Margaret Atwood is a talented writer. And like all talented writers, her words paint vivid pictures that can sometimes feel all too real to readers. In “It’s Not Climate Change — It’s Everything Change” she turns her pen to the question of the future of humanity’s relationship with energy – especially oil. Her juxtaposition of two scenarios, ranging from catastrophic apocalypse to environmentalist utopia, is followed by a rather banal, muted description of what some people would consider more “realistic” based on our current progress.
After seeing the two extreme ends of what may come to pass, our efforts seem both hideously insufficient and terribly underwhelming. Yes, we may avoid a complete societal collapse, but it will hardly be as easy and pleasant as it appears in her “Picture One.” Optimism is good, but are we facing this issue with an appropriate amount of seriousness, realism, and urgency?
As “Picture Two” makes clear, we have little choice but to move beyond our current dependence on oil, coal, and natural gas — if not because of the climate and environmental damage they cause, then because they will someday run out. And the question that Ms. Atwood stops short of addressing in her article is: what will bring about the societal and cultural momentum necessary in order to make these changes — and which changes will (or must) be made?
In his TEDx talk “Forget climate Apocalypse. There’s hope for our warming planet,” journalist Jelmer Mommers attempts to answer at least the first part of this question. In dissecting the way that media – both fictional and factual – depicts climate change, he describes precisely the same approach that Margaret Atwood employed: attempting to frighten people into action by painting an image of catastrophic devastation, coupled with a more soothing and even hopeful picture of what may happen if we manage to achieve the impossible and collectively turn back from the precipice over which the planet currently dangles. But is this the right way to tell this story? Is it the right story in the first place? Mommers says no, on both counts:
The thing about the apocalypse is that you can’t stop it. This story… is so scary, it’s paralyzing. And psychology tells us that when people are scared, they find a way to ignore the issue. It also tells us that scared people are less creative and less prone to action. […] Millions of people are already suffering the consequences of climate change, and their suffering won’t just magically disappear at some point along with the rest of life on earth. So not only is the story of climate change as the apocalypse counterproductive, but it’s also wrong. And we need a better story. One that doesn’t make us feel hopeless and powerless and doomed.
Unfortunately, this tale of destruction and catastrophe often becomes the default way of discussing climate change. If it’s true that the current narrative isn’t working, what needs to change. Mommers claims that a message of fear is counterproductive and actually discourages action; he argues that we do not have to be afraid first in order to feel hope and purpose in the face of a challenge. But is this true? The answer, as one might expect, is unclear. A quick Google search turns up thousands of pop psychology articles about how fear is the best motivator, but real research provides more nuance.
A 2000 meta-analysis by Dr. Kim Witte and Dr. Mike Allen at Michigan State addressed this question with regard to public health campaigns. Ultimately, they found that the messaging that accompanies fear appeals is the largest determinant of whether they will be effective. And while the whole conclusion is worth replicating here, I want to highlight just one part: the more emphasis placed on an individual’s own agency and ability to respond to the threat, the more effective the fear-based approach becomes. In the words of Witte and Allen:
Strong fear appeals work only when accompanied by equally strong efficacy messages. Efficacy messages must make target populations believe they are able to perform a recommended response (i.e., strong self-efficacy perceptions) and that recommended responses work in averting or minimizing a threat (i.e., strong response efficacy perceptions). To increase perceptions of self-efficacy, practitioners should identify barriers that inhibit one’s perceived ability to perform a recommended action and directly address these in a message (i.e., skills, costs, beliefs, emotions, etc.). […] To increase perceptions of response efficacy, practitioners should clearly outline how, why, and when a recommended response eliminates or decreases the chances of experiencing the health threat.
What does this mean? How do we educate and galvanize people about climate change without making them feel as though there is nothing that they can do about it? How are journalists and creators supposed to convey the urgency and scale of the threats to the environment while also convincing people of the power of small actions — like recycling, changing one’s diet and consumption habits, or use of public transit — taken collectively? Witte and Allen say that people should know the extent to which the problem will affect them personally, with an emphasis on self-efficacy; people should know their role in the greater picture, but also understand that they can do something about the fear that they feel. Jelmer Mommers has another idea: “[The story of climate change] should be accurate; it should be human; and it should be hopeful.” And while Margaret Atwood is certainly a talented author, she may have missed the mark with her article — it is grounded in reality, certainly, but it fails to place accountability — and more importantly, agency, on the shoulders of the reader, leading to hopelessness rather than determination. In the future, we have to hope that climate fiction (or climate realism) fills us with resolve rather than despair. It is no longer enough to see the many, many ways that things are going wrong, and focus on what we can do together to make them better.
