Showing posts sorted by date for query STALIN. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query STALIN. Sort by relevance Show all posts

Saturday, September 12, 2026

The Mexican left’s debates on race and nation

Insurgents somewhere south of Mexico City, likely the state of Morelos, accompanied by their wives: Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

First published at Mexico Solidarity Project.

When British-Mexican Tony Wood talks about the debates of the Mexican left in the 1920s and 30s, some of the questions sound familiar. For example, when a more progressive but still capitalist government is in power, as in Mexico after its 1910 revolution, some in the broad left condemned it, others supported it as a positive step. This debate is occurring again today. Is the Morena party a revolutionary force, a “4th transformation”? Or is it still fundamentally a capitalist party like the old PRI, just throwing the poor a bigger bone?

In the 20s and 30s, another debate arose as Mexican socialists considered how their post-revolutionary nation should relate to Indigenous peoples. The Russians led the international communist movement, and, in 1928, US communist Harry Haywood put forward his thesis that African Americans constituted a nation in the southern US states where the majority of African Americans lived; this was accepted as the Comintern’s official position. This sparked debate in Mexico about whether Indigenous peoples should constitute their own nations separate from Mexico, be merged into the Mexican mainstream or be accorded some level of autonomy.

While the questions discussed were similar, the debates in Mexico and the US emphasized different issues due to different histories of national formation. In Mexico, Afro-Mexicans were not included in the debate about nations within a nation, while in the US, the discussion was only about African Americans, not Native Americans.

Today, with the right wing sweeping the globe, discussion among international radicals is needed more than ever. Tony Wood reminds us that one nation’s left cannot insist, as the Russians once did, that they have the answers that fit every other nation. Understanding the different frames that arise out of local conditions can help us achieve the unity that the left sorely needs.

Wood’s research focuses on the Latin American radical left in the interwar period. His most recent book, titled Radical Sovereignty: Debating Race, Nation, and Empire in Interwar Latin America, appeared in 2026. He was deputy editor of New Left Review from 2007 to 2014 and is a member of its editorial board. He has written on a range of subjects for the London Review of Books, n+1, The Nation and the Guardian (UK), among other outlets.

The following interview with Wood was conducted by Meizhu Lui.

The 20s and 30s were a time of political ferment around the world, including Latin America. Why did Mexico City become the “transnational hub” for these discussions?

In a time of political ferment, with ordinary people around the world rising up against oppressive societies, the 1910 Mexican Revolution was a momentous event for Latin America. It galvanized people across borders as an example of how to break the old oligarchies’ power. Beginning in Argentina, students began fighting for university reform, labor movements were growing, anarchist and then socialist and communist currents arose along with other progressive anti-imperialist thinking and organizing. Although not the only place where radicals gathered to debate and strategize, Mexico was the one place in Latin America where a new government looked somewhat favorably on radical currents.

After Russia’s 1917 revolution, communist parties sprang up across Latin America, including in Mexico in 1919. Russia was positioning itself to lead Marxist movements all over the world, and new parties had to consider how much to adopt Russian models versus how much to follow local precedents.

The Mexican left debated whether the state arising from the Mexican Revolution was actually a progressive or left entity. Some saw its progressive potential and defended its gains; others said it’s just another bourgeois state, and we want nothing to do with it; we should overthrow it too. The Russians eventually took the latter view, and the Mexican Communist Party entered a sectarian phase, with some in the party advocating armed insurrection.

Who were involved in these debates about the shape of Mexico’s future?

Not just educated political theorists but also industrial workers, railway workers and artisans were involved. And artists! — like Communist Party activists and muralists Diego Rivera and David Siquieros. Many large peasant leagues existed and also initially affiliated with the communists. But we shouldn’t overstate the Communist Party’s influence. At the end of the 1920s, the peasant leagues split from them because they saw the Mexican state, with all its flaws, as the best guarantee of keeping what they had gained so far.

Mexico has always had its own national-popular tradition, which at times overlapped with socialist and communist agendas. The socialists and communists had to decide whether to support popular movements because their demands moved the country in a good direction or to oppose them because their victories stopped short of socialism.

For us researchers, it’s hard to capture the contributions of those who didn’t write down their ideas, but the agendas of social movements often show us what they were thinking. Peasants and workers were practical and strategic. The 20s and 30s opened a window for long-desired demands — finally the government might actually fulfill them.

As an example, Zapata’s 1911 Plan de Ayala galvanized peasants, even though its land reform proposal was pretty modest. During that revolution against Porfirio Diaz, the Plan asked for the return of lands “usurped” by big haciendas and for the expropriation of one-third only of the land of Diaz supporters. In 1911, Zapata probably understood there was a limit to what campesinos could demand. But by 1917, the terrain had shifted, and the constitution nationalized all the land — much more radical than what Zapata asked for!

What was the involvement of Indigenous peoples?

In that period, the Indigenous generally didn’t couch their demands in terms of ethnic identity but more on locality — x village wants farm credits and seeds. You can infer they were Indigenous, but they aren’t saying “we as Indigenous people…” The language of class — we’re campesinos or we’re proletarians — was much more prominent.

Not until the late 30s, when the progressive Cárdenas government called for congresses of individual Indigenous groups, like the Mixtecs or the Chontal Maya, did many groups form organizations in response. But even then, their demands were like any other campesino demands — running water, seeds, loans, education. Identifying as Indigenous was simply a tool in their toolbox for getting their demands met. If it helped to say they were Indigenous, then good — if not, they tended not to use it.

Was there interest in the question of national self-determination?

