Analysis

Feminist Theory

12(1) 3–21

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DOI: 10.1177/1464700110390592

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Article

Eco/feminism and rewriting the ending of feminism: From the Chipko movement to Clayoquot Sound

Niamh Moore University of Manchester, UK

Abstract

This article draws on research at an eco/feminist peace camp set up to facilitate block-

ades against clear-cut logging in coastal temperate rainforest in Clayoquot Sound on

Vancouver Island, British Columbia, in Canada in the early 1990s. The camp was said to

be based on feminist principles and sometimes these were even articulated as

eco/feminist principles. The slippage between these terms provides a focus for my

discussion. Specifically the article explores the apparent paradox of the sheer vitality

of this eco/feminist activism, and in particular its insistence on international connec-

tions, in contrast to the widely circulating accounts of the end of feminism, and espe-

cially the end of global sisterhood, which emerged in the early 1990s. Thus this article is

also necessarily about how recent histories of eco/feminism, including tensions between

theory and activism, are narrated. I take as a departure point references to the work of

Vandana Shiva and the Chipko movement which circulated in accounts of the camp, and

explore ways in which eco/feminists might read such utterances as more than evidence

of a naive and problematic universalism. I situate eco/feminism’s internationalism gene-

alogically in feminism and eco/feminism and read this as a counter-narrative to the

ending of global sisterhood. Through paying attention to various movements, back

and forth, between Clayoquot and Chipko, Canada and India, and drawing on Anna

Tsing’s notion of ‘friction’, I offer an account of what has been at stake in disavowals of

the possibility of reading Chipko as eco/feminist, and suggest the importance of a more

generous reading of eco/feminists’ attention to the Chipko movement.

Keywords

activism, Chipko, Clayoquot, ecofeminism, end of feminism, environment, feminism,

global sisterhood, international, peace camp, Shiva

Corresponding author:

Niamh Moore, ESRC Centre for Research on Socio-Cultural Change (CRESC), 178 Waterloo Place, The

University of Manchester, Oxford Road, Manchester M13 9PL, UK

Email: [email protected]

From the Chipko movement to Clayoquot Sound and back again I

In the summer of 1993 a local environmental group organised a peace camp to support the blockading of logging roads in Clayoquot Sound, on Vancouver Island, British Columbia in Canada, as part of ongoing campaigning against clear-cut logging of temperate rainforest.1 The campaign by the Friends of Clayoquot Sound (the Friends) brought an unanticipated and unprecedented 12,000 people to the camp. Many took part in the workshops on non-violence and civil disobedience offered daily at the camp, before participating in the block- ade of the logging road the following morning. By the time the camp closed at the end of the summer, over 800 people had been arrested following the symbolic blockades. In the mass trials which followed all were found guilty and many received jail sentences. The camp which supported these blockades was said to be based on ‘feminist’ principles, and sometimes these were even explicitly articu- lated as ‘ecofeminist’ principles. The slippage between these terms suggests some of the tensions which form the context for this article.

I was at the camp and the blockades in 1993 and returned to Clayoquot in 1996 to carry out research, because the campaign offered a fertile site through which to examine a whole range of issues of ongoing concern for eco/feminism (see Moore, 2003, 2007, 2008a, 2008b, 2008c).2 I was struck by the vibrancy of the campaign, but also by the difficulty and challenge of bringing what was happening in Clayoquot into conversation with key debates in feminism. There was, for instance, the stark contrast between the prevailing narratives, in the early 1990s and since, of the end – or death – of feminism, and the generative politics of Clayoquot, and eco/ feminism more generally. Similarly, despite common assumptions about eco/fem- inism’s essentialism, often understood as manifest through maternalist discourses, there was little evidence of this at the camp (and interestingly, the camp was mixed, not women-only). Indeed, essentialism seemed to offer a very limited way of under- standing the politics of Clayoquot. Moreover, and importantly for the focus of this article, in the context of critiques of white Western feminism for being imperialist, colonialist, ethnocentric, racist, universalising, homogenising, and romanticising, eco/feminism’s commitment to insisting on the international, also manifest in a number of ways at Clayoquot, countered prevailing trends in feminism away from claims of global sisterhood. One of my ongoing fascinations is the paradox of the sheer vitality of this eco/feminist activism, and its insistence on international con- nections, in contrast to the widely circulating accounts of the end of feminism, and especially the end of global sisterhood, which emerged in the 1990s. Thus this article is also about how histories of eco/feminism, including tensions between theory and activism, are narrated.

I take as a particular departure point for my explorations here, a moment from an interview with Fireweed (Fireweed, interview, 14 July 1996), when she told me about a conference that she had recently attended.3 At the conference, Valerie Langer, one of the directors of the Friends, stood up following a talk from Vandana Shiva, and told Shiva that the work of the Chipko movement was

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being continued in Clayoquot.4 Shiva’s account of Chipko as a women’s movement which formed spontaneously to protest commercial logging in the Garwhal Himalayas by hugging trees, has been compelling for many, though is also not without its detractors (Moore, 2008c; Shiva, 1988).

The reference by Langer to the Chipkomovement was not the only moment when Chipko was publicly invoked in connection with Clayoquot. The award-winning documentary, Fury for the Sound: The Women at Clayoquot, was widely shown on Canadian television, and opens with a clip of Shiva (Wine, 1997). There were no doubt other references to Chipko in the many conversations and writings about the campaign. This mention of Chipko was not unusual or idiosyncratic: by the early 1990s Chipko had arguably become the iconic reference and exemplary, inspira- tional tale of many eco/feminist books. Yet, very quickly, the celebration of Chipko in many academic eco/feminist texts waned, to be replaced by considerable efforts to demonstrate recognition of, and distance from, the problems of repeated invoca- tions of the Chipko movement which were understood as manifesting particularly difficult versions of essentialism: that of universalising women–nature relationships, of homogenising ‘Third World women’, of cultural appropriation, of the idealisa- tion of indigenous knowledges and subsistence living. Understanding this rapid shift requires attention to ongoing debates in feminism.

