Arlene Grace D. Nagtalon As the Climate Justice Action and Resilience Scholars (CJARS) Program ends it’s second year, I’ve quickly come to realize how necessary these two courses are; not just for students to broaden their knowledge as climate justice advocates, but because it’s a transformative experience unlike any other that a typical student would find at UCSD. Sure, two six-unit courses taken consecutively from winter to spring quarters might sound like an additional stressor to any other student’s course load, but these classes are hefty for a reason. The added reflections, class outings, and days spent brainstorming to host not just one, but two, Climate Justice and Resilience Fests on campus and at the Ocean View Growing Grounds give these courses a reputation for being anything but your ordinary class.
Coming from the perspective of a Molecular and Cell Biology major, I knew that being part of CJARS was a huge risk. Unlike a majority of my peers, I didn’t know anyone upon first stepping foot into the Climate Action Lab since most people in this program were either Anthropology, Urban Studies and Planning majors, or some other type of social studies discipline. I believe that the only other biology major in the room was one of my UGIAs (Undergraduate Instructional Assistants) Kyra Black, a marine biology major but they and every other person in the room, regardless of their major, brought valuable insights and perspectives from many different walks of life. And from the moment I got accustomed to my Nate and Cassi, two friends and anthropology majors that I’ve made in class who I often shared rides with to outings, I realized how accepting they and everyone else in the class were. Even if we all studied a plethora of majors and minors, each of us shared a love for the environment, the Earth, and communities around us that have helped to sustain the world as it's sustained us since the beginning of time. Classes held once a week each Friday from 9-11:50 AM were nearly structured the same, where we began with a check-in and group meditation, participated in a lecturette or listened to a guest speaker, then dove into our reading discussions with book club-like talks and questions about what we read. Personally, I enjoyed body scans and check-ins the best since I felt validated for the crazy emotions I felt in the best and worst of times, and during each body scan I took part in, I discovered a new ache, soreness, and pain that I simply brushed aside to worry about later. As a recovering perfectionist, commuter student, workaholic, and slave to the quarter system, I’m too often surrounded by influences telling me to never stop working, or else I’d fall behind in comparison to my friends who continued to be productive until they reached their limits. With CJARS, the Climate Action Lab became my solace away from all of that. I’ve cried more than once being in this class as I reflected on personal issues and struggles, but that should be a testament to the brave space we foster together by continuing to be our genuine selves by embracing vulnerability together. And especially as a STEM major, it’s the survival of the fittest out there in each lecture hall I sit in. I’ll admit, it feels like I’m wasting away competing with my peers to always get the best grades and stay on top of everything since my professors feel like they don’t care about how I’m doing outside of the classroom. With CJARS, I know that these people care. Dr. Lewis cares. And if there’s anything I can proudly take away from this program, it’s that the care for ourselves directly correlates to the care we provide to our communities and to our environment. Not to mention that the outings to gems and hidden treasures of farms and community gardens have made me appreciate my love of San Diego a lot more and made me proud to call this place my home. My complaints for San Diego have stopped once I took the time to realize and reflect on just how beautiful the sunsets, oceans, trees, and scenery truly are, especially those who’ve taken care of Mother Earth centuries ago before my time. Long story short, CJARS means a lot to me. Not only do I have a greater appreciation for anthropology and the social sciences, but for the Earth around me. As a social, mental, and environmental advocate, I’ve become more cognizant of making sure that my own cup is full before I go out and trying to pour what is left empty in my local communities. And no matter what door I step in, my experiences and emotions are always valid, and we each should have a say at the table. CJARS listens, CJARS cares, and CJARS loves, which is a lot more than you’d receive from your typical STEM course offered at UCSD.
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Anna Zhou The Climate Justice, Action, and Resilience Scholars Program is truly a life-changing experience. The sense of community that is found within this program is unlike any other because everyone is connected through their passion for climate change, but your classmates come from a variety of backgrounds. People also join this program with a diverse set of knowledge concerning climate change, whether it is one from a scientific, social, or legal standpoint. The diverse backgrounds that everyone brings to the program creates very enriching conversations. Additionally, having conversations surrounding climate change gives strength to all of us because we realize that we are not the only ones concerned about the environment. Those conversations also give us the courage to speak more upon climate change with our friends and family because we learn how to navigate discussions about the environment.
