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In an age of uncertainty, investors want proven technologies.

When Trump won a second term, nobody quite knew exactly what havoc he would wreak on the climate tech industry — only that its prospects looked deeply unstable. After all, he’d alternately derided and praised electric vehicles, accused offshore wind turbines of killing whales, and described himself as “a big fan of solar” — save for its supposed harm to the bunnies — all while rallying supporters around the consistent refrain of “drill, baby, drill.”
At the same time, a number of key technologies continued moving down the cost curve, supportive policy or no. This collision of climate tech antipathy and maturing technology is already reshaping the funding landscape. New reports from Sightline Climate, Silicon Valley Bank, and J.P. Morgan point to a clear bifurcation in the industry: While well-capitalized investors and more established climate tech companies continue to raise sizable funds and advance large-scale projects, much of the venture ecosystem that backs earlier-stage solutions is struggling to keep up.
The headline numbers — which look strong at first glance — help obscure that reality. Sightline Climate’s Dry Powder and New Funds report, for instance, shows investors raising a record $92 billion in new climate-focused capital across 179 funds last year. But 77% of that total was concentrated among the largest players, institutional heavyweights like Brookfield Asset Management, Copenhagen Infrastructure Partners, and Energy Capital Partners, which tend to back proven technologies such as utility-scale solar, wind, and battery projects.
“A lot of infrastructure funds are very comfortable saying, Yeah, I’m going to do wind and solar. I know how that works. I can see the project finance there. All good,” Julia Attwood, Sightline’s head of research, said on a webinar about the firm’s report.
Meanwhile, the proportion of U.S. investment going to seed and Series A companies fell for the first time in about a decade, according to Silicon Valley Bank’s Future of Climate Tech report, bad news for less mature but critical technologies like carbon capture, green steel, low-carbon cement, and agricultural decarbonization. These remain the domain of more risk-tolerant early-stage venture investors, whose share of total funding raised is similarly shrinking, dropping from about 20% in 2021 to under 8% last year, according to Sightline. That’s due to both a decline in VC fundraising — the average fund size dropped from $174 million in 2024 to $160 million in 2025 — as well as infrastructure’s share of the pie growing as the industry matures.
Capital concentration also shows up within early-stage venture itself. While Silicon Valley Bank’s topline numbers show startup valuations increasing at every stage from seed to Series C and beyond, “there’s clearly a story behind that where the top performers are doing really well and a lot of the longer tail are still scraping to keep up,” Jordan Kanis, Silicon Valley Bank’s managing director of climate technology, told me. “There’s still money flowing into early stage companies. I think there’s more selectivity. It’s a higher bar.”
That selectivity has become a necessity, as investors struggle to raise fresh capital from their limited partners in a politically volatile environment, in which affordability and energy security have become the name of the game and the word “climate” is all but forbidden. Even before Trump’s second term, LPs were facing a liquidity crunch, as infrastructure-heavy climate tech companies often take a decade or more to exit and return capital to investors. So until those IPOs or acquisitions accelerate, many LPs will likely remain cautious about ponying up additional capital.
This year could be a turning point on that front, however, with nuclear startup X-energy going public last month at a valuation of nearly $12 billion, and geothermal unicorn Fervo Energy gearing up for its pending IPO. “Nothing gets this fired up more than some really good exits,” Andrew Beebe, managing director at Obvious Ventures, told me, referring to the climate tech ecosystem at large. “That’s going to get people talking a lot about the opportunities in the space.”
Obvious, which invests in climate tech companies but also those focused on “human health” and “economic health,” is one of the few venture investors to bring in fresh capital recently, raising about $360 million in January for its fifth fund. Last year, only 39% of climate-focused VC funds that were actively raising were able to close, according to Sightline Climate’s data, compared to 73% of mature infrastructure funds and 60% of growth funds.
Beebe said that for a well-known firm like Obvious, which has been investing in this space for over a decade, “we did not find it that hard” to raise, explaining that “LPs today are favoring experienced teams with track records.” The firm’s diversification beyond climate also might have been a boon, he said. And there’s always the possibility that “there were just too many funds, and we’re going to see a thinning of the field” in both climate and the venture landscape at large.
