Conference Call for Abstracts – Risk and Uncertainty in the Anthropocene

Published by Anonymous (not verified) on Tue, 18/12/2018 - 7:31pm in
A one-day conference at Goldsmiths
hosted by the Political Economy Research Centre
and the Centre for the Understanding of Sustainable Prosperity

Wednesday 26th June 2019

Confirmed keynote: Prof. Geoff Mann (Simon Fraser University)

Deadline for abstracts: Friday 29th March 2019

Email abstracts of 250 words max. to: Nick Taylor (

This conference aims to explore from a multidisciplinary perspective the role of risk and uncertainty in the Anthropocene. It invites papers that explore the specific logics, strategies, forms of knowledge and technologies that different actors are, or should be, using to approach risk and uncertainty.

The scale and timing of existing and potential impacts of environmental degradation in the Anthropocene appear to belie our efforts to interpret and manage them. Yet ‘risk management’ remains the dominant mode of representing and governing catastrophic environmental change, with the pretension of ‘taming uncertainty’. Managed as risk, environmental breakdown and catastrophe can be approached in accounting and investment terms: they can be rendered ‘investable’, and conducive to market opportunity and framings such as ‘natural capital’.

This ‘new era’ of environmental breakdown challenges established forms of expertise and authority and tasks us with thinking about new approaches to politics and political economy. Embracing radical uncertainty permits us to consider multiple, alternative futures, opening up for discussion political and economic settlements seemingly out of reach. But given the timescales for responding to threats such as the climate crisis, what kind of politics or political economy does fast approaching existential risk provoke? Suggestions for ‘war mobilisation’ analogies in fighting climate change or ideas about engineering the planet might give some indication.

In facing the need for transformative and systemic change, it is also necessary to question who will bear the risks and uncertainties of the Anthropocene. How will risk and the costs of mitigation be distributed over time and space? Where will it be situated – locally, at the urban level, globally – and what consequences does this have for different disciplinary approaches? Papers are welcomed that address the intersection of, on the one hand, technical questions of optimality and economic efficiency and, on the other, normative questions of justice, sustainability and equality.  

Questions for discussion (not limited to):

  • How and with what tools and expertise are Anthropocene futures being calculated and managed as risks, including by the financial and insurance sectors?
  • How should political theory for the Anthropocene conceptualise risk and uncertainty?
  • What should we understand as existential or civilizational risk, and how are actors in different sectors of society and the economy responding to it?
  • What is the established political system’s response to risk and uncertainty in the Anthropocene (e.g. financial regulation)?
  • How are techniques of futures, forecasting and foresight being employed to help represent and govern uncertainty?
  • What timescales are being employed in governing and accounting for the future?
  • What risks and political threats are posed by exceptional political responses, including geo-engineering and forms of quasi-military ‘mobilisation’?

Expressions of interest or