One of the highlights of this program is that it is not purely theory-based. It’s not just lectures and readings, but also going out into the community to do field research on how the locals combat climate change. You learn about the power that the local communities have and how there are a multitude of methods in fighting climate change; from providing a local garden for people to grow their own vegetation, to educating children about the importance of the environment, many local communities in San Diego are also just as passionate about climate change. The readings are also atypical from the textbooks one would find in a regular class. Instead of rambling on about the importance of climate change and its severity, many of the readings are based on Indigenous culture and their stories. Since Indigenous culture deeply respects and is heavily tied with nature, their lifestyle is much more sustainable. The values of Indigenous culture creates a symbiotic relationship between humans and nature, unlike our current society that only focuses on consumerism and depletes all of nature’s resources. The Indigenous stories that are told in our readings opens a new perspective on how one should view nature. The commitment and passion that both your classmates and locals have is so empowering and inspirational. It fueled me with a drive to accomplish the goals that I never thought I could reach. The support and companionship I received from this program will always live in my heart, and I hope that our future scholars will also feel the same. Gabriel Malat del Valle Allison and I aimed to do our capstone project on resilience in Barrio Logan but the community and the conversations we had there pushed us in a different direction. We ended up focusing on art, specifically the murals below the Coronado Bridge, as a means of seizing history and future by demanding the completion of ancient prophecies. Chicano Park became a center of the people’s ancestral claim on the land: the murals ripple across mountains, deserts, and time when the entire western United States is painted red as Aztlán.
But we did learn a lot about resilience in the process. It didn’t take long for us to realize that muralist Mario Torero didn’t want to talk about resilience, at least not explicitly. Resilience is an Institution (big “I" to recognize its power) word, a university word, a research word that doesn’t lightly stand in for its signification. There was obviously a huge disconnect between the word resilience and what was meant by it. We were two UCSD-affiliated people curious about resilience in Barrio Logan, and the Institution theorizes the community in a manner that expects resilience just as it tries to celebrate it. A celebration of resilience, while highlighting amazing aspects of community, is also a reminder that the community needs to be resilient and a subsequent imposition of that expectation. But resilience can be just as tiring as being expected to be resilient. After all, the point of resilience is to get to a place where it’s no longer necessary. Resilience is not a choice, it is an obligation. Resilience is not a conversation, not the synthesis of a rational discussion, it is an impulse, it just is. And so it is not but a word that floats and skips around in the sky of discourse and never really settles on the ground. Mario Torero would tell long stories of his murals and his life and then look to his artist friend that had been listening in to our conversation and say “they want to interview me about resilience.” He was playing games around us. He refused the word constantly and our imposing questions never managed to wiggle it into one of his responses. This is all to say that resilience undermines Barrio Logan and the story of Chicano Parque; honoring and following Mario, we refused to use it to understand Chicano Park history and prophecy in our capstone project. What we can learn from Barrio Logan and the failure of “resilience” there is just that: climate resilience falls short because it practically closes itself off from and is refused by communities that have been resisting all along. Climate resilience presents itself as new; life, on the other hand, which this is all about, is more than ancestral. We need to form an understanding of resilience that is radically disconnected from the newness of climate change and necessarily de-centralized from the word. It’s undeniable that as it is, the discourse of climate change is just as closed off to BIPOC communities as resilience is; these fields of “resistance” are both exceptionally white, progressive, and only re-invoke colonial structures. When I tried to present this in front of the class, I had to rush through the reading and was tripped up by time, so I wanted to take this blog as an opportunity to slowly make sure I could say what I wanted to say. I didn’t have time, for example, to finish my statement with the reminder that if climate change discourse weren’t as closed off to BIPOC communities, conversations like this one would either be far more frequent or a little unnecessary. It was basically our first time all year having a similar conversation so I was hoping to make people uncomfortable, uneasy, or at least extra-reflective. I was disappointed when there seemed to be no such effect and was sure I hadn’t been clear enough. Climate change brings with it a new universality. It’s a threat and a reality that affects or will affect everybody, supposedly meaning that everybody can be involved in resisting it. But by opening up a space for the colonial power–simply, for white power–to join movements of resistance, the “universality” of climate change brings the weight of colonial structures into its forms of resistance. The imposition, expectation, and co-optation of resilience is one such form. If the discourse of climate change is closed off to BIPOC communities as resilience is, only re-invoking colonial structures, the only way to gather what we try to mean by climate resilience (not the word but the ancestral action) into the Institution is with the most material means. Only when BIPOC communities control the Institution and the macroscopic social structure will the violent gap between life and resilience be bridged. On that day it would be no surprise were the prophecy to echo in the land and call for the Institution to count its days. Gabriella Salvador My grandmother has woven some of the most important lessons throughout my life. Growing up, my Abuelita would always say to me “Gracias a Dios que tenemos de comer” and remind me to not waste food. She was showing me the importance of gratitude, even though I didn’t see it this way when I was younger.