Stalin’s definition of a nation dominated on the left, and one of his criteria was inhabiting a defined shared territory. Indigenous peoples themselves did not participate much in the nationhood debate. Mostly Marxist circles theorized about it, both inside the Mexican Communist Party in the early 30s and then outside it in the late 30s among leftist ethnographers. The Communist Party initially thought that backing self-determination would be supported by Indigenous groups, but it didn’t work out that way. In 1935, the Party dropped the policy.

Afro-Mexicans were a relatively small, more dispersed population, and they didn’t share a distinct language, so their status wasn’t part of the conversation. One of the first Mexican presidents in the 1820s, Vicente Guerrero, was Afro-Mexican, but at the time he would have been described using other categories, so his racial identity would have been framed very differently from how it is today.

What did the left mean by “self-determination”? The ideas ranged from creating something like a new municipality and remaining part of Mexico to forming a separate sovereign state independent of Mexico. A basic question throughout Mexican history has been about how the state should relate to Indigenous peoples. Two main responses emerged. One was assimilationist, which was to absorb Indigenous people into a mestizo population — the mainstream view for most of the 20th century. As President Cárdenas said in 1940, the problem is not to keep the “indian indian,” but to “mexicanize” the indian.

But in the 1930s, a pluralist response developed that declared that Mexico is a country made up of many nations, and they all have the right to maintain their distinctiveness within the whole. After the 30s, the separate nations idea disappears, replaced by the idea of greater political autonomy within Mexico.

Did those ideas reverberate up to the present?

I never found a direct through-line from the 20s and 30s to the debates of the late 60s. It’s more like there was a similar framing of the problem in two different historical moments. As I’ve discovered, groups like the campesinos have the same demands over time, even over centuries — but find different language in different historical movements, depending on what they deem as strategically possible.

In the debates about separate nations within the nation, participants also took into account that a Latin American country isn’t the same as Russia or the US. Breaking them up into smaller nation-states could make them more vulnerable to colonization by an imperialist country.

What actual reforms were passed?

In 1992 and 2001, Mexico passed constitutional reforms that support Indigenous people’s right to “free determination,” not “self-determination,” and that describe the nation as “pluricultural,” not “plurinational.” In other words, the state doesn’t recognize indigenous “nations” — it permits them their own cultural practices but no independence from the economic and legal structures of the state.

In 2025, under the new Morena government, a constitutional reform gave indigenous and Afro-Mexicans the authority to govern their own internal affairs. Now for the first time, an Indigenous person not only sits on the Supreme Court but is also its Chief Justice. In this historical moment Mexico’s Indigenous peoples are finding opportunities to couch longstanding demands in new language and with stronger governmental support.

AMLO’s actions on behalf of Indigenous peoples were mostly practical and strategic; sometimes he aimed for quite different goals that happened to benefit some Indigenous peoples. For example, he invested heavily in the infrastructure of Mexico’s southern regions, its most underdeveloped and poor area, but without saying, “This is to address Indigenous issues.” Though posed as more of an issue of regional development, the resulting economic growth benefited many Indigenous communities.

I think my key observation is that Mexico and Latin America use different frames and categories than the United States, and at the same time, their frames, the language of their demands, and even their identities are not fixed over time even in the same places.

Friday, September 11, 2026

Mao still revered in China as criticism remains risky 50 years on

Fifty years after Mao Zedong's death, his image and ideas remain deeply embedded in China, where his portrait still dominates Tiananmen Square in the heart of Beijing and Communist Party rhetoric continues to draw on his thinking. For older Chinese people, revolutionary songs keep memories of his era alive, while younger generations see him as a more distant historical figure. Openly criticising his legacy, however, remains difficult.



Issued on: 09/09/2026 - RFI

A woman holds a portrait of Mao Zedong during the unveiling of a bronze statue of the Chinese leader in Shaoshan, Hunan province, marking 50 years since his death on 9 September 2026. 
AFP - HECTOR RETAMAL

Mao died on 9 September 1976 after more than 25 years at the head of China.

In Beijing, many retired people still gather in parks to sing revolutionary songs praising Mao, mixing nostalgia with patriotic fervour.

“We love life, our motherland, our party, our army, our people and our magnificent landscapes. All these themes are present in the songs we sing,” Ding Yinan, who regularly joins the singing in one Beijing park, told RFI.

Known as “red songs”, the revolutionary repertoire formed part of the childhood of many Chinese retirees.

“When I have free time, I sing and it makes me happy,” Wang Liqun, who was born in the 1960s, said. “These songs give meaning to my life in retirement and help me stay positive.”

Mao's enduring appeal

For this generation, Mao retains his image as founder of the People's Republic of China, the leader credited with allowing the country to regain its sovereignty after a century of invasions and humiliations.

“He left us so many things. Chairman Mao allowed our nation to stand up, he freed the working masses and the suffering people. We stood up again,” Ding said, echoing almost word for word the account promoted by the Communist Party.

That heroic memory largely leaves aside the famines of the Great Leap Forward and the violence of the Cultural Revolution.

Revolutionary songs also carry a political message in which individual lives are inseparable from China's collective strength. That idea remains prominent in Communist Party rhetoric and among Chinese people such as Wang.

“Only China, this great family, can support each one of us,” he said. “Without China's great happiness, without the motherland's great happiness, how could there be small individual joys in China?”

Famine and political chaos

Mao's rule also brought mass purges during the Cultural Revolution, burned books, lynched teachers and 10 years of political chaos. His Great Leap Forward and the failure of his economic policies led to a famine that killed 40 million people.

“He is a complex figure. He is both the Lenin and the Stalin of the People's Republic of China,” Jean-Philippe Béja, an expert on China and retired senior researcher at the National Centre for Scientific Research (CNRS), France's main public research body, told RFI.

“He is both the founder of the people's republic, but also the person who committed very, very serious... well, they're called mistakes. We could call them crimes.”

