The Golden Gate Barrage – Part III (FINALE)

» Read Part I and Part II of The Golden Gate Barrage!

March 21, 2063, 2230 Hours, Bay-Delta Coastal Protection Zone, Oakland, California

Golden_Gate_Tsunami

The night air was cold and blustery. Wind gusts laced with raindrops swooped in to warn us that storms were coming. Jabari led the way, as Tati and I followed him toward the bars of blue neon light marking the entrance to Fruitvale Landing. He had security clearance to board the inner transit lines, and apparently his family’s rank within the regional authority granted him the right to bring two colleagues — provided, of course, no one had a mark on their records. I assured them my past was clean, though I did wonder whether any of my pre-teen shoplifting sprees ever made it to the corporate vidnets.

Jabari flashed his Golden Gate Authority badge to the attendant. “Good evening,” said Jabari. “Headin’ over to China Basin to check on some spawning grounds I’m overseeing. These are a coupla my insomniac volunteers.”

The attendant remained composed and indifferent as he scanned Jabari’s badge. “Please step forward and look into the scanner,” he said, gesturing toward Tati and I. Tati went first, placing her chin on the rest plate. A matrix of red laser light flashed across her eyes, followed by a green overhead glow. “You’re clear,” said the attendant. I was next.

I hesitated. What if there WAS something damning in my records? I didn’t want to jeopardize the mission! I calmed my nerves and stepped toward the scanner. “It’s okay,” said Jabari, flashing another smile. “Nobody cares about your late night swims past the safety buoys.”

Relaxed by his jokes, I plopped my chin on the rest plate and looked face-forward. The red light scanned my retina, then abruptly stopped in mid-sweep. The attendant looked at me with sudden concern. I began to panic. Oh shit! What do they have on me? Metal cuff-links quickly curled over my wrists, trapping me in the scanning chair. What the FUCK?!

“Hold on,” said the attendant as he checked the readout. “The system’s been a bit buggy lately. Looks like it was just a malfunction.” A feeling of cool relief swept over me as the metal links retracted. I stood up calmly so as not to arouse suspicion.

The blue barrier bars receded, and the attendant motioned for us to pass. We walked close together, heading straight for the escalator to the overhead train cars. Entering our car, I couldn’t help but notice how spartan and new everything looked: spotless plush seating lined each side of the aisle, which was covered in smooth, translucent plating. Most passengers were immersed in vidchats or augmented reality gear sets, while others relaxed in spacious seats with full reclining position. I’d never seen that before! I pulled out my vidpad to snap a photo of the spectacle.

Jabari grabbed my arm, pulling me into an empty seat next to him and Tati. “Probably best to keep that tucked away,” he whispered. “Some of these folks report to higher-ups in the Authority, or serve as security detail for San Francisco elites. They may not appreciate your photography practice like I do.” He winked at me, prompting me to pocket my vidpad.

The ride to the new transbay tube was smooth and comfortable — and deeply disturbing. Along the way, I saw how the waterfront neighborhoods had become one long strip of gentrified playgrounds for the rich: Alameda Shores, Brooklyn Basin, Jack London Estates. All had become their own gated economic enclaves, complete with their own security forces and their own cultural identities, connected to the inland flats only through access checkpoints.

“Don’t look so sad,” Jabari said, taking my hand. His palm was warm and reassuring. How is this guy so confident? And so steamin’ hot? I turned to Tati, who was caressing his shoulder. All I could do was smile at them, wishing desperately to quash my emotional salad of excitement, sorrow, and fear. “These places are just last-ditch attempts to hold on to a dying age.”

I gave him a goofy look of disbelief. “Oh, is that what they are?” They seemed more like a military occupation to me. “Please explain, oh wise one.” I couldn’t help teasing him a bit.

He tried hard to put on his serious face, but couldn’t hold back a grin. He gave me what I chose to think was a flirtatious stink-eye, and we all broke out laughing. After the final East Bay stop, we began our descent into the transbay tube. Jabari got himself together and continued: “Seriously though, none of those ‘hoods could survive without the protection of the Authority. And they’re almost completely powered by the bay’s wave energy coming from Goldilocks.”

Tati interjected: “So take away the barrage, and there goes their power — and most of their shoreline.” That prospect was starting to sound a bit far-fetched, not to mention messy as hell.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” I asked. “And where would all the fancy shoreline grabbers go, once the lights go out and their flats start flooding?”

Jabari motioned for us to keep our volume down. I’d almost forgotten that we were surrounded by economic dependents of the Golden Gate Barrage. Lucky for us, they were completely oblivious to our scheming. “Not here,” he said in a hushed voice. We paused our little conspiracy of three, and sank back into our seats. After a few minutes, a sudden surge of light filled the car, followed by the sound of crackling electrical wires. Our car began lurching forward in faster and faster bursts along the track, followed by a fading series of counter-force corrections. The lights dimmed for a moment, then returned to normal, along with our speed.

“What was THAT?” I pleaded, looking to our resident sage for some insight on the matter.

“It’s the barrage,” he said. “There must be quite a storm brewin’ up there. My pops and his team have been working to stabilize the power buffers. But the superstorms are getting too much for ’em to handle. It’s only a matter of time before an electrical surge more powerful than that takes out the whole grid.” He pretty much all but said it: we were simply going to speed along what Mother Nature had already intended.