My Abuelita grew up in a small town called Solaga in the mountains of Oaxaca, where they grew beans and corn. After generations, the people have found ways to eat these foods in all of their yummy forms, like tortillas, memelas, and tamales de frijol but my favorite is sopa de frijol con granos de elote. Each time we have sopa de frijol negro at home, Abuelita says “Así comíamos en mi tierra”, which makes the humble bean soup a little magical. Even after moving to the States, she hasn't given in to the culture of wastefulness. Whenever I go home and go into the fridge looking for yogurt, I’ll open multiple yogurt containers before finding one that actually has yogurt in it. All the others were filled with salsas and everything but yogurt. This is something I never thought anything of it until coming to college where I noticed people around me were so comfortable throwing away things. Now, I look at my empty yogurt container and I feel shame about throwing it away when it has so much potential. Abuelita taught me to give another life to the things we deem obsolete. In the face of the climate crisis, this is also a reminder that there is always something worth saving. It was from the mountains that my grandmother learned how to take care of the Earth and it's where the Earth took care of her. Gratitude, resourcefulness, and reciprocity are woven throughout our culture. Even the festival in Oaxaca, the Guelaguetza, Zapotec for “reciprocal exchange of gifts and services”, is the celebration of community and reciprocity through music and dance. During our CJARS retreat in the winter, Dr. Lewis asked us to think about the people and places we hold sacred. I thought about my Abuelita, Solaga, and all the ways my ancestors have defined and redefined what an intersectional, environmentally just future means to me. When I think of the ways climate justice has presented itself throughout my life, I think of Abuelita and her yogurt containers with salsa and the beans of her childhood and my own. I’ve never needed to look far to know that Earth’s gifts are infinitely sacred. Jasmin Rowe I never considered myself to be an outdoor person. I had done swim in highschool, but it hadn’t been something I’ve been consistent with on my own time. There were daily walks around the neighborhood with my dogs, but I despised it because the scenery was too “drab”. My family aren’t outdoor people as well; being able to collectively go out together to eat is a miracle itself, much less convincing everyone to go to the park. It didn’t help that when I was miraculously outside by choice, my eyes glued to my phone or the grey cement sidewalks. I was unimpressed with the beauty of the city I lived with, finding landscape photos that others took a better use of my time.
