Don't Organize, Mourn

Don't Organize, Mourn: Environmental Loss and Musicking
Author(s): Andrew Mark

Source: Ethics and the Environment, Vol. 21, No. 2 (Fall 2016), pp. 51-77
Published by: Indiana University Press
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DONT ORGANIZE, MOURN
ENVIRONMENTAL LOSS AND MUSICKING
Andrew Mark
Abstract
Joe Hill, a labour activist and singer-songwriter of the early 20th century, is best
remembered today for the slogan, Dont mourn, organize! This paper confronts
Hills sentiment. When acknowledging the irreparable damages the human species
is inflicting upon itself and the planet, immediate action feels desperately required.
These motivations are laudable, but they also represent an impulse to repress con-
sidered confrontation with the past. How will ecomusicology contribute a new
perspective to understanding environmental loss and failure? How does making
music transform our losses and our production of environmental loss? The (Freud-
ian) psychic structure of commodity fetishism allows consumers to replace lost
objects with new attachments without coming to terms with the full consequences
of consumption. However, the creative arts give language, signification, ritual, and
community to otherwise unspeakable, un-acknowledgeable, and un-grievable loss
and repercussions. This article represents an acknowledgment of the shift in the
environmental movement towards more concerted focus on mourning and mel-
ancholy and entertains opportunities that may exist for ecomusicologists in this
burgeoning theoretical space.
MY LAST WILL
My will is easy to decide,

For there is nothing to divide,
My kin dont need to fuss and moan
Moss does not cling to a rolling stone.
My body? Oh, if I could choose,
I would want to ashes it reduce,
ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT 21, no. 2 (2016), 5177

Copyright The Trustees of Indiana University doi: 10.2979/ethicsenviro.21.2.03
And let The merry breezes blow
My dust to where some flowers grow.
* * * Perhaps some fading flower then
Would come to life and bloom again.
This is my last and final will.

Good Luck to all of you.
JOE HILL. (1915)
INTRODUCTION
The environmentalists condition can be one of loss, the perception
of a depleted and polluted environment as a product of modern con-
sumption. Compounding this grief, some environmental losses loom as
unrecognizable or beyond our immediate perception. Capitalism responds
to this obscure loss by offering consumption and development, perhaps of
a green variety, as a panacea for pain. This paper concerns the capacities
of making music, as an activity and process, to help recognize and respond
to present environmentally destructive patterns of grief and resource-
product consumption.
I see this paper as an opportunity to begin a conversation about how
ecomusicology might approach discussions of environmental loss and
failure. Rather than a tight and prescriptive disciplinary piece, with a sin-
gular focus and well-defined objectives, my goal is to offer a broad over-
view of a wealth of opportunities that I can see for interdisciplinarity.
Ecomusicology is a rapidly growing field that considers the relationship
between music and our environment (Allen and Dawe 2015). It also hap-
pens that environmental studies and humanities are rapidly offering up
streams of interdisciplinary thought with respect to environmental loss
(Cunsolo-Willox and Landman forthcoming). Where musicology is the
study of Western art music, and ethnomusicology is the study of music
in culture generally, my hope is that my (ethno)musicological readers will
take this paper, placed in Ethics and The Environment, as a location to
begin or complement more in-depth research into music and environ-
mental loss. I also aim to improve the reputation of musical culture for
environmental thought. The paper should resonate with and help con-
textualize past ethnographies and research. My ultimate aim is to pres-
ent both environmental and (ethno)musicological academic communities
with an occasion for fertile cross-pollination. It can be a delicate balance
to satisfy each audience. However, there is much to share: the creative
52 ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 21(2) 2016
arts give language (Kristeva 1989), signification (Turino 2008), and rit-
ual (Driver 1998) to loss, and contribute to the creation of community
(Riao-Alcal 2006) to recognize and deal with otherwise unspeakable,
un-identifiable, un-acknowledgeable, and un-grievable loss (Butler 2004).1
In an age of alienation, making music can be a community-building act of
commemoration of and resistance to further losses. As the subject area of
environmental loss alone is relatively new, to begin, before presenting the
usefulness of musical socialization for dealing with loss, I will scratch the
surface of the problem and then delve deeper.
THE PROBLEM
Environmental loss as a source of legitimate grief has been dubiously
greeted (Windle 1992). Environmentalists are asked to look on the bright
side. They are asked, why so negative? Before immediately turning to
the statistical carbon-dioxide J-curves that project terrifying outcomes
very good reasons to be negativeenvironmentalists might better contem-
plate the wounds the earth has already endured and how they happened:
through, for example, overconsumption, a pattern that is difficult to slow
or end when our economic system lauds growth. One significant concern
of environmental loss includes the psychic structure of commodity fetish-
ism (Sandilands 2012). In addition to proposing endless consumption,
capitalist commodity fetishism obscures the human and environmental
relations involved in what we consume, the externalities: the full social
and environmental costs involved in the production of commodities, our
objects.
Essentially, capitalist-growth asks us to replace our lost environmental
attachments, lost species, lost skills, lost forests, lost futures, and lost ways
of life with new consumable and disposable objects and efficiencies. The
scope of loss and consumption, which are bound tightly together in such a
system, is scalable from the individual to society. For example, everything
from new sneakers and microwaves, to dams, to upgraded military weap-
ons, to hosting the FIFA World Cup, these can all be imagined as a kind
of retail therapy (Plastow 2013; Garg and Lerner 2013)spending to
improve our experience of reality by individuals and institutionsin an
environmentally diminished and/or threatened world.