Indeed, the broader venture market mirrors many of these trends, indicating there’s more than just political sentiment — or even climate industry maturation — driving capital concentration at the top. For one, the entire venture industry contracted after 2022, as post-pandemic interest rates rose, money got more expensive, and valuations plummeted across the board. That’s led investors across all categories to hold off until companies demonstrate significant proof of traction.
“When we look at tech firms and look at how much revenue the median Series A company has in 2021 and compare that to what they had in 2025, it’s double,” Eli Oftedal, a principal researcher at Silicon Valley Bank, told me, meaning Series A companies are bringing in much more revenue than they were five years ago. “Investor expectations are higher across the board, not just in climate, and that’s a pretty clear indication of the whole ecosystem changing to request a higher level from founders.”
At the same time, revenue growth rates have slowed, elongating the time it takes startups to move from one round to the next. This environment has LPs and investors placing big bets on a few prosperous industries that seem almost guaranteed to generate returns, whether it’s solar and wind or artificial intelligence companies. For instance, OpenAI and Anthropic raised $40 billion and $13 billion last year, respectively, accounting for 14% of total global venture investment in 2025.
That type of focused hype is redirecting attention from generalist investors — who might have otherwise funded climate tech — toward more AI-centric bets. But the AI boom and the accompanying data center buildout are also behind many of today’s strongest climate tech deals, with surging electricity demand fueling investment in clean energy and gridtech startups as hyperscalers look to meet their ambitious — and perhaps impractical — climate targets.
“If you’re investing in the clean baseload energy and power part of climate tech, there’s so many dollars that need to be deployed to bring these companies to scale, and they’re viable today,” Robert Keepers, head of climate tech at J.P. Morgan Commercial Banking, told me. “Funds that are focusing on that part of the sector are doing really well.”
But the result is also a dynamic that disproportionately favors the energy sector, the most mature segment of the climate tech ecosystem. Last year, three quarters of new capital raised by climate-focused funds was earmarked for energy investments, leaving sectors including transportation, industry, and agriculture increasingly cut off from capital
If the trend continues, it could create a pipeline problem. Infrastructure investors would keep scaling solar and wind farms alongside politically favored tech like nuclear and geothermal, while a dwindling supply of venture capital leaves fewer next-generation companies able to graduate into that queue. “If they don’t have VC commercializing and providing [first-of-a-kind] funding for a bunch of the new tech then you’re just going to see more and more concentration in a few technologies, and you won’t really have that growth of a brand new market,” Attwood explained on the call.
As of now, however, that’s just speculation. As Attwood noted, Sightline’s data is based on climate tech funds that have already closed. “There’s another $200 billion out there that has not closed yet,” she emphasized. “So if all of that money is still in the pipeline, is still moving through, and could reach close fairly soon, that’s a huge indicator that there is still appetite to fund climate.”
With the historic level of electricity demand growth, Keepers told me “there’s never been this much momentum in the space.” And the climate issue certainly isn’t going away anytime soon. As Silicon Valley Bank’s report notes, over the past decade, billion-dollar climate and weather disasters alone have caused $1.5 trillion in direct damages — a figure that excludes smaller disasters and doesn’t even begin to capture the catastrophes’ broader economic ripple effects.
“We’re tackling a problem that some people still don’t really see, and we see with great clarity. So that’s where you make a lot of money,” Beebe told me. “Unlike some other cycles like blockchain, or crypto, or even enterprise SaaS, this cycle doesn’t come and go. It is a one way street. It will continue to become a bigger and bigger opportunity.”
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On simplified oil and gas leases, lawsuits over plastic and coal, and a new climate research database
Current conditions: The U.K.’s Met Office issued its second-ever Red Extreme Heat Warning for Wednesday and Thursday • A wildfire near Eureka, Utah forced the town’s evacuation • Flash flood warnings are in effect today for Southern Massachusetts.