Those episodes now carry less weight than the founding myth surrounding Mao. His wavering voice proclaiming the People's Republic of China in 1949 occupies a central place in the history of both China and the Communist Party.

For younger Chinese people, Mao has become a more distant historical figure, but one still treated with respect.

“He is a great man, the founder of new China,” one young man told RFI. “Times change, but the ideas he left behind can serve as a reference for dealing with certain situations in future.”

Risks of criticism

Mao's place at the centre of Communist China's founding story makes public criticism of his record difficult.

“Anyone who dares to criticise him publicly now risks serious trouble, risks disappearing and risks being sentenced to prison,” Béja said.

Artist Gao Zhen is one example. He made caricatures in the early 2000s depicting Mao as a woman or on his knees begging for forgiveness.

Gao was recently sentenced to three years in prison.

This article was adapted from the original version in French by Clea Broadhurst





Monday, September 07, 2026

A Secluded Russian Island May Hold Bioweapons Secrets – Analysis


An illustration shows Russian President Vladimir Putin (left), a satellite image of Lisy Island, and Vladimir Maksimov, head of the Center of Experimental Physiology located there.
Credit: RFE/RL



September 4, 2026

By RFE RL

By Mark Krutov, Sergei Dobrynin, Systema and RFE/RL’s Russian Service


Key Takeaways:

An RFE/RL-led report notes that the Center of Experimental Physiology on Lisy Island in Tver’s Vyshnevolotskoye Reservoir—closed after a 2023 “natural monument” designation—is led by Vladimir Maksimov, a former official of the Defense Ministry’s 48th Central Research Institute, which the U.S. sanctioned in 2020 over alleged biological and chemical programs. Ukraine’s HUR on 21 August claimed the center works with dangerous pathogens for the armed forces; Maksimov did not comment.

The island had imperial and Stalin-era animal-disease labs. The FMBA-run center was named in spring 2021; satellite images from July 2026 show a finished lab, housing and a helipad. Maksimov previously headed a virology unit later folded into the 48th Institute and, in older interviews, discussed hemorrhagic-fever viruses while calling the work defensive.

FMBA, which also oversaw COVID vaccine work, was placed under Putin in 2024; he has called it “medical special forces.” Systema has previously tied FMBA-linked institutes to Novichok and other poisoning cases. Moscow says research is only for protection. Analyst Milton Leitenberg doubts COVID fully explains the 2021 expansion and notes isolated-island siting echoed Soviet safety practice; he treats any wartime BW role as unproven.

A scientific facility on a secluded island that is closed to the public is affiliated with an institute accused of developing biological weapons for the Russian military, RFE/RL’s Russian Service and Systema, RFE/RL’s Russian investigative unit, have found.

The islands in Vyshnevolotskoye Reservoir, in the Tver region northwest of Moscow, were once popular with locals for fishing and berry picking. After the northern part of the reservoir was designated as a “natural monument” in 2023, access to many of them — including Lisy Island, now home to the Center of Experimental Physiology — was restricted.

The blue area shows part of Russia’s Vyshnevolotskoye Reservoir in the Tver region, designated as a “natural monument” by Russian authorities.


Systema and RFE/RL’s Russian Service determined that the center’s head, Vladimir Maksimov, is a former official of the Russian Defense Ministry’s 48th Central Research Institute, the country’s leading developer of defensive systems against biological weapons. It was blacklisted by the United States in 2020 along with two other Russian institutes for allegedly continuing biological and chemical weapons programs.

Separately, the federal parent agency of the new center on Lisy Island has figured in investigations into the poisonings of Russian opposition politician Aleksei Navalny and former Russian GRU officer Sergei Skripal with a Novichok-type nerve agent.
‘Experimenting With Dangerous Viruses’

Although largely unused by the Russian government in recent decades, Lisy Island already had a rich history of scientific research involving infectious diseases, predating the state’s latest construction there.

It hosted a veterinary laboratory in Imperial Russia and a facility for “conducting acute experiments involving infectious diseases of agricultural animals” during Josef Stalin’s rule of the Soviet Union.

In spring 2021 — about a year before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine — the settlement on the island became the Center of Experimental Physiology, part of Russia’s Federal Medical-Biological Agency (FMBA), with one of the country’s newest research laboratory complexes being constructed there.

Construction of the Center of Experimental Physiology was completed by the autumn of 2025, and satellite images of Lisy Island from July 2026 show a large building — the lab — as well as a landscaped park, housing for personnel and guests, and a helicopter landing pad.


But on August 21 of this year, Ukraine’s military intelligence agency, HUR, claimed that the Center of Experimental Physiology was “experimenting with dangerous viruses and other pathogens for the benefit of the [Russian] armed forces.”

Systema and the RFE/RL’s Russian Service, also known as Radio Svoboda, found a connection to Russia’s armed forces through the center’s head, Maksimov.

Prior to leading the center on Lisy Island, Maksimov had long been involved in biological research for the Russian military.

Judging by his publicly available work, he had mostly specialized in exotic and deadly hemorrhagic fever viruses, such as Ebola and Marburg. Both pathogens were considered in the Soviet Union as potential foundations for the development of biological weapons.

“Ebola hemorrhagic fever…in our view, is one of the most likely agents for biological warfare,” Maksimov said in a 2004 interview with the Russian weekly Voyenno-Promyshlenniy Kuryer (Military-Industrial Courier).

Once described as a “young and enterprising colonel of the medical service,” Maksimov led Russia’s military unit 44026, the Virology Center of the Defense Ministry’s Institute of Microbiology, from 1999 to 2006.

In 2008, unit 44026, in the city of Sergiyev Posad outside Moscow, was effectively renamed the 48th Central Research Institute of the Russian Defense Ministry, which Western intelligence agencies believe brings together some of the remnants of the Soviet biological-weapons development program.

