Healing the Open Wound of Ecofascism: Notes on Care in/from the Borderlands

ABSTRACT

This essay explores environmental care from a Borderlands perspective. Using the August 3, 2019 shooting in El Paso, TX as a focal point, I argue that recent eco-fascist violence is deeply connected to environmental nativism, coloniality, and white supremacy. In centering an ethic of care informed by Borderlands theory, I highlight how interconnectivity, ambiguity, and compassion are vital for confronting historic patterns of violence.

KEYWORDS:

• Borderlands
• El Paso
• TX
• ecofascism
• nativism
• care
• Gloria Anzaldúa

Introduction

At 10:15 am on August 3, 2019, a four-page anti-immigrant “manifesto” titled “An Inconvenient Truth” was posted on 8chan, an anonymous message board that is frequently used to share white supremacist memes and commentary. Roughly fifteen minutes later, Patrick Wood Crusius entered the Walmart Supercenter near Cielo Vista Mall on the east side of El Paso, TX, the largest metropolitan area along the Mexico-U.S. border, located in far west Texas. Armed with an AK-47-style assault rifle, he began shooting into the crowd of shoppers. The store was especially crowded that day, given that it was a tax-free weekend in the state of Texas and many families were doing back-to-school shopping. Crusius killed 23 people and injured at least 22 others (Schaefer & Baldas, 2019). Following the attack, Crusius fled the scene before quickly turning himself over to law enforcement officials, stepping out of his car, and declaring, “I’m the shooter” (Bogel-Burroughs, 2019). Twenty-four minutes elapsed between the time police were called and the time Crusius was arrested.

The El Paso mass shooting occurred within a larger sociopolitical context that has fostered the proliferation of right-wing extremism and white supremacist violence in the United States. Although white supremacy is intricately woven into the fabric of the United States, the election of Donald Trump in 2016 ushered in a wave of white nationalist violence. According to the Anti-Defamation League, “right-wing extremists were linked to at least 50 extremist-related murders in the United States in 2018, making them responsible for more deaths than in any year since 1995 [the year of the Oklahoma City bombing]” (para. 1). This reprehensible act of violence at Walmart was the worst targeted attack on Latina/o/xs in U.S. history. It occurred, of course, amid what some call a “public health” crisis of gun violence in the US.¹

I was fortunate enough to have avoided the violence, but even as I write these words, I cannot help but think that my name could just as easily have been added to the list of victims. As I read news coverage, saw photos, and attended community events, I realized that an indeterminate and ineffable sense of care was performatively enacted in communal mourning. Within hours, a makeshift memorial was erected near the scene of the shooting. #ElPasoStrong, a hashtag that has in some ways become central to El Paso’s identity, quickly emerged to articulate the resiliency of the fronterizxs. Emergency requests for blood donations were met with countless El Pasoans lining up and waiting hours in the intense August heat to do their part. Hundreds of people attended the funeral of Margie Reckard, a victim whose husband did not have a family and who worried about burying his wife alone. In a moment of despair, strangers became comunidad y familia.

Importantly, the mass shooting in El Paso was not random. As I have argued previously (Tarin, 2019), the Mexico-U.S. borderlands remain a site of ongoing ecological colonialism where militarization and violence have been normalized as patterns of daily life; this attack is merely a violent instantiation of the colonial apparatus. Indeed, Pineda (2022) contends that there is a clear and direct line between white nationalist discourses and acts of violence such as the Walmart shooting. He explains, “The fact that Trump used his El Paso speech to voice his usual litany of pejorative observations on undocumented immigration set the literal stage for Crusius to act” (Pineda, 2022, p. 140). In his manifesto, Crusius wrote, “If we can get rid of enough people, then our way of life can become more sustainable,” echoing sentiments of the white nationalist “great replacement theory.” Pineda (2022) continues to explain, Crusius’ manifesto “strings together a loose set of arguments about immigrants driving down wages, which will merge with corporate interests to automate manufacturing and the means of production” (p. 136). That white supremacist violence was justified using Malthusian eco-fascist justifications² emphasizes how systems of domination and oppression create compounding crises for marginalized populations.

