The title of this post is a term my friend Nic used, years ago, to refer to industrial electrical energy infrastructure. Because electricity demands immediate use, we have found creative ways to store and distribute and manage generating sources so that it is available the moment when we need it. Energy systems are constantly tweaking their output rates to keep up with the people they serve: when you plug in your computer, a generating station
somewhere adjusts its output to accommodate such, which may mean burning more coal, pulling water out of a reservoir, or tapping into another wind turbine. This is a nuanced game of energy sloshing around, trying to match it to its customer, trying to minimize excess economic losses and unnecessary burning.
Deb Chachra
writes here about our societal access to exogeneous energy and references Amartya Sen on how this infrastructural access to energy gives people more freedom in deciding how to spend their time. (Freed from the demands of having to generate our own.) This definition of "infrastructure" extends some of
what I wrote about a while back, with Chachra highlighting both the collective nature of infrastructure and the individualized benefits of such. A new definition that I like may thus be: infrastructures are collective systems (at-scale, inclusive, publicly managed?) that benefit personal freedoms.
The fires are burning somewhere, however. Chachra's piece highlights the spatialized impacts of infrastructure systems, characterizing energy from burning fossil fuels as "displaced harms and localized benefits." For services like power, those who benefit are those who live within the service region, and those who suffer the emissions are both those near the plant (for the heavy toxins) and everyone, via global carbon budget. Exhaust-generating plants (and
waste sites in general) are generally outside of the wealthy (generally white) cultural centers—pushed to regions where the populaces are sparse or disenfranchised enough to not push back. Another bit of traditional physical infrastructure, roads and bridges, follows a different model: the negative effects of road-building (poor site hydrology, noise, erosion, traffic hazards) tend to be the burden of the locals, and the benefits are split between the locals and those driving through.
Lelah Khalili acutely points to the deadly inequities where the negative externalities of infrastructure accumulate, whether at-site or at-a-distance. Whose land was flooded to make a reservoir? Whose land is contaminated to burn fuel? Whose land was cut-off from the neighborhood for a freeway to go through? Whose land lost its stewards in strife over mining rights?
The displacement or disregard for negative effects is a game of power and visibility. As many things in the world have
liquified and media access ballooned, the stubborn realities of physical infrastructure, physical wastes, physical hazards may begin to feel all the more apparent, slow-moving against the foreground of digitally smooth access. Even the "slipstream" generation who trivially move through the world on a cloud of wifi-enabled mobile work can feel the world catch up to them (us) when Tahoe's on fire, New York is flooding, and travel restrictions prevent an escape to New Zealand. Elvia Wilk really nails some points on class power and mobility vs. accountability and waste in
this essay, delineating the extent to which the freedoms enjoyed by the leisure class are what are major drivers in the social and physical crises of today. When I plug in my macbook, some lump of coal is ignited, and my class dictates how easily I can avoid the spaces where the externalities of such are accumulating.
Despite AirBnB's billions,
place is still non-fungible and the fires are still burning somewhere. (Or
trash stacking up, somewhere, if you prefer that metaphor.) I think the hippies got at least something right in focusing action locally, which is the only scale at which the human brain seems to be able to grasp anything. "Developed" infrastructure systems, however, have networked localities, making it such that when I turn on the tap (here in Oakland, California), I am pulling, via via via, from the Sierra Nevada. That's not
somewhere, any more—it is a real place that I know and appreciate, a real place that is dysfunctionally burning. To me, this is a hell of a displacement of harm, reflecting priorities of generations of policy and system maintainers on
what land where is valued. I was intrigued by Chachra's reference to Sen, as he is known for coining the term
Landesque Capital, which helps articulate the relational (and often social) value in land, reflecting the uniqueness of it as a good. I am thankful that I have the freedom to not lug water every day, but I need to stretch my sense of "the local" in order to identify the spatial impact of the systems I have stake in, to bring the fires a little bit closer to home.
Distantly waving,
Lukas
P.S. I published
a short story called
"Where The Sea Flows Uphill" about some potential positive externalities to large-scale environmental restoration work in the Tijuana River Estuary. The story is part of
a larger project on speculative futures of the Civilian Climate Corps. Please read! And if you are inspired about place, or the CCC, please reach out to write your own, I would love to help you get started.
I have enjoyed spending more time in the
TRUST discord recently (join me in #climate). I will be giving a talk later this fall there on "Green Infrastructure" and what a strange term it is and what it connotes in the relationship between civilization and the environment. Stay tuned for date/time!