Maksimov continued to work at the facility in 2008, but apparently no longer as director.

In a 2005 interview with the newspaper Trud, Maksimov asserted that that the purpose of the Sergiyev Posad center was defensive.

“Contrary to what is sometimes attributed to us, we are not engaged in ‘spreading death.’ Our task is exactly the opposite — to be able to combat it,” he said.

Systema found a visiting card for Maksimov from 2022 on an online auction site. He did not respond to phone calls and messages sent by RFE/RL seeking comment.

In 2024, Radio Svoboda found that the center in Sergiyev Posad had also undergone a major expansion since Russian President Vladimir Putin launched the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022.
COVID As Timely Cover?

Systema and Radio Svoboda found that the expansion of Russia’s research facilities on Lisy Island and in Sergiyev Posad had effectively begun late in 2021, a few months before the invasion and against the backdrop of the subsiding global COVID-19 pandemic.


Both the 48th Central Research Institute and the Lisy Island facility’s overseer, the FMBA, were officially involved in the development of Russian COVID-19 vaccines.

However, Milton Leitenberg, a researcher at the Center for International and Security Studies at the University of Maryland School of Public Policy and an expert on the Soviet biological weapons program, expressed doubt that the research expansion was Moscow’s response to the pandemic.

“The coincidence of dates of the Russian public health response to the COVID pandemic and Putin’s decision on invading Ukraine are of course notable,” Leitenberg told Systema and Radio Svoboda. “Nevertheless, given that no later than mid-2021, Putin made the decision to invade Ukraine…the expansion of Russian biological weapons research, as well as the inclusion of new laboratories such as Lisy Island, must be viewed in that context.”

While the role Russia might have intended biological weapons to play in the war “remains a mystery,” he said, the development work may represent what he called “an opportunistic expansion” of biological research activity alongside other military sectors.

Leitenberg said the appointment of Maksimov and other senior former officials of the 48th Central Research Institute to lead the Center for Experimental Physiology appears to be a strong argument that the new facility on Lisy Island may represent an enlargement of military activities despite the formally civilian status of the FMBA.

Lisy Island’s location may also be telling. In the Soviet period, Leitenberg said, placing the laboratory on an isolated patch of land in the middle of a reservoir served as a safety measure — an additional layer of protection for local residents in the event that a dangerous pathogen escaped.

He also recalled that the main testing laboratory of the Soviet biological weapons program on Vozrozhdeniya Island in the Aral Sea, in what is now independent Uzbekistan, was likewise surrounded by water on all sides.
‘Medical Special Forces’

Formed in 2004, the FMBA handles many of Russia’s unconventional public health challenges. Among other things, it provides medical support for athletes and cosmonauts, people working in closed cities. It also responds to disasters and industrial accidents, and handles radiation, chemical, and biological incidents.

In 2024, the oversight of the agency was transferred from the Russian government directly to Putin, a move described in parliament as the “right decision” that “would help address issues of a confidential nature.”

Putin meets regularly with FMBA officials, most recently in August, and has previously referred to the agency as “medical special forces.”

In a 2020 investigation into an updated version of Novichok, Systema found that a research institute in Russia’s Leningrad region overseen by the FMBA was producing a number of biological supplements developed by a scientific center called Signal.

Signal was later found to have worked with epibatidine, a poison derived from an Ecuadorian frog that, according to a leading theory, was used to poison Navalny in the Arctic prison where he died suddenly in February 2024.

Officially, Moscow denies conducting research aimed at developing biological and chemical weapons, claiming that its research is limited to developing means of protection against their potential use.

However, the investigation into Navalny’s poisoning suggested that Russia continued its work on developing such weapons, in violation of the respective international conventions it had ratified.




Adapted by Mykyta Peretiatko from the original Russian-language report.Mark Krutov is a correspondent for RFE/RL’s Russian Service and one of the leading investigative journalists in Russia. He has been instrumental in the production of dozens of in-depth reports, exposing corruption among Russia’s political elite and revealing the murky operations behind Kremlin-led secret services. Krutov joined RFE/RL in 2003 and has extensive experience as both a correspondent and a TV host.

Sergei Dobrynin is one of the leading investigative journalists in Russia. He has been instrumental in the production of dozens of in-depth reports, exposing corruption among Russia’s political elite and revealing the murky operations behind Kremlin-led secret services. He joined RFE/RL in 2012.

Systema is RFE/RL’s Russian-language investigative unit, launched in 2023. The team conducts in-depth investigative journalism, producing high-profile reports and videos in Russian.

RFE/RL’s Russian Service is a multi-platform alternative to Russian state-controlled media, providing audiences in the Russian Federation with informed and accurate news, analysis, and opinion.


About RFE RL
RFE/RL journalists report the news in 21 countries where a free press is banned by the government or not fully established.
Vi=ew all posts by RFE RL →



Thursday, September 03, 2026

The Blessings of Wendell Berry in a World Cursed by Men Like Elon Musk

Musk indulges in the kind of fantasy that drove Berry to distraction (and to work)—all about control and domination, all done by the few to the many, utterly ignorant of context. Immodest in every way.



Wendell Berry stands in front of solar panels on his farm in Henry County, Kentucky in 2011.
(Photo by Guy Mendes / CC BY-SA 3.0)

Bill Mckibben
Sep 01, 2026
The Crucial Years

Wendell Berry, who died Monday at the age of 92, was such a great man that I hardly know where to start. He was on the very short list of the best writers of our time: His essays on rural America were the words that launched 10,000 farmers markets; his poems, the staple of many happy weddings (and I’ve peed in a dozen different bathrooms where the Manifesto of the Mad Farmer’s Liberation Front was framed above the toilet). If you’ve never read his short stories of the Port William Membership, or his finest novel, Jayber Crow, you can count yourself lucky that you’ll get to encounter them for the first time.