These kinds of purchases and creations represent a particular kind of
melancholic failure. Each of them offers romantic and utopian promises
and then fails to deliver them: leaving one wanting. The sneakers promise
to push one outdoors to be fast, stylish, comfortable, fit, and to work
Andrew Mark DONT ORGANIZE, MOURN 53
against a sedentary life. The microwave offers convenience. Dams offer
green and renewable energy, a secure water source in times of increasing
scarcity, flood stability, job creation in times of austerity, and the possibly
of new leisure and outdoor activities, a new recreational industry. The
military weapons grow the economy and improve security in a changing
world of refugees and climate migrants. The FIFA World Cup celebrates
and welcomes nations into the developed world, creates housing and jobs,
and builds reputations. However, all of these utopian dreams and pur-
chases fail miserably. The sneakers are from sweatshops, fall apart, fill
landfills, and do not magically bestow fitness. The microwaves are designed
to break and leach toxins. The dams produce more greenhouse gases than
they save, destroy ecosystems, uproot peoples, and render downstream
farms infertile. The military weapons end up in the wrong hands and scat-
ter depleted uranium while our alliances shift. The prosperity of the World
Cup includes massive security spending to police numerous and vulnera-
ble people who are displaced and persecuted by the beautiful game, and
it leaves empty homes and debt in its wake. This process of purchase and
despair is one and the same. This kind of consumption almost requires
that people repress acknowledgement of the social and environmental loss
that the production and function of such commodities, events, and insti-
tutions entail. Knowingly making such cost-benefit purchases requires the
distancing, alienation, isolation, and bureaucracy that commodity fetish-
ism enables, tyranny without a tyrant (Arendt 1970, 81).
Given our evident losses and our failed purchases, and in full awareness
of Hardins tragedy of the commons (1968), wherein the self-interested
individual will always choose to exploit a public resource until the indi-
vidual expense of doing so equals the individual benefit, one could still ask
why we continue to consume. One answer to this question might be to
investigate our original replacement. In Western society, our awareness of
commodities, gifts, and new developments begins early. From birth chil-
dren are encouraged to form attachments to objects beyond our parents.
Acquiring new objects becomes a pattern of learning, but also one of con-
sumption with birthdays and holidays, a deep-rooted repetition of dis-
card and replacement and gifting to others. With the group of the global
population that represents roughly 20% and consumes roughly 80% of
the resources (World Bank Development Indicators 2015), the consump-
tion of commodities in abundance begins early. However, there are also
opportunities to become attached to processes like music making, instead
of products. I will return to this distinction momentarily.
If we look further on in life, the replacement pattern, a drive to move
from one failed object to the next becomes an unavoidable lexicon. Even
environmental campaigns ask the concerned to move attention from one
endangered species to the next as they disappear, from one vanishing old
growth rainforest to another as they are clear-cut (Sandilands 2012).
National Geographic catalogs the artifacts of stressed cultures, constantly
producing new opportunities for passing attachment and replacement
in a slideshow of nostalgia (ibid.).2 This process of veneration, salvage,
and preservation only begins when modern society is sure of its ability to
wipe something out in the first place (Braun 2002; Sturgeon 2009: 5379;
Sandilands 2012), and so the consumption of loss begets more loss while
the environmental movement provides predictable and repetitiously pat-
terned response.
Audio Clip 1 (http://archive.org/details/SandilandsAudioClip1) fea-
tures Catriona Sandilands and Andrew Mark speaking for the podcast
series, CoHearence. Musical credit: Morlove (2010).
MUSICKING
Christopher Small (1998), with the styling of a sociologist and sym-
bolic interactionist, determined that while the study of music in abstrac-
tion of social conditions is a laudable project, without human interaction,
or at least someone to listen, music has no meaning. To keep people in
music, Small used the phrase musickingas dance is to dancing, music is
to musicking. This framing shifts the emphasis of the value and meaning
of music away from musical objects and towards musical processes. This
pivot, from music as reified and consumable to musicking as emergent
and social, is how I see can see music making as an activity that helps
reveal and handle the environmental consequences of objects and their
failures. While songs, in abstraction, can stand as powerful elegiac mon-
uments and memorials to loss, they only become powerful in their emer-
gent, processual, and discrepant recitation.
How does musicking help to respond to the cycle of consumption and
loss? Making music can sometimes represent a low-resource-consumption
activity (Pedelty 2012, 12998) that works against consumptive impulses
by acting as a (carbon) sink between choices of relative pleasure-
seeking activities. A pick-up game of soccer can operate in the same way.
However, I am not driving at such an analysis. I am working to address
how musicking interacts with environmental melancholy and mourning
and the tension between process and product. To begin, melancholy and
mourning requires further examination.
For some, the very awareness of environmental issues involves feelings
of melancholyan ongoing process of grief and unwillingness to let go
and mourninga more complete state of loss that includes acceptance
and memorialization. My approach towards loss should be understood
as responding to a specific kind of Freudian psychoanalytic framework.
Certainly, it is of Western origin. The Freudian conception of melancholy
and mourning suggests that when we lose things, we seek to replace them,
and that when we reattach, this is normal mourning, where the replace-
ment is a consolation that allows acceptance of loss. This position sug-
gests that the end result of the cost-benefit analysis between a) moving
on, or b) dwelling in loss, is that accepting loss, moving on, and finding
new attachments is psychologically optimal. However, we know that not
everything is replaceable. The things that we cannot replace sometimes
leave us in a state of perpetual anger and grief, a perverted incomplete
mourning. Freud suggested this was melancholy: the inability to reattach
(1947; 1917).
