The implications of the expose's were startling. Not only did Exxon and other companies know that scientists like Hansen were right; they used his nasaclimate models to figure out how low their drilling costs in the Arctic would eventually fall. Had Exxon and its peers passed on what they knew to the public, geological history would look very different today. The problem of climate change would not be solved, but the crisis would, most likely, now be receding. In 1989, an international ban on chlorine-containing man-made chemicals that had been eroding the earth's ozone layer went into effect. Last month, researchers reported that the ozone layer was on track to fully heal by 2060. But that was a relatively easy fight, because the chemicals in question were not central to the world's economy, and the manufacturers had readily available substitutes to sell. In the case of global warming, the culprit is fossil fuel, the most lucrative commodity on earth, and so the companies responsible took a different tack.
A document uncovered by the L.A. Times showed that, a month after Hansen's testimony, in 1988, an unnamed Exxon "public affairs manager" issued an internal memo recommending that the company "emphasize the uncertainty" in the scientific data about climate change. Within a few years, Exxon, Chevron, Shell, Amoco, and others had joined the Global Climate Coalition, "to coordinate business participation in the international policy debate" on global warming. The G.C.C. coordinated with the National Coal Association and the American Petroleum Institute on a campaign, via letters and telephone calls, to prevent a tax on fossil fuels, and produced a video in which the agency insisted that more carbon dioxide would "end world hunger" by promoting plant growth. With such efforts, it ginned up opposition to the Kyoto Protocol, the first global initiative to address climate change.
In October, 1997, two months before the Kyoto meeting, Lee Raymond, Exxon's president and C.E.O., who had overseen the science department that in the 1980's produced the findings about climate change, gave a speech in Beijing to the World Petroleum Congress, in which he maintained that the earth was actually cooling. The idea that cutting fossil-fuel emissions could have an effect on the climate, he said, defied common sense. "It is highly unlikely that the temperature in the middle of the next century will be affected whether policies are enacted now, or twenty years from now," he went on. Exxon's own scientists had already shown each of these premises to be wrong.
On a December morning in 1997 at the Kyoto Convention Center, after a long night of negotiation, the developed nations reached a tentative accord on climate change. Exhausted delegates lay slumped on couches in the corridor, or on the floor in their suits, but most of them were grinning. Imperfect and limited though the agreement was, it seemed that momentum had gathered behind fighting climate change. But as I watched the delegates cheering and clapping, an American lobbyist, who had been coordinating much of the opposition to the accord, turned to me and said, "I can't wait to get back to Washington, where we've got this under control."
He was right. On January 29, 2001, nine days after George W. Bush was inaugurated, Lee Raymond visited his old friend Vice-President Dick Cheney, who had just stepped down as the C.E.O. of the oil-drilling giant Halliburton. Cheney helped persuade Bush to abandon his campaign promise to treat carbon dioxide as a pollutant. Within the year, Frank Luntz, a Republican consultant for Bush, had produced an internal memo that made a doctrine of the strategy that the G.C.C. had hit on a decade earlier. "Voters believe that there is no consensus about global warming within the scientific community," Luntz wrote in the memo, which was obtained by the Environmental Working Group, a Washington-based organization. "Should the public come to believe that the scientific issues are settled, their views about global warming will change accordingly. Therefore, you need to continue to make the lack of scientific certainty a primary issue in the debate."
The strategy of muddling the public's impression of climate science has proved to be highly effective. In 2017, polls found that almost 90 percent of Americans did not know that there was a scientific consensus on global warming. Raymond retired in 2006, after the company posted the biggest corporate profits in history, and his final annual salary was 400 million dollars. His successor, Rex Tillerson, signed a 500-billion-dollar deal to explore for oil in the rapidly thawing Russian Arctic, and in 2012 was awarded the Russian Order of Friendship. In 2016, Tillerson, at his last shareholder meeting before he briefly joined the Trump Administration as Secretary of State, said, "The world is going to have to continue using fossil fuels, whether they like it or not."
It's by no means clear whether Exxon's deception and obfuscation are illegal. The company has long maintained that it "has tracked the scientific consensus on climate change, and its research on the issue has been published in publicly available peer-reviewed journals." The First Amendment preserves one's right to lie, although, in October, New York State Attorney General Barbara D. Underwood filed suit against Exxon for lying to investors, which is a crime. What is certain is that the industry's campaign cost us the efforts of the human generation that might have made the crucial difference in the climate fight.
Exxon's behavior is shocking, but not entirely surprising. Philip Morris lied about the effects of cigarette smoking before the government stood up to Big Tobacco. The mystery that historians will have to unravel is what went so wrong in our governance and our culture that we have done, essentially, nothing to stand up to the fossil-fuel industry.
There are undoubtedly myriad intellectual, psychological, and political sources for our inaction, but I cannot help thinking that the influence of Ayn Rand, the Russian e'migre' novelist, may have played a role. Rand's disquisitions on the "virtue of selfishness" and unbridled capitalism are admired by many American politicians and economists -- Paul Ryan, Tillerson, Mike Pompeo, Andrew Puzder, and Donald Trump, among them. Trump, who has called "The Fountainhead" his favorite book, said that the novel "relates to business and beauty and life and inner emotions. That book relates to ... everything." Long after Rand's death, in 1982, the libertarian gospel of the novel continues to sway our politics: Government is bad. Solidarity is a trap. Taxes are theft. The Koch brothers, whose enormous fortune derives in large part from the mining and refining of oil and gas, have peddled a similar message, broadening the efforts that Exxon-funded groups like the Global Climate Coalition spearheaded in the late nineteen-eighties.