Lucid Motors is downsizing, again. The electric vehicle maker is laying off 18% of its staff just a few months after a 12% reduction in force in February, according to Electrek. The company also eliminated a second production shift at its factory in Casa Grande, Arizona. EV sales plummeted in the U.S. after the federal EV tax credit expired in September. While many automakers are canceling new electric vehicle lines in the U.S., Lucid hasn’t axed any plans yet, and will be releasing its first lower-cost EV, the Lucid Cosmos SUV, later this year with a price tag under $50,000. It’s also preparing to launch a robotaxi service later this year in partnership with Uber and the autonomous driving technology company Nuro. According to Lucid’s new CEO, Silvio Napoli, the staff cuts will help “simplify the company, sharpen execution, and position Lucid to become more competitive over time.”

Trump’s environmental deregulation crusade continues. The Interior Department proposed several changes to the rules governing oil and gas leasing on federal lands Monday that would limit public input and cut costs for companies. Under existing rules, which were updated during the Biden administration, companies must maintain a minimum bond of $500,000 for each state where they hold leases to cover the cost of capping oil and gas wells when they are done drilling. Trump’s proposal would reduce the requirement to $25,000, shifting the financial risk of remediation to state taxpayers. The new rules would also shorten public participation periods from 90 days to 10, and get rid of a requirement that companies include plans to minimize methane emissions when they apply for drilling permits.
Red states are going after California, this time for its nation-leading plastic regulations. In 2022, the Golden State passed a law setting plastic waste reduction targets and requiring companies to cover the cost of recycling of their own products. The state aims to cut single-use plastic packaging on products by 25% by 2032. Now, 17 attorneys general from red states have teamed up with the National Association of Wholesaler-Distributors, a trade group, to sue California, arguing that the rules represent an “unprecedented overreach” that will increase the cost of goods throughout the country.
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In the first case of its kind, 10 Australians are suing the government for violating their human rights by failing to limit fossil fuel production. The claimants, each of whom has been personally affected by climate change-fueled extreme weather, brought the case to the United Nations’ Human Rights Committee on Monday. Some of them have lost their homes to wildfires and floods, while others have experienced health impacts from heat waves. The case follows a 2025 ruling by the International Court of Justice that all governments have an obligation to protect people from climate change, citing support for fossil fuel production and consumption as a potential violation of this obligation. While that ruling didn’t have any enforcement power, it teed up the potential for country-level claims like this one in Australia. The country is the second largest exporter of coal in the world and the third largest exporter of liquified natural gas.
The rumors were true. The Trump administration has appointed Travis Kavulla, a former utility regulator and power company executive, to lead the Bonneville Power Administration, a federal agency that sells electricity from the government’s hydroelectric dams in the Pacific Northwest. Kavulla arrives as the agency prepares for a controversial exit from California’s real-time electricity trading market to join a new day-ahead market overseen by the Southwest Power Pool, a regional transmission organization. Environmental groups are urging Kavulla reconsider the decision, arguing that it risks raising energy costs for Northwest ratepayers.
The climate change research and news site Carbon Brief debuted Project Cosmos on Monday, the world’s largest database of research on the warming planet. It includes more than 1.8 million publications and “captures the vast body of human knowledge about climate change that has accumulated over more than a century of academic study.” The architects created a stunning “star” map that visualizes the collection by clustering of fields of study, such as medicine, chemistry, or agriculture. They also identified the 500 most-cited studies and scientists, with French carbon cycle modeler Philippe Ciais earning the top spot.
It sidesteps the questions that doomed the Green New Deal.
Socialists are rising in American cities.
It’s not just Mayor Zohran Mamdani in New York City — though he is the most popular and charismatic example. Janeese Lewis George, a member of the Democratic Socialists of America, just won the Democratic mayoral nomination in Washington, D.C. Nithya Raman, another DSA member, will take on the incumbent Karen Bass in Los Angeles’ mayoral race. And on Tuesday, Democratic primary voters across New York will vote on a handful of Mamdani-backed socialists running for Congress.
