Solarpunk Reflections

It took me a while, but I finally managed to watch Arcane, League of Legends' recent animation show. And while its promotion last fall had been definitely overwhelming, the series deals with lots of crucial and relevant themes: exploitation, inequality, the meaning of revolution, solidarity and progress, democracy and communication. The setting of Piltover and Zaun is hardly original (even if the rich vs poor conflict is not a new concept in fiction, it never stops being relatable), but it allows for all the characters to shine while chasing their own objectives and staying true to themselves.

Plenty of people on the internet have probably already talked at great length about Zaun's mafia-like dynamics, Piltover's governance issues or Jinx' insanity-fueled stunts, so I'm going to focus on the one element that surprised me and that embodies the solarpunk principles that inspires this blog – the Firelights.

The Firelights are unique

Let's start with some background on Riot. Across the lore of their game, the publisher has had a difficult relationship with portraying revolutionary characters. Players can think of Sylas vs Demacia or Xerath vs Shurima, explained in depth here. In short, characters that try to challenge the status quo are always shown as defective and threatening in the eyes of the ruling faction, not to say straight out evil.

This does not happen in Arcane, for two reasons.

First off, the factions around which the conflict revolves are not just two. Piltover is the (seemingly) oblivious exploiter and Zaun the vindictive exploited, so the latter embarks on a quest for legitimacy that, of course, embraces a degree of violence — be it physical, medical (shimmer addiction), structural (having kids working in their factories) or psychological (Silco manipulating Jinx, Marcus and the Barons) — to achieve their goals. Silco will wage war if needed, he will make sacrifices if needed. Their goal is revolution and independence, whatever the cost.

In response to this, the Firelights share a similar goal with Silco (improving Zaun's condition by freeing the Undercity from Piltover's authority), while at the same time turning down their means. They never resort to any of the violence described above, albeit they do use devices that allow them to restrict opponents and sabotage machinery and logistics. They do want a revolution, just like Silco, but not at the cost of their humanity.

On top of that, the Firelights are new. While Piltover and Zaun have been pillars of League's lore since its very dawn, these “pacifist” (as in, refusing war as a necessary mean) revolutionaries have debuted only in the animated show and not in the game (at the time of writing). They add a layer of complexity that would've been hard to achieve with just two factions and the constant risk of falling again into the trope of “good vs bad”, “heroes vs villains”, “rich vs poor”.

By allowing this new faction to bring a new perspective to the conflict of the metropolis, Fortiche paints a more thorough picture of how many political conflicts happen in our world.

The Firelights are solarpunk (or could be)

Both Piltover and Zaun have their realms of authority within the city, physical spaces where research is conducted, shimmer is produced and decisions are made. The Firelights, however, grow between the cracks of these systems. in a world that can't agree on a solution that meets everyone's needs, they carve a space for themselves on their own.

They even have one of the only trees that is shown in the whole city, not in some random corner or sidewalk but as the core and pillar of their refuge, to embody their relationship with the environment that rejects both progress for progress' sake and industrial exploitation.

Furthermore, the last episode shows Heimerdinger (founder of Piltover and renowned scientist) teaming up with Ekko (the Firelights' leader) in their oasis. To me, this is a very powerful message that few might have noticed: to face the contemporary challenges of our times, whether it's climate crisis or right to live or racial and economic inequalities, traditional “western” science (embodied by Heimerdinger) must embrace the methods of local people and take revolutionary action (represented by Ekko).

While both Piltover's excessive use of force in the name of peace and Zaun's use of any violence in the name of independence are portrayed as understandable and justified, they end up fueling each other in a spiral of brutality. The Firelights, on the other hand, provide a great example of a path that we can follow if we reject the dichotomies that are offered to us in our daily lives.

There's always a solution that can benefit both us and the environment.

[Disclaimer: I don't think Fortiche or Riot are aware of solarpunk political ideas or core values of anticapitalism, direct action and mutual support; this is why I believe it's important to give a solarpunk interpretation of this faction's portrayal without having the viewers get the conclusion that “solarpunk is just other rebels with cool tech”.]

• Andrea “Clockwork” Barresi

—— [ITALIAN // English below] ——

Geoff Mann e Joel Wainwright si cimentano in una rilettura in chiave moderna del Leviatano di Thomas Hobbes. La loro interpretazione è che per contrastare la crisi climatica, l'evento globale che definirà il secolo corrente (e speriamo solo questo), gli stati nazionali dovranno abdicare alcuni dei propri diritti in favore di uno o più organi internazionali. Questi si faranno carico dell'autorità di imporre provvedimenti draconici (che nessun governo è disposta ad attuare per evitare di perdere consenso e voti) per arrestare le emissioni. Senza tali misure, le nazioni non riusciranno mai a farlo per conto loro.