Then came the first retreat, specifically the first hike. I felt like it was the worst time to be alive. I was tired, my side was aching, and I managed to slip on a rock which led to an injured nail. We finally arrived at a small body of water, and I never felt so much relief. I allowed myself a few minutes to rest and collect myself; as my choppy breaths became regular, I was able to focus on the variety of plants that were in bloom, the complementary soft pink in the sky from far away across the terrain. It was different from what I was used to, but there’s a fascination with the unknown. I wanted to be awake earlier to experience the serenity of the world. I wanted to be able to explore more hidden gems no matter where I am at, no matter how grand or small it would be. CJARS has opened me to new experiences that I never thought I’d do. Going to a farm and picking onions, deweeding (not picking) down the strawberry rows, touching compost, these are just a few that this program had opened me to. It’s not just the new experiences I’m grateful for, but the new perspectives that I was able to take away. Being able to foster community during an era that fees divisive and creating community resilience, learning from one another, everyone has a different role to fulfill and no role is more important. My perhaps favorite takeaway, however, is my new appreciation for nature. It’s something so simple, but reading “Braiding Sweetgrass” and seeing how much nature gives without being asked, lessons that nature teaches that we can carry with us, there’s so much more than what meets the eye. There’s no rush to getting back into my room, to check my phone, so I will stop to smell the roses and say thank you to trees for all they have done. Claudia Mattson My experience as a climate justice scholar has provided an opportunity for personal growth and understanding my role in facing climate change and the challenges interconnected with it. This course has significantly opened my eyes to the intersectionality of global health, food insecurity, regenerative ecology, cultural knowledge, and climate change, especially in relation to the injustices that stem from systemic social structures. Particularly, our outings have introduced me to resilience-building communities around San Diego that I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to see firsthand. Visiting places such as the Solidarity Farm, San Pasqual Reservation, Ocean View Growing Grounds, Project New Village, and Terra Madre Gardens has helped me deepen my values in fresh, quality food and self-sustainment. Our class has gotten to know the stories and souls of local role models who are each making a difference in their communities, which has gives me a stronger sense of hope for the possibility of change. The knowledge I’ve gained about farming practices and the medicinal properties of plants has convinced me that food production is where many of our global issues begin and end. Despite the productivity of impressive modernized techniques in farming and agriculture, they often cause more harm than good for the health of ourselves and the earth. My idea of progress has been reshaped due to my learning about the benefits of traditional practice in caring for the land. This realization has helped me reshape my priorities and encouraged me to pursue sustainable food systems in my education and lifestyle. I carry inspiration to help others reshape their ideas because we do not live in a rigid world, but an everchanging and evolving one. I have a strong will to help guide the shift in a positive direction.
While the topics we’ve covered throughout this course have been thought-provoking and insightful, we’ve also been provided a space to feel vulnerable and safe with one another. I’ve been reflecting on the chunks of time we’ve spent checking in with one another both in class and at outings. It felt surprising at first because I found myself thinking there might be better ways to promote change. Hearing my friends share reminds me that we are intentional with our care for one another because building community is really where change becomes possible. This itself has dissolved the need for transactional exchanges and instead taught us how to foster relationships in order to have mutual support with any problem we tackle. It feels so good to know that I’m surrounded by individuals who value one another and are ready to create solutions. By bringing innovative ideas and open hearts, this cohort has given me the courage to create lasting solutions starting from the deepest roots. Donika Moreno I will remember the experiences and people I met through CJARS for the rest of my life. From the very first car ride to Borrego Springs, I knew this class was going to fill a void that I had been longing for throughout my time at UCSD.
Being in my 6th year, I have found it hard to make friends and form connections with people. I have felt out of place for so long. My peers and Dr. Lewis always made me feel seen, heard, and cared for. The genuine connections I made were unlike any others I had formed elsewhere. During the second half of the course series, I experienced one of the hardest things I will probably ever go through in life. My first time coming back to campus after this specific incident was to attend this class. I had been in autopilot mode, not fully processing what had happened... until I got to class. After breaking down in front of my classmates, I realized just how safe I felt around them. The way not only I, but everyone else, was always so able to express their feelings, talk about their fears, and share their accomplishments spoke volumes. We built an amazing and unique community in such a short amount of time. These are the types of communities we need in order to build resilience and fight against the issues imposed on us by the outside world, such as the environmental crisis. I wish every class was like this one. I learned so much from every single person I came into contact with through this class. I was always impressed with the knowledge everyone possessed, the lessons that were taught, and the individuals themselves. I also experienced nature in a way I never had before. Something as simple as harvesting vegetables for a meal we’d eat made me feel one with the earth, reminding me why I care and why I took this class in the first place. I look forward to continuing to build these connections, both with nature and the people around me. I will never forget our times cooking meals together, the tears we shed, our funny skits, our numerous group photos, and the quality time spent with everyone. This class has made an everlasting impact on my life. Cheers to the best class at UCSD. Andrea Pineda I never knew that eco-grief was something others and I struggled with. I never knew there was a term to describe the sadness and anxiety I felt when thinking about the state that our world is in. When I joined CJARS, I really didn’t know what to expect, I just thought I was going to learn about climate change and the different ways people are affected by it, but I ended up learning so much more. After reading the riveting books Braiding Sweetgrass, Inflamed, Regeneration: Ending the Climate Crisis in One Generation, and All We Can Save, I was able to shift a worldview that was rooted in fear and anxiety to one that is more hopeful. This change in perspective was fortified through the many outings I was a part of in this program, especially the trip to Terra Madre Gardens. This trip was special to me because I got to experience a place so immersed in the nature around it and got to learn from people who use it in a way that emphasizes their gratitude for the world.
