My Time At Burning Man, And Trying To Change
Transformation isn't always easy, or linear
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I spent August 24 through September 3 at Burning Man with my husband. Over the last 20 years I’ve participated in the festival nine times, and I’ve been a journalist that entire time, yet I’ve never written about it publicly before.Â
When I was a young, ambitious woman struggling to be taken seriously, I didn’t want to be stereotyped as an irresponsible partier. Later, as I covered parenting-related topics, I worried about mom-shaming (I’ve never taken my kids to the event; no shade on those who do).
And most recently, I’m embarassed to say, I wanted to avoid being climate-shamed for my choice to fly across the country, drop major cash at Reno’s Super Wal-Mart and join a temporary city that is powered by a little bit of solar and bicycles, and a lot of diesel and propane.
But you know what? Screw it. I’ll be 43 in a few days. I’m old enough to own my choices, face criticisms, and address the complexities that come with them.
And Burning Man had a major climate experience last week that is worth taking a closer look at.
Visit From Blockadia
On Monday, climate protesters blockaded the road to the event. I got a heads up about this protest, and even gave advice on it, because I'm a supporter of a group that funds the protesters. They demanded that Burning Man ban private jets and single-use plastics, and limit generator and propane use.
I support all these demands. So does Burning Man itself, allegedly. Their Sustainability Roadmap calls for the festival to become regenerative and carbon-negative by 2030 and to handle all waste through recycling and compost. That’s just 7 years away.
Burning Man’s envisioned path to sustainability is exciting; it involves people using the week in the desert as a living laboratory for zero-waste and clean energy, and getting in better relationship with local tribes and their traditional stewardship of the land. The festival’s been installing solar in the area since 2007 through an affiliated nonprofit.
My experience with my camp of about 55 people has been on this path as well. Since 2017, thanks to some talented engineers and other skilled folks who volunteer their time, we have gradually added solar to our power mix including on our art car, joined the festival’s compost program, acted to reduce use of air conditioners, and cut our trash significantly from a few years ago.
Yet, Burning Man is not really on track toward its goals—just like the world is not on track to meet its stated climate goals, just like I am not where I want to be with regard to my own carbon footprint.
On Thursday, I gave a little talk at a camp called Earth Guardians, which tries to advance environmental values during the event. I talked about climate emotions, based on the work I've been doing lately and writing about here. I may share more from that talk in a future post.
On Friday, it started raining, which you probably heard a little bit about. I have been interviewing people for an upcoming article about their experiences in the mud, and they very much line up with what the brilliant sociologist Zeynep Tufekci wrote about in her column on the subject.
On the whole, people were exhilarated by the confrontation with the elements, and the opportunity to come together in community and help each other. A few people panicked; many embraced the moment and had fun. We conserved and shared our food, fuel, and water. Like I told the Washington Post, this was a teachable moment; a trial run for a climate disaster on the easiest possible setting, a learning experience I and others are likely to draw on in years to come. Maybe even before this year’s hurricane season is over.
Does all that mean the festival is worth the carbon expenditure, which comes primarily from people flying to the event? Not necessarily, no.
Hila The Earth, my favorite viral climate rapper, spent time at my camp last year; she dropped this critique of the festival this year, and she’s not wrong at all, even though it makes me uncomfortable to say so. Her commentary also encompasses its own contradiction: She largely credits the festival with her own ecological awakening just a few years ago, but now feels it’s crossed a line and does more harm than good.
For me, I feel like I’ve gotten what I needed from the festival for now, and I want to practice living a little lighter in the days and years to come. But I also know that people aren’t going to stop going to the desert just because I quit, and I don’t want to give up the voice that I have to make the Burn, or any other activities my community engages in, do better.
If you hate the idea of Burning Man, think about something that you love doing that is optional and recreational, cultural, ritual, maybe even spiritual, that might involve flying or otherwise using resources. And ask yourself these questions that I’m sitting with now.
What does it take for people to live up to our professed values and our actual commitments?
When we say it’s a climate emergency, is it the moment in human history to scale back or stop doing things? Or redouble our efforts to do things better? And when do we decide which one to do? Or do we wait for extreme weather to make the choice for us?
Focus on progress, not perfection? Or first, do no harm?
Can we afford any more learning experiences?
What is the proper carbon budget for spiritual transformation, ritual, tradition, or joy itself?
Some Links
Agree with Zoya Teirstein that Burning Man’s largest sin against the climate might be its NIMBYism over clean energy.
Schools need upgrades for extreme heat; my latest Hechinger column
What do climate scientists tell their kids about the future?
What In And Out Burger can tell us about climate change
This pipeline protestor is facing jail time; more on the alarming criminalization of environmental protest.
More Resources
Thanks to all who responded to last week’s newsletter with more resources and ideas! Keep ‘em coming!
Check out:
Wake Up World, A Curriculum on the Climate Crisis for Faith and Community Groups
Science Moms - a source for facts and actions
The Planet Stewards Book Club, a good old-fashioned online, free study group
kidsfightclimatechange.org for New Yorkers
Thinking of Burning Man as a festival, you’re predisposing yourself to the conclusion that the ketamine snoots and house music juice aren’t worth the fossil fuel squeeze. But Burning Man isn’t a party, it’s a sociological container that teaches an experiential lesson. And it does so in a really unique way that has been proven time and again.
In my opinion, complaining about the carbon emissions from Burning Man is like complaining about the carbon emissions from a solar, wind, and geothermal renewable energy research institute while we have no alternative sources of fuel. We can’t shut down the institutions that sharpen the saw that’s going to get us out of this just because all large scale human activity has an ecological footprint.
Burning Man provides way more value to modern society by getting intelligent people to think about how they relate to and participate in it than it destroys via carbon emissions. And the positive effect generated by helping participants understand the parameters of sociological structures in which they operate also extends far beyond the ecological.