In the context of controversies in eco/feminism over difference, race and the international, it has become difficult to read Langer’s claim that the work of the Chipko movement was being carried on in Clayoquot, and its approving repetition by Fireweed, as anything other than yet more evidence of eco/feminism’s ongoing and persistent essentialism, universalism, racism, neo-colonialism, imperialism, romanticisation of subsistence practices, ignorance, naiveté, and so on. However, this is precisely what I attempt in this article. I pose a number of questions: how has it become so easy to produce and proliferate such definitive truths about eco/fem- inism, about Shiva, and the Chipko movement, and the international more gener- ally, to the exclusion of other stories? What work have such characterisations done? What purposes have they served? What have been the, possibly unintended, con- sequences of such accounts? How could Langer’s statement be read differently and what would the implications of this be?

In opening up the possibilities for understanding Langer’s claim, I trace what was at stake in various manifestations of eco/feminism at the time and since, with a particular focus on the international. In taking this approach, I do not intend to produce a definitive account of what eco/feminism is, or was then. Rather, echoing Noël Sturgeon’s (1997) genealogical approach to eco/feminism, I develop my own necessarily and intentionally partial account.5 Through a constant movement back and forth, between the circulation of eco/feminism in texts and in activism, between Chipko and Clayoquot, between the local and the global, between feminism and eco/feminism, and through the friction (cf. Tsing, 2005) produced in these move- ments, I offer a more generous reading of Langer’s statement linking Clayoquot and Chipko, suggesting alternative narratives of the recent eco/feminist past and present.

Moore 5

Eco/feminism and the international

Celebrating diversity as international grassroots activism

In the emerging and overlapping academic and activist literature in the 1980s and early 1990s, it was common to describe eco/feminism by stressing the diversity of the movement. More specifically, perhaps eco/feminists often pointed to the very impossibility of characterising the movement in any simple way, precisely because of its pluralism. For example, one account from 1994 stated that:

[e]cofeminism does not lend itself to easy generalisation. It consists of a diversity of

positions, and this is reflected in the diversity of voices and modes of expression

represented in ecofeminist anthologies. The ecofeminist anthologies, Reclaim the

Earth, and Reweaving the World, and the issues of Heresies and Hypatia on feminism

and ecology include the work of different women from different countries and social

situations, and their work does not adhere to a single form or outlook. Poems, art,

photographs, fiction, prose, as well as theoretical/philosophical/‘academic’ works are

included. Ecofeminism’s diversity is also reflected by its circulation in a variety of

arenas, such as academia, grass-roots movements, conferences, books, journals, and

art. (Carlassare, 1994: 220–221)

This range, of positions, of voices, of forms, and of locations was viewed pos- itively, as suggesting that eco/feminism was not dogmatic and could embrace dif- ference; an important value in feminism in the early 1990s. With such an emphasis on diversity, anthologies and special issues of journals, which allowed for a range of voices and forms, were commonly preferred formats for publications at the time. Yet editors of anthologies still felt the need to point to their omissions as in Judith Plant’s introduction: ‘This anthology in no way fully represents the wide spectrum of thought that is ecofeminism’ (1989: 4). One author even declined an invitation to write a single-authored book, believing that it ‘would not do justice to such a multivocal grassroots movement’ (Gaard, 1998: 3).

However, despite, or perhaps because of, the prevalence of pluralist discourses, Stephanie Lahar also suggested that this emphasis on diversity could give rise to confusion: ‘[t]he newness of the movement, the breadth of issues it encompasses, and the diversity of people thinking and writing about ecofeminism have resulted in considerable confusion about what ecofeminism actually is, who ecofeminists are, and what they have to say’ (Lahar, 1991: 28). Thus, at the same time as diversity was prized, there was also a sense of the challenge of making sense of a range of forms. While these accounts clearly cherish multiplicity of all kinds in eco/femi- nism, it was also the case, perhaps in part to deal with this sense of too much variety, that one phenomenon came to be particularly foregrounded, and that was the emergence of grassroots eco/feminist activism in diverse locations, all over the world. This is particularly clear in the introductions to key anthologies such as Healing the Wounds: The Promise of Ecofeminism (Plant, 1989), Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism (Diamond and Orenstein, 1990), and

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Reclaim the Earth: Women Speak out for Life on Earth (Caldecott and Leland, 1983), all three of which stress the importance of global activism.

For example, Caldecott and Leland stated that ‘In many countries all over the world, women are taking an increasingly prominent role in political struggles: in the peace, anti-nuclear, health and ecology movements’ (1983: 5) while, for Diamond and Orenstein, the writers and activists in their anthology ‘share a mul- ticultural and diversified global vision of healing for life on Earth’ (1990: viii). This is stated even more emphatically in Petra Kelly’s foreword to Healing the Wounds:

This is a book about global ecological sisterhood! . . .This is not a time for compla-

cency. It is a time for continuing to link arms as sisters – like the women in the Chipko

movement in India; like the women at Greenham Common, in England, who are not

giving up the struggle against militarisation; like the women of the Western Shosone

Indian Nation in Nevada who opposed nuclear testing by encircling the test grounds;

like the women in the Pacific struggling for a nuclear-free future to prevent babies

being damaged through French atomic bomb tests; like the women in the Krim

Region of the Soviet Union demonstrating courageously against a new nuclear

power plant. (Plant, 1989: ix–x)

As this extract from Kelly demonstrates, eco/feminism was manifested through the practice of listing places or organisations where eco/feminist activism was understood to be emerging. Introducing eco/feminism by providing a list of the activisms that were invoked to constitute eco/feminism’s brief history was widespread in eco/feminist writings of the late 1980s and early 1990s (see, for example, Baker, 1993: 2; Gaard and Gruen, 1993: 1; Mellor, 1997: 50; Merchant, 1992: 184).

