"It was public capital that built most of the stuff, not Wall Street," says Wilson. "And at the top level of logistics and supply-chain management, the military was the boss. They placed the contracts, they moved the stuff around." The feds acted aggressively -- they would cancel contracts as war needs changed, tossing factories full of people abruptly out of work. If firms refused to take direction, FDR ordered many of them seized. Though companies made money, there was little in the way of profiteering -- bad memories from World War I, Wilson says, led to "robust profit controls," which were mostly accepted by America's industrial tycoons. In many cases, federal authorities purposely set up competition between public operations and private factories: The Portsmouth Naval Shipyard built submarines, but so did Electric Boat of Groton, Connecticut. "They were both quite impressive and productive," Wilson says.
"Usually, when people from different worlds are dealing with each other, they get into conflicts and then dig in their heels deeper," Berk says. "But because the stakes are so high and it's moving so fast, no one doubts that if you don't get a handle on this battle in the Atlantic, then the immediate consequences will be really grave. So they're willing to do this kind of pragmatic trial and error. They start to see that 'I can't dig in my heels -- I need this other person to learn from.'" In the face of a common enemy, Americans worked together in a way they never had before.
That attitude quickly reset after the war, of course; solidarity gave way to the biggest boom in personal consumption the world had ever seen, as car-packed suburbs sprawled from every city and women were retired to the kitchen. Business, eager to redeem its isolationist image and shake off New Deal restrictions, sold itself as the hero of the war effort, patriotic industrialists who had overcome mountains of government red tape to get the job done. And the modest "operations researchers," who had entered and learned from the real world when they managed radar development during the war, retreated to their ivory towers and became much grander "systems analysts" once the conflict ended. Robert McNamara, a former Ford executive, brought an entire wing of the Rand Corporation to the Defense Department during the Kennedy administration, where the think-tank experts promptly privatized most of the government shipyards and plane factories, and used their out-of-touch computer models to screw up government programs like Model Cities, the ambitious attempt at urban rehabilitation during the War on Poverty. "The systems analysts completely took over," Berk says, "and the program largely failed for that reason."
Today we live in the privatized, siloed, business-dominated world that took root under McNamara and flourished under Reagan. The actual wars we fight are marked by profiteering, and employ as many private contractors as they do soldiers. Our spirit of social solidarity is, to put it mildly, thin. (The modern-day equivalent of Father Coughlin is now the Republican candidate for president.) So it's reasonable to ask if we can find the collective will to fight back in this war against global warming, as we once fought fascism.
For starters, it's important to remember that a truly global mobilization to defeat climate change wouldn't wreck our economy or throw coal miners out of work. Quite the contrary: Gearing up to stop global warming would provide a host of social and economic benefits, just as World War II did. It would save lives. (A worldwide switch to renewable energy would cut air pollution deaths by 4 to 7 million a year, according to the Stanford data.) It would produce an awful lot of jobs. (An estimated net gain of roughly two million in the United States alone.) It would provide safer, better-paying employment to energy workers. (A new study by Michigan Technological University found that we could retrain everyone in the coal fields to work in solar power for as little as $181 million, and the guy installing solar panels on a roof averages about $4,000 more a year than the guy risking his life down in the hole.) It would rescue the world's struggling economies. (British economist Nicholas Stern calculates that the economic impacts of unchecked global warming could far exceed those of the world wars or the Great Depression.) And fighting this war would be socially transformative. (Just as World War II sped up the push for racial and gender equality, a climate campaign should focus its first efforts on the frontline communities most poisoned by the fossil fuel era. It would help ease income inequality with higher employment, revive our hollowed-out rural states with wind farms, and transform our decaying suburbs with real investments in public transit.)
There are powerful forces, of course, that stand in the way of a full-scale mobilization. If you add up every last coal mine and filling station in the world, governments and corporations have spent $20 trillion on fossil fuel infrastructure. "No country will walk away from such investments," writes Vaclav Smil, a Canadian energy expert. As investigative journalists have shown over the past year, the oil giant Exxon knew all about global warming for decades -- yet spent millions to spread climate-denial propaganda. The only way to overcome that concerted opposition -- from the very same industrial forces that opposed America's entry into World War II -- is to adopt a wartime mentality, rewriting the old mindset that stands in the way of victory. "The first step is we have to win," says Jonathan Koomey, an energy researcher at Stanford University. "That is, we have to have broad acceptance among the broader political community that we need urgent action, not just nibbling around the edges, which is what the D.C. crowd still thinks."