At first glance, it may seem perplexing to foreground an act of violence in discussing the possibilities of care and environmental communication in the borderlands. In this essay, however, I want to explore how Borderlands theory (Anzaldúa, 1987) might be used as a guidepost for understanding care in a moment marked by multiple, simultaneous, compounding ecological crises and traumas that are unfolding alongside the erosion of democratic values, intensifying geopolitical conflicts around the world, increasing wealth inequality, an ongoing global pandemic, among countless other wicked problems.³ Borrowing from Tronto (1993), Puig de la Bellacasa (2017) explains, “Care is everything that is done (rather than everything that ‘we’ do) to maintain, continue, and re-pair ‘the world’ so that all (rather than ‘we’) can live in it as well” (p. 161).

In offering these reflections on care (and self-care) in/from the borderlands, I write from a place of continued mourning and hope that these reflections can begin the recuperative labor of reflexive (self-)care. Like Andrade and Gutierrez-Perez (2017) who wrote in response to the Pulse massacre, I understand that the Walmart shooting was not me, but it was me; a piece of me died in that space (p. 503). In making sense of this tragedy, I am attempting to articulate a way of thinking about relationality and an ethic of care that invites response-ability and responsibility. Harris and Fortney (2017) explain that traumas “problematize the utterable, [thus] we write to access that which cannot be easily touched or placed or spoken” (p. 24). Following Anzaldúa (2015), I write with “a great sense of loss, grief, and emptiness,” (p. 125) which has transformed my understanding of care. This essay, then, is an invitation to consider the social, (eco)cultural, emotional, psychological, spiritual, and psychic dimensions of care, particularly in the context of the rise of ecofascist myths and violence.

On the border(s) of care

Gloria Anzaldúa’s (1987) influential work, Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza, posits that borders are more than physical; they are shaped by myriad ideological, cultural, and linguistic forces that have resulted in centuries of colonization along the Mexico/U.S. border. According to Anzaldúa (1987), the borderlands are a “vague and undetermined place created by the emotional residue of an unnatural boundary. It is in a constant state of transition” (p. 25). Throughout her theoretical oeuvre, Anzaldúa is attentive to the ways that borders can be understood as metaphors for the intersection, and sometimes contradiction, of identities, languages, and cultures. Central to Anzaldúa’s analysis are the notions of mestiza consciousness and nepantla, which highlight the inherent in-betweenness of identities and systems of difference. An exhaustive overview of Borderlands theory is outside the scope of this essay, but as Naples (2010) explains, the theory has been incorporated into a variety of interdisciplinary fields such as immigration studies, women’s studies, and – I would add – environmental studies (Holmes, 2016; Tarin et al., 2020; Upton et al., 2022). Although Anzaldúa does not engage with the idea of care explicitly or substantively in her work, I argue that Borderlands theory is a valuable heuristic for understanding an ethic of care that centers vulnerability, will, and compassion in contexts profoundly shaped by colonial injustices and ecofascist violence.

A central theme throughout Anzaldúa’s work is the need to interrogate the various dualisms – nature/culture, subject/object, Mexico/U.S., masculine/feminine, English/Spanish, etc. – that shape lived realities in the borderlands. Because these dualisms frequently, if not inevitably, create power imbalances, they must be challenged if we have any hope of developing an ethic of care grounded in reciprocity and sustainable co-existence. As Anzaldúa explains, “A massive uprooting of dualistic thinking in the individual and collective consciousness is the beginning of a long struggle, but one that could, in our best hopes, bring us to the end of rape, of violence, of war” (1987, p. 102). The borderlands are a site of ongoing colonialism that manifests through excessive militarization (e.g. the border wall) and economic exploitation (e.g. maquiladoras). Overcoming marginalization requires a de-centering of the power imbalances that have been used to justify and sustain systems of domination. For instance, Puig de la Bellacasa (2017) argues that this de-centering includes subverting anthropocentrism in order to enact non-exploitative forms of co-existence. Similarly, my colleagues and I (Tarin et al., 2020) have explored how the strength of a nepantlera ecocultural identity is in “seeing in new ways, navigating quotidian complexities, embracing creative approaches, and maintaining a differential consciousness” (p. 38) which are key to resistance, resilience, and care. Thus, rather than accepting the world as is, Borderland theory empowers us to explore the transformative possibility of in-betweenness as embodied care.