In addition to the instances cited by Kelly, this list often also included some of the following: the Kenyan Greenbelt Movement, the Women’s Pentagon Actions, the campaign against the Narmada Valley Dams, the Love Canal Homeowners cam- paign against toxic waste dumping, the women who organised around Chernobyl, Bhopal, nuclear testing in the Pacific, the Women’s Environmental Network and many more. Eventually, however, even the list got too much. Following Lahar’s observation of the confusion which eco/feminism’s diversity seemed to produce, the challenge of trying to hold on to this diversity was too demanding, and one move- ment ended up being plucked out and held up as the exemplary instance of eco/ feminist activism – the Chipko movement. Yet in the context of controversies over difference, race and global sisterhood, eco/feminists faced intense critique, especially from feminists in the field of development studies (see Moore 2008c) and increas- ingly from eco/feminists themselves.

Eco/feminist responses to critiques of Chipko and the international

Celebratory accounts of the global, and of Chipko in particular, rapidly gave way to more careful reflections. Internal critique sought to address the challenges of

Moore 7

cultural appropriation. Such accounts often focus on the anthologies mentioned (both Plant’s and Diamond and Orenstein’s anthologies contain chapters by Shiva on Chipko, as well as other references to Chipko throughout). Cate Sandilands identified their limitations as such: ‘The inclusion of race was not especially ana- lytical; it did not in most cases, suggest ways in which women may have different relations to particular ecological issues or problems, and it did not look deeply at the ways in which these traditions have themselves been lost or reconstructed in particular social contexts’ (1999: 54). She elaborated on the characterisation of indigenous cultures as ‘somehow pure, somehow dissociable from what colonisa- tion has done to those different cultures and social practices. Also problematic was their general assumption that all ‘‘women’s’’ practices in nature are (at their core at least) benign, caring and respectful’ (1999: 55). Sandilands concluded her discus- sion on a relieved note: ‘But (I’m very happy to say) this mode of discussion is no longer predominant in ecofeminist literatures that question racism and colonialism’ (1999: 56).

Others offer further resolutions to the apparent ‘problems’ of these texts. One route was to suggest a turn to research on women in the North. Chris Cuomo wrote: ‘[w]hile there is a tendency in Western ecofeminist theory to describe the work of rural Third World women as paradigmatic ecofeminist activism, one sees little effort (in the literature) to develop specific models that examine the politics of ‘‘first world’’ megaconsumption on ecofeminist grounds’ (1998: 8–9). Cuomo’s suggestion was taken up and cited by Sherilyn MacGregor in accounting for her own research with women living and working in Ontario, Canada: ‘I am making the point that the experiences and ideas of urban-dwelling women in the overde- veloped world are as interesting and informative to ecofeminist thought as those of ‘‘peasant’’ women in developing countries’ (2006: 128). A turn to attention to the activism of women in the North is of course understandable – after all I have carried out my own research on Clayoquot Sound. Yet there are possible problems with this strategy. Not least perhaps one unintended effect of this approach is that it risks erasing the references to the movements of the North already commonly mentioned in some of these collections, including Greenham Common, the Seneca Women’s Peace Camp, the Women’s Pentagon Actions, and the strong anti-toxics movements in the US. Many organisations and actions in the North have focused intensely on (over)consumption.

Such resolutions also risk the implication that (Northern) eco/feminists can have nothing to say on the matter of women and the environment in the Third World. Neither does it suggest then how Third World women can speak and be seen and heard by Northern eco/feminists. Furthermore, such an approach also belies the myriad ways in which North and South are intimately interconnected through the histories of colonialism and slavery, through the movements of goods and the effects of environmental degradation, and through the movements, actual and vir- tual, of activists. All of this is manifest in the work of many of the organisations

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mentioned. Some movements such as Women for an Independent and Nuclear Free Pacific are well understood to be alliances between women in the North and South. Thus a shift of focus from the South to the North requires careful attention to the specificities and contexts of histories and transnational connectiv- ities. Questions of race and indigeneity were central in Sturgeon’s Ecofeminist Natures: Race, Gender, Feminist Theory and Political Action, where she identified the two above-cited anthologies as ‘the most prominent representatives of the diversity within ecofeminism’ (1997: 116). In focusing on discourses which ‘center on the idealisation of ‘‘indigenous’’ women as symbolic representatives of ecofeminism’ (1997: 113), she summed up some of the assumptions embedded in such ‘uses’ of ‘indigenous’ women: that ‘non-industrialised’ cultures are seen as more ‘ecological’, as not manifesting a ‘Western’ separation of nature and culture, and possibly to embody more egalitarian gender relations (1997: 114).

