Talking about climate change does not come naturally to most people, even those who are concerned about it. About two-thirds of Americans report that they “rarely” or “never” discuss it with family and friends. a recording found last fall. They may be intimidated by the science, nervous about starting an argument, or afraid of being a Debbie Downer. The resulting silence is part of why there is no longer social pressure to reduce fossil fuel emissions: People public support for climate policy dramatically underestimated, because that is the cue they get from those around them. The only way to break this cycle, communication experts have said for many years, is to please, please, start talking about it.
But a recently published book makes the case that not just any kind of talk is good; anything resembling the phrasing of fossil fuel propaganda, even unconsciously, undermines what should be the central goal of reducing emissions. In The Language of Climate PoliticsGenevieve Guenther, a former Renaissance scholar turned climate activist, writes that fossil fuel talking points have weakened their way to becoming the “common sense position” espoused not only by the right but also by the left.
Guenther founded the city in New York volunteer group End Climate Silence in 2018 in the hope of provoking the media to talk more about climate change. The common sense philosophy behind her work is that words shape ideas, and ideas have consequences, so we need to rethink the words we use. “To ensure a livable future, one thing we will need to do is dismantle and reformulate the terms that dominate the language of climate politics,” Guenther writes.
Her book lays out six key terms that she believes are driving the conversation, to the detriment of climate action: alarmism, cost, growth, “India and China”, innovation and resilience. These words are often used to support fossil fuels: by accusing people who speak out about the risks of being overly alarmed, by pitting climate action against economic prosperity, by diverting attention away from the US and to other countries, and by the status quo to protect by pointing to carbon removal technologies and societies’ ability to bounce back. The book attempts to debunk these views, by cleverly documenting, for example, how economic models have failed to capture the true costs of climate change so long
For each term, Guenther presents substitute arguments that “would be difficult for fossil fuel interests to apply.” Don’t talk about “resilience”, she says, because it implies that people can endure extreme weather; rather speak of “transformation”. The result is a binary approach that suggests there is a right way and a wrong way to talk about the climate. This quest for black-and-white moral clarity risks antagonizing potential allies — like the climate-worried people who think carbon removal has promise or advocates who worry that a message might backfire if it sounds too scary. , not to mention younger Republicans, two-thirds of which favor the prioritization of renewable energy over the expansion of fossil fuels. But it’s a risk Guenther is willing to take.
The opening chapter of The Language of Climate Politics examine the word “alarmist”, which is often used accuse scientists of exaggerating dangers, in the service of embracing “alarmed,” which Guenther thinks is “a perfectly appropriate” response to the planet leaving the comfortable conditions in which complex societies have evolved over the past 10,000 years. She criticizes the different factions within the climate discourse, from “lukewarmers” and “techno-optimists” who think that a warmer future won’t be so bad, to “doomers” who think it’s too late to fix something.
In the same spirit of putting people into boxes, Guenther’s critics might classify her as a “carbon reductionist” whose dogged focus on ending CO2 emissions illuminates the complex social and political factors behind weather disasters. In her view, anyone who raises the alarm, even a scientist who dislikes hyperbole, is transgressing. After UN Secretary-General António Guterres proclaimed last year that the era of “global cooking” arrived, NASA climate scientist Chris Colose criticized it as a “shrinking” phrase that “makes people of bad faith laugh easily.” Guenther condemns this criticism as a distraction.
She admits that her argument – “climate change will become catastrophic for everyone if the world does not phase out fossil fuels” – may not have broad appeal. “You can push people who are generally disconnected from the climate crisis — not to mention centrist optimists — because it will be too much for them to take in at once. But that’s okay.” Her audience is clearly not the general public. To support this narrow focus, Guenther points to the “3.5 percent rule,” the idea that you only need to mobilize a tiny minority, 3.5 percent of a population, to force serious political change.
The problem is where this number comes from political science research on how nonviolent campaigns can overthrow authoritarian governments, not campaigns seeking social change in democracies. This does not necessarily translate the process of implementing laws to reduce emissions over decades. The Harvard researcher behind the rule, Erica Chenoweth, warned that the goal of mobilizing 3.5 percent of a population without building broad public support there is no guarantee of success. “It can be easy to conclude, I think wrongly, that all you need is 3.5 percent of the population on your side,” Chenoweth said on a podcast in 2022.
One climate activist group inspired by the 3.5 percent rule has since moved away from the strategy. Extinction Rebellion caught the world’s attention in 2018 when its members in the United Kingdom began blocking bridges, taping their hands to government buildings and pouring fake blood on the streets. For years, critics within the organization warned that it was abuse of the rule, potentially missing more effective strategies that would bring the broader approval needed to enact climate policies. “To really bring about the kind of big, rapid system change that’s needed now to avoid collapse, we’re going to have to take a pretty big chunk of the 99 percent with us,” wrote Rupert Read, a former XR strategistin 2019.
Three years later, recognizing this need, Extinction Rebellion UK announced that it shifts tactics from breaking windows to building bridges, “prioritizing attendance over arrest and relationships over roadblocks.” Since then, the organizers say, support grew and more people became members.
Near the end of The Language of Climate Politicsin what can be read as a self-criticism, Guenther points to the need for a broad movement to force the US to move away from fossil fuels — one that includes black communities fighting toxic pollution, young people worried about their future , and possibly even (panting) climate technology entrepreneurs. The book as a whole, with its emphasis on reinforcing divisions, feels firmly placed in a time in which social media has fueled polarizationand a moment when a Democratic president has been in power for years.
It tends to have a climate-friendly face like President Joe Biden in the White House causing the environmental movement to splinter, with some groups focused on “insider” tactics, such as lobbying Congress and drafting policies, and others focusing on “outsider” tactics, pushing for more ambitious change through protest. By contrast, if former president and staunch climate denier Donald Trump is re-elected this fall, even the vaguely climate-concerned could be mobilized for a revived “Resistance” movementonce again united by a common enemy.
What Guenther’s book gets right is that climate change conversations need to be steered away from tired talking points and into new, productive territory. But the book is positioned not so much as a guide to communication as a guide to choosing a side in a battle of words, with Guenther writing, “One of the most powerful weapons you have is your voice. ”
Research shows that the hard work of persuasion, however usually starts with listening to people with an empathetic, non-judgmental ear, as opposed to debating it. It involves asking questions, building trust and accepting that you are not always right. Guenther finally embraces this practical advice for approaching conversations with real people in a three-page afterword, and it seems to counter the sharp tone of the nearly 200 pages that preceded it. This is because there is not one right way to talk about climate change, but many.
