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Commentaries, otherwise unpublished

Buy a book, save the planet

       In November, 1997 negotiations over the Kyoto Protocol to the U.N. Framework Convention on Climate Change, which aspires to regulate the production of greenhouse gases, stalled when Europeans and Americans failed to agree on what might count as a carbon sink.  Americans wanted to tally carbon stored in crops, soils, and woods, while Europeans refused to let Americans continue to belch out as much carbon as they could combust if only they could connive enough biotic blotters to sponge up the mess.  They wanted Americans to get out of their damn cars or at least pay the same exorbitant prices for gasoline that Europeans have to. 

      So the talks broke down.  Americans went back to their multi-car garages and revved up their SUVs.  Europeans retired to their smug condescension over ill-disciplined Americans with their tendency to identify culture with extended-cab F150 pickups and all-terrain tires.  One can almost see the French intelligentsia sniffing over their sagging volumes of fusty Foucault and dreary Derrida.

      There may, however, be a solution.  The moribund American publishing industry should turn seriously green, and not with envy.  Paper is almost half carbon.  Books are carbon bullion.  Bookstores and libraries are carbon sequestration banks.  Published books - the bigger the better - may be the missing carbon sinks the U.S. seeks.  The more books we buy, the more miles we can drive.  That's a formula that should set publishing's tachometer racing.  Buy a book, save the planet.

      Do the numbers.  Approximately 45% of modern paper is carbon.  A book weighing a kilo holds 450 grams of carbon.  A back-of-the-envelope calculation (actually a pile-on-the-bathroom-scale reckoning) of my own humble oeuvre (12 books, more or less) weighs 10 kilos.  This may not seem like much - I harvest a heavier bucket of citrus every morning to make juice - but everyone can stockpile books, even in Maine and Iowa where lemons are more often found on used car lots.  If a modest 100,000 people bought my entire list, America would have proudly amassed a million kilos of processed carbon, roughly what the residents of Phoenix release every morning from gasoline just to get to work.  That trees are minced to make paper is irrelevant; or rather, the whole point.  The trees grow back.  The books stay.

      It's a virtuous circle.  The more books the public buys, the more robust the publishing industry.  The more vigorous publishing becomes, the more people will be enticed to write, and the more they will make from it.  A proper government would promulgate policies to encourage such a process.  A proper government would enact carbon tax credits for those who buy the goods, and dole out carbon subsidies to those who produce them.  Houses would then swell with shelving and groan under the weight of collected works.  Book superstores would sprout like mushrooms.  Libraries would proliferate like Circle Ks.  Publishing's chronic lament that it is economically marginal would vanish overnight.  The energy industry would buy up publishers to complement its existing distribution networks.  Gas stations would include self-serve, buy-at-the-pump paperback dispensaries.  Like a ringed benzene molecule, an industry would close the cycle of carbon spewed out and carbon sopped up.

      The real beauty of the scheme, however, is that no one actually has to read the books.  In fact, there is a case for leaving them in their shrink-wrapped cellophane (which adds its own, admittedly infinitesimal, carbon increment).  Here is an opportunity for deep(-time) discounting.  Sure, the Europeans will squeal, but they can hardly object to America's amassing of both carbon and culture.  After all, the French have managed to make their own "cultural" creations exempt from World Trade Organization rules.  Even they can't bare-facedly denounce a massive expansion of American book publishing as harmful to either trade or ecology.  If enough people bought it, for example, Al Gore's Earth in the Balance might be itself a practical solution to the problems he expounds.  In France's case, more books bought and fewer seriously read might actually help the world get on with its business. 

      The open road and the unopened book - it's America.  We can fill up our tanks with all the gasoline we want, so long as we fill up the trunks with books.  Let the Kyoto negotiations begin anew. 