What’s driving the popularity of urban socialism? The answer matters for climate policy and, of course, much else. You could argue the trend is downstream of demographics: As liberals have flocked to cities, they have pushed the political climate to the left, and sometimes that can erupt in outliers; New York elects socialists, in this model, for the same reason Tennessee picks libertarians. Or you could claim it’s part of the broader and more global shift of voters turning away from a seemingly dead center to political extremes.
Yet none of these frameworks quite suffices. For one, as New York Times columnist David Wallace-Wells observed recently, New York was actually trending to the GOP before it elected Mamdani. (It had the biggest Republican swing of any state in the 2024 election.) And the rise of urban socialism is now too widespread to be a mere aberration attributable only to local factors. So Wallace-Wells offered his own theory: “It is in cities that voters most routinely encounter, and thereby come to value, public goods,” he wrote.
I want to offer another explanation for why socialism has taken root in local government — and it has to do with the recent history of climate policy in the United States, and what that history revealed. Perhaps it’s my curse to understand all politics through the lens of emissions and energy, but I think it is relevant here: While recent city elections have not been about climate per se, many of today’s rising socialists initially came to their beliefs because of the urgency of decarbonization. Mamdani himself once identified as an “ecosocialist,” and Raman was first elected promising to get L.A. to carbon neutrality. And it was in the era that they made these claims — the era of insurgent left-wing climate politics — that one of the movement’s biggest challenges was revealed.
The story begins in November 2018. After securing her unlikely primary victory against an incumbent Democrat, Representative-elect Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez cemented her national profile by joining an activist group called the Sunrise Movement for a sit-in in Nancy Pelosi’s office and demanding something called a Green New Deal.
What a Green New Deal might entail, exactly, nobody seemed to know. Even the Green New Deal’s supporters called for little more than a select committee to develop a “detailed national, industrial, economic mobilization plan” to phase the country off fossil fuels. But a think tank called New Consensus, led and funded in part by Ocasio-Cortez’s then-chief of staff Saikat Chakrabati, declared that it would flesh out the proposal.
Soon a vision congealed. The phrase “Green New Deal” had long referred to the journalist Thomas Friedman’s broad, patriotic, and vague plan to “revitalize America.” New Consensus’ website made it clear that their scheme, too, aimed for national rejuvenation: A Green New Deal would be a galvanizing industrial strategy that would decarbonize the economy, put young people back to work, and ensure American greatness for another century. It was all about “industrial policy, industrial policy, industrial policy,” one of the group’s researchers told me.
That moment soon collapsed. Political ineptitude was partly to blame. In early 2019, Ocasio-Cortez published a document that jocularly implied the Green New Deal aimed to eliminate “cow farts and airplanes,” cratering its wider popularity. But the proposal faced internal critics, too, because its inherent patriotism was not palatable to the movement itself. American rejuvenation, it turned out, was not an acceptable or desirable goal to the left’s anti-imperial flank, which on its own had the power to discredit and destroy any Green New Deal coalition.
And so over time, the left’s climate vision — and the state-building “Green New Deal” that groups like Sunrise once clamored for — instead became anti-imperial. Instead of revitalizing the country’s industrial might, it sought to pacify and dismantle the military industrial complex. Instead of putting young men to work building batteries and electric vehicles, it aimed to create a new socialized economy centered around “care work” — care for children, care for the elderly, care for the natural world.
This transition was partly rooted in objective economic analysis — manufacturing really is becoming less labor-intensive, while healthcare and child care are gobbling up Americans’ incomes — but partly in a more ideological revulsion at the idea of American power itself. If you see the United States not as a flawed, fraught, but fixable actor in global politics, and instead as a failing empire upholding a disastrous and criminal global order, then any policy that strengthens the country’s economic base is impermissible and evil.
Why do I bring all of this up now? Because that episode revealed challenges the modern socialist movement has never figured out how to resolve at the national level. Take Darializa Avila Chevalier, for instance, a Mamdani-backed DSA candidate running in New York’s 13th congressional district. Chevalier seems to oppose the modern system of states in any recognizable sense. In a (since deleted) 2019 post, she tweeted that a “world without borders” is “necessary” and “the only moral way forward.” Even in a recent interview, she was so uncomfortable with the state’s power of coercion and incarceration that she declined to affirm murderers should go to jail. Yet she still wants what only a state can provide; her big issues include universal health care and a $15 minimum wage.
