Out at Sea
A post about both the promise of a new marine sanctuary and the choppy waters of electoral politics
Much appreciation for any patient readers who have noted the change in publishing frequency here at Unsettling and let it go unremarked upon. Given that my full-time endeavor this year is election-centered, I hope I may be forgiven for my shift in attention. I’ve been doing lots more talking to people directly, supporting an attempt to move away from all the polarized two-party madness encouraged by our current voting methods. We’ll find out shortly the results of those efforts; if you happen to be an Oregon voter, you can give them a boost by voting Yes on Measure 117, in favor of statewide ranked-choice voting, by November 5th.
But if I’m honest, it’s not just the pace of campaign life that’s been the problem. Committing words to the page has felt increasingly difficult as I’ve allowed the deluge of election headlines to live more centrally in my mind. This past week, I’ve been coming to terms with how I’ve let the sense of uncertainty about the political future get in the way of continuing a connection with all of you here. Part of the problem is my own attachment to the hope that what I write, even in such an ephemeral venue as this, might continue to have some relevance beyond its initial appearance — that it might hold up even a year from now if not longer — and it’s hard to feel at the moment as though that’s really possible, when we seem headed towards a moment of precipitous, and possibly violent, change.
In other words, a heightened experience of the affect at the core of our project here — the feeling of being unsettled — has set me a little adrift, and proven to be something of a barrier when it comes to addressing some of our other more discrete topics. For instance, I’ve been plugging away at some research on the difference between uses of the marine sanctuary designation and national monument status as a method for conservation, in light of recent news about the successful Northern Chumash-led proposal for the Chumash Heritage National Marine Sanctuary, which received its designation from NOAA on Indigenous Peoples’ Day. Inquiry into the topic has also been motivated by knowing that, when Trump took office in 2016, one of his first actions was to roll back the expansion of Bears Ears, which had been fought for by the Bears Ears Inter-Tribal Coalition and stood then as the leading example of co-stewardship between federal land agencies and tribes. But I keep tripping up over all the conditional phrasing that seems to be necessary while writing: “Should he be elected, then… “Depending on how the next administration approaches this, it may be that…”
Given that national monuments rely on executive order, which can be a fickle instrument, part of my intent in learning about marine sanctuaries has been to explore the idea that the more democratic nomination process used by NOAA for their establishment might perhaps be a more promising approach for long-term preservation, both on land and sea, and its adoption by other agencies something for which we should advocate. Unlike a national monument, any individual can begin a sanctuary nomination process; late Chief Fred Collins of the Northern Chumash Tribal Council nominated this newest marine sanctuary, back in 2015. The work and vision he began means that 4500 square miles off California’s central coast will soon be off limits to oil and gas drilling, protecting not only a great many species but also cultural artifacts including submerged Chumash villages.
But as soon as I would begin writing that out, I’d get caught up in all that worry about the future again. What good is it to talk about the usefulness of NOAA’s approach if it might be disbanded entirely? When even the usually slow, staid and boring processes of large bureaucratic agencies feels shaky and prone to sudden change (the Chumash sanctuary has been a decade in the making), it’s no wonder we can feel overwhelmed by uncertainty.
But I might be particularly prone to feeling this way, given that I’ve hitched my own life to the electoral cycle this year; the particular vehicle I’ve been riding to feel a sense of purpose and provide for a basic living comes to a stop in November along with all the campaigning. I was very plucky and determined about these coinciding timelines back in January, pitching it as a good thing: “I want to be able to respond to whatever happens in November, and not be stuck doing something that feels irrelevant!” But you can imagine it’s all coming home to roost now as I find myself occasionally browsing job ads, still not much wiser on what it will even make sense to be doing in 2025.
Will I feel like I have an answer to do in another week or two? I don’t know yet. The situation demands just a little more patience, dedication to the route I’ve plotted for myself, to this intentional creation of a void meant to be filled. A void doesn’t have to experienced as emptiness; it can be experienced as potential, as a space that allows for response, pivoting, and repositioning. Or so I remind myself, as I reflect again on all my more career-minded friends that, I presume, less often find themselves needing to once more figure out what they should be doing next.
Whatever else comes rushing into the void, I do hope to use some of the open space I’ve carved out to be more present with all of you, the readers in this one little nook out on the internet.
More soon. Until then,
Meg
P.S. Do you know who doesn’t seem to feel adrift or be worried about what’s next? Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland. Whether Haaland will remain in her position is uncertain, regardless of which candidate wins the presidential election. But over at NPR, you can see her standing firmly in the historic nature of her role these last four years and the impact she’s had. As they sum it up: “Haaland says she and the Biden administration have done things that will change native people’s lives forever, no matter who’s in charge next.” The optimistic part of me is really hoping for four more years of Haaland leading the Interior Department.