Our car began to slow as we approached San Francisco’s eastern edge. “We’re getting off at Embarcadero Station,” said Tatiana. “We’re already late, so we have to hurry.” We exited and dashed up the stairwell, as the escalator system was out of order. Sheets of hard rain pounded the city streets, interrupted only by random bursts of lightning. How are we going to make it through all this? We don’t even have raincoats! Covering our heads with our jackets, we crossed an overpass leading across a flooded block of California Street. An interconnected network of walkways had been constructed above street level to allow second-floor access to buildings with water-logged first floors. After a series of hairy turns, we boarded the elevated train line leading to Fort Mason.

I couldn’t shake the vision I now had of floodwaters suddenly creeping up the Oakland embankments, with thousands of new residents streaming out to what’s left of our flatland ‘hoods. Had Jabari and the rebels really thought this through? Once the barrage stopped functioning, there’d be so much panic, so much confusion, and — most likely — so much violence. I  wished I was somewhere else. I wanted justice for Benito and all of us who’ve been cast aside so mercilessly, but there had to be some other way.

“What’s up, Mari?” asked Jabari. This guy can already read me like the back of his hand.

I looked at him for a sign. Some indication that he was conscious of the gravity of his actions. I knew Tatiana wouldn’t be with him unless she believed him to be a man of his word, but was he also guided by soundness of mind, or simple revenge? “I need to know we are trying to save lives here, not cause more misery. For anyone,” I said.

Jabari gave me a look of relief and admiration. “Tati warned me how amazing you are, Mariela,” he said. “All I can say is that I’m grateful you’re here with us tonight.” He paused and looked into my eyes. “We’re not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to. We simply want justice for our communities and a return to balance.”

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of ease at his words. Tati gave me a side hug in solidarity. “You’ll soon meet the others,” she said. “I think you’ll like what you’re about to hear.”

We reached the end of the line, and began a mad dash for the entrance to Fort Mason. The night guard was composed of two groggy officers, one of whom casually examined Jabari’s badge and waved us in. Thankfully, the storms had calmed somewhat, giving our soaked jackets a chance to dry out a bit. We ducked into one of the old buildings close to the hillside, and were relieved to feel the warmth of a blazing fire. At least a couple dozen mostly young men and women sat around it on roll-out rugs and concrete blocks.

“Jabari!” exclaimed a heavier-set, beautifully adorned woman near the hearth. She radiated a powerful air of confidence as she strode towards us. Her skin was reddish brown, her hair was long, dark, and silky, and her clothes were covered with bright, multi-hued feathers. “We were beginning to wonder if you were coming,” she said, looking at him with a touch of disappointment.

“Our apologies, Ramay,” said Jabari, lowering his head. “I couldn’t risk a comms trail between us. We had some minor delays along the way.” He held out his arm in my direction, and spoke aloud to the group: “Friends, please welcome our newest ally, Mariela Rodriguez, a displaced Oakland native of many generations, whose younger brother just died from toxic pollution after last night’s refinery blast in Richmond.”

Those gathered around the fire stood up and began walking over to me. Nearly everyone wore Authority badges like Jabari. So THAT was how this was going down. It’s an inside operation. They greeted me warmly, shook my hand and offered their condolences. Most were sons and daughters of senior Authority personnel. All had witnessed the trauma it had brought to shoreline communities, and the corrupt leadership that had seized control. I could sense their sadness, but also their collective determination.

Ramay stepped back towards the fire, and turned to face the group. The flames seemed to increase in intensity as they lapped furiously skyward behind her commanding presence. “Friends, the time has come for us to reclaim our homeland,” she began. “We do not seek harm to our fellow earthly travelers here in the bay. Only a return to free-flowing waters, liberated shores, and safe homes for all our peoples. The Golden Gate Barrage promised us much, but in the end, it became a tool of oppression. Its time has passed.”

The group nodded in solemn agreement and took a moment of silence to honor Ramay’s words. Jabari stepped over to a clear section of the room and mounted a small device on the wall. He switched it on, revealing a projection schematic of the barrage, complete with security checkpoints. “We all know what’s at stake,” he said. “Remember: only eight of us need to get inside for this to succeed. Twice that many have agreed to seek entry, in case any of us are turned away. Thank you for your courage. We know you are risking a great deal.”

He stopped for a moment to scan the room, meeting the eyes of those who must have self-selected for the mission. Tatiana stepped towards him and curled a supportive arm around his back. He turned to give her a quick kiss and then continued: “Each of you with badges will be accompanied by an authorized ‘colleague’ who is, of course, offering critical technical assistance with your Authority-approved projects.” He snuck in a slight grin.

“But what if we’re rejected at security?” asked a young woman in the front.

“We’re counting on it,” said Jabari. “Part of their late night protocol is to deny entry to some, even authorized personnel. We just don’t now how many. So let’s not tip ’em off by resisting in any way. Simply smile and say you’ll come back another time.”

He went on to assign teams to entryways on both sides of the barrage, and explained the plan: we would synchronize the shut down of most of the dam’s power buffers by putting them in diagnostics mode at several maintenance control stations. In that state, even normal seaside water pressure might be enough to cause a system overload. But with tonight’s storm-powered waves, it was almost a certainty.

“Once you’re in position, simply send your coded signal to the group,” he said. “When we’ve reached critical mass, our comms system will give the green light. Good luck, everyone. Future generations will thank you for your bravery.” Jabari and Tati mingled with a few members of the mission contingent, then wandered over to me.