Specifically for environmental thought and Freuds melancholy and
mourning, the suggestion and fear is that unchecked and unexamined
melancholy can possibly produce an endless spree of commodity replace-
ment/pleasure seeking without resolution. This version of melancholy is
also one in which alienation is so rampant and society is so fragmented
that fully appreciating what other people are doing with their lives, and
why, is impossible, and product consumption and individuality replace
the (ideally) less destructive processes of community and belonging. The
suggestion is that as a society, if we do not confront our environmental
losses together and deal with them, if we do not mourn them properly, we
will never slow the melancholic consumption and the production of new
product-losses and greater alienation.
However, there is also room for positive melancholy in environmen-
tal thought. There are losses we cannot reconcile, or refuse to reconcile,
and these transform our constitution into something more resilient as we
carry them forward and refuse to let go. On the one hand environmen-
tal melancholy could lead to destructive patterns of unending consump-
tion or horrible depression, and on the other, it could allow people to
remain true to what has been lost, rebelling against demands to leave the
past in the past, to forget what should have never happened. An inability
to move on does not have to mean retail therapy. A crack then, exists,
between environmental melancholy and mourning through processes of
memory.
Freudian substitutive models of mourning may have been discredited
elsewhere as simplistic for psychoanalytic purposes (Woodward 1990;
Ramazani 1994), and Freud himself revised his original basic substitutive
formulation (1947; Clewell 2004), and there are of course many non-
Eurocentric mourning practices and mentalities, many that engage music.3
However, within environmental thought, Freudian models may have par-
ticular applicability to commodity fetishism and the speed at which we
attend to, seek to replace, and discover environmental loss in the Western
world. Using a Freudian framework in the present contextone that
reflects powerful generalized understandings of loss in the worlds most
dominant economies and mediareflects environmental and social ques-
tions in particular and with some efficacy, even if this framework does not
reflect the true emotional depth of the individual human mind. To repeat,
and for clarity: I am not suggesting that all losses can be mitigated with
replacements or commodities, nor that all people desire to do so. Though
my explanation above for the process of environmental melancholy and
mourning is simplistic and brief, excellent in-depth reading is readily avail-
able elsewhere, including in this journal (Clewell 2004; Cusolo-Willox
2012), and I will return to this theme with examples.
Music is generally understood as a product or experience for consump-
tion. Obviously there is room for music, the abstract object, to embolden
environmental response. Joe Hill, a famous American labor activist and
singer-songwriter of the early twentieth century, is best remembered for
the slogan, Dont mourn; Organize! (Taylor 1990). The tale is that
Hill telegraphed this sentiment to a fellow activist after being wrongly
accused of murder. Hill was eventually sentenced to death by firing squad.
Today, organizers and activists use the symbolic power of such storiesas
objectsthat encapsulate the triumph of the human spirit in the face of
failure and loss. Musicthe objectcan also be constructed as providing
access to hope, strength, renewal, and overcoming in the face of adversity
(Stein 2004, 792; Turino 2008). However, I am looking for musicking that
responds to adversity, melancholy, and mourning through fostering social
bonds.
In contrast to common-sense (Hall 1991) boot-straps activism, where
a ready and positive attitude will win out, I posit that the environmen-
tal movement also needs the strategic ability to slow down and perhaps
even stop completely so as to take stock of efforts that are failing to
succeed. The counter-intuitive processes of inaction and mourning can
also be sources for inspiration. We might call them anti-activities, such as
anti-consumption and anti-oppressive learning. Musicking can help with
this work. A negative formation of response to loss might better consider
not only the emotional experience of music, the product and object, but
the participatory activity of musicking (Small 1998). I will admit that
choosing to music is not the same thing as stopping environmental action,
but it is a shift in relation to consumption, if temporary.
Making music is a creative response that can escape the creation of a
commodity. It can be seen as a refusal to consume, and in this sense, mak-
ing music can be un-productive. Intangible art can be a radical response to
commodity fetishism. Musicking can also be a slow community-building
process. I am not equating doing nothing with mourning: I am proposing
that at the very least, pauses for strategic reflection help and that musick-
ing can be part of this and powerfully so. A more complete environmental
mourning through musicking, or any creative channel, could be one that
both actively recognizes and memorializes losses that have occurred and
are occurring but simultaneously and melancholically resists the allow-
ance and acceptance of further loss.
A BRIDGE TO UNDERSTANDING
This paper is an expansion of ongoing research, creative, and perfor-
mance collaborations I have with others. We began this research process
by launching a podcast series, CoHearence, on environmental research
coming out of the Faculty of Environmental Studies at York University in
Toronto, Canada (Di Battista and Mark 2012). While investigating envi-
ronmental approaches to melancholy and mourning Amanda Di Battista
and I collected interviews with environmental academics, theologians, and
artists, to eventually develop a typology of environmental loss (Mark and
Di Battista 2016) that gives language or narrative (Kristeva 1989, 3368)
to many different kinds of environmental mourning and melancholy. Our
work included incorporating the feedback of our informants to develop
this typology and share it. Arising from our findings, we describe various
methods and theorists that help environmentalists resist, respond to, and
contemplate environmental loss. In the following, I summarize our typo-
logical findings and then expand upon them to suggest how musicking
in particular might work with the ideas and themes we uncovered and
developed.
However, before moving to our typology, a concrete example is in
order, as contemplating what environmental loss is in theory and contem-
plating how to politically respond to such loss by utilizing the power of
mourning and melancholy is abstract. Mixing musicking into the equa-
tion makes possibilities even more speculative. In short: as I will demon-
strate, the recognition of environmental loss is generally psychically and
physically repressed and unrecognizable, and, I argue, something that
requires validation in order to confront it. Before attempting to describe
what environmental loss is and how to utilize mourning, melancholy, and
musicking as actions for political ends to respond to loss, I will offer a
parallel and popular example that illustrates how other movements that
suffer loss successfully use mourning and melancholy for political ends,
bringing recognition to kinds of losses that were once unimaginable and
invisible in the public realm.