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Burning bush, burning Earth

      Australia is a fire continent.  Imagine California on the scale of the 48 contiguous states, but drier, more routinely kindled, and with winds that can transform the southeastern quadrant into a veritable fire flume.  From time to time, more often than most places, its simmering fires boil over into seeming tsunamis of flame.  It even boasts, in eagles and hawks, the only other species outside of humanity known to carry a firebrand.

      What makes Australia a firepower, however, is that it has a culture to match.  It has institutions to study, fight, and light fire.  It has a literature of fire, a folklore of fire, and a fire art that is continuous from Aboriginal bark paintings to modernist musings.  It has special bushfire collections at the National Museum of Australia and Museums Victoria.  It has a fire politics; on three occasions conflagrations have sparked royal commissions, and from 2009-2017, 51 official inquiries. 

      Bushfires have never been far from Australian consciousness because flame and smoke are never far from quotidian life, whether Outback stations or the city-states that demark European settlement.  That so much of Australia's firefighting capacity depends on volunteer brigades keeps the social connection especially close.  Other countries, other continents, have abundant fire, a few have a fire science, and some display patches of fire art.  Hardly a handful have them all, and perhaps none in anything with the range and cultural depth of Australia.

      With European settlement the worst fires acquired names and became historical milestones.  Red Tuesday (1898), Ash Wednesday (1983), and Black everything else.  The Black Saturday holocaust of 2009 completed that calendar.  It was not enough: there are scores of others, some nationally significant, many of regional memory, from the Dwellingup fires (1961) and the Black Christmas fires (2001) to the Alpine fires (2003) and now the yet-unnamed megafires of 2019-2020.  Call them the Forever fires, for they seem inextinguishable, burning with implacable insistence and smoke palls that extend their reach far beyond the flames' grasp.


      Australia and bushfire are old acquaintances.  But the past 20 years feel different.  The bad fires are more frequent, more eruptive, and more damaging.  The Black Saturday fires struck with the cultural force of a terrorist attack that seemed to question the very premises of a first-world society on a land capable of such fury.  The Forever bushfires deepen that query.  Those two events are geodetic markers by which to triangulate the future of Australian fire.

      But there are two other fires that provide a wider panorama.  One is overt, the fires that burn living landscapes, the bush.  The other fire is covert because it burns lithic landscapes.  These are once-living, now-fossilized biomass like coal and gas that we combust to power our industrial economies. 

      Those two fire realms are interacting in ways that are proving ever more entwined and threatening.  That so many of the Black Saturday (and California) fires started from powerlines is an apt metaphor for the way the two realms of fire can interact.  The knock-on effects are not restricted to global warming or ocean acidification.  They affect how people organize landscapes – their agriculture, nature reserves, transportation grids - all aspects of geography that influence the character of bushfires. 

      Initially, the two fires compete, as industrial societies try to abolish fire in the bush as they do in the built environment.  Sixty years ago, as the consequences of that experiment became apparent, American critics forecast a ruinous fire future and inspired a revolution in federal fire policy to restore good fire and so dampen bad ones.  This was underway before climate change acted as a performance enhancer.  The pervasive effects of a fossil-fuel economy were enough.  Now, it's payback time.  Instead of competing, the two fires are colluding.  We have been burning our combustion candle at both ends.

      Australia's predisposition to fire makes it an early flash point for what we might aptly term the Pyrocene.  But many of the same phenomena are appearing in America – unstoppable fires, fire deaths and fire refugees, smoked-in and incinerated cities, damaged watersheds and postburn floods, economic crunches from lost tourism, bankrupt utilities, and snakebit insurance companies.  Wildfires moving from exurban fringes to city cores.  Extended states of emergency.  Prolonged and painful cleanups.  Political anger. 

      Those locales that have a history of fire will exhibit the most flame, but the combustion miasma will seep into sites seemingly immune.  Paradoxically, places like California long frequented by fire are better prepared to cope with the coming crises.  Those like Gatlinburg, Tennessee not accustomed to conflagrations lack institutions and infrastructure and will struggle. 