Many contemporary leftists find themselves in her position: They want the fruits of a strong state while remaining fundamentally suspicious of states themselves. That can make them skittish and unreliable partners in any national progressive coalition — many self-identified socialists simply don’t trust that even extremely progressive policy will redound to their benefit. (This centripetal mistrust is part of what tore apart the Biden coalition, even before October 7.)
Cities, however, don’t have this problem. They are powerful governments that are not sovereign states: They lack a military, a currency, a central bank, and a foreign policy. From the anti-imperialist’s perspective, there is little risk in making city governments stronger. In this way, many of the tensions inherent in the Green New Deal and other late 2010s progressive proposals are eased in urban government. Cities are a much more natural home for the new left, and its contradictions, than the federal government.
After all, many ecosocialists never quite knew how to feel about patriotism or the future of the United States. (Many might profess doubts about whether the United States should exist at all.) But they know what they want Brooklyn, or Los Angeles, or Oakland to be, and their vision — of a high-tax polity with abundant public leisure, mass transit, and zero-carbon electricity — is much closer to reality in cities, anyway.
It helps, too, that in an era where negative news predominates, cities are small enough for people to feel some pride in them. Nobody experiences “the United States” as anything other than a quasi-mediated phenomenon. Our vast, beautiful, and complicated country of 345 million people is simply too big to keep in our heads. But New Yorkers experience New York City every day — we shop, work, ride the subway, walk in the park, go to parades, and meet strangers often enough to identify with the reality of this 8 million person city. As a longtime veteran of city politics pointed out to me in private after the mayor’s win, Mamdani ran an extremely patriotic campaign — but the patriotism was for New York itself. He evinced a joy and confidence in the virtue of the New York City experiment that few leftists would extend to the American experiment. You could even argue that the flush of adoration for the patrie that the French felt in the 1780s, as they read a newly liberated press, might not be so different from what New Yorkers feel when they watch an Instagram reel celebrating Knicks in five.
In any case, socialists might soon have to confront more of these contradictions: As mayor, Mamdani has adopted an essentially status quo approach to the NYPD; if his chosen candidates win in congressional primaries on Tuesday, then they will discover their own willingness to compromise. But even that will be, in a sense, a luxury. Chakrabati, after leaving Ocasio-Cortez’s camp, ran his own campaign for Pelosi’s old San Francisco seat this year. He came in third place with 18% of the vote.
Director Josh Fox on his latest film, The Welcome Table, plus Shakespearean comedy and the New York Knicks.
After images of oil-slicked waterfowl and marching protesters, there is perhaps no visual more representative of the fossil fuel crisis than the flaming faucet in Josh Fox’s 2010 documentary GasLand. The film, which investigated how the fracking boom pollutes local communities, memorably included a scene of a man lighting his kitchen tap water on fire as methane spewed out through the contaminated water line. As one reporter wrote several years after its initial release, GasLand was the film that made “fracking” a household word in the United States.
Over 16 years and about a quarter of a million more American oil and gas wells later, the climate crisis caused by human use of fossil fuels has grown ever more acute. The emissions from burning those hydrocarbons have made the weather more extreme and unpredictable, of course, but they’re also reshaping the human landscape. In 2021, a team of international scientists published a report warning that a third of the world’s population, some 3.5 billion people, may be forced to leave their homes over the next 50 years due to the increasingly hot and unstable climate.
Even as it’s become more critical to make room for these new climate refugees, anti-immigrant politics have gone mainstream around the world. Studies have shown that both Republicans and Democrats become more xenophobic after learning about climate migration, while the annual refugee admission cap is now just 7,500 in the U.S., down 85% from its peak of 50,000 during the first Trump administration.