That political will is starting to build, just as it began to gather in the years before Pearl Harbor. A widespread movement has killed off the Keystone pipeline, stymied Arctic drilling, and banned fracking in key states and countries. As one oil industry official lamented in July, "The 'keep-it-in-the-ground' campaign" has "controlled the conversation." This resembles, at least a little, the way FDR actually started gearing up for war 18 months before the "date which will live in infamy." The ships and planes that won the Battle of Midway six months into 1942 had all been built before the Japanese attacked Hawaii. "By the time of Pearl Harbor," Wilson says, "the government had pretty much solved the problem of organization. After that, they just said, 'We're going to have to make twice as much.'"
Pearl Harbor did make individual Americans willing to do hard things: pay more in taxes, buy billions upon billions in war bonds, endure the shortages and disruptions that came when the country's entire economy converted to wartime production. Use of public transit went up 87 percent during the war, as Naomi Klein points out in This Changes Everything; 40 percent of the nation's vegetables were grown in victory gardens. For the first time, women and minorities were able to get good factory jobs; Rosie the Riveter changed our sense of what was possible.
Without a Pearl Harbor, in fact, there was only so much even FDR could have accomplished. So far, there has been no equivalent in the climate war -- no single moment that galvanizes the world to realize that nothing short of total war will save civilization. Perhaps the closest we've come to FDR's "date of infamy" speech -- and it wasn't all that close -- was when Bernie Sanders, in the first debate, was asked to name the biggest security threat facing the planet. "Climate change," he replied -- prompting all the usual suspects to tut-tut that he was soft on "radical Islamic terrorism." Then, in the second debate, the question came up again, a day after the Paris massacres. "Do you still believe that?" the moderator asked, in gotcha mode. "Absolutely," replied Sanders, who then proceeded to give an accurate account of how record drought will lead to international instability.
Had he won, it's possible that Bernie could have combined his focus on jobs and climate and infrastructure into some kind of overarching effort that really mattered -- he was, after all, the presidential candidate most comfortable with big government since FDR. Donald Trump, of course, will dodge this war just as he did Vietnam. He thinks (if that's actually the right verb) that climate change is a hoax manufactured by the Chinese, who apparently in their Oriental slyness convinced the polar ice caps to go along with their conspiracy. Clinton's advisers originally promised there would be a "climate war room" in her White House, but then corrected the record: It would actually be a "climate map room," which sounds somewhat less gung ho.
In fact, one of the lowest points in my years of fighting climate change came in late June, when I sat on the commission appointed to draft the Democratic Party platform. (I was a Sanders appointee, alongside Cornel West and other luminaries.) At 11 p.m. on a Friday night, in a mostly deserted hotel ballroom in St. Louis, I was given an hour to offer nine amendments to the platform to address climate change. More bike paths passed by unanimous consent, but all the semi-hard things that might begin to make a real difference -- a fracking ban, a carbon tax, a prohibition against drilling or mining fossil fuels on public lands, a climate litmus test for new developments, an end to World Bank financing of fossil fuel plants -- were defeated by 7-6 tallies, with the Clinton appointees voting as a bloc. They were quite concerned about climate change, they insisted, but a "phased-down" approach would be best.
There was the faintest whiff of Munich about it. Like Chamberlain, these were all good and concerned people, just the sort of steady, evenhanded folks you'd like to have leading your nation in normal times. But they misunderstood the nature of the enemy. Like fascism, climate change is one of those rare crises that gets stronger if you don't attack. In every war, there are very real tipping points, past which victory, or even a draw, will become impossible. And when the enemy manages to decimate some of the planet's oldest and most essential physical features -- a polar ice cap, say, or the Pacific's coral reefs -- that's a pretty good sign that a tipping point is near. In this war that we're in -- the war that physics is fighting hard, and that we aren't -- winning slowly is exactly the same as losing.
To my surprise, things changed a couple weeks later, when the final deliberations over the Democratic platform were held in Orlando. While Clinton's negotiators still wouldn't support a ban on fracking or a carbon tax, they did agree we needed to "price" carbon, that wind and sun should be given priority over natural gas, and that any federal policy that worsened global warming should be rejected.
Maybe it was polls showing that Bernie voters -- especially young ones -- have been slow to sign on to the Clinton campaign. Maybe the hottest June in American history had opened some minds. But you could, if you squinted, create a hopeful scenario. Clinton, for instance, promised that America will install half a billion solar panels in the next four years. That's not so far off the curve that Tom Solomon calculates we need to hit. And if we do it by building solar factories of our own, rather than importing cheap foreign-made panels, we'll be positioning America as the world's dominant power in clean energy, just as our mobilization in World War II ensured our economic might for two generations. If we don't get there first, others will: Driven by anger over smog-choked cities, the Chinese have already begun installing renewable energy at a world-beating rate.
"It would be a grave mistake for the United States to wait for another nation to take the lead in combating the global climate emergency," the Democratic platform asserts. "We are committed to a national mobilization, and to leading a global effort to mobilize nations to address this threat on a scale not seen since World War II."
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).
3
2
1