The AIDS memorial quilt and its history help bring visibility and toler-
ance in dominant North American perspectives towards people with HIV
and AIDS, and also to Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, and Queer
communities. In some measure, the experiences of these communities are
brought into greater public consciousness through the creative capacity
of the quilt. Since the late 1980s, as a part of a larger campaign towards
HIV and AIDS awareness, The NAMES Project has accepted three by six
foot quilted panels to commemorate friends, lovers, and family members
lost to HIV and AIDS. When the quilt began, many people who died of
AIDS did not have funerals or memorials because of opprobrium, because
funeral homes refused to handle the peoples remains, and because fam-
ilies refused to pay for burials. The quilt was for many, the only oppor-
tunity to commemorate a loved ones life. These panels for the deceased
are sewn into a giant quilt (NAMES 2013). As sections of the quilt are
unveiled at strategic public ceremonies, for it is far too large to lay out
in its entirety, the names of lost ones are read aloud. As a creative work
that includes and has extended to produce letters, biographies, films, and
books, in addition to academic articles (Junge 1999), the power of such
an example to articulate both individual particular losses and larger losses
as a society is remarkable and moving. The quilt helps bring home just
how massive the AIDS pandemic is, opening up new possibilities for dia-
logue as it helps to de-stigmatize those who contract the disease by reveal-
ing everyones vulnerability. The quilt revealed our interconnection and
refuted the inadmissibility of grief. For environmentalists and ecomusicol-
ogists this example presents a public transformation of opinion through a
creative response: how to make the un-grievable subject of environmental
loss become a public discourse of communal melancholy and mourning
and an opportunity for reconciliation, respect, and dignity.
While this example demonstrates a transformation in societal dis-
course through creative response, our research also developed a more
intimate and equally concrete example of the possibility of individual
musicking for helping to ritualize and sit with grief of AIDS-related
losses (Wushke 2012). Here is Ralph Carl Wushke describing his related
experiences as a minister and ecotheologan:
One of the little rituals that Ive kept over the years is that when I hear
that a friend of mine, and this doesnt happen very often now, but in
the nineties and eighties it happened a lot, that I would get news that
another person with HIV, with AIDS, had dieda friend of mine had
diedI would immediately sit down at my piano and play my favourite
hymn, For all the Saints, sing all eight stanzas, play it badly, and then
write his name on that page in the hymnal. So this was my personal
little ritual that I would immediately do when somebody died of AIDS.
You know, thats sitting with the grief. This is a moment to cry, and a
moment to sing, and theres nothing else to do here now. But its a way
of processing it and moving through it. Certainly, by analogy, there is
something like this to be done, whether its an Earth quilt, or songs of
lament for the species that are gone. (Wushke 2012)
Audio Clip 2 (http://archive.org/details/WushkeAudioClip2) offers an
original recording of Wushke engaging in this ritual. Musical credit:
Rob Szabo.
Wushke articulates not only a facile connection between song, loss, and
environment, and a way to connect more deeply with his community, but
more significantly, he underscores the importance of the ritual of musick-
ing for contextualizing loss, a theme I will return to. As Wushke suggests,
there is considerable room to consider how the AIDS crisis shares threads
with the environmental crisis.
A TYPOLOGY OF LOSS
As promised, what follows is the list of categories of environmental
loss Amanda Di Battista and I collated in our research (2012; forthcom-
ing). This list is not closed, or fully developed, but rather offers a means
for locating kinds of environmental loss. This section of the paper is not
an argument so much as a collection of modes of environmental loss to
which I will argue musicking responds in the next section. Further, the
list is not meant to offer a discussion of each and every theorist involved
with each node of loss, but rather, act as a resource to help foster more
interdisciplinary investigation. They are beginnings, not ends. Our hope is
that others will find connection to their own interests and reading in this
typology and develop more complete responses to these losses.
First, environmental losses are shared. If the environmental Freudian
model is to work, it must expand to take on losses that move beyond
the individual and the human. The Freudian model promotes focus
on the individual, an individual that is separate from its environment.
Environmental losses are local and global, individual and collective. There
are few rituals in dominant and alienated societies (Putnam 2000) to sup-
port collective mourning for the environment, or to consider the ways in
which environmental losses leave their mark on the psychic structure of a
community, culture, or society (Mark and Di Battista forthcoming; Lifton
1999, 134; Macy 1995).
Second, environmental losses are potentially un-grievable. Judith
Butlers ideas, in describing the publicly un-grievable nature of same-
sex losses (2004), open doors to consider the agency and destruc-
tion of others, other species, places, and the violence of global
re-structuring, where the production of commodities become increas-
ingly globalized (Ford-Smith 2011), stretching our ability to imag-
ine the environment as worthy or unworthy of our grief (Stanescu
2012). In Western society nature can be seen as a combination of nat-
ural resources and more-than-human beings, and if these agency-
lacking non-subjects are harmed or disappear, there are few condoned
rituals to acknowledge such losses. In contrast to how one might attend
a funeral and hear testament to the impact the deceased had on ones
life, individuals are not encouraged to consider how environmental losses
constitute the self, even as our lives and possessions are products of such
losses. Given the assumption that there is a false duality between the self
and our environment (Evernden 1985; Livingston 2007; Golden 2011)
without recognition of a connection between the lost object and the self
why would anyone choose to mitigate or alter destructive environmental
practices? As it stands, grief, when socially and publicly acceptable, is
highly regulated (Fowlkes 1990), and it appears that environmental grief,
for loss of or harm to place, is difficult to publicly accept. Scientists can
be embarrassed to acknowledge emotional attachment to the health of
research subjects, our planet, and its species (Windle 1992). But further,
how can one grieve for something unnamed, unknown, or never known?