Berry was also, of course, politically engaged. I remember standing with him 20 years ago, at a protest against the Capitol Hill power plant that I’d asked him to attend. It was a bitterly cold day, and at one point he turned to me and smiled and said, “Do you think maybe they’ll arrest us soon?” He didn’t particularly like movements, but he understood the power of moral witness; he occupied the Kentucky governor’s office, in a protest against mountaintop removal coal mining, with a toothbrush and volume of Shakespeare in his pocket.

And, perhaps above all, his life was a work of both art and politics—his decision to give up a New York lit’ry career and to return instead to the Kentucky of his boyhood, settling along the Ohio River where he and his wife Tanya farmed and he wrote, embodying the commitment to place and community that animated his writing. (His family is asking that in lieu of flowers people might send a donation to the Berry Center that is carrying on his agrarian work).

I was very lucky that my wife handed me a copy of his essay collection Home Economics about 40 years ago, when we were still courting. If I hadn’t fallen under his spell I’m not sure I would have spent my life in rural America, red state and blue; I know that he taught me how to see my town and my county, and my country and my species, in new-old ways that have undergirded all my work. And I’m very glad that we became friends, visiting and writing back and forth. His droll good humor rarely faltered, in my experience. I did not agree with him at all times, nor he with me—though he had solar panels behind his house, for instance, he didn’t think they belonged on farmland, while I think they’re a boon to both farmer and planet. But we agreed on most things of real dimension, and I was always delighted to see in the mailbox a letter with the return address of Port Royal Kentucky. He was one of the last people with whom I had a true written, as opposed to electronic, correspondence. Sometimes he’d tap things out on a manual typewriter, but more often it would be in pencil, on lined yellow paper.

The most recent arrived in July, and after news about grandsons and granddaughters it contained his newest discovery, a 1940 volume titled Stops, A Handbook for Those Who Know Their Punctuation and Those Who Aren’t Quite Sure. He was recommending it to me on the grounds that it is the “only book of my acquaintance that makes grammar delightful,” but also because he’d noted that it was published by the press (now defunct) at Middlebury College, where I teach. So while the rest of us were figuring out how to enlist Claude to help with our composition, one of the best writers of our age was still enjoying sharpening his prose, just as he enjoyed sharpening the tools of his work in field and forest. “I’m writing this on the porch of the ‘camp house,’ still unwired, built, I think, in 1964, in the woods between the river and the road.” He died on that farm on Monday, surrounded by family.

I got the news about his passing even as I was trying to grapple with the latest from a man who will attract more notice when he dies, but less affection. Elon Musk is always advancing his own vision of the world, of course—in fact, he’s just pledged to spend $100 million helping Republicans this fall. Or maybe $200 million—neither would be a noticeable sum to a trillionaire, of course. Whatever good he did with his early advocacy for electric vehicles has now been undone 100 times over with his advocacy for the people who hate EVs and all the other things we need. (He’s, as of last week, building gas turbines to make more electricity for his right-wing Grok AI project, already polluting the air of Black neighborhoods in Memphis).

He offers the Nazi salute; we are at his behest settling thousands of refugees from white South Africa (and no others) in our country; his rancid racism has destroyed Twitter. It would be a pleasure never to think of him again, but because he’s the richest man in the world, one has to monitor what he says. And here’s Monday’s installment, from of course his own social media site:
Extremely severe extinction events happen every 100M years or so and just switching to sustainable energy will not be enough to stop them.

Space satellites to control temperature and massive geo-engineering will be needed or it will be game over.


The disingenuousness of this is remarkable. Extremely severe extinction events have indeed happened just five times in the last half-billion years, which means it would be extremely unlikely we’d spontaneously come across one any time soon: Human civilization is, after all, just 10,000 years old. And yet of course we face one, not because of anything nature has done, but because we’ve filled the air with carbon dioxide from burning fossil fuel, which his allies wish to continue indefinitely. “Just switching to sustainable energy” is in fact the one good, scalable weapon we have to fight that, but since he’s a part of the political movement against this idea, he is now backing an alternative: “space satellites to control temperature,” which he further explains will be accomplished by a “super-intelligent swarm” of “sentient satellites, launched into Earth-Sun Lagrange points by mass drivers on the Moon.”

This is the kind of fantasy that drove Berry to distraction (and to work)—all about control and domination, all done by the few to the many, utterly ignorant of context. Immodest in every way.

But in Musk’s case it was accompanied by another revelation that began to emerge over the weekend. It turns out that the human toll of the horrific rampaging floods on the Nepal-Tibet border may well have been exacerbated by Musk’s decision to destroy the US Agency for International Development early in the DOGE assault on our government. USAID, in collaboration with NASA, helped maintain a network of monitors high in the Himalayas and Hindu Kush. Musk, in February 2025, “spent the weekend feeding USAID into the wood chipper. Could gone to some great parties. Did that instead.” One casualty was apparently this network. As Jeremy Konyndyk, who oversaw America’s response to the 2015 Nepal earthquake, wrote this weekend on (ironically) X:
DOGE famously used keyword searches for terms like “climate” to terminate federal grants. Among the victims: a collab between USAID and NASA for flood prediction, early warning, disaster readiness, glacier inventories, and mapping dangerous glacial lakes in Nepal.


As Konyndyk added:
Could these programs have helped foresee or mitigate this week’s glacial flooding catastrophe? Hard to say with an outlier event like this. But that was their purpose.

Sadly, it’s hard to anticipate or mitigate climate hazards which your ideology has decreed do not exist.