Yet it is possible to open up some of the critical accounts of the anthologies to further readings. For instance, Plant’s reliance on Native American religious rituals (Sturgeon, 1997: 121) is somewhat more complicated when one notes Plant’s loca- tion in British Columbia in Canada, drawing on ‘First Nations’ cultures, rather than ‘Native American’ as such. While not wishing to fuel Canadian exceptional- ism, and while also recognising that indigenous peoples of North America do not necessarily accept national boundaries, my point is to draw attention to how this argument may rely on reading a specific and located First Nations iconography as a generalised indigeneity. Plant’s ongoing commitment to bioregionalism may also contribute to the intentionality and specificity of her account and the imagery in her text. When the book was published in the UK, perhaps in recognition of the specificity of the indigeneity being invoked, the cover was changed, so that the UK version has a crystal, with light diffracting through the crystal creating a rainbow of colours. Furthermore, critiques of the anthologies have tended to attribute agency to the editors, but with much less attention to the intentionality of the contributors. One is left with the possibility that those women of colour who have contributed to these supposedly essentialising, universalist collections which reproduce problem- atic indigeneities and racial essentialisms are naı̈ve, essentialist, romanticisers of ‘their own’ ‘indigenous’ cultures. How is it possible to make sense of the inclusion of black, Third Wolrd and indigenous women who make explicit critiques of these kinds of discourses within some of these texts, not only in terms of the possible desires of the editors to appear inclusive, but also by taking account of their own possible intentions and desires to be included in these volumes, no matter how problematic they might understand them to be?

It is difficult not to notice that from the mid 1990s onward, there were few anthologies published which explicitly identified themselves as eco/feminist. By the mid to late 1990s the practice of creating collective polyvocal texts such as anthologies and special issues of journals, had largely given way to single- authored monographs by mainly white, North American authors. It is also difficult

Moore 9

not to wonder if the responses to assumptions of essentialism and universalism had been carefully and empirically worked through. In her final chapter, entitled ‘What’s in a name’, Sturgeon examined the related practices of creating new terms for eco/feminism (such as ecological feminism), and creating typologies of dif- ferent kinds of eco/feminism (radical ecofeminism, socialist ecofeminism, etc.). This resulted in separating out ‘anti-essentialist’ and ‘essentialist’ eco/feminisms, which were mapped onto poststructuralist/academic feminisms and activist and spiritual feminisms (that is, ‘good’ and ‘bad’ eco/feminisms). Importantly for my argument, she identified ‘two common results of the practice of typologising: the invisibility of women of colour and the creation of a divide between feminist theory and feminist activism’ (Sturgeon, 1997: 173), demonstrating how Chipko is doubly disadvan- taged in such accounts of eco/feminism. Furthermore, by extending ecofeminism’s genealogy, I suggest it is possible to understand the practice of typologising as marking a shift in the way eco/feminism is defined and described, from a commit- ment to producing eco/feminism’s diversity, to the practice of defining eco/femi- nism through the conceptual binary of essentialism or anti-essentialism. This allowed theoretical pronouncement on eco/feminist activism with little empirical detail, a suggestion also implicit in the introduction to a more recent eco/feminist anthology: ‘although it is considerably developed in both popular movements and academic discourse, ecofeminism remains largely a theoretical conversa- tion . . .while there are many grassroots activist women’s organisations resisting the negative effects of globalisation, these activities do not provide the primary data for ecofeminist discourse’ (Eaton and Lorentzen, 2003: 5). It is with this context in mind that I return to Clayoquot to explore further the campaigning of the Friends as a way into suggesting other possible readings of Langer’s statement.

From Chipko to Clayoquot and back again II

What if we held open the possibility of Langer’s (and the Friends’) extensive knowl- edges, particularly of the multiple entanglements of the local and the international, rather than assuming essentialism and/or universalism on the basis of a mention of the Chipko movement? Some of this knowledge was visibly manifest in the campaign, in too many ways to enumerate here, but, for instance, it was no accident that I first came across Clayoquot in the office of the Women’s Environmental Network (WEN) in London in the summer of 1992. At that time WEN was the only environmental organisation in Europe which had a temperate rainforest campaign. Most other environmental organisations were still focused on the destruction of tropical rainforest. WEN was an initial point of contact for the Friends when they wanted to bring their campaign to Europe, as they followed the path of the trees, now timber and wood pulp, exported from British Columbia. WEN, with its multiple attentions to how women might bear the brunt of some environmental problems, but also to how women in the North are implicated in the overconsumption of disposable paper products which originate, and have

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environmental (and other) consequences elsewhere, like in British Columbia. Thus WEN’s focus on the connections from breast cancer, dioxins, landfill, from toilet roll and sanitary towel, to old growth forest in British Columbia, meets some of the concerns of those such as Cuomo mentioned.

The Friends (along with other British Columbia environmental groups) were also pointing to how the focus on the destruction of tropical rainforest in the Amazon allowed countries like Canada to blame the developing world for over- population and destroying rainforests, while at the same time being responsible for incredible environmental destruction at home. The Friends’ take-up of the ‘Brazil of the North’ campaign was indicative of efforts to hold the North to account for the global implications of its activities: ‘Canada is the Brazil of the North. Brazil is losing one acre of forest every nine seconds. We’re losing one acre every twelve seconds’.6 Internationally other environmental organisations took up their call, and protests were held outside Canadian embassies around the world, in New York, London, Germany, and Japan, all countries where wood pulp from BC was used to make toilet roll, and newsprint and disposable chopsticks. This attempt to call the Canadian government to account by shaming it interna- tionally did not go unheeded. The Friends were called traitors and accused of treason, so clearly was their message understood by many (if not necessarily by eco/feminist academics anxious about the accusation of essentialism/universalism) (see Moore, 2003).