      Even if fossil fuels ceased overnight, greenhouse gases will take a good while to work their way out of the atmosphere, so the climatic effects will linger.  This puts the immediate focus on coping with landscape fires.  There is plenty to do – harden communities, get more good fire into the countryside, design to accept that landscape fire is not a freak apparition from the fringe but an informing fact of modern life.  Wild, feral, or prescribed, there is much more fire to come.  Another paradox – we can expect a lot in the coming years – is that the more we stop burning lithic landscapes the more we will need to burn living ones. 

      These are the two fires that are triangulating the deep drivers of combustion not just for Australia but for the Earth.  Add the impacts together and it would appear that we are creating the fire equivalent of an ice age.  The Forever fires will stop at the Pacific shores.  The Pyrocene will persist long into the future.

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Craig C. Chandler, a remembrance

Craig C. Chandler, a personal observation

We first met in late 1977 at his office in Rosslyn when he was director of Forest Fire and Atmospheric Science Research for the U.S. Forest Service. I wasn’t sure what to expect. We chatted freely and when I left I was better informed, except  Read More 
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The Big Blowout - a 30-year retrospective on the 1988 Yellowstone fires. An extract from To the Last Smoke, Vol. 3, The Northern Rockies

Everyone agreed at the time that the fires of 1988 were a monumental event, not only for the Northern Rockies but for the nation; and that judgment has persisted. For years afterward the big burns were the pivot of conferences, training sessions, scientific studies, and fire cache chatter. Twenty years later they merited a retrospective  Read More 
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California split - fire careers, north and south

Fire lighting and fire fighting - two tasks that should be joined but rarely are. Careers veer into one or the other. Like so much of the California fire scene, they tend to divide north and south. Those who began by quenching fire, if they drift into the right niches of the north, might  Read More 
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When Johnny Cash walked out of a burning ring of fire

Sometimes culture and fire collude, sometimes they clash, and sometimes they just collide. When celebrities are involved, an episode can become a curious cipher on American fire, and when those celebrities are Johnny Cash and California condors, the event can transcend the quirky into the just plain bizarre. Of course it happened in Southern  Read More 
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NASA vs. NARA: taking the measure of the two cultures

Taking the measure of the two cultures

The two cultures may share topics, problems, and occasionally the same cranium, but they rarely mix. When it comes to practice, my usual index is simple. The sciences deal with figures, and the humanities, with figures of speech. Numbers act on the marketplace of ideas as monetizing  Read More 
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Words on fire

Words, texts, language - these are normally considered the stuff of the humanities. But words, good, bad, and ugly, saturate fire management. They have consequences. We ought to understand them better

Words matter. They matter in themselves, because their use reflects choice and imparts information. They matter because they contain analogies  Read More 
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Buzz Off

A reflection on Buzz Aldrin on the occasion of MIT+150 seminar on the future of exploration.

It was a symposium dedicated to the future but it kept getting hijacked by the past. MIT+150 “The Future of Exploration” was part of the university’s sesquicentennial, a celebration of previous accomplishments that, it was asserted, would be surpassed by the dazzling achievements to come. But every time Buzz Aldrin entered the room all eyes turned to him. Read More 
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"Science supplies the solution"

It was an auspicious entry to an august setting amid desperate times.

The National Academy of Sciences had been established in 1863, amidst the American Civil War, to bring scientific advice to the federal government. Its imposing building sits on the Constitution Avenue, facing the Mall. Its logo features a torch. Its Great Hall spills into the auditorium beneath a mural that depicts Prometheus carrying flame heavenward. For fire folk tasked with discussing the future of wildland fire science at a time when fires were hollowing out the U.S. Forest Service, it couldn't get more distinguished.

The Workshop on a Century of Wildland Fire Research, hosted by the Academy on 27 March 2017, gathered many of the best minds in the field. Read More 

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