“I hope we inspired some confidence in us,” said Jabari, fishing for a sign from me. I nodded and smiled, reflecting a sense of hope that I genuinely felt. Granted, I still had reservations about how things would shake out, but the plan seemed solid. “I’m glad,” he responded, smiling back. “If you’re up for it, I’d like you to join me tonight.”

That took me aback. Why wouldn’t Tati be his partner? These two seemed made for this mission! “Amiga, I’d raise too much suspicion,” said Tati. “They know I’m not a professional colleague, and, pues, I’ve been kicked out before.” I needed to hear that story sometime, but immediately understood. We simply couldn’t risk it.

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll do it!” A sudden rush of dread and excitement came over me.

Jabari gave me a warm embrace, then gave Tati a passionate farewell kiss. Damn, I wouldn’t mind a bit of that myself, I thought. He motioned for me to follow him, and I happily obliged. A ferocious wind tunnel greeted us as we exited the building toward the marina. A few blocks ahead, Goldilocks towered above the inner bay, holding back the angry sea. Its warning beacon was spinning wildly, providing at least some signal lighting to any vessels caught in the gathering storms. The walk was tough and cold, but we made good time. Soon we were at the base of the winding path leading up to the southern entryway.

We passed another guarded neon blue bar barricade, no questions asked, and proceeded through a long glassed-in access corridor overlooking the southern span. The rains were getting stronger again, and the lightning blasts more frequent. I glanced seaward: at least a dozen large trade ships were bouncing on the waves, waiting patiently for the storms to subside before making their way to the locks. A thick sheet of rain smacked loudly against the glass, causing me to jump. “You’ll live,” joked Jabari, grinning back at me.

At the far end of the corridor, a lone silhouette appeared. Jabari stopped, staring ahead with disbelief. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew something was terribly wrong.

“Jabari?” asked the figure, as he walked calmly towards us. “It is you. I guess I should have expected this. When you stormed off, I knew you must be up to no good. I should have trusted my instincts and revoked your security clearance. I’ve never been so ashamed.”

Jabari’s head sank a bit, and he reluctantly stepped forward to meet his father. “Pops, please listen. You don’t know what I’ve seen. What the barrage is really doing,” he said.

“Don’t ‘Pops’ me!” said his father, clearly incensed that his son would even be here. “You’re planning something. What? Some kind of sabotage? Whatever it is, it’s nothing more than some sorry attempt to inflate your ego, to satisfy your sense of moral righteousness. You can’t imagine the damage you’d cause, the lives you’d destroy, if you had your way.” I had to admit: his dad really knew how to get under your skin.

Something shifted in Jabari. I could sense a newfound determination from him as he stepped closer to his father. “Dad, I know you’ve put your heart and soul into this. I know you mean well. But I’m sorry to say you’ve been played,” he said.

Jabari’s father seethed in anger. He raised his fist in the air and shook it vigorously. “I raised you better than this!” he screamed. “Whatever crazy conspiracy you’ve got messing with your head, it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve given our people a second chance. We were losing over 100 square miles of coastline every few years before the barrage.” He looked upon Jabari with the face of a father betrayed, wracked with disappointment.

The pounding rains became even more violent, mirroring the growing tension in the air. In the corner of my eye, I saw one of the larger trade ships being pushed ominously close to the barrage, swaying wildly from side-to-side. Jabari kept pacing toward his father in a slow, suspicious manner. I stepped back, sensing the need to keep my distance.

“We can’t hold the rising seas back forever, and you know it,” said Jabari, raising his voice. “And those who you’ve wrongly chosen to serve have already destroyed the communities you claim to protect! It has to end, pops. I’m sorry it had to be this way.” He lunged toward his father, and plunged a tranquilizer syringe into his hip. Jabari held him close, breaking his fall as his increasingly limp body collapsed to the ground.

What the fuck was going on? Jabari EXPECTED this? My legs began to carry me away, almost involuntarily, back toward the main entryway to the corridor. Jabari was far ahead now, peering toward me with a look of panic. “Where are you going?” he cried.

Just then, the bone-chilling sound of groaning metal roared through the corridor. The storm waves were actually starting to strain the stability of the barrage itself! I could feel a slight sway in the structure beneath me. Outside, a blinding burst of lightning flashed across the western skyline, revealing a huge oncoming wave, easily 20 feet high. Atop the wave was that enormous trade ship, its corporate logo painfully visible as its hull smashed squarely into the barrage’s central barrier. My body flew into the glass, as the massive blow from the trade ship buckled and ripped through Goldilocks’ upper levels. I fell to the floor, which had shifted to a decline, angled at least 10 degrees bayward. This thing wasn’t going to last more than a few more minutes. I had to get out of here!

I looked over to Jabari, and saw him desperately lurching toward me as a wall of seawater began to envelop him. “Jabari!” I yelled. “Jabari!” But it was too late. He slipped and fell into the downward sidewall that had already become a river. I only had seconds before I would be swept up as well. So I lept away as best I could, pushing against the lower wall to keep my balance. At the entryway, there was no sign of the guard, and the security bars weren’t functioning. I dashed for the access pathway and sprinted as fast as possible.

Once at a safe distance, I turned to face it: the massive, once-impenetrable Golden Gate Barrage was now reeling, split in half with a gaping wound that would never heal. Water gushed through the center ravine that had formed by the crash, ripping off more and more sections of the barrage with explosive abandon. I saw at least two more trade ships smash over the opening, then crash into the barge that had struck the fatal blow.