Fossil-fuel companies and electric utilities, often led by Koch-linked groups, have put up fierce resistance to change. In Kansas, Koch allies helped turn mandated targets for renewable energy into voluntary commitments. In Wisconsin, Scott Walker's administration prohibited state land officials from talking about climate change. In North Carolina, the state legislature, in conjunction with real-estate interests, effectively banned policymakers from using scientific estimates of sea-level rise in the coastal-planning process. Earlier this year, Americans for Prosperity, the most important Koch front group, waged a campaign against new bus routes and light-rail service in Tennessee, invoking human liberty. "If someone has the freedom to go where they want, do what they want, they're not going to choose public transit," a spokeswoman for the group explained. In Florida, an anti-renewable-subsidy ballot measure invoked the "Rights of Electricity Consumers Regarding Solar Energy Choice."
Such efforts help explain why, in 2017, the growth of American residential solar installations came to a halt even before March, 2018, when President Trump imposed a 30-percent tariff on solar panels, and why the number of solar jobs fell in the U.S. for the first time since the industry's great expansion began, a decade earlier. In February, at the Department of Energy, Rick Perry -- who once skipped his own arraignment on two felony charges, which were eventually dismissed, in order to attend a Koch brothers event -- issued a new projection in which he announced that the U.S. would go on emitting carbon at current levels through 2050; this means that our nation would use up all the planet's remaining carbon budget if we plan on meeting the 1.5-degree target. Skepticism about the scientific consensus, Perry told the media in 2017, is a sign of a "wise, intellectually engaged person."
Of all the environmental reversals made by the Trump Administration, the most devastating was its decision, last year, to withdraw from the Paris accords, making the U.S., the largest single historical source of carbon, the only nation not engaged in international efforts to control it. As the Washington Post reported, the withdrawal was the result of a collaborative venture. Among the anti-government ideologues and fossil-fuel lobbyists responsible was Myron Ebell, who was at Trump's side in the Rose Garden during the withdrawal announcement, and who, at Frontiers of Freedom, had helped run a "complex influence campaign" in support of the tobacco industry. Ebell is a director of the Competitive Enterprise Institute, which was founded in 1984 to advance "the principles of limited government, free enterprise, and individual liberty," and which funds the Cooler Heads Coalition, "an informal and ad-hoc group focused on dispelling the myths of global warming," of which Ebell is the chairman.
Also instrumental were the Heartland Institute and the Koch brothers' Americans for Prosperity. After Trump's election, these groups sent a letter reminding him of his campaign pledge to pull America out. The C.E.I. ran a TV spot: "Mr. President, don't listen to the swamp. Keep your promise." And, despite the objections of most of his advisers, he did. The coalition had used its power to slow us down precisely at the moment when we needed to speed up. As a result, the particular politics of one country for one half-century will have changed the geological history of the earth.
We are on a path to self-destruction, and yet there is nothing inevitable about our fate. Solar panels and wind turbines are now among the least expensive ways to produce energy. Storage batteries are cheaper and more efficient than ever. We could move quickly if we chose to, but we'd need to opt for solidarity and coordination on a global scale. The chances of that look slim. In Russia, the second-largest petrostate after the U.S., Vladimir Putin believes that "climate change could be tied to some global cycles on Earth or even of planetary significance." Saudi Arabia, the third-largest petrostate, tried to water down the recent I.P.C.C. report. Jair Bolsonaro, the newly elected President of Brazil, has vowed to institute policies that would dramatically accelerate the deforestation of the Amazon, the world's largest rain forest. Meanwhile, Exxon recently announced a plan to spend a million dollars -- about a hundredth of what the company spends each month in search of new oil and gas -- to back the fight for a carbon tax of 40 dollars a ton. At a press conference, some of the I.P.C.C.'s authors laughed out loud at the idea that such a tax would, this late in the game, have sufficient impact.
The possibility of swift change lies in people coming together in movements large enough to shift the Zeitgeist. In recent years, despairing at the slow progress, I've been one of many to protest pipelines and to call attention to Big Oil's deceptions. The movement is growing. Since 2015, when 400,000 people marched in the streets of New York before the Paris climate talks, activists -- often led by indigenous groups and communities living on the front lines of climate change -- have blocked pipelines, forced the cancellation of new coal mines, helped keep the major oil companies out of the American Arctic, and persuaded dozens of cities to commit to 100 percent renewable energy.
Each of these efforts has played out in the shadow of the industry's unflagging campaign to maximize profits and prevent change. Voters in Washington State were initially supportive of a measure on last month's ballot which would have imposed the nation's first carbon tax -- a modest fee that won support from such figures as Bill Gates. But the major oil companies spent record sums to defeat it. In Colorado, a similarly modest referendum that would have forced frackers to move their rigs away from houses and schools went down after the oil industry outspent citizen groups 40 to one. This fall, California's legislators committed to using only renewable energy by 2045, which was a great victory in the world's fifth-largest economy. But the governor refused to stop signing new permits for oil wells, even in the middle of the state's largest cities, where asthma rates are high.
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