For example, how might we grieve for the loss of the assumption that we
can safely drink straight out of most any nearby river?
Third, environmental loss is elusive and possibly slower than we can
comprehend. If we cannot describe with scientific certainty the impact
of the nuclear Fukushima disaster, how can we manifest an appropriate
level of emotional response to what amounts to slow violence (Nixon
2011)? The thousands of years, liters, and kilometers that such nuclear
spewing will cover defy human-scaled comprehension. The rituals we do
have for responding to loss, briefly-manifested nostalgic musical elegy for
example, may not be able to address such impact.4 Even as the ability to
comprehend environmental losses may elude us, we do react emotionally
and physically to them, and so their reality is made concrete in subtle
ways, if elusive. People on Pacific shores are not sure how to respond:
what they are responding to, or for how long, but the feeling promises,
for all intents and nuclear-scaled purposes, a kind of permanent melan-
cholic grief. Albrechts solastalgia comes to mind (2005), where individu-
als experience mental and physical illness as their home environments are
irretrievably impacted by industrial and colonial processes.
Fourth, environmental losses are revelatory and pedagogical.
Learning about ones losses can happen through processes of enlight-
enmentnot always in a first-hand experiential phenomenological way.
People may suddenly learn that their environment is full of anthrophony;
human-made sounds absolutely everywhere (Krause 2012). Silence, or
the absence of anthrophony, may not exist for most humans, but people
can become aware that there are and once were people who access(ed)
it (ibid.), and that loss is powerful. As children grow, from what might
appear to be a more complete notion of the world, they discover losses
of innocence, of nations, of peoples, of places, and they are rarely given
the tools, if such exist, to process the histories of incredible violence, loss,
and the ongoing present manifestations of colonization and resourcism
that they discover.
Fifth, the loss of the future is an environmental loss. Nuclear technol-
ogy and the irretrievability of climate change limit the insurance of the life
as we have known it (McKinnon 2014). Such a loss generates a kind of
melancholia with potentially disastrous environmental outcomes. Without
a future, people may feel stripped of the incentive for a stewardship of
restraint, of purpose. We consume today because tomorrow may not come.
You only live once and living in the moment are notions that are too
often tied to big purchases and self-indulgence, not to mention purchases
in preparation for the apocalypse. Similarly, preparing for the next extreme
weather event, or the next super-bug generates a kind of perpetual anxiety
and low grade fear for anticipatory loss of what one has right in front of
ones self. Bob Dylan captured this sentiment in Masters of War,
Youve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You aint worth the blood
That runs in your veins
(Dylan 1963)
Sixth, environmental loss is bound up with attachment. The Freudian
psychoanalytic model suggests reattachment after loss for healthy mourn-
ing. After the September 11, 2001 attacks in New York City and on The
Pentagon, American President George W. Bush recommended that people
aid their country by shopping to stabilize the economy and defy terror-
ist attacks on free-market capitalism, the symbolic power of the World
Trade Center buildings. Commodity fetishism asks individuals to put
aside opportunities to consider the Other (Butler 2004). With this short-
cut to confronting our loss, we fail to remember what we have lost and
how. Further, even environmental campaigns are organized and marketed
as commodities and objects which consumers can choose from, purchase,
flaunt, pick up and drop, move on from and collect, or lose and replace,
like so many hand-made buttons on backpacks (commemorative memo-
rials though they may be). They hear Joe Hills call and Dont Mourn;
[but] Organize! as they scramble to mobilize for the next species on the
brink of extinction, for the next terrorist attack.
CALL AND RESPONSE RESISTANCE

Instead of protesting, instead of attempting to change the world,
re-attaching from one losing battle to the next, from one disaster zone to
another, how might we first try to comprehend how we are constituted
by our losses and reactions to them? How might we prevent superficial
reattachment?
Resistant mourning seeks to continue an ethical relation to the lost
object or the Other after loss has occurred. It is a political response
(Spargo 2004, 6; Smith 2011; Eng and Kazanjian 2002; Soper 2012). It
allows us opportunities to expand discursive spaces to include bodies
that are not mourned in dominant discourse (Willox 2012, 149) and
transforms what is grievable in posthuman ways (Di Battista and Mark
2012). By sitting with loss, opportunities for responding in ways that do
not diminish the significance of what is lost can arise. These opportunities
are important for an environmental movement that struggles, that suf-
fers for its efforts, and that leaves human resources drained. Once again,
my aim in the following is not to provide answers, make claims, or give
detailed examples supporting the typology we developed or theorists we
referenced, but instead through broad grounded interdisciplinary specu-
lation on a range of topics, I am seeking to inspire and provoke others to
better develop the usefulness of categorizing the ways in which musicking
might respond to our typology.
Melanie Klein, a psychoanalyst, contends that after feelings of sad-
ness, anger, and guilt emerge while experiencing a loss, opportunities for
sublimating losses arise (1940; Clewell 2004). One can even hope to dis-
cover a drive for reparative ethical mourning. As it happens, creative arts
are particularly well suited for such mourning practices. Music in partic-
ular channels the elegiac impulse, in creation, in practice, and in expe-
rience, giving language to what may have previously and angrily been
inexpressible or repressed. The products of art are, in some traditions,
imagined as able to defeat death and mourning, and move out of time
into a kind of immortal eternity, through ancestral contact for example.