Musk’s victims already number in the millions—a Lancet study predicts 14 million by 2030 as the indirect results of shutting down America’s humanitarian work, which puts him up there in the Stalin-Mao category, and almost certainly the most deadly human of this millennium. So maybe a few thousand more people hardly matter.

But contrast what Musk did with the actions of a principal at a school along the river. When a friend upstream phoned one of his teachers a blurted warning, he immediately evacuated the entire student body, saving at least 900 lives. Given a warning, he acted (precisely what the world has not done with climate change). “I thought that even if the warning turned out to be wrong, the worst it would cost us was one day of study,” Rajendra Dawadi said. “But taking it lightly could mean the loss of hundreds of lives.”

Principal Dawadi will spend the rest of his life going to the weddings of the students whose lives he saved, and I imagine there will be no small number of babies named in his honor. Elon Musk’s name will be cursed—the richest man in human history, who used his wealth and power to kill the most vulnerable people on the planet.

Here is a recent poem of Wendell Berry’s, published in The New Yorker less than a year ago and titled “The Loved Ones”:
The loved ones we call the dead
depart from us and for a while
are absent. And then as if
called back by our love, they come
near us again. They enter our dreams.
We feel they have been near us
when we have not thought of them.
They are simply here, simply waiting
while we are distracted among
our obligations. At last
it comes to us: They live now
in the permanent world.
We are the absent ones.


© 2022 Bill McKibben


Bill Mckibben
Bill McKibben is the Schumann Distinguished Scholar at Middlebury College and co-founder of 350.org and ThirdAct.org. His most recent book is "Falter: Has the Human Game Begun to Play Itself Out?." He also authored "The End of Nature," "Eaarth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet," and "Deep Economy: The Wealth of Communities and the Durable Future."
Full Bio >



Wendell Berry, Writer and Activist Who Fought Corporate Takeover of US Farming, Dies at 92

“I was taught that taking care of land was one of the primary human responsibilities,” Berry said in 2009.



Wendell Berry is seen in an undated photo.
(Photo by Guy Mendes/Poetry Foundation)

Julia Conley
Sep 01, 2026
COMMON DREAMS

The death of poet, activist, and conservationist Wendell Berry on Monday was called by one labor organizer “a loss of morality and clarity and compassion,” as admirers of Berry’s lifelong crusade to defend the environment honored his memory by sharing favorite poems and other works.

Berry died at the age of 92 at his home in Port Royal, Kentucky, where he spent decades writing about his farming the land, teaching, and writing about the need to fight “the concentration of farmland into larger and larger holdings and fewer and fewer hands,” as he wrote in one of his best-known works, The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture.

“The true measure of agriculture is not the sophistication of its equipment, the size of its income, or even the statistics of its productivity, but the good health of the land,” wrote Berry in the essay collection, published in 1977.

He stressed that the “increase in overhead, debt, and dependence on machines” in the agricultural sector “is a matter of complex significance, and its agricultural significance cannot be disentangled from its cultural significance.”

The Unsettling of America was one of more than 50 works published by Berry, whose commitment to interdependent community-building, small farms, and the protection of nature was woven into his fiction, poems, and essays alike.



In America magazine in 2021, Jon Sweeney wrote in a review of What I Stand On, a collection of Berry’s writing, that “he writes about what he has experienced, what he has learned, and always with humility for what he does not know.”

“The natural world is his primary teacher: its rhythms, its largesse, its mysteries,” Sweeney wrote. “And in the essays, the natural world often reflects how change in humans is also natural, inexplicable, and possible. I think this is what many who love his writing appreciate most about Berry, whether they realize it or not.”

Berry traveled and taught briefly at New York University as a young man before returning to his Kentucky roots, remaining there for six decades. He told The New York Times in 2018 that writing and working in rural Kentucky “made a permanent connection between me and my native place, and with its landscape. The landscape was there to check me if I was wrong. I could never go away and make up stuff at cocktail parties about the backwoods of Kentucky. I worked with people here in all walks of life and learned from them.”

In his 1969 essay “The Long-Legged House,” named for the two-room cabin his ancestors had lived in, to which Berry returned to write his books and other works, he offered an early warning about the harm humans and their industries—agribusiness and fossil fuels—were doing to the Earth.

“We have lived our lives by the assumption that what was good for us would be good for the world,” wrote Berry. “We have been wrong. We must change our lives so that it will be possible to live by the contrary assumption, that what is good for the world will be good for us. And that requires that we make the effort to know the world and learn what is good for it.”



The writer Joyce Carol Oates said on social media on Monday that “long before it became a more familiar subject, Wendell Berry was conscious of the endangered natural environment; indeed, Berry helped to raise this consciousness.”

In addition to making his views on the environment and corporate control over the natural world known through his writing, Berry took part in direct actions to protest mining, war, and capital punishment.

He rallied against the US war in Vietnam, saying, “Peace is more important than victory,” and was arrested in 1979 for protesting the Marble Hill Nuclear Power Plant in Madison, Indiana. Thirty years later he was one of thousands who marched on Washington against the Capitol Power Plant, and two years after that, in 2011, Berry spent the night at a sit-in in the Kentucky governor’s office to protest mountaintop removal mining.

In 2009 he also withdrew his writings from the collection of University of Kentucky, his alma mater, to express opposition to the university’s $7 million donation from a coal producer; the school then named a dormitory Wildcat Coal Lodge.

“I was taught that taking care of land was one of the primary human responsibilities,” Berry told the student newspaper, the Kentucky Kernel, at the time. “In the long run, the top soil, the forests, and the woodland of this state will be more valuable than the coal deposits.”

Silas House, another writer who hailed from Kentucky, said that with Berry’s death, “another great light” had gone out.

House described the writer as “complex. Brilliant. Revolutionary.”



