“No expropriation,” was written in shaky red letters on a white sheet by an overpass. There was something poetic about it, because of the pontifical word expropriation. There was something sad about it too, because of its association with endless meadows of ryegrass. And something absurd because of the idea that the land and the other animals can be someone’s property.
This time is characterized by a great attachment to property. Many people think of wealth as money and a successful life not of spiritual well-being but of things—a house, a car, an expensive coffee maker. We’re so used to it that we don’t notice it. Knowledge is seen as a product, just like healthcare. Even identity is spoken of as something you have rather than what you are, as a possession to be defended.
It is therefore difficult to think through other ways of dealing with the land. Last week I attended a conference on Antarctica and the rights of nature. Traditionally no people live in Antarctica who can lay claim to it. Other animals, certainly in the coastal areas, and plants such as mosses. It is also a place where climate change can cause serious problems. The big question at the conference was whether existing treaties, the Antarctic Treaty System, are still suitable to protect Antarctica, or whether new systems are needed, such as rights of nature. And who should carry out all this: nation states, the UN, or some other organization.
Rights of nature are in. Yet it is often unclear what they entail and what they can achieve. In some places nature has already been granted rights, often on the basis of insights from indigenous human communities. In Ecuador, for example, nature, or Pachamama, is recognized as a legal person in the constitution. This fusion of knowledge systems, western and indigenous, is hopeful, but in practice it does not yet lead to adequate protection. People can now sue in the name of nature.
Another possibility is to give the animals ownership of the land, as philosopher John Hadley suggests. In addition to those animals, this will also protect the land better because other animals use it responsibly. Philosopher Josh Milburn argues that animals actually already own land. According to John Locke (1632-1704), natural resources become your property when you mix your labor with them. So do squirrels, Milburn writes. The ‘nature’ is not an uninhabited area and the land of the animals is continuously expropriated.
Another alternative for Antarctica is to establish areas where people are not welcome, so-called ‘no entry zones’. That idea is emerging in thinking about ocean conservation. In any case, the sharks are happy with it, research shows that they visit those kinds of places. At last week’s UN summit on the ocean emergency, WWF director Marco Lambertini said people are reckless with oceans because they don’t belong to anyone. But people and countries that are responsible are also reckless with land and sea.
Nothing really belongs to us. Not the land, not the other animals, not the things, even your body belongs to the earth, and when you are no longer there it merges again with everything that is there. Ownership is an agreement that is due for revision. So let’s give land back to itself wherever we can, including in cities. Meanwhile, we can think about better constructions, better stewards of the land than the state, and new ways of sharing. Time is running out.
Eva Meijer is a writer and philosopher. She writes a column every other week.
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of August 30, 2022