Music represents the indescribable, and in its flexibility in communica-
tion, it presents to a listener what he or she desires to find in it. Its mallea-
ble qualities present opportunities for dialogue and ethical confrontation
which is an essential objective for the environmental movement (Mark
2014, 88).
Musicking provides an ethical outlet not merely as emotional ear
candy, or only as elegy, but also as a larger systemic process. If pain drives
consumption, then musical means for channeling that pain might lessen
or forestall consumption/re-attachment. By directing otherwise harmful
emotions and consumptive reactions to loss towards creative processes
like memorialization and melancholic protest, musicking generates com-
munity (Mark 2015). Musicking to mourn, to alleviate melancholy, and
to share loss can be quite efficacious in diffusing tension. For example,
The Heartbeat Orchestra, which brings together youth from Israel and
Palestine to make music, demonstrates a specific, expressive, continuous,
and processual response to wider regional sublimated social anger and
environmental loss through musicking (Heartbeat 2013). While commu-
nities are threatened and razed to the ground, homes and farms vanish and
are transformed, while olive trees are torn from the ground (Oxfam 2010)
and bombs fly, The Heartbeat Orchestra resists such losses by connecting
musicians together to hear one another symbolically and practically.5 The
organization attempts an ethical response to social and environmental loss
through creativity. The group ostensibly works to demonstrate through
their various collaborative efforts, from rehearsals to performance, that
another path might be possible.
The potential usefulness of music for conflict resolution is hardly
news to (ethno)musicologists (Zizek 2009; OConnell and Castelo-Branco
2010), but it bears repeating that environmental elegy through song is rel-
evant not merely as a method for calling attention to an issue, or a place,
or moments in history through text or context, to nostalgia, but as a pro-
cessual means for collective sublimation, contextualization, healing, and
history-keeping in the present. Musicking does work against the erasure
of subaltern stories by creating song, a kind of memorialization-product,
but the creative process itself is already a therapeutic response to loss. For
jazz musicians the song, Goodbye Pork Pie Hat or Theme for Lester
Young, is not just a way for all to hear and witness how special Lester
Young must have been to Charles Mingus (Jenkins 2006, 64), and thereby
for the Civil Rights Movement and the jazz community, but by creating
and playing the song in the first place, processing and generating the song
in the very moment Mingus was informed of Lester Youngs death, he
used musicking to sublimate parts of his painful personal loss into cre-
ativity (Santoro 2001, 152), not merely a calculated elegy or memorial as
a product.
Turning from the complexity of trying to describe process, I do not
wish to ignore musical products for the purposes of resistant environ-
mental mourning by exclusively considering musicking. There are so very
many examples of musical products that the work completes itself. In
some sense, one ecomusicological project might be to keep track of new
musical works of environmental mourning while casting backwards to
reframe older works like Apocalypse Jukebox already does (Whitelock
and Janssen 2009). Transnationalism and song (Zheng 2010), loss and
lament (McNally 2009; Feld 2012), memorialized environmental disas-
ters (Fraser 2012; Sparling 2014), all of these robust areas of (ethno)
musicological research bare reexamination from an ecocritical van-
tage point.6 Paul Walde has recently created a laudable four-movement
orchestral Requiem for a Glacier involving a seventy-person choir and
orchestra for the Farnham Glacier in British Columbia, Canada (Threlfall
2014). The piece was actually performed in full and filmed for video
installation on Farnham glacier near the proposed Jumbo Glacier Resort,
the cite of a controversial, remote, and exclusive development. Perhaps
one of the most striking examples of environmental mourning and song
from the Western orchestral tradition comes from Krzyszrof Pendereckis
Threnody (for the Victims of Hiroshima), for 52 strings (2001). The com-
position is roughly ten minutes long and is simply disturbing. It has been
used in several dark and famous films. The title contains all the context
needed to beg the listener to consider the absolute horror of nuclear war,
the loss of a confidence in the future, the loss of life, space, and environ-
ment in Japan. Penderecki does not offer soothing optimism in conclu-
sion, but rather opens a wound without providing any closure for the
listener (Mark 2014: 88). Similarly, Bob Wisemans freak-folk song of
environmental loss, Rock and Tree, concludes with no conclusion, leav-
ing the listener to consider the cyclical madness of fossil fuel extraction
and his or her part in the process (1989). Wiseman begins by explain-
ing the assassination of Salvador Allende and military coup of Augusto
Pinochet as directly linked to Allendes policies of returning land back
to Chiles indigenous peoples, the Mapuche.7 Wiseman places blame for
the assassination and environmental destruction on colonialism and neo-
colonialism, but more specifically on Richard Nixon, Henry Kissinger,
the president of Pepsi-Cola,8 and the head of the CIA, who held strate-
gic meetings to discuss US interests in manipulating Chilean leadership
before Allende was assassinated,
Soon they were sucking
Out of the natives land
All of the coal and oil
Went to American hands
The Mapuche watched,
In disbelief,
While ten billion dollars,
Was made in sixty years,
For the American thief
He concludes with,
Said the rock to the tree,
I have watched them for centuries,
You know they move circles
They never move in straight lines,
Theyve done this all before,
Theyll do it all again,
I dont know how many times.
Theyve done this all before,
Theyll do this all again,
Thats how they pass the time.