One Eye Squinted

Wendell Berry’s radical lesson for Christians: Live what you believe


(RNS) — The farmer-poet's life was a model for all Christians.
Author Wendell Berry speaks at his home in Port Royal, Ky., March 10, 2011. (AP Photo/Ed Reinke, File)


(RNS) — I was graced just once in my life by the presence of Wendell Berry, the farmer-poet who died earlier this week at age 92. 

Over 20 years ago, I heard Berry speak at the annual conference of the largest professional association for my academic discipline. I was intrigued that someone known for his Christian faith would be invited to speak in a solo session by an organization not known for being terribly friendly to Christians. 

If you’ve ever been to an academic conference, you know that attendance at individual sessions varies wildly. I know of panels with one attendee in the room who was not on the panel. A handful in a room is also fairly common. One never knows what to expect, especially at a convention as large as this, with hundreds of sessions over several days. Berry was assigned a good-sized room for his presentation, but as it turns out, the planners should have given him a bigger one. It was a standing-room-only crowd, and when he finished speaking, those who were sitting joined the rest for a standing ovation.

It had been ingrained in me since my early adulthood that Christians were despised and rejected by the world—especially within academia. I had internalized and expected such treatment. And indeed, I had many experiences that confirmed the bias.

But here was a Christian who was being feted and applauded by the very world I had been taught hated us. And let’s be clear: Wendell Berry was not feted and applauded because he tickled ears. His was not a milquetoast faith. Berry fiercely held and advocated convictions aplenty, enough to offend or affirm just about everyone. As I recall, in the reading that gained him such applause that day, he included a line that proclaimed the sanctity of unborn human life — and this in a crowd that statistically would be overwhelmingly and militantly pro-choice. And still they listened.



In his 2011 book, “Another Turn of the Crank,” Berry wrote:

If abortion is wrong, as I believe, it is wrong because it excludes some of our fellow humans from our care. But to think that abortion is wrong is to risk dangerous oversimplification if we cannot follow our thought to its logical conclusion. If we cannot justify violence to unborn human beings, then how can we justify violence to those who are born, or to the world that they are born into?

This single quote encapsulates why Berry did not fit into current categories of “liberal” or “conservative.” Agree or disagree with him, he aimed to be consistent. It is that consistency that leads both progressives and conservatives, as The Nation notes, to admire his writing.

Berry’s consistency was spread not only through his many words, but more importantly, through the way he lived his life.

Berry was a “culture warrior” by any definition of the phrase. He spoke and wrote against the Vietnam War, the Gulf War, mountain-top removal, the rise of agri-business and factory farming, industrialization and nuclear power (being arrested in 1979 for protesting at a nuclear power plant in Indiana). Berry was most critical of the excesses of capitalism and technology over the years as well. All of these are positions that naturally appeal to more progressive folks.

But to look more closely at Berry’s words and his work is to see that his views are rooted in a fundamental conservatism, in the traditional sense of that term, despite the fact that he rejected that label. (That term, like so many others, has become almost meaningless in present-day politics.) Nevertheless, Berry’s essential conservatism can be seen in an interview published in 2012 in which he said, “To have good farming or good land use of any kind, you have got to have limits. Capitalism doesn’t acknowledge limits.”

To conserve requires limits. Even good things — perhaps, especially good things — must have limits. And limits are rooted in purpose. 

Indeed, at the heart of Berry’s various causes, all of his writing, and the lifestyle he chose — that of a farmer rooted in the land and in one place for over 60 years — is the essential question of purpose. In his essays, stories and poetry, Berry was always asking some version of the question, “What is this thing (this work, this practice, this action, this institution) for?” In the title of one of his most-known books, he even asks, “What Are People For?”

In this book, Berry talks about the false distinction between work and art. He says he once thought of art as “a refuge” from the troubles of work. But he came to see that the subject of art — for him, poetry, fiction and other writing — but for others of us, perhaps, other forms of making — is our lives. “My subject is my place in the world, and I live in my place.”

It may seem obvious that we all live in our places, but Berry’s gift is in helping us to see what has been too obvious, to lift the veil of the familiar, as the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley famously describes the work of the poet. 

One crippling symptom of the disease of modernity is to be absent from the present by always looking toward some future hope, aspiration, goal, to always be working for the weekend or “quitting time,” as Berry observes in “Bringing It to the Table: On Farming and Food.” This tendency to overlook the present leads also to less of a sense of place. Berry models a unified sense of the present, place, work and art. “I no longer ‘go to work,’” Berry continues in “What Are People For?” “If I live in my place, which is my subject, then I am ‘at’ my work even when I am not working.”



It might seem that it’s easier to see life, work and art this way when you are a farmer who lives on the farm. Yet, Berry’s invitation to all of us isn’t that literal. We all live in a place. And being fully present in that place — while working, resting, enjoying family, cultivating community and worshipping God — is the purpose of our lives and its subject.

Berry was present at that academic conference decades ago because, before becoming a farmer, he studied and taught English. When he became a farmer, he integrated that learning and way of being into his vocation. His work became the subject of his art, and that art filled volumes.

It is that sort of integrity — that wholeness — that made the man and his work so beloved. As Paul Kingsnorth put it in his recent memorial essay, Berry “actually practiced what he preached.” What he preached and what he practiced was hard. But it was good. We don’t need to be farmers or poets to strive to do the same. 

Indeed, the opening lines from Berry’s poem, “How to Be a Poet,” apply to whatever kind of work we might do, wherever we might do it:

Make a place to sit down.   

Sit down. Be quiet.   

You must depend upon   

affection, reading, knowledge,   

skill—more of each   

than you have …

In the making, in the sitting down, in the quietness and in the dependence comes the humility that marked Berry’s life and character most.

