual life, to gain insight on “strategies of constructive resistance whilst we hurtle into breakdown” (sharing some on her Substack). Skeena Rathor has become an ‘Elder Guardian’ of a Global Movement on Indigenous Commons. They support efforts at repairing and restoring the world’s water flows, from rivers to oceans and atmospheric processes, which also include large forests. She also focuses on ways that capital flows can be redirected to repair life on Earth. Gail Bradbrook has been developing the model for community resilience in the context of system breakdown, and trialling it in her hometown of Stroud, with the moniker ‘lifehouse’. While continuing to regard reductions in carbon emissions as important, each of them has moved beyond that to work on community resilience and regeneration. Their practical and collaborative responses to “the shit show” echo the leadership in the new “women in the storm” film.
Want to discuss this?
In the next salon of the Metacrisis Initiative we will discuss women’s leadership and ecofeminism in the metacrisis. Skeena Rathor will join us. If you are a member of the initiative, look out for registration information in your inbox in a few days. Meanwhile, as members, you can share your reflections in our community chat on Telegram (if you aren’t part of that, also look out for the reminder in a few days). See you there! Warmly, Jem