(Wiseman 1989)9
With a little effort, many songs of resistant environmental mourn-
ing come to mind, but again, what do they all have in common? As I
described earlier with Wushkes example of response to the death of his
friends to AIDS, ritual is an important element to reparative environmen-
tal mourning. Musicking is a ritualized practice that can help process
losses. When frozen by the magnitude of our losses, musicking offers a set
of given requirements to follow. These rituals include all of the physical
and mental repetitious activities needed to unify the self and the col-
lective (Farmelo 1997) to produce coordinated intentional rhythm and
harmony (whatever ones interpretation of that harmonious goal may
be). Getting in time, in synch, and in tune with others improves feelings
of mutual obligation and relation (Keil and Feld 1994). Social synchrony
in dance, music, and marching activates instinctual collective behavior
(Hall 1977, 7184) or muscular bonding (McNeill 1995). Playing music
with others potentially moves one from silence to communication and
ultimately a performance practice of an idealized self that may have more
ethical relations with Others, all species (Small 2011). Musicking may
thereby help to heal both internal and external relationships by seeking
that ideal. On a practical level, for musicians who play in ensembles, one
has to be in touch, seek others out, and organize to meet together. Such
social practices aid against the alienating challenges of environmental
loss mentioned earlier.
Pilar Riao-Alcal (2006), in discussing the role of protest move-
ments that use mourning as a social practice with special or even sacred
social rights, insists that developing communities of mourning is essen-
tial to resisting the impulse to replace, to substitute, to move on from
inexcusable loss while supporting individuals who are struggling. Within
a collective of mourning there can be a sense of shared burden, shared
loss, and shared values. These common feelings work against alienation.
Expressions of grief that are unacceptable or un-acknowledgeable in the
public sphere can be not only accepted within a community of mourning,
but even encouraged and supported. In particular, musical practices
often as collective or social artistic endeavorsoffer incredible opportu-
nities for fostering communities of mourning. Political musical ensembles
of all varieties have acted as far more than organizations for shared artis-
tic and aesthetic interests, but also as channels for expressive frustration
and mutual support. Such groups can,
[I]nvolve expressive and physical actions to remove the presence of
death while inventing the tone of the deceaseds memory projection for
the future. Performed acts of remembering oppose the imagined horror
of forgetting. They simultaneously renew and potentially amplify both
the sociability and solidarity forged by participation, and the emotional
exhaustion, enmity, and antipathy forged by contemplating loss. (Feld
and Fox 1994, 40)
Inspired by these works and the research Amanda Di Battista and I have
produced, dancer and choreographer Sally Morgan of Eastward Moving
(2014) and I decided to create a sound and movement installation piece
entitled Lostsolastalgia (Morgan and Mark 2014) as part of Peterbor-
ough Ontarios Erring on the Mount. This weekend arts festival was a
site-specific multidisciplinary project that involved more than 60 artists.
Joining this community of local artists who were inspired by the ghostlike
dream residues of our space, a sprawling, enormous, deconsecrated, and
uninhabited abbey in Peterborough that housed the Sisters of St. Joseph
for a century, we sought to bring attention to the stark and fractured
architectural discontinuities of the building complex and relate them
to the failing environmental movement where so many dreams remain
incomplete. Though parts of the building included a more modern wing,
a mid-century chapel, and a 19th century farmhouse, we chose to work
in what was a former hospital wing. While it was difficult to measure
the success of our work in communicating our grief, over 2000 visitors
moved through the Mount over the weekend, and by our final perfor-
mance, people were thanking us for putting into sound and motion their
feelings of environmental anger and loss without having stopped to read
the long-label for our installation. We were exchanging contact informa-
tion and plotting future collaborative work. We had, if only temporarily,
created, contributed to, and inhabited a community of loss and creative
resistance that began with Di Battista, Morgan, and I, and came to repre-
sent yet more voices.
Our work was an hour-long durational piece that people were encour-
aged to stay with as long as they pleased. I composed individual sonic
pieces for each room and the hall using the sounds available to me from
the Mount-as-instrument, using archival recordings of songs from the area
(Fowke 1958), and using recorded segments from forthcoming chapter Di
Battista and I have as read by Morgan. Morgan responded to the space
using her own somatic site-responsive environmental and dance practices.
This clip, which features two contrasting folk ballads about the fate of
Indians vis--vis settlers (Murrin 1958; Sullivan 1958), is from the first
10 minutes of the piece (http://archive.org/details/ErringOnTheMount).
PRECLUSION OF HOPE
I wonder if within these fragments of possibility for environment
and music, my reader has found something to pursue. After presenting a
version of this paper at an ecomusicological gathering, the first burning
question the musicological audience members had for me was, Is there
any hope? I put to my reader here and now the following: thatcounter
intuitivelyasking such questions are a means for turning away from
dealing with environmental problems. Those with the power and privilege
to affect environmental change are indoctrinated in narratives of triumph
over trouble, problem-shooting obstacles, and hope for change (Cronon
1992). Narratives of hardship and overcoming are lauded and ubiquitous
in popular and alternative media. Such narratives inform how we interpret
evolution, the arc of human progress, and how we conceive of a balance
between good and bad; activists and academics, particularly environmen-
talists, are no exception in utilizing such strategies to promote their stories
(Rutherford and Thorpe 2010) and to raise awareness. Other research on
psychoanalysis, music, and mourning confirms this approach (Stein 2004,
792). Various narratives of overcoming challenges in the field inform eth-
nomusicologys understanding of itself. Institutional funding is geared
towards new insight into and action towards an expanding and evolving
field of environmental problems. Activists search for new means to grab
the attention of their target audiences. The pressures to produce solutions,
further the discourse, take progressive action, and remain positive under-
pin both academic and activist approaches to environmental thought.
Perhaps the most common critique of the environmental movement is that
it is simply not positive enough in its actual messages (McKinnon 2014).
Activists become depressed not only because of the kinds of outcomes
their research predicts for the future, but because their gloomy messages
are deemed inadmissible by both society and those in the movement who
would see a happier brand of environmentalism prevail.