Global connections also had histories. The relation between forestry and nation building was proudly advertised in the logging company poster with the slogan: ‘We came, we sawed, we conquered’ (Vidal, 1993: 24). H.R. Macmillan, founder of the company responsible for logging in Clayoquot Sound, travelled to India in 1914 as part of his unusual attention to developing a significant export market for timber from British Columbia. Thus trees from BC made their way to India, where the lumber industry was struggling to meet the demands of British colonists to extend railways across India. But it was not just timber which travelled across borders, but also the nascent field of forestry science, which crisscrossed the world and was tested in British colonies like India and Canada (Drushka, 1995; Tsing, 1997). Much later, Shiva would leave India for Canada, and speak at conferences such as the one where Fireweed heard her speak. I could go on, weaving the webs of connections which are really what is essential to eco/feminism. This process does not so much demand extensive in-depth research, as an openness to alternative stories and knowledges, and a willingness to accept the risk of the accusation of universalism.

My point is that Langer’s ‘we are carrying on the work of the Chipko move- ment’ cannot even straightforwardly be assimilated into an account of white women’s benevolence, philanthropy, or virtue ethics. There was no plan to go to India to help the Chipko women hug trees, or to somehow try to raise ‘aid’ for the women of the Chipko movement; rather there was a focus on the recognition that women in Canada, in Clayoquot, were implicated in the global trade in trees and timber (and forest science), that appropriate action might not be in India but in fact

Moore 11

in one’s own backyard (to reverse the accusation of NIMBYism often applied to environmental activists), and that action might be to try to make public the Canadian government’s complicity in such global trade and global environmental devastation. There was perhaps also recognition that protesting logging was not necessarily work for Clayoquot’s own indigenous peoples, but rather a job for the (other) women who had come to live there, that in fact the work of protecting forests might be part of the ‘homework’ of living in this place.

Jane Roland Martin has noted that the possibility of accusations of essentialism contributes to a ‘chilly research climate’ which ‘can adversely affect the develop- ment of feminist theory and research’ (1994: 630–631). The opprobrium attached to universalism, cultural appropriation, and investments in symbolic indigeneity has had similar consequences which have rendered certain topics such as Chipko being abandoned in eco/feminist texts from the mid 1990s onwards, or only mentionable as that from which to demonstrate one’s theoretical and conceptual sophistication. Teresa de Lauretis and others have commented on the unintended consequences of the critique of essentialism, and the effects of an insistent anti-essentialism, sug- gesting that we may need to take the risk of essentialism seriously (De Lauretis, 1989). There has yet to be a similar chorus suggesting that feminists take the risk of universalism or, more precisely, the risk of the accusation of universalism seriously, not least because universalism is at best understood as meaning still attached to naı̈ve fantasies of global sisterhood, but more usually understood as a euphemism for racism, and no feminist would want to risk this accusation. Although there is now a trickle of voices on this and a number of prominent feminist scholars have been rethinking the universal, including those such as Judith Butler (Butler, Laclau and Žižek, 2000).

This careful return to the universal has also been recognised recently in a number of texts in a review essay by Denise deCaires Narain:

But if feminist discourses in the last two decades of the last century were characterised

more by what they don’t share than by what they do, very recent work suggests a

cautious but steady shift back to ideas of connectedness and solidarity. There are now

even a few cagey references to ‘universalism’, though the confident assertions of ‘sis-

terhood’ in Robin Morgan’s Sisterhood is Global (1984) remain firmly behind us.

(2010: 95; emphasis in original)

Any number of black and Third World feminists have continued to work on these matters. Chandra Talpade Mohanty has revisited her original essay ‘Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourses’ (1988), intriguingly entitling the revisioning as ‘‘‘Under Western Eyes’’ Revisited: Feminist Solidarity through Anti-Capitalist Struggles’, where she speaks, if not of global sisterhood, of solidarity. Mohanty suggests that, while it is hard to discern a women’s movement in the US, women’s movements are thriving around the world (2003: 221) and re-emphasises the importance of the connections between local and universal (2003: 226).

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Rewriting the ending of feminism

Eco/feminists have not been the only ones to point to the proliferation of feminisms globally. Mary Hawkesworth has also noted the curious coincidence: ‘a strange phenomenon has accompanied the unprecedented growth of feminist activism around the globe: the recurrent pronouncement of feminism’s death’ (2004: 962). Mohanty noted that it had ‘become much harder to discern such a women’s move- ment from the United States’ – while also suggesting that ‘women’s movements are thriving around the world’ (2003: 221). These glimpses of other stories are sugges- tive. Accounts which insist on providing evidence of the persistence of international feminist activism might not so much be evidence of a problematic universalism, but precisely the opposite, suggesting ‘the end of feminism’ and ‘the end of global sisterhood’ to be universalising narratives which were never true for all feminists or all women. Perhaps certain forms of feminisms ended and certain global sister- hoods were curtailed, but this does not necessarily entail the end of all feminisms.