It’s all over now, I thought. There’s nothing to stop the rising tide. Now we must simply learn to adapt. All of us. I noticed the sky becoming blacker, but not because the lightning had subsided. I turned to face downtown. A rolling blackout was blanketing San Francisco in darkness. The city had come to rely on the barrage for far too much. It would now have to learn to live within its means. Perhaps even in balance.

§   §   §

EPILOGUE

March 21, 2068, 1030 Hours, Rolling Hills Memorial Park, Richmond, California

I laid a dozen lilacs on little Beni’s tombstone. Five years ago, he lost his life. Some say it was lost due to pollution from the refinery blast. I say it was lost to indifference, corruption, and greed. I permitted myself a smile as I recalled that the refinery was now merely a fading memory — completely flooded and rendered “beyond repair” by local authorities following the destruction of the barrage. Most of the newly minted coastal ‘hoods also suffered the same fate: complete and total destruction. Very few of the pampered newcomers could stomach living among us lowly flatlanders. So most retreated to the hills or to other wealthy enclaves, where they’ve once again started building new barriers and checkpoints to keep out the riff-raff. I even heard that some corporations and construction outfits are working on a major fortress for San Francisco’s power elites.

Whatever. They can hide away, and wall themselves off to their hearts’ content. Meanwhile, the rest of us have actually been afforded a gift: an opportunity to begin anew. I recently joined the Bay Conservation Corps, which was quite easy, given my connection to Jabari. He’d become somewhat of a legend in the years following his death. I chose to keep his secret. No use in tarring his name — or risking my own arrest, of course. I figure if the Bay Area was being handed a clean slate, I may as well grant myself the same.

Who knows what the future may hold? With all the monumental challenges we face, it won’t be easy. But somehow, some way, we’ll make it through. We always have, and always will.

The Golden Gate Barrage – Part II

» Read Part I of The Golden Gate Barrage!

March 21, 2063, 0730 Hours, Bay-Delta Coastal Protection Zone, Oakland, California

Barrage_Montage_FinalWe were minutes away from Fruitvale Station. Momma was sleeping on my shoulder as the train began its final approach on the elevated track. Every few seconds, the wheels squeaked loudly as our rickety car crawled along. This stretch had always been bad as long as I can remember, but today it sounded like it was on the verge of collapse.

I peered out the window to my right, hoping to catch a glimpse of my old stomping grounds. The rising seas and the Great Greenland Flood had erased half a mile or so of Oakland’s shoreline neighborhoods. Our old house was spared only by a safety margin of several blocks, but we knew it was just a matter of time before we were next.

“Next stop: Fruitvale Station,” crackled the announcement speaker as the car slowed, blaring its arrival horns. The emerging view outside was nothing short of shocking. Beyond the cracked station walls and dilapidated platform, a 20-foot-high chain-link fence stretched for at least several blocks. On the other side — where our family had lived for generations — was a newly constructed, pristine streetscape filled with tree-lined walkways, bustling shops and restaurants, and dozens of earth-toned condominium complexes. Above street level, a parallel transit line had been erected with a gleaming tubular design covering the platform and escalator system. People in white suits and neon skirts were going to and fro, sipping on drinks and vidchatting with abandon.

They gutted everything, I thought. And they’re not worried about the floodwaters. They just walled themselves off, and created their own paradise on top of our misery. I’ll bet they didn’t even bother to fix up our old house. They probably just bulldozed it. But why would they invest so much money right here in the flood zone? It didn’t make any sense.

I woke Momma and guided her weary body out to the platform. She rubbed her eyes, and stared out the station window overlooking the massive fenceline. She rubbed her eyes again, perhaps hoping in vain to wipe away the unbelievable scene before her. “It’s gone, Momma,” I said, curling my arm around her. I stood up on a platform bench for a better view. Sleek new buildings and greenways stretched toward the waterfront as far as the eye could see. It’s almost as though the floodwaters had somewhat receded. But that’s impossible!

“Let’s get out of here,” said Momma, holding my hand for support. We had to take the crumbling stairwell since the elevator wasn’t working. Momma moved slowly, but steadily, and soon we were riding in an old diesel sedan toward Tati’s place. We were lucky today. With the gas shortage, there aren’t nearly as many cars offering rides as there used to be. And this guy cut us some slack for traveling such a short distance.

We approached the front gate of Tati’s apartment with caution, hoping to avoid beggars and the usual onslaught of kids selling candy and pan dulce. I keyed her flat code into the entry pad. Tati’s face soon appeared on the vidscreen. “Mari! Y señora. Please come in!”

As we approached her doorstep, Momma began to cry. On top of losing Benito, she now faced the indignity of not even having her own home to go back to. To grieve. In peace. Tati welcomed us with open arms, joining us for a group sobbing session on her stoop. “Stay here as long as you need to,” she said, wiping away her own tears.

“I’m sorry for your loss, friend,” said a calm, deep voice from the entryway. I looked up to see a young, handsome man in his early 20s, his face nearly expressionless beneath a well-trimmed beard. His smooth skin was a light chocolate brown, and his perfectly sculpted crew cut only highlighted his strong masculine features. I felt a tinge of excitement in my body, but did my best to hold back my interest.