In consideration of this problem, I pathologize the impulse for hope
and positivity. Hope can be a reaction to the cognitive dissonance that
occurs when (neutral or positive) imagined ideas of the self and society
conflict with the real limits of our ecosystems abilities to incorporate
human exploitation. Hope is the utopian (or dystopian) manner in which
the mind will leap from confronting the extinction of thousands of spe-
cies to the diverting possibility of a laboratory resurrection of the west-
ern black rhinoceros. It is the leap from the collapse of New York Citys
twin towers to shopping on Fifth Avenue. As a society and as individuals,
confronting the enormity of the ongoing and historical violence inflicted
upon people and the planet by various specific actors can be a sobering
and uncomfortable business (Sandberg and Sandberg 2010). Rather than
abandon ones previous notions of the self and society and face the possi-
bility of complacency in hegemony (King 2006), it can be simpler to seek
amelioration for this unforeseen wound, either by searching for an escape
hatch or by insisting that the environmental consequences of progress
must already be justifiable for social ends.
I am troubled by the lack of interest in dealing with how we are con-
stituted by the losses that particular consumption habits have produced.
In light of dominant and positivist modes of dealing with loss and failure
by responding with speculative sciencelike geoengineering (Urpelainen
2012)a truly radical and unorthodox position might be to dwell with
loss, consider it, not respond, but instead to stew and embrace melan-
choly and mourning. We might validate and thereby support a depressive
positioning.
From such a position, musicking can enter. In the seat of depression
where grief is recognized, welcomed, honored, and valued, music can hold
the loss, affirm it, and express it. Instead of repressing the negativity of
such experiences, of the environmental movement, such feelings can be
embraced as needed and appropriate instead of stored for unpredictable
venting and burnout. Through this particularly social mode of creative
expression, recognizing loss and experiencing melancholy and mourning
may not be as scary as it builds community. Musicking can help create
opportunities for strength and realism in a fractured moment in time.
Leaping into action is laudable and needed, and our common future
does depend upon it. The problems are absolutely urgent. But doing some-
thinganything!without recognizing, validating, and mourning our
losses will not save us or any other species, and will likely produce new,
unforeseen problems. Non-action can create space for a larger systemic
view of patterns (Bateson 1972) to learn about nature, the vulnerabilities
of the self, and the problem. From a position of observation, one can pre-
pare for the precise moment to intervene. By not burning out, by hum-
bly understanding ones own contributions to problems, and by realizing
that one may not be able to personally save the world, one can find the
best position from which to respond. Without creating time to think, we
will miss the opportunity to learn from those longer recursive self-repara-
tive processes that nature already and always exhibits. Patience is required
to transmit through many generations the repetitive restorative practices
of thought and action that will seem vanishingly insignificant in the pres-
ent moment and only cumulatively transformative over hundreds of years,
a slow response to slow violence. Ultimately, honoring actual failures is
not to accept defeat but must become an important strategic method for
resisting future losses.
Notes
1 I will return to these theorists in greater detail further on in the paper.
2 In a very similar fashion, ethnomusicologists theorize endangered musical cul-
tures as Titon suggests (2009).
3 There are so many examples of elegiac rituals, laments, weeping and wailing
practices involving music that ethnomusicologists have documented around
the world. A casual inquiry on the Society for Ethnomusicology list serve
gave me over 60 citations in 72 hours. One might begin with Feld and Foxs
outdated review which provides nearly 100 sources in 4 pages on the subject
(1994, 3943). However, I do not wish to be tokenistic or preferential in
reviewing them here, pretend to a deep understanding of each, nor to con-
flate my emphasis on an academic Western psychoanalytic framework with
briefly examined musical instances of mourning and melancholy (if they exist
at all in the same way) in Other cultures. I do use my own examples further
on in the paper, but let me emphasize that I see this research as ongoing and
evolving.
4 Noriko Manabe (2013) details the fascinating role that music and sound has
had in responding to the Fukushima meltdown in Japan, a role that goes far
beyond music as palliative.
5 It is worth noting that Benjamin Brinner is deeply suspicious of the actual
degree to which groups like the Heartbeat Orchestra represent genuine cultural
exchange, but he also points towards opportunity and success (Brinner 2009).
6 See endnote 2.
7 Jacob Rekedal (2014) is presently writing about some Mapuche who are
using hip hop to bring attention to their struggles against resource extraction
on their lands.
8 Actually, after 2000 copies were pressed and distributed, Warner Brothers
pulled this album from the shelf because of this song (among many provoca-
tive songs on the album that are also works of environmental mourning and
identify powerful actors like Union Carbine in Bhopal and the French Secret
Service in New Zealand). They feared litigation from Pepsi Cola.
9 Listen to the song here: http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Bob_Wiseman/In
_Her_Dream_Bob_Wiseman_Sings_Wrench_Tuttle/Rock_and_Tree
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Andrew Markis an independent scholar and holds a Ph.D with the

Faculty of Environmental Studies at York University. He holds an MA in
ethnomusicology and a B.A. in environment. He is a co-founder of the
Society for Ethnomusicology Ecomusicology Special Interest Group, an
editorial board member of the Ecomusicology Newsletter, and an editorial
collective member of Undercurrents: The Journal of Critical Environmental
Studies. Andrew has articles with Environmental Humanities, Ethnologies
and TOPIA, and chapters in published and forthcoming books. E-mail:
acwmark@gmail.com

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Don't Organize, Mourn: Environmental Loss and Musicking

Author(s): Andrew Mark

My will is easy to decide,

ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT 21, no. 2 (2016), 5177

This is my last and final will.

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CALL AND RESPONSE RESISTANCE

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