Questa attualizzazione del pensiero hobbesiano è certamente cruciale nel panorama contemporaneo, eppure sento che le idee che la crisi climatica (ri)mette in discussione siano ancora più profonde. Ancora più primeve rispetto alla filosofia anglosassone del Settecento.

Facciamo quindi un passo indietro, molto indietro. Torniamo ad Antigone, la protagonista anzitempo romantica che si trova costretta fra due scelte sbagliate: da un lato, seppellire il fratello Polinice (ucciso in duello da Creonte), come era usanza nell'Antica Grecia per garantire ai defunti la vita nell'Aldilà. Dall'altro, obbedire alle leggi del Re Creonte, che le proibiscono tale atto (pena la lapidazione). Antigone è al bivio tra “leggi degli Dei” e “leggi degli umani”, ma entrambe la puniranno, qualsiasi sia la sua scelta.

Noi oggi siamo Antigone.

Siamo davanti ad una scelta complessa e dolorosa: seguire le “leggi degli umani”, l'erosione della collettività e della condivisione nel nome del consumo e del decoro, le imposizioni del consenso neoliberale e la glorificazione del profitto, con tutte le emissioni che ne derivano. Oppure attenersi alle “leggi degli Dei”, il rispetto degli ecosistemi e delle altre specie, delle altre culture e della vita comune, ma rinunciare al nostro stile di vita agiato.

E contemporaneamente non siamo Antigone: l'eroina tragica ha la possibilità di scegliere, e rifiuta l'autorità di Creonte (che in questa lettura è l'analogo del capitale fossile) con passione e determinazione, mettendo le “leggi degli Dei” sopra ogni cosa. Noi, d'altro canto, siamo privati di questa possibilità, siamo quasi solo spettatori, esclusi dai processi politici e decisionali necessari per compiere davvero questa scelta.

Creonte è in quest'ottica anche il leviatano hobbesiano, tiranno di Tebe che prova a sovrascrivere e delegittimare le “leggi degli Dei” cercando di sostituirle con le “leggi degli umani”, senza però chiedere né agli uni né agli altri. Un ente disconnesso dalla comunità, che si appropria del potere politico in modo illegittimo e cerca di usurpare perfino quello divino. Ma le leggi del mercato non potranno mai sopraffare quelle del nostro ecosistema.

La tragedia sofoclea termina con Creonte che viene infine persuaso a perdonare Antigone, ma la trova già impiccatasi per sfuggire alla sofferenza della lapidazione. Dopotutto, non vale la pena vivere per una morte lenta e sanguinosa.

Saremo più forti di Antigone?

—— [ENGLISH] ——

Mann & Wainwright attempt a modern reinterpretation of Hobbes' Leviathan. In their opinion, to face the climate crisis (the event that will define the current century, and hopefully only that one), nation states will have to delegate some of their rights to one or more international institutions that will take up the authority of imposing strict demands on climate to curb emissions. Without such institutions, nations would never agree to do it on their own, since no government would impose restrictions without losing consensus and votes.

This modernization of hobbesian thought is definitely crucial in today's times, yet I feel that the climate crisis makes us (re-)question even deeper ideas. Even more primeval than Seventeenth Century English philosophy.

Let's jump further back. Back to Antigone, the unawarely romantic heroine that finds herself forced between two wrong choices. On one side, bury her brother Polynice (killed by Creon in a duel), as the Ancient Greeks used to, in order to grant an afterlife to the deceased. On the other, abide by King Creon's laws, forbidding such an act after defeating Polynice in a duel. Lapidation is the punishment. Antigone needs to choose between “divine laws” and “human laws”, but both are going to get her punished in their own ways.

Today, we're Antigone.

We're in front of a complex and painful choice: follow “human laws”, the erosion of communities and collectivity in the name of consumerism and social order, the imposition of neoliberal consensus and the glorification of profit, with all the emissions and dangers those entail. Or pay respect to “divine laws”, respect the ecosystems and other species, cultures and common life, but turn down our contemporary lifestyle of comfort.

And at the same time, we're also NOT Antigone. The tragic heroine has the chance of choosing, and she refuses Creon's authority (who in this analogy is the fossil capital) with passion and determination, putting “divine laws” above everything else. We, on the other hand, are deprived of this choice. We're almost bystanders, expelled from the political and decisional processes (most often by design) to really make this choice.

Creon is also the hobbesian Leviathan, Thebe's tyrant that tries to overwrite and delegitimize the “divine laws” with “human laws”, without ever consulting either. A being that's disconnected from its community, that seizes political powers illegitimately and aims to breach even the divine ones. But the markets' laws can never overwrite an ecosystems'.

The Sophoclean tragedy ends with Creon eventually persuaded to forgive Antigone, but he finds she hanged herself to escape the suffering of lapidation. A slow, bleeding death is not worth living for.

Will we be stronger than Antigone?