“Meet my boo, Jabari,” said Tati, gesturing towards him with a smile. Jabari smiled back, and tilted his head in acknowledgment. “We’ve been kickin’ it for about a year now,” she continued. “He’s been working hard with the Bay Corps, trying to restore some of the shoreline we’ve lost.”

“It hasn’t been easy,” said Jabari. “No doubt you’ve seen what’s been happening. The suits with deep pockets have been buying up the waterfront, even the underwater parts, and building up new gated ‘hoods. See Fruitvale Landing on your way here?”

Fruitvale Landing. How pompous! I suppose the name fits though, I had to admit. “Yeah, we could barely believe it,” I sighed. “It’s like our entire lives were completely erased.” I thought about all the times we played in each other’s backyards there, my first kiss at the channel overlooking the Alameda shores, and the look on Momma’s face when Daddy died at the docks. So many memories, and so little to show for it. “But why would they set up there? It’s all in the flood zone!”

Jabari’s brow furrowed. “That’s what they want you to believe,” he grumbled. “It’s a sham. They’re not satisfied walling themselves off in the hills, keeping the rest of us fending for scraps. No, they need the shoreline too. The government’s in their back pockets, setting up these ‘Exclusion Zones’ to scare folks out.”

“That’s exactly what happened to us!” I blurted out. “We were robbed! And now Benito’s dead.” I held back my anger, eager to learn more from Jabari. Momma’s ears perked up. “But I still don’t get it. The floods are real. Richmond was knee deep in seawater, and most of West Oakland’s now gone.”

“It’s true,” said Jabari. “Much of downtown San Francisco is underwater too. So’s the South Bay shoreline, and long stretches of the Delta. But they can control the flow now with the Golden Gate Barrage. You know, the mega-dam and lock system?”

I found that hard to believe, but nodded my head in agreement. Jabari continued: “Well, the bay is basically one giant bathtub. You pour water in, the level rises. You drain it, the level goes down. Inside the dam, they installed enormous pipes that are sucking up millions of gallons of bay water each day and then pouring it out to sea.”

So THAT’s how they did it, I thought. The fuckers sure pulled a fast one! And now the rest of us are getting screwed. I caught myself staring at Jabari and quickly looked away. He seemed so confident. So savvy. And soooo attractive. Tati must be so happy.

“Jabari’s papa works for the Golden Gate Management Authority,” Tati said. “Maybe he could give you a tour of the barrage!” Her face and tone seemed a bit sarcastic, but I chalked it up as disgust for the time being. Or did she see me admiring Jabari?

He frowned and cursed under his breath. “Pops probably wouldn’t take a vidcall from me if I tried. Last time we talked, we were screaming at each other over what he was doing,” Jabari said, hanging his head in shame. “He thinks he’s saving the Bay Area.”

We hung out on the stoop for a while longer, then Momma and I took a long nap. Tati’s parents came home from work in the late afternoon, and we all shared a delicious meal of tortillas and rice. Everyone seemed nervous about bringing up Benito, but Momma finally broke the silence: “He was such a good little niño,” she said, wiping her tears. “Always helping, always smiling. I know he’s smiling on us now, seeing us all come together like this. Gracias a ustedes for welcoming us, and for being here for us.” We held hands and said a prayer for Beni, and told stories of our childhood until bedtime. Momma and I retreated to a small guest room in the back, while Tati and Jabari stayed up front, engrossed in a heated debate about his work for the corps. I crashed within minutes.

Moments later, I felt a nudge on my arm that pulled me back awake. Above me, Jabari and Tati were smiling. “Sorry to wake you, Mari,” Jabari whispered. “We thought you might want to join us.” I was incredibly groggy, so I had to sit up just to catch my bearings.

“What’s going on?” I asked, looking over to Momma who was still fast asleep.

Tati leaned in and stared into my eyes. “There’s a lot more going on than we’ve told you, Mari. We’ve got friends here and around the bay who want to put a stop to what’s going on. To shut down that damn barrage once and for all.” I liked the sound of that, to be sure, but had no idea what any of us could possibly do about it. I noticed they both had jackets on and that Jabari was shouldering a large backpack.

“Sounds great to me,” I said. “But where are you going? It’s getting pretty late.”

“San Francisco,” Jabari replied. “Tonight’s a big meeting of our group. They’re gonna love you.” He shot me another of his taunting smiles, and held out his hand. Whatever doubts I had quickly vanished in that moment. I grabbed his hand, and joined the resistance.

 » Read Part III (FINALE) of The Golden Gate Barrage!

 

The Golden Gate Barrage – Part I

March 21, 2063, 0130 Hours, Richmond Medical Center, Bay-Delta Coastal Protection Zone, Richmond, California

Barrage_Montage_FinalBenito gasped for air. His 5-year-old lungs were failing him now. No surprise, of course — he’d breathed highly polluted air nearly every day of his life. He screamed in agony, his blood-curdling shrieks piercing my eardrums like spikes. Tears streamed down his anguished caramel cheeks as he pawed furiously at the white sheets on the hospital gurney. Momma stroked his short black hair with one hand, holding back her own tears as best as she could. In her other hand, she held an old rosary necklace, the one her mother had given her just before she passed. She made the sign of the cross, grabbed Benito’s hand, and looked him in the eyes: “God is with you, Beni.”

Then why isn’t He helping us now? I thought. The nurse told us a doctor would be in to see him soon. But that was over 30 minutes ago! I know, I know. Last night’s explosion at the refinery has them very busy treating other people. But Benito’s dying here!