This week, Fox returns with a new documentary, The Welcome Table. In the film, which will be released on HBO, he travels around the globe, visiting communities in decline — places where the physical catastrophes and political climates have converged to make it impossible to continue living. But as he and I discussed in our conversation below, this story is not a tragedy; rather, Fox aims to answer how we can set the table and embrace neighbors who’ve lost their homes. And here’s the good news: It involves a lot of fun.
Our conversation has been lightly edited and condensed.
Reportage on climate migration almost always focuses on the people who are migrating. What struck me about your documentary was its emphasis on the other subject in this relationship — the people and communities who either receive or exclude the refugees. Can you tell me how you arrived at that starting point?
Well, I’ll tell you a funny story. I first started working on this in 2019 because I was so outraged at the policy of child separation. I went down to El Paso — which you see in part of the movie — to investigate issues of the border. I originally thought of the movie as The Border Table, where we were going to put a table on the border for people to come to from both sides, and we were looking for a section of the border that didn’t have a wall.
I quickly realized that the issues around the border were not my wheelhouse — it is its own subject — and I wanted to focus more broadly on the climate. I was doing an event for Bernie Sanders’ 2020 campaign where I was called to go to Columbia, South Carolina, with Nina Turner, Dr. Cornel West, and Bernie to talk about water issues. My flight came in, then Dr. West’s, and it was like 10 at night. We got in a rental car with Heather Gautney, who’s also an amazing activist. There was no place to eat — everything was closed — so we’re sitting in the back of a rental car, myself and Dr. West, and eating McDonald’s, and he’s like, “What are you working on?” And I said, “Well, we’re working on this film called The Border Table.” He goes, “Oh, well, you know, James Baldwin’s last book was called The Welcome Table, but nobody’s ever read it. He never finished it.” And I thought: The Welcome Table, The Welcome Table… That’s interesting, it’s a better title.
Then I was down in New Orleans, and I went to one of my favorite clubs and saw John Boutté. John and I immediately hit it off. He knew my work. He signed one of his records, and lo and behold, I look on the record, and there’s the song: “The Welcome Table.” Immediately I thought, Well, this movie has to start with John Boutté. From the moment I met him, I felt that there was this weird destiny that was happening.
I said, “John, I want you to sing this song to an empty table on the top of the levee, and at the end of the movie, you’re going to sing the song with 1,000 people at a 1,000-foot-long table, and we’re going to show the Welcome Table as this symbol of togetherness and generosity.” Because my question was, What’s the opposite of a wall? What’s stronger than this xenophobia, this racism, this hate, this militarization? Is there anything stronger than that fascist ideology? And I realized that a wall on its side can be a table. The wall is just a metaphor.
So The Welcome Table is essentially a movie about a song. It’s a movie about imagining a future where we can sing and not get tired, where we’re in a beautiful city and have a place at the table.
In a 2023 interview, you described The Welcome Table as a Shakespearian comedy. I’m curious if you still feel that way and can explain it?
All climate movies are tragedies. They’re about the tragic flaw of this civilization, how we’re all doing ourselves in. A comedy is where everybody gets married at the end. That’s what happens at the end of As You Like It, Twelfth Night, The Two Gentlemen of Verona. At the end of Hamlet, there’s just bodies all over the floor.
To me, that table with 1,000 New Orleanians celebrating, waving handkerchiefs, second lining, having the band — it is a sort of marriage, right? I mean, at every wedding in New Orleans, you have one of those bands. To me, it’s a marriage of true minds; it’s a marriage of our communities; and it’s a question of finding our solidarity and our togetherness. The idea is that we have to be bound to each other.
It’s also a hell of a lot more fun.
You note that climate migration would be the greatest mass migration in human history, with a third of the world projected to move in the next 50 years. But the Welcome Table is already pretty crowded at the end of the movie. How do you navigate that tension in climate storytelling — saying both “this is urgent and happening now” but also “it will also get worse”?
My last film on HBO was How to Let Go of the World and Love All the Things Climate Can’t Change [in 2016], in which we trace the path to 2 degrees Celsius and how dangerously close we were at that time. Now things have gotten worse. We include a climate science update midway through The Welcome Table, which is very dire.
