Daniel Suelo comes from the same state that I do, Colorado. He’s about the same age and background as me. He, too, loves being in nature and being outside. He lives near Moab, Utah, where my wife and I met and hope to retire someday (more on that later!). But he inhabits an entirely different universe with different rules, mores and customs. His world is so dramatically different that it is virtually unimaginable.
You see, Daniel Suelo has no money. At all. Most people consider him to be a bum. In the nicest, least pejorative, most thoughtful sense of the word. About 15 years ago, in response to spiritual, intellectual and personal crises, he gave up money. He refuses to touch it, has no credit cards, works no job, punches no clock. He lives on public lands around Moab, Utah. He doesn’t beg, but eats what he can gather from nature and the dumpsters behind restaurants and supermarkets or what he is offered by friends. He isn’t a hermit or a recluse, but maintains a vigorous social life in Moab. He blogs about his experiences from the Moab Public Library. He works occasionally, but mainly for the experience or to help out something he believes in, never for pay.
And I live in Hong Kong, the most capitalistic city on the planet. This city was founded on trade and business and has thrived on it ever since. Money is
the raison d’être of this town. This city is the shrine to the very notion of money—a medium of exchange or a store of value—as having meaning in and of itself. The acquisition and maintenance of money, the profit motive, is the religion of Hong Kong. The notion that capitalism properly organises itself (supply) through signals of the people’s desire (demand) to provide for efficient provision of goods and services is not mere abstraction here, but rather the very foundation of the city itself. In addition to the undeniable benefits of economic growth, Hong Kong also offers some of the best examples of conspicuous consumption and economic inequality. I’ve given up counting the number of Louis Vuitton outlets and watch stores with strange Swiss names that sell watches for more than my mortgage.
Appreciating both of these world views has, I must admit, taxed my limited intellectual capacity. And, certainly, I am in the middle of the two extremes—though a lot closer to Daniel’s situation than to some of my neighbours in Hong Kong—thus have a foot in both camps. Reconciling these visions of the world, however extreme, is what I do in my day job. We in the environmental movement make the case daily to wealthy people and to captains of industry (and to governments) that they need to invest in the natural world in order to ensure that it continues to provide the clean air, clean water, safe food, and healthy atmosphere that will sustain their children, that, in fact, even their money cannot protect their children from the rages of a frayed climate, a dead ocean and a global toxic miasma.
And TNC also supports people who are in Daniel’s situation, but not by choice. I recently visited Manus Island in Papua New Guinea, where a no-cash, barter society exists on coastlines that are already feeling the pressure from sea level rise and coral bleaching. The ocean has pushed their villages back many meters and the rising sea temperatures have impacted their primary food source, fish, which relies on corals as breeding grounds and nurseries. They have organised themselves around these challenges and are zoning their ocean and self-regulating their fishing. They are building dry rock walls to protect their vegetable fields from salt water incursion. They are staring down the barrel of the gun of climate change, without money, with a little help from TNC, and planning their future despite seemingly insurmountable challenges.
My wife and I respectfully disagree about money. I think we won’t have enough to retire until I am 120 years old. She thinks we can retire next week. Perhaps the real truth is that retirement in Moab or on Manus may be a false promise given the threats that climate change pose. And money and capitalism probably will play a central role as signals from the environment, like Hurricane Sandy, Typhoon Nargis, drought, wildfires and pollution begin to more directly and clearly impact global markets.
Since the global and national political systems have failed us all on climate (honestly, a global deal on climate is a structural impossibility!), perhaps the market will save us. Otherwise, we may all find ourselves with useless Piaget watches trying to learn how to start anew from Manus Islanders and Mark Sundeen. I suspect that this challenge will require the best from all of us, though. I hope we all rise to the challenge as the Manusians have done.
“It’s an amazing word to say,” says Bono. “it’s its own kind of mouth music, just singing it.”
In the general theme of religion (see the review of The Man Who Quit Money by Mark Sundeen) I recently heard Leonard Cohen’s song Hallelujah for the first time. This is pretty remarkable because I listen to a lot of music, and I like Leonard Cohen; so I should have heard this 20 year old song before now. But this sort of thing happens to me. For instance, I never listened to or appreciated Led Zeppelin. All I knew of their music was Stairway to Heaven from the countless times it was played as the slow dance at Lesher Junior High School parties in Ft. Collins, Colorado in the late 70s. I’ve since recovered this lost period of my life, now own the entire canon of Led Zeppelin, and count Kashmir as one of my favourite songs of all time. I also love dancing to my daughter’s music with her—Carly Rae Jepsen is awesome. I’m pro Taylor Swift too. So music has always been a big part of enjoying life for me.
So I heard the song and was absolutely taken by it. It’s a long song, with 5 verses and complex lyrics. It has a compelling melody that is also easy to sing. And it’s a religious song, especially for those of us who are agnostic or atheists. (there aren’t many atheist spiritual songs out there—but there must be a market for them….) And then I was walking past an airport book store and saw Alan Light’s book about the song. I had just read the autobiographies of Neil Young and Richards, which made me like them both less and put me off of their music for a couple of months, so I wasn’t really in the market, but I picked it up and could’t put it down.
The book is a great story about a great song. Cohen’s decade long struggle to write it. The lack of reaction to it’s release. The tragic story of the promising artist Jeff Buckley recording the song (with haunting video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKnxmkOAj88 ) then walking into the Mississippi River 5 months later and drowning before his version made the song popular. Leonard Cohen then retreating to a Zen monastery, to reappear 8 years later, bankrupt, having been robbed by his manager, and then beginning a series of world tours, playing stadiums, at the age of 70.
It’s a religious epic in itself, about a man whose purpose in writing the song was to “push the Hallelujah into the secular world, into the ordinary world.” The song provides a bridge of faith into the everyday. As Light says, “There is simply no getting around the power of that chorus: one word, charged with centuries of meaning, delivered ironically or solemnly or both.”
The magic of music and it’s ability to transport the soul and make connections makes me remember something from my childhood in the American south. I was 6 or 7, and my babysitter had taken me to a Southern Baptist church in Nashville. My parents weren’t churchgoers so I wasn’t sure what it was all about, but there was a lot of singing. I remember asking her afterwards about the singing. She said, “when you sing, you pray twice.” Hallelujah.