The first lesson I learned at Terra Madre Gardens was that the world gives us everything we need and more to nourish us. Walking through the gardens, I was able to learn about the different plants there and the different ways they help us. I learned that flowers such as lavender and roses are more than something pretty to look at, they serve as powerful remedies for our physical and mental health. For example, when turned into an oil and rubbed on the chest, lavender has the ability to decrease a rapid heart rate. Similarly, when added to tea, rose petals help boost your mood, along with using rose water to reduce redness and inflammation. After the walk through the gardens, we were ready to begin preparing for lunch, so we split up into groups to harvest vegetables. I was in the group that harvested carrots, which was definitely a new experience for me. Getting to harvest a vegetable that I would later eat was extremely rewarding for me because I have never felt so connected to food, soil, and my environment. After eating the delicious food that everyone helped prepare, I felt immense gratitude by experiencing firsthand the many gifts the world has to offer. The second lesson I learned at Terra Madre Gardens was that if we forced ourselves to find a time when we could be vulnerable with the people we love, it would help generate immense healing. At the gardens this is done by using a temazcal, a dome structure that entraps the stream from burning hot lava stones, causing the people inside it to sweat. The temazcal encourages vulnerability through the process of sweating and purifying, which helps people talk honestly about important issues. This practice is an ancient one that was used and is still used, by indigenous groups throughout North and Central America. Learning about this practice, helped open up my mind about the different approaches that can be used to promote healing between loved ones, with yourself, and for practicing vulnerability. I believe if more people were to practice being vulnerable in this way, it would greatly help develop a stronger sense of community within groups. The lessons I learned here at Terra Madre Gardens will be teachings I will carry with me in all aspects of my life because they helped me connect with my environment in a deeper way than ever before. I would have never gotten the chance to visit Terra Madre Gardens if I had not learned about CJARS, which is something I was extremely grateful for. Lily McCann It's difficult to sustain the energy necessary to be in the climate justice space, and I went into winter quarter dragging my feet. My outlook on the climate crisis had become rather bleak, and the mounting catastrophes of climate change feel untenable for one person, but what I've found through CJARS is that it's not just one person. There is a whole classroom of people who feel as concerned, anxious and ready to act as I do, and beyond the classroom itself, there are people around the world doing incredible, transformative work. When our days are spent in more isolation than they are in community, we forget these things, largely because the way our world functions is not necessarily conducive to fostering community. I've found that it's something you must be intentional with, but it is more than worthwhile. It had slipped my mind how important this aspect of climate justice work is, and I understand now that it was really the missing piece for me.
As we all got together to peer review our capstone projects, it was so apparent how we had all used our unique set of skills and perspectives to address some aspect of the climate crisis, whether that was around education, research, writing, or art. No matter what major, we are all able to connect our knowledge back to helping out in the face of climate change. As we restore our lands and waterways, and celebrate and cherish our connections and relations with the world, it will be even more meaningful to do this amongst our communities that we worked along side. I feel far more inclined to look to the fantastic work those around me are doing, and to feel that sense of togetherness. In a lot of ways, we understand the "how" a lot better than we understand the "why." We know how carbon sequestration, sustainable agriculture, and renewable energies can all help us to adapt to a changing world, but I think many of us forget to think about why this all matters in the first place. Healing the land, restoring our eco-systems, sustaining life on earth, these reasons were always evident to me, and my previous understanding of it all meant that humans were an obstacle to achieving that. Now I feel differently, and I see that there are so many wonderful humans who envision a world that is regenerative, healed and loved. These people are not far and few between either, we just need to find each other! |
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