Echoing Sturgeon’s account of typologies, Hawkesworth suggested that ‘[t]hese textual accounts of death serve as allegorical signs for something else, a means of identifying a perceived danger in need of elimination, a way for a community to define itself through those it symbolically chooses to kill’ (2004: 963). The title of a recent conference provoked me to think further about the supposed end of femi- nism, and specifically the persistent repetition of this narrative. The grammar of the conference title was striking and provocative: Ending International Feminist Futures? Re-viewing Sex, Gender and International Politics.7 Rather than reprodu- cing the ‘narrative proclamation’ of the end of feminism (Wiegman, 2000: 808) or the obituary of feminism, ‘death by report’ (Hawkesworth, 2004), the conference title opened up a space to call such declarations into question. It has been clear that the end of feminism has been immediately bound up in arguments about postfe- minism, third waves, fourth waves, and generational conflicts, which have always undermined the supposed end of feminism. The use of the gerund in the title, the ‘ing’ of ‘ending’, pointed to the constitutive element of these pronouncements: the end of feminism appeared less an ‘after the fact’ declaration, and more a perfor- mative enunciation; death was not by natural causes as Hawkesworth discerned. Yet given the use of the question mark, the title of the conference opened up a host of questions: are we ending feminisms through our very declarations?; begging further questions, why would we do this? How is the international implicated in the end of feminism? And a further question: what might we now do to prevent such a future, of the end of international feminisms.

At the same time that the repetition of feminism’s end might be understood as performative, as bringing about the very demise of feminism, perhaps paradoxi- cally this cacophony of voices suggests the contrary to me. The apparent fascina- tion with endlessly poking the supposed ‘corpse’ of feminism, perhaps to see if it still moves, if it is not quite dead yet, if there is still life, perversely suggests the continuing vitality of feminism, and an ongoing fascination with and passion about feminism’s fate. Despite the seemingly endless repetition, feminists’ actual ability to

Moore 13

kill off feminism seems limited. It may make sense to think of this repetition of the end of feminism as performative, but not as performing the end of feminism, or even premature burial, but, rather, as a perverse way of keeping feminism alive at a time when (for some) it was not clear what else to do. In contrast, here I am suggesting that eco/feminists’ repetition of global activisms offered a hopeful coun- ter-narrative to the end of feminism, involving an active enrolment of the interna- tional in efforts to refigure feminist futures.

Attending to what is at stake in different moments in eco/feminism points to the extent to which eco/feminism is bound up in narratives of feminism. Clare Hemmings’ work is useful here. She identifies a dominant narrative of the recent feminist past, though one with different inflections: a story of progress and a story of loss of political activism. She demonstrates how both stories rely on fixing cer- tain feminist conversations in specific decades in order to produce an account of feminism as having changed (Hemmings, 2005): the 1970s have been characterised as essentialist, the 1980s recounted as dominated by ‘difference’ and the race and sex wars, and the 1990s appear as the decade when these differences were tran- scended, or lost, by poststructuralist feminist theory, depending on which story the narrator wants to tell. Hemmings’ account demonstrates why efforts by eco/fem- inists to produce eco/feminism as anti-essentialist (or only strategically essentialist, in Sturgeon’s case) have had limited success. In these accounts, essentialism is transcended not only through the emergence of a sophisticated poststructuralist, anti-essentialist feminist theory, but also by being left behind in the past, in the 1970s, to be precise. Thus not only is eco/feminism (supposedly) essentialist and universalist, but eco/feminism reveals its lack of sophistication through being essentialist and universalist at the wrong time.

Eco/feminism’s emergence, while traced to the 1970s (and earlier) is more often located in the 1980s and 1990s, thus exceeding the necessary temporal container of the 1970s for essentialism. The emergence and persistence of eco/feminism, with its supposed essentialism and universalism, in the 1980s and 1990s, threatens to dis- rupt efforts to produce a progress narrative of feminism which require that essen- tialism is left safely behind in the 1970s. By the late 1980s and 1990s, eco/feminists should know better. Eco/feminism’s insistence on the international and on some version of global sisterhood can be understood then as sheer stupidity or ignorance, or wilful perversity. But I suggest here that it might be possible to understand eco/ feminism’s insistence on diversity and the international, less as a naı̈ve throwback to the essentialist 1970s and 1980s, and more as an intentional counter-narrative to stories of the end of feminism and the impossibility of global sisterhood. It is worth noting that, despite critiques, including internal ones, of eco/feminism’s account of Chipko, and the international more generally, some writers have persisted in writ- ing on this (Eaton and Lorentzen, 2003; Salleh, 1997, 2009; Silliman and King, 1999; Starhawk, 2002). Yet when Joni Seager writes ‘that feminist environmental- ism is hot and getting hotter’ (Seager, 2003: 945), this too seems like a performative enunciation, though a more hopeful one than the end of feminism. It is not clear that eco/feminism or even feminist environmentalism is ‘hot’ – or maybe it is in

14 Feminist Theory 12(1)

geography or other domains – but it is not clear that it is in feminism more widely. However, this may be the point: that eco/feminists oriented to mainstream debates in feminism struggle to be heard and taken seriously, precisely because implicit, if not always explicit, in eco/feminism is a strong critique of prevailing narratives of feminism.

Revisioning and reclaiming Chipko and Clayoquot

While Sturgeon’s genealogy attends to what is at stake in the practice of naming and typologising, here I turn to genealogy to examine the intentional creation of a community of eco/feminists. Such genealogical practices can offer an account of why eco/feminists might need to return to Chipko, to the international, and to fantasies of global sisterhood, as sites which merit genealogical investigation, rather than dismissal. I point to what I understand as a ‘tradition’ of feminist genealogical practice, and I suggest that Michel Foucault’s work on genealogy has been parti- cularly useful for feminists precisely because it articulates well with existing femi- nist practices. I understand Adrienne Rich’s essay ‘When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision’ ([1971] 1979), as genealogical, noting that it was published in the same year as Foucault’s essay ‘Nietzsche, Genealogy, History’. Tracing genealogy’s own genealogy through feminism (rather than exclusively Foucault or Nietzsche) is of course precisely genealogical. Rich wrote, clearly aware of the constitutive power of histories: ‘Re-vision – the act of looking back, of seeing with fresh eyes, of entering an old text from a new critical direction – is for women more than a chapter in cultural history: it is an act of survival’ ([1971] 1979: 35). Feminists have actively engaged in the project of history making and history writ- ing in order to create collectivities and shared futures.