But I think this is probably one of the first movies to deal with climate change as it’s happening now. It’s not saying, in the future this will happen, like An Inconvenient Truth. No, this is a fire right now. We’ve never had conditions that are this hot or this dry. This is a giant mega-storm, back-to-back Category 5s flattening the Virgin Islands. This is a famine that’s been going on for seven years because it hasn’t rained in northern Kenya. This is landslides where you have a whole year’s worth of rain drop in 12 hours and the mud buries whole neighborhoods alive.
This is climate change happening to us right now. It’s not predicting a dire future; it’s showing the one that we predicted 10 years ago.
A recurring pattern in the film is that climate migration doesn’t necessarily mean leaving one’s country, but could mean moving a town or neighborhood or two over. Can you talk a little more about how this was still a traumatic upheaval for your subjects, and why you include those stories alongside the more traditional images of refugees on boats or at the southern border?
If you think about New Orleans after Katrina, they lost half their population to elsewhere. And there is no place like New Orleans anywhere on earth. So you are losing something really fundamental to who you are. And, you know, it’s not as if when Paradise, California, burns down, they’re like, “You can set up your place in Chico! We have tons of empty houses and buildings and money and love for you!” No, it’s: Go [expletive] live in your car. So the idea that you’re a climate refugee doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ve had to cross borders. It just means you’ve lost everything.
I wanted to make the point that the Convention on Refugees defines refugees as people who are oppressed because of politics or because of identity or economic hardship or political violence, but it doesn’t include climate change. And it really should. Climate change should be a reason you can declare asylum, because climate change also makes all of those problems way worse.
I was extremely moved by the fact that many of the people extending their hands to refugees in this movie have faced their own forms of rejection and exile, like the members of the queer mutual aid network that comes together organically in Brazil. But how do we get through to the people who are comfortable in their lives? Yes, there are many empathetic, good people, but I also worry there are many scared, small-minded people, too.
I don’t know how to answer that question in general, but I do know from experience that when we were working on fracking issues, it was the moms who were terrified that their children were going to be poisoned by the chemicals in the water and in the air. Those moms were the backbone of our organizing and our audience, and they were fierce in defending their children’s futures. I think what has to be gotten across is that same generational obligation.
One of the things that we cut out of the film, for time, that I’m sad about is: In Paradise, California, and in Boulder, Colorado, where we covered those fires, the rent goes up 300% after the fire. So your $800 apartment is now a $2,400 apartment. But also, nobody should move to those places. They’re going to be contaminated for decades. Everything you have in your house is basically toxic because of the oil industry, and it becomes 10 times more so if you light it on fire, then pour fire retardant sprays on top of it, which are also carcinogens. Then it rains, and all that’s in the water table. There will be cancer clusters in those fire neighborhoods if people move back into them. It’s so serious that I won’t go to one of those places for more than a couple of hours, and I’m wearing a respirator mask.
And we’re not being upfront about that. Get parents involved and understanding that the legacy of their children means that they have to stop using fossil fuels, and we have to dismantle this system of fascism to do it. They are interrelated. Oil is the blood of climate change, but it’s also the blood of this extractive capitalist system.
Do you have any final thoughts you want to leave with our readers?
I would like to see this 1,000-foot-long Welcome Table brought to cities across America and around the world. It’s not just a scene for the movie; it’s a template for our activism. We’ve got to get really good at welcoming people, because either we’re going to be on the move ourselves because we’ve lost our homes due to climate, or we’ll be welcoming those who’ve lost their homes. One way to do this is to practice singing together, hanging out together, and having a good time.
If there’s anything this week in New York City, and my beloved New York Knicks, have gone to show, it’s that collective joy is possible. We don’t need to win a basketball game to have that, though, and that’s what The Welcome Table shows: Collective joy for the sake of collective joy. Coming together to celebrate migration, to celebrate the crisis, to celebrate how, as human beings, we have this ability to sing, dance, and move — boy, that’s a fun time. Our side is more fun. A wall on its side can be a table, and it’s time to envision a different future.