I jumped off the counter and peered outside the door: an old black woman with a respirator was stumbling toward me as several medical staff walked hurriedly past her; a squealing baby in a plasticine basinett was being wheeled down the hall, its face a gruesome bluish-red; and several dozen others sat coughing in fits along a long row of chairs, the end of which I could barely make out. Poor Benito. What if he can’t hold on?

I darted over to the reception counter, cutting in front of at least a dozen haggard-looking victims of the latest oil refinery blast. I waived my hands frantically, shouting: “Please, please! My brother needs help!” A man behind a glass wall gave me a passing glance, then pressed the corner of his touch-sensitive readout. A mounted vidcam tilted downward to scan my face, producing a data set on his display. He spoke calmly into his mic: “Rodriguez, Mariela. Asthmatic sibling registered to room 109A. A resident doctor is scheduled to evaluate him at 0140 hours. Please step aside, or security will be called.”

They don’t care. None of them care.

I shrank away from the counter, lowering my shoulders in resignation. As I wandered  back, I could hear Benito’s wheezing gasps in the distance. Up ahead, several medics shuffled into his room. I quickly followed, and saw Momma standing silently over him at the foot of his gurney. “Clear!” said a man holding a blinking metal device, which he quickly planted on Benito’s chest. His upper body convulsed in rebellion as his pupils rolled skyward. A loud beeping sound blared from the monitor. Benito’s wheezing was now little more than weak gasps. Everyone was in a frenzy. Everything became a blur as medics took turns administering injections, triggering the chest device, and nervously adjusting Benito’s gas mask. The beeping became a steady high-pitched ring, and a young nurse covered her mouth, staring at the flat red line on the readout.

Momma fell to her knees, clutching Benito’s feet with her outstretched hands. “Nooooo!” she screamed. “Too young!” My own tears were welling up now. This can’t be happening. Beni was just pulling my hair yesterday. Laughing, playing. No, this CAN’T be. A rush of burning rage coursed through me. All I could think about was that swindling real estate guy who sold us that damn house in the first place. “This is the best deal you’re gonna find,” he kept telling Momma. “You’ll be out of harm’s way. Far from the flood zone. And the refinery’s totally safe now.” What a load of crap!

Before my fury got me into any more trouble, I turned and ran. Smashing through the closest doors across the hall, I came to a stairwell. I scaled several flights, trying to shake off my anger. A darkened set of stairs came into view. I kept going, hoping for anywhere to hide from all this madness, all this pain. I pushed open a small door, and stepped out to the rooftop. A faint whiff of burning chemicals breezed past my nose. That fucking refinery. Someone’s gotta pay for what they’ve done to Benito. To all of us.

I could ignore the ambulance sirens and shouting from the streets. I could ignore the toxic haze closing in around me. But I couldn’t ignore the image in my mind of Benito’s smiling, big-toothed face. Little Beni. Poor Beni. Sweet Beni. I finally let myself go, crying like a baby, gasping for breaths between my drooling lips. I draped myself over the ledge overlooking the emergency entrance. Hundreds of people, scores of them children, stood patiently in line, waiting for care they may never receive. We’re TOO damn patient. Too willing to accept these assaults on our health, on our dignity. When will it end?

My vidpad rang in my jacket pocket, playing my friend Tatiana’s unmistakable ringtune. “¿Bueno?” I said reflexively, knowing full well that things were far from good.

“You’re up! You okay?” asked Tatiana, her face overcome with worry. “I was up late, and just heard there was an explosion!” Tatiana still lived in our old ‘hood in Oakland, though thankfully a bit uphill from the floodwater exclusion zone. I hadn’t seen her in months, but ever since I was a little girl, we could always count on her and her family for anything.

“Sí, I’m fine,” I finally said, trying to hide my tears. I paused, then met her gaze. “Pero, Beni’s gone, Tati,” I managed through my sobs. “He couldn’t take the smoke.”

Tatiana put her hand over her mouth in shock, shaking her head in disbelief. “No!” she cried. “Pobrecito. I’m so sorry, Mari. I’m so sorry.”

“Gracias, Tati. I know he’s in a better place now. But Beni never stood a chance, you know?” Our house in Richmond was simply too close to the refinery, and directly downwind from its flares. We knew he was suffering, but couldn’t leave. Momma needed her care-taking job in Berkeley, and our beat-up house wouldn’t have fetched enough to move anywhere else. “We never should have left Oakland!”

“I know, amiga,” she said. “You should get out of there, at least ’til the danger passes and you and tu madre can decide what to do. You’re welcome to stay with us.”

“Muchas gracias, Tati,” I responded. It would be SO helpful to get away, I thought. If only for a little while to figure out what we’re gonna do. “I gotta go back to Momma. She needs me.”

“Of course,” said Tati. “Blessings, Mari. Vid me when you’re ready.”

I pocketed my vidpad and started back to the stairwell. Just then a bright beam of white light cut across the rooftop. I raised my arm to shield my eyes, then turned to face its source: the warning beacon perched atop “Goldilocks,” the newly constructed mega-dam right at the mouth of San Francisco Bay. Everyone’s been singing its praises for years now. It’ll keep out the rising seas, the newscasters would say, and protect our shores from the floodwaters. Of course, it’ll also provide good-paying jobs, generate clean energy, and still allow for trade ships to come in and out through its enormous system of locks.