Other feminists too have also taken up the possibilities of genealogy (Braidotti, 1991: 151; De Lauretis, 1989, 1993). Alison Stone elaborates in her account of Judith Butler’s work, whose declared aim in Gender Trouble is to outline a ‘feminist genealogy of the category of women’ (Butler, 1990, in Stone, 2004: 136):

I will suggest that women always become women by reworking pre-established cul-

tural interpretations of femininity, so that they become located – together with all

other women – within a history of overlapping chains of interpretation. Although

women do not share any common understanding or experience of femininity, they

nevertheless belong to a distinctive social group in virtue of being situated within this

complex history. This rethinking of women as having a genealogy entails a concom-

itant rethinking of feminist politics as coalitional rather than unified. According to

this rethinking, collective feminist activities need not be predicated on any shared set

of feminine concerns; rather, they may arise from overlaps and indirect connections

between women’s diverse historical and cultural situations. I hope that my exploration

will begin to show how a genealogical rethinking of women could enable feminists to

oppose (descriptive) essentialism while retaining belief in women as a group with a

Moore 15

distinctive, and distinctively oppressive, history – an ongoing history which is an

appropriate target of social critique and political transformation. (Stone, 2004: 137)

Reading Chipko in the light of Rich’s account of revisioning and those such as Butler and Stone on genealogies of women, it is possible to understand invocations of Chipko differently, and to trace the connections being made between Fireweed, Langer and Shiva/Chipko, not as signalling a universalised essential femininity, but as a genealogy of women, ‘as a motivated, and motivating practice’ (Haran, in Haran and Moore, 2008: n.p.), as revisioning a community of eco/feminists.

To genealogy as a practice of revisioning we could also add the work of ‘reclaim- ing’. My opening questions echo Isabelle Stengers, who explores ‘reclaiming’ Shiva’s work specifically, against what she terms ‘essentialist hunting’ (after the witch hunts). She states that the relevant question is ‘Can we separate Vandana’s force – which produces her ability to struggle – from those seemingly ‘‘essentialist’’ grounds? And the challenge would be learning to . . . hesitate about our own con- ditions of thought’ (2008: 41–42). Drawing on the work of US Wiccan witch and eco/feminist Starhawk (who came to Clayoquot and was arrested), Stengers expands on Starhawk’s practice of reclaiming, and its capacity to make us hesitate:

Reclaiming is an adventure, both empirical and pragmatic, because it does not pri-

marily mean taking back what was confiscated, but rather learning what it takes to

inhabit again what was devastated. Reclaiming indeed associates irreducibly ‘to heal’,

‘to reappropriate’, ‘to learn/teach again’, ‘to struggle’, to ‘become able to restore life

where it was poisoned’, and it demands that we learn how to do it for each zone of

devastation, each zone of the earth, of our collective practices and of our experience.

(2008: 58)

These kinds of understanding of genealogical practices are also suggested by Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing’s work, which is useful not least because of its focus on the destruction of forests in Indonesia. In Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection, Tsing explores global connections and ‘practical, engaged universality as a guide to the yearnings and nightmares of our times’ (2005: 1). She writes that ‘[a]s soon as we let go of the universal as a self-fulfilling abstract truth, we must become embroiled in specific situations’ (2005: 1–2). One of Tsing’s interests is collaborations between environmentalists and indigenous peoples, and obstruc- tions to such collaborations. She notes those who understand environmentalists’ interest in indigenous knowledge ‘only as a repetition of metropolitan fantasies and imperial histories’ (2005: 161). Her concern is that such accounts ‘offer a historical metanarrative of imperial modernisation in which nothing good can happen – good or bad – but more of the same. Familiar heroes and villains are again arrayed on the same battlefield. It is difficult to see how new actors and arguments might ever emerge’ (2005: 161). Though Tsing’s concerns are not explicitly about feminism (or eco/feminism), she does reference Sturgeon’s anxieties about eco/feminist appropriations of indigenous cultures here (2005: 159–160). However, Tsing’s use

16 Feminist Theory 12(1)

of ‘friction’ not to signal a repetition of a ‘clash of cultures’ but to gesture to ‘the awkward, unequal, unstable, and creative qualities of interconnections across dif- ference’ (2005: 4) is a welcome contribution to efforts to rethink connection and solidarity.

I suggest that it is no accident that it was eco/feminists who insisted on articu- lating a politics of global connection at a time when many feminists were disin- vesting in such politics. While white feminists were confronting the challenges of black and Third World women, the 1980s and 1990s were a point when environ- mentalists were successfully challenging the relevance of national boundaries for containing environmental problems, and insisting that solutions to environmental problems also required international mediations. Similarly, the environmental movement and environmental activists were recognising the need for activism which transcended national boundaries.

I am also taken with Tsing’s turn to the practice of list-making in her discussion of collaborations and specifically of biodiversity assessment as a multicultural exer- cise. At the insistence of one of her friends and mentors in the Meratus Mountains in Indonesia, together they made a list of all the plants and animals on Borneo. Noting the importance of species lists in making conservation claims, and recog- nising how these lists enable ‘us to discover variety and to appreciate dynamics’, Tsing offers her list as ‘a motivated set of translations and not a simple addition to either universal or local knowledge culture’ (2005: 162). She reflects that ‘[l]ist- making is eclectic to the extent that it draws on multiple, fragmentary sources. To acknowledge this eclecticism allows us to admire its creative use of limited materials, rather than to grasp only for scope. It allows us to imagine the list within historically changing conversations, rather than as transcendental knowl- edge’ (2005: 162). This account of list-making is profoundly genealogical.