• Andrea “Clockwork” Barresi

Il 2021 non è stato un anno facile. Tra l'ansia climatica di quest'estate, le ripetute quarantene, la crescente disillusione nella rappresentazione politica nazionale (sia italiana che europea che polacca, abitando a Varsavia) e un lutto inaspettato in famiglia, i momenti in cui il pessimismo ha avuto la meglio sono stati tanti. Eppure, nonostante le premesse inizio il 2022 con straripante ottimismo. Come mai?

La risposta fondamentale è semplice: perché ne ho bisogno.

Specialmente in ambito climatico (ma anche politico a conti fatti), non solo essere pessimisti, disfattisti o rassegnati non porta nessun miglioramento tangibile (né per me né per chi ha le mie stesse idee), ma è anche esattamente lo scenario ideale nell'immaginario dei titani fossili e dei loro rappresentanti politici. E' la base del modello “democratico” neoliberista: isolare gli avversari e lasciare che scivolino nell'impotenza e nell'apatia, senza possibilità di collaborare e organizzarsi.

Non ho intenzione di cedere terreno.

E' vero, forse arrivo “tardi” al fronte di un sacco di battaglie: cinquant'anni in ritardo per le cause dei lavoratori, vent'anni dopo che la globalizzazione ha inquinato e monopolizzato la rete e dieci anni dopo i tempi utili per la lotta climatica. Eppure in un certo senso sono anche consapevole di essere arrivato al momento perfetto: tutte queste battaglie sono ancora assolutamente attuali, nel 2022 come nel 1982, 2002 o 2012, per le quali vale la pena mettersi in gioco, non importa quando o come.

Contemporaneamente, come iniziai due anni fa, continuo a leggere e imparare, ma mi rendo conto che ora ho anche bisogno di fare. Se prima il mio obiettivo era solo “capire il mondo attuale per essere un cittadino più consapevole”, ora mi sto muovendo verso un obiettivo diverso: “anticipare la crisi e preparare gli strumenti per prevenirla o affrontarla”. Essere un cittadino consapevole assume che le autorità siano a loro volta consapevoli; quando questo non è vero, non servono cittadini ma soluzionari: rivoluzionari che propongono soluzioni.

Non posso dire ora se sarò all'altezza di questi compiti (certamente non lo sarò da solo), ma certamente la possibilità di avere le risposte alle domande degli anni che ci attendono è per me un pensiero carico di speranza. So che intorno a me già varie persone stanno maturando le mie stesse consapevolezze e so che molti altri inizieranno un percorso simile nei prossimi anni. Questo aggiunge altre speranze di collaborazione e cooperazione, dopo un lungo periodo di paradossale solitudine collettiva dovuto alla pandemia.

Concludo correggendomi: non è vero che sono ottimista perché ne ho bisogno. Lo sono perché ne abbiamo bisogno.

• Andrea “Clockwork” Barresi

Seeing the 2021 booklists of my Twitterspace, I can't help but feeling slightly belittled. Firstly because I feel like I haven't read nearly as many books as I would've wanted, and secondly because, thinking back about it, my titles aren't going to be as interesting.

In my mind, I am aware that both feelings are consequences of spending most of my free time to research and write my own (fiction) book, which I hope I can manage to publish along 2022. That meant reading lots of primarily non-fiction titles with the specific intent of deepening my understanding on how some aspects of our societies came to be. In that light, some of thse books can be enjoyed (and very insightful) to lots of people regardless of their interests.

So, here we go, in no particular order:

Settlers (J. Sakai) – A long but complete and untaught history of how the USA erected their empire, from a handful of uncoordinated colonies to colonial superpower, through consistent sabotage of indigenous and African populations. Heavy focus on class struggle and American history.

Left Hand of Darkness (U. Le Guin) – Almost alienating, Le Guin shoots us onto a planet where none of our social norms hold. An unsettling but eye-opening journey through gender, sexuality and non-hostile contact with others.

Feminist City (L. Kern) – We give our living spaces for granted, as if they were neutral ground, but they're very often absolutely not, especially for women. This is a quick guide on how to see through the political reasons that made our cities look like what they are now, and what we can demand for better living spaces. By empowering women, we all draw benefits.

La Fabbrica Totale (L. Guiotto) – The Italian version of Settlers: focusing on Northern Italian industrial development, the author runs through the untaught history of the true conflict that had torn Italy apart since the early 1800s: the industrial class against the workers.

Ministry for the Future (K. S. Robinson) – I put this last because I want you to remember it (and read it) the most. Climate catastrophe is here, we're all noticing, but the climate fiction (cli-fi) genre is taking advantage of our anxiety to sell us more books and movies. KSR defeats the paradigm: with his unique and hectic writing style, he paints a solarpunk timeline where everything is pulled back from the brink of disaster – in style. This book is what we need at the moment: the ability to imagine and realize that a better future is possible.

• Andrea “Clockwork” Barresi