All that sounded well and good to me, but too little, too late for us, not to mention the 100,000 or so other folks who’ve already been pushed out by the floods. And why couldn’t us Richmond folks get a proper beacon or warning system for all these refinery blasts? Why?

I returned to Beni’s room and saw Momma still bent over his lifeless body. At least he was finally at peace. I hugged her tightly, trying my best to ease her sorrow. Our sorrow. I held off the staff from wheeling him away for about an hour as we sobbed, reminisced, and finally, made arrangements for his body. A proper funeral would have to wait. We stepped outside to a calmer morning. Most of the line had disappeared, except for a dozen or so folks sleeping under hospital blankets by the front entrance. A foul-smelling fog covered the grounds, and a grey-soaked sun began to peek over the East Bay hills.

I convinced mother to go straight with me to Tatiana’s for at least a few days, despite her pleas to return home. “It’s not safe yet, Momma,” I insisted, as we shuttled to the Richmond train station. I knew we could borrow clothes from Tati’s familia or get some from Fruitvale Plaza, so it wouldn’t be a problem. As we left the station, the haze lessened, revealing a haunting sea of flooded buildings toward Richmond Harbor. We were slammed hard in the ’50s after a big chunk of the Greenland ice sheets melted, raising sea levels by several feet in less than a month. Richmond and much of the Bay Area has never recovered.

I wonder what our old neighborhood looks like now? I hadn’t been there for over a year. We’ll see soon enough. And maybe, just maybe, we can find a way out of this mess.

» Read Part II of The Golden Gate Barrage!

Google: Renewable Energy Won’t Stop Climate Crisis

Google Renewables Won't Save UsIt should go without saying that there’s no silver bullet solution to the climate crisis. Indeed, it’s simply too late in the game for anything resembling a “solution” at all. Industrial civilization’s slavish devotion to economic growth-at-all-costs, coupled with its fossil fuel-strapped infrastructure, have already dealt a body blow to our atmosphere’s stability — promising centuries of harrowing conditions ahead for humanity and countless other species on Earth, regardless of how we respond.

The latest climate news has only confirmed the worst fears of scientists. Weather Underground bloggers reported last week that Antarctica hit a record-breaking high of 63.5 F (17.5 C).  Even more disturbing is a recent discovery by an international team of scientists who found that the Totten Glacier of East Antarctica is now melting. The Totten, it turns out, is the last line of defense against the melting of a vast catchment of ice that would raise sea levels by more than 11 feet. And that’s on top of a 10 feet rise predicted by another finding last year showing massive glacial thawing well underway in West Antarctica. To underscore what even a 10-foot sea level rise will mean for coastal cities, researchers at Climate Central have produced a jaw-dropping interactive mapping tool called “Surging Seas” that shows which coastal areas and cities will be flooded with alarming clarity. Their findings demonstrate that the United States would lose 28,800 square miles of land, which is home today to a mere 12.3 million people. Among the most threatened cities: New York, New Orleans, and Miami.

Since global climate protection summits have thus far produced more photo-ops than agreements, it’s understandable that many would pin their hopes on technological advancements in renewable energy systems, along with their scaled-up deployment, to stave off catastrophic climate change. It’s become something of a sacred belief among mainstream environmentalists that if only we could shift society’s investment in dirty fossil fuels toward cleaner, safer energy that all would be fine in the world, and we could all continue to happily consume our way to industrial nirvana, powered by solar, wind, and geothermal electrons, of course. All that’s needed, it is typically argued, is massive education about the problem of climate change, and a massive redirection of funding and policy favoritism away from the bad stuff toward the good stuff.

Well, despite their own deep-seated belief in such a vision, a well-funded team of researchers at Google have concluded that even if we could muster enough momentum toward a future powered by renewables, clean energy systems simply cannot and will not save us from devastating climate impacts. Known as RE<C, Google’s initiative launched in 2007 with the aim of developing renewable energy sources that could generate electricity more cheaply than coal-fired power plants through a combination of investments in clean energy start-ups and its own internal R&D program. By 2011, however, as it became increasingly clear that RE<C was not on track to meet its stated goals, Google shut down the initiative, according to program engineers Ross Koningstein and David Fork.

In the words of Koningstein and Fork: “At the start of RE<C, we had shared the attitude of many stalwart environmentalists: We felt that with steady improvements to today’s renewable energy technologies, our society could stave off catastrophic climate change. We now know that to be a false hope — but that doesn’t mean the planet is doomed.” They’re right, of course. Even though climate instability will make life increasingly difficult for us humans — as droughts, storms, killer viruses, creeping deserts, tsunamis, and floods devastate population centers and force tens of millions to migrate to more welcoming climes —  most will learn to adapt, improvise, and devise new lifeways in the face of chaotic conditions. The most successful will learn to reconnect with this magnificent world’s vibrant, life-giving rhythms and cycles, and ever more deeply with one another, perhaps even without — gasp! — more and more high-tech, energy-intensive devices.

And the planet? Doomed? Nah. It will simply adopt a new “normal” of an increasingly warmer climate and tumultuous water cycle, balancing itself back to a recalibrated equilibrium. Eventually, even the excess carbon that we’ve so carelessly ejected into our atmosphere will filter out of the skies and return to the oceans, the land, and subterranean realms. In the process, industrial civilization will become yet another layer in the fossil record of geological time.