An account of list-making as a knowledge practice is instructive in revisioning and reclaiming eco/feminists’ lists of activism, suggesting ways of reading such lists, not as essentialist or universalist, but rather as linked specificities. This way of introducing eco/feminism performed a number of different functions. These lists provided an introduction to eco/feminism in the absence of any agreed definition of the term. They offered a way of describing eco/feminism without having recourse to generalisations to which there would have been far too many exceptions. The examples cited hinted at the complexity and diversity of women’s relationships with nature and their environments. These examples were important not just because they illustrated what eco/feminism was about – connections between the oppression of women and the domination of nature – but also because they illus- trated that there was no one eco/feminism. These people and places were offered up as evidence that eco/feminism did not just happen in the imaginations of some feminist academics dreaming up some real community involvement. In the chang- ing context of anxiety about the essentialisms of activism and the universalisms of fantasies of global sisterhood, the diverse locations of these actions and practices were as significant as the actions themselves, offering a counter-narrative to the end of global sisterhood and the end of feminism. The diversity initially valorised by

Moore 17

eco/feminists was not only activism, not only international activism, but was also a diversity of forms, as is clear from the account by Carlassare earlier in this article, and from attention to the introductions to the anthologies. Diverse genres, forms of knowledge and knowledge practices, were included. In focusing anxiety on the preponderance of Third World activism and Native American spiritualities, this attention has been lost.

Constructing lists and genealogies offers a different knowledge practice to some of the other possibilities available. Against the deadening repetition of the end of feminism, against the typologies of eco/feminism which sought to purify theories of essentialism and activism, and against the progress narratives of certain feminist histories, others were briefly, excitedly, repeating the names of places around the world, and passing these on to each other, not as a universal, essentialised wom- anhood, but more as an insistence on what needed to be done, an invocation to action. I understand this practice of listing eco/feminist activisms as a kind of ritual, a performative recitation, in Butler’s sense, which insisted on the persistence of feminist activism, and hoped to bring eco/feminism into being, and at the same time ward off the challenges of those who would deny the possibilities of connec- tion. This list has many beginnings but no one ending. The challenge for eco/ feminist academics is to figure out how to articulate ourselves into this community, genealogy, and to figure out what we must do (to) ourselves. The work for eco/ feminist academics might yet still be to articulate the complicated, messy tensions, frictions in the unfinished, open-ended listing, genealogy, of eco/feminism, which theorises and enacts, which traces histories, records the present, and conjures imag- ined communities of eco/feminists, a genealogy that I continue to recite, reclaim and revision:

. . . the Chipko Movement, the Kenyan Greenbelt Movement, the Women’s Pentagon

Actions, the campaign against the Narmada Valley Dams, the Love Canal

Homeowners campaign against toxic waste dumping, the women who organised

around Chernobyl, Bhopal, nuclear testing in the Pacific, Greenham Common, the

Women’s Environmental Network, Clayoquot Sound . . .

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the two anonymous reviewers for their thoughtful reflections on and

suggestions. Many thanks to Joan Haran for suggestions on the title and for comments on previous drafts and also to Anne Rudolph for her contributions. Many conversations over the years also mark this paper. Finally many thanks to Fireweed, Valerie Langer, and all of those I interviewed and spoke with in the process of this project.

Notes

1. For more on this see www.focs.ca, the Clayoquot Archive website (http://web.uvic.ca/ clayoquot/clayoquotArchive.html) and Magnusson and Shaw (2003).

18 Feminist Theory 12(1)

2. I use ‘eco/feminism’ to gesture towards sometimes fruitful, sometimes unproductive, ten- sions between eco/feminism and feminism, while at times using ‘ecofeminism’ and ‘fem- inism’ to signal to moments when these might be understood to be separate categories.

Eco/feminism is both ‘of’ feminism and offers a critique of it. I hold on to this label of eco/ feminism as productive at this juncture in feminism, to signal a specific constellation of interests, which cannot be assumed under the rubric of ‘feminism’ alone (Moore, 2007).

3. The conference was Praxis/Nexus: Feminist Methodology, Theory, Community, at the University of Victoria, Canada (January 1996).

4. Indian scholar and activist Vandana Shiva has been key in bringing the Chipko move-

ment to popular attention and acclaim, initially through Staying Alive: Women, Ecology and Sustainable Development (1988) and through her countless talks, conference partic- ipation, and activism.

5. There are many other connections that could be traced: to other environmental protests

in British Columbia and internationally, such as Redwood Summer in California; as well as other feminist peace camps, like Greenham Common in the UK, and Seneca in the US; to a history of First Nations protests in British Columbia; to connections between the

Clayoquot camp and tree-planting camps. 6. The Brazil of the North campaign was initiated by Colleen McCrory of the Valhalla

Wilderness Society (for more on this see http://web.uvic.ca/clayoquot/files/volume1/

III.D.5.pdf). 7. A version of this article was presented at this conference (October 2008, University of

Aberdeen), jointly with Joan Haran (Cardiff University), with the title ‘Revisioning Feminism: Imagining Feminist Futures’. Joan’s argument turned to a different cultural

intervention, that of feminist science fiction, in this way pointing to another commonly disavowed feminism.

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