Berry’s legacy from both his life and his many works lives on as many, many words on his passing show. But you don’t have to agree with Berry’s views or like his fiction, poetry or essays to recognize that his life was a model for all Christians: We are called to bear witness to what we believe is true with all of our life, for all of our life.

Wendell Berry: ‘Stay Away From Anything That Obscures the Place It Is In’

We lost a writer and poet this week who talked about how modern life is not only ecologically destructive but also traps us in a manufactured world, cut off from other living things. He suggested we slow down and learn to be quiet—to observe.



(Photo: Guy Mendes/via Counterpoint Press)


Robert Jensen
Sep 03, 2026
Common Dreams

I think of Wendell Berry every time I use my chainsaw.

Berry, the novelist, essayist, and unofficial poet laureate of the sustainable agriculture movement, died this week at 92. I met him several times through my association with The Land Institute and visited their Kentucky home to write a profile of his wife, Tanya. But my main connection to Berry is through his writing.



Wendell Berry, Writer and Activist Who Fought Corporate Takeover of US Farming, Dies at 92



Back to my chainsaw. I lived in cities most of my life, including when I was a professor at the University of Texas at Austin. No matter what the subject of a course, I always found ways to bring Berry’s words into my lectures, both to give students examples of elegant writing and to prod them to think about what we take for granted in high-energy and high-technology societies.

Any hope for a decent future requires us to understand we don’t face discrete problems to be solved but rather a predicament to be confronted.

Berry called out the cruelty of the masters of the modern world, especially the ways they denigrated his neighbors and devalued the land in rural America. But he understood that we all are implicated in the degradation of the ecosystems on which our own lives depend. He connected the real costs of our many labor-saving and pleasure-seeking devices to that degradation. Yes, there are corrupt individuals and corrupting social systems to hold accountable, but part of the problem is our species’ acquisitiveness—what Berry’s mentor Wallace Stegner called “the things that once possessed could not be done without.”

In a 1989 essay, Berry didn’t exempt himself from this critique of the destructive habits that draw down the ecological capital of the planet.

“I still fly on airplanes, which have nothing to recommend them but speed; they are inconvenient, uncomfortable, undependable, ugly, stinky, and scary,” he wrote. “I still cut my wood with a chainsaw, which has nothing to recommend it but speed, and has all the faults of an airplane, except it does not fly.”

We need to live with less, which is surprisingly hard.

“We are going to have to learn to give up things that we have learned (in only a few years, after all) to ‘need,’” Berry wrote. “I am not an optimist; I am afraid that I won’t live long enough to escape my bondage to the machines.”

But Berry doesn’t counsel despair: “I knew a man who, in the age of chainsaws, went right on cutting his wood with a handsaw and an axe. He was a healthier and a saner man than I am. I shall let his memory trouble my thoughts.”

I live in a rural area today and cut firewood with a battery-powered chainsaw to help heat our home. I don’t kid myself that I’m environmentally friendly because my machine doesn’t run on gasoline; the mining and manufacturing that created that chainsaw are ecologically expensive. I am part of the problem, like almost everyone else.

I’ve learned that even with a chainsaw, cutting a winter’s worth of wood is hard work. (OK, full disclosure: I also have an electric log-splitter that a friend gave me and now feels essential.) But as I cut and split and stack, I think about the extra effort required by the handsaw and axe of Berry’s acquaintance. And I also think about something else I regularly read to students, his poem “How to Be a Poet,” which I told students could be titled “How to Be a Human Being.” Berry wrote about how modern life is not only ecologically destructive but also traps us in a manufactured world, cut off from other living things. He suggested we slow down and learn to be quiet, to observe: “Stay away from anything/that obscures the place it is in.”

Every time I read the next lines from that poem, I felt myself on the edge of tears: “There are no unsacred places;/there are only sacred places/and desecrated places.”

No one knows how to get there, including Wendell Berry. But his words help me face reality and live in some kind of equanimity.

We have desecrated most of the world to make possible all the things we imagine that we need, including my chainsaw and log-splitter. We’ve built a world in which our material comfort obscures the cost of that comfort. I agree with Berry: Either every part of Earth is sacred or none of it is, and the modern world treats the entire planet as either a mine or a dump.

Back to bad people and bad systems. Yes, we can point to the actions of greedy corporate executives and self-serving politicians, and to capitalism’s perverse practices that glorify consumption. Yes, the affluent do the most damage. But most of the people around the world now embrace and chase that affluence, and we shouldn’t turn away from our own role in Earth-destruction. We won’t solve the problem by pointing fingers at others. In fact, any hope for a decent future requires us to understand we don’t face discrete problems to be solved but rather a predicament to be confronted. We’ve created ways of living that can’t be sustained unless we embrace what my coauthor Wes Jackson (cofounder of The Land Institute and a longtime friend of Berry) and I call the policy of “fewer and less”: fewer people consuming less energy and stuff.

No one knows how to get there, including Wendell Berry. But his words help me face reality and live in some kind of equanimity.

One of my fondest memories from 26 years of college teaching is standing in front of students, encouraging them to appreciate the elegance of Berry’s writing and face the fear it can bring up. I will let that memory trouble my thoughts and comfort me.



Our work is licensed under Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). Feel free to republish and share widely.


Robert Jensen
Robert Jensen is an emeritus professor in the School of Journalism and Media at the University of Texas at Austin and collaborates with the New Perennials Project at Middlebury College. He is the author of It’s Debatable: Talking Authentically about Tricky Topics, coming this spring from Olive Branch Press. This essay is adapted from his book An Inconvenient Apocalypse: Environmental Collapse, Climate Crisis, and the Fate of Humanity, co-authored with Wes Jackson.
Full Bio >