Of course, in all fairness to the Google research team, their project was doomed from the start. The underlying assumptions were that industrial society will grow forever using ever more energy (thus requiring the replacement of finite fossil energy with renewables) and that some sort of “radical” technological breakthrough can save the day (thus demanding ever more investment in clean energy R&D). It was never imagined that industrial society must face up to its own end, dependent as it is on cheap and abundant fossil fuels — fuels which just so happen to be declining in quality, quantity, and accessibility each and every day. No, the Google team’s efforts never stood a chance against ecological or geological reality, much less the deep-seated denial that pervades the industrial mind.

And yet, they deserve praise for making such a bold and gallant effort. For through their failure, they’ve helped to illuminate a critical blind spot in our thinking about energy: that no matter how much we may wish to believe in the value of renewable energy systems (I, for one, am a strong proponent), they’re not our saving grace. We are.

A Message of Hope to My Son

ImageThis is my first Father’s Day. I’m one of those “older” parents: having spent most of my time in my 20s and 30s engaged in social activism and not enough time nurturing deep relationships, I ended up pushing off fatherhood until my early 40s.

Now here I am, with a beautiful, energetic 4-month-old son (we named him Justice) and an amazing life partner who has shown herself to be an incredibly attentive, deeply loving mother. Although we come from differing religious traditions — I’m a former Catholic turned spiritual agnostic, she’s a former Buddhist turned Baha’i — we both share a deep and abiding concern for the fate of our world.

This concern is fused inextricably with our love for our son. We expose him to a diverse circle of friends and caretakers so he’ll learn early on the common humanity in us all. We take him on forest hikes, let him gaze curiously at the sky, and help him cuddle with our cats so he’ll have appreciation for this planet we call home. And we babble, giggle, tickle, cradle, and sing to him as much as we can so he’ll know viscerally how precious and joyful life truly is. Of course, we know this is only the beginning. He’ll need far more than this.

For we live in profoundly perilous times, to say the least. Justice is inheriting a planet wracked by environmental decline, marred by violent conflict, and increasingly divided between the super-rich and increasingly super-poor. Oh yes, and all of these crises just happen to be converging just now in new and disturbing ways.

You might ask: then why have children? It’s a fair question.

My answer: because in the midst of it all, one of the most responsible things we can do is nurture our young to become caretakers and shepherds of a better future.

Having witnessed Justice’s fierce yearnings since birth — his adorable smiles, coos, rollovers, kicks, and yes, even his drools — I feel all the more committed to helping him prepare for the wrenching, and potentially glorious years ahead.

As the American Empire fades, forcing us to learn to make and do things we’ve off-shored to others, he’ll need a can-do attitude, an adaptive mindset, and a willingness to learn new skills (and some old ones too). As his friends and neighbors face economic difficulties in greater numbers, he’ll need to create and seize new opportunities in partnership with those around him. As our food, energy, and water become all the more taxed, he’ll need to help restore our land, air, and sea. And as stresses mount and conflicts arise, he’ll need the power of loving persuasion to bring people together in the spirit of sharing and unity.

Okay, perhaps I’m putting a bit too much on our “Little Man,” as we’re so fond of calling him. He’s not even a toddler yet!

Still, I have reason for hope for my son, his generation, and those yet born who will one day usher in a new era.

My first place of solace is nature’s resilience. Despite being clear-cut, over-harvested, polluted, mined, and abused in countless ways, our planet is still marvelously abundant, mostly functioning, and teeming with life. Its life-giving processes are, to be sure, being pushed to the brink, and our global climate has been shaken off balance in irrevocable ways. Still, our planet will survive, with or without us — and will almost certainly be granted a reprieve once fossil fuel-powered civilization begins to wind down in the decades to come. Justice will bear witness to incredible loss, but can take comfort in the fact that nature’s resilience, with the healing hands of millions, will restore, rehabilitate, and recalibrate life’s presence here on Earth.

My second reason for hope is history’s promise. While war, injustice, and hatred have scarred our existence for millennia, peacemakers, social justice advocates, and, dare I say, love-makers of all kinds have consistently sprung into action, reminding us of our humanity and changing history for the better, time and time again. From the early challenges to Roman imperial excess to the popular overthrow of dictators and tyrants, from courageous resistance in the Nazi-occupied Warsaw Ghetto to the peaceful Indian revolution over British occupation, from the American anti-slavery movement to the Civil Rights movement — all of these and many more point to our species’ thirst for justice, and a willingness to make deep sacrifices to ensure dignity for us all.

Such passion and determination show no signs of letting up in the present day: less than one year ago, millions of people the world over took part in the “Occupy” movement to challenge Wall Street “banksters” and global financiers’ rigging of our economies. Right now, widespread demonstrations for freedom and justice are underway throughout Turkey, often in the face of violent government repression. Such determined action will be sorely needed in our own neck of the woods, at least if we hope to push our society from corporate domination to democratic community. Given the resurgence of the youth, permaculture, economic justice, food sovereignty, and climate protection movements, I remain hopeful for a more equitable, humane future.

Lastly, I have faith in the human heart. I don’t for a minute believe that humanity is bad or “evil” by nature. We’re all prone to selfishness, dishonesty, and misdeeds. But we also have an innate capacity for empathy, fellowship, and deeply felt love. This love, despite its failings, transcends space, time, race, gender, religion, nation, and species.

When I see Justice laugh or smile with joy, I nearly melt. His innocence has a due date, it’s true. But his heart need never shy away from love for his brothers and sisters, whose destiny we must all help guide toward brilliant tomorrows.