A Borderlands ethic of care also emphasizes interconnectedness, intersectionality, and coalition possibility. Confronting major problems like environmental degradation, gendered violence, and extractive colonialism requires us to build bridges in order to overcome the borders that are used to sustain systems of domination and control. Anzaldúa (2002) explains, “For nepantleras, to bridge is an act of will, an act of love, an attempt toward compassion and reconciliation, and a promise to be present with the pain of others without losing themselves to it” (p. 4). Foregrounding difference, paradoxically, allows us to better understand shared commonalities that are connected by struggle and resistance. According to Naples (2010), “praxis – linking theory and practice – runs through the scholarship on Chicana feminism” (p. 510) by focusing on diverse issues such as labor struggles, reproductive control, legal rights, and childcare. Building coalitions requires sustained labor, empathy, and care; by recognizing the interconnectedness of struggles, we find opportunities for mutual growth and empowerment. For example, Upton et al. (2022) explain how community activists in El Paso, TX connected environmental justice to issues such as reproductive justice and linguistic discrimination in order to demand safer, pollution-free schools for lower-income elementary students. Borderlands theory emphasizes that networks of care are stronger when we build solidarity and trust with those around us.

Anzaldúa recognized the precarity of the Borderlands and the ways that nepantleras use in-betweenness as a means of survival. This labor – the building of bridges, crossing of borders – is traumatic, exhausting, and requires attention to self-care. Borderlands theory also articulates a more totalizing view of well-being, one that encourages us to think about the spiritual and psychic dimensions of care as well. Keating (2008) argues that academics have been reluctant to deeply engage with Anzaldúa’s conceptualization(s) of spirituality, which connects indigenous philosophies, Eastern thought, and her own experiences. Yet, “Anzaldúa’s spiritual activism intertwines “inner works” with “public acts,” private concerns with social issues” (Keating, 2008, p. 57). In other words, public activism must also be balanced with personal growth and care. For Anzaldúa (2015), the “frenzied pace of the activist […] is a pervasive form of modern violence” that requires spiritual tools to combat “the small acts of disconocimientos: ignorance, frustrations, tendencies toward self-destructiveness, feelings of betrayal and powerlessness, and poverty of spirit and imagination” (p. 154). I do not mean to suggest that Anzaldúa’s vision of spirituality or spiritual activism is one that should be universalized. Rather, her holistic view of mind/body-private/public-self/other points to the need to do work to “defuse the negative energy” and other “killers of spirit” (Anzaldúa, 2015, p. 154) which can cause us to disconnect or disengage. Struggling against systems of injustice weighs heavily on the spirit; it is, therefore, imperative to find ways to engage in the recuperative labor of reflexive (self-)care in whatever form that might take.

The rise of “environmental” nativism

The El Paso shooting did not happen in a vacuum; it was deeply connected to an alarming proliferation of environmental nativist and eco-fascist ideologies that have been used as justifications for other acts of violence such as the mass shootings in Christchurch, New Zealand, and Buffalo, New York. Del Valle (2022) explains, “We can no longer afford to write off eco-fascism as a far-right fringe ideology. Instead, we should think of the El Paso and Buffalo mass shooters as the militant wing of an increasingly organized movement” (para. 13). Environmental nativism is rooted in the belief that the environment is threatened by immigrants. For instance, in his “manifesto” Crusius wrote, “The environment is getting worse by the year. Most of y’all are too stubborn to change your lifestyle. So the next logical step is to decrease the number of people in America using resources” (quoted in Del Valle (2022), para. 4). When coupled with an ascendant eco-fascist movement that advocates for authoritarian policies to address ecological issues, the result is a dangerous co-mingling of extremist ideologies that normalize violence against people of color, immigrants, and other traditionally marginalized groups.

These extreme acts of ecofascist violence draw on hateful ideologies that are becoming increasingly normalized around the world. For example, Joseph (2022) explains that in a recent survey, two-thirds of Republican respondents shared agreement with the great replacement conspiracy theory that claims immigrants arriving in the United States were brought by Democrats to replace conservative white voters. Similarly, in 2019, Marine Le Pen, a leader in France’s far-right National Rally party, released an environmental platform that sought to create the “first ecological civilization” (Mazou, 2019, para. 2). In supporting this platform, Jordan Bardella, head of the National Rally party’s European candidate list argued, “Borders are the environment’s greatest ally; it is through them that we will save the planet” (Mazou, 2019, para. 4). The dangerous synergy between ecofascism and environmental nativism also amplifies the appeal of these ideologies by justifying the use of violence to maintain a racially homogenous society. In using ecological issues as a pretext to advance his racist ideology, Crusius argued that his actions were justified as a response to the “Hispanic invasion of Texas” (quoted in Lennard, 2019, para. 1). As these harmful ideologies become increasingly normalized, we must be attentive to how the inherent white supremacy of these perspectives can easily become a breeding ground for political radicalization.

Conclusion

It has been several years since the Walmart shooting, but the community in El Paso, TX is still grieving for a loss that can never be recovered. If, as Anzaldúa (1987) suggests, the Mexico-U.S. border “es una herida abierta where the Third World grates against the first and bleeds,” then perhaps grief and mourning must serve as continual reminders of the ongoing precarity of the contemporary moment. Fighting injustice while maintaining caring relationships requires us to be attentive to historical patterns of violence that continue to shape the lived realities of those exploited by systems of colonialism and capitalism. This is why indigenous scholar Kyle Whyte (2017) argues that climate change must be understood as intensified colonialism in which industrialization and militarization produce the drivers of anthropogenic climate change (p. 155). Working against systems of domination is inherently dangerous, but it also presents a new opportunity for enacting caring relationships with others, including the more-than-human world.

As Anzaldúa (2002) reminds us:

Activism is the courage to act consciously on our ideas, to exert power in resistance to ideological pressure—to risk leaving home. Empowerment comes from ideas—our revolution is fought with concepts, not with guns, and it is fueled by vision. By focusing on what we want to happen, we change the present. (p. 5)

Enacting an ethic of care informed by Borderlands theory requires us to embrace ambiguity and uncertainty, it requires us to be brave in confronting systems of exploitation, it requires us to understand how history shapes the present, and it requires us to build bridges across the abyss. This conocimiento empowers us to find opportunities for care, compassion, and love – for other humans and the more-than-human world alike. Let’s cross that bridge together.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 The American Public Health Association (American Public Health Association, n.d.) estimates that about 38,000 Americans are killed by gun violence each year, making guns a leading cause of premature death in the country.

2 English economist Thomas Malthus argued that population growth was inevitably constrained by limitations on resources such as food supplies. Roberts and Moore (2022) explain that Matlhus’ work was used to argue against relied during the Great Famine in Ireland at the end of the 19th century. More recently, as I explain later in the essay, his work has also been taken up by white nationalists and eco-fascists who frequently use a scarcity framework to justify violence.

3 Originally coined by Rittel and Webber (1973), wicked problems refer to issues that are deeply entangled in complex ecological, social, cultural, political, and economic contexts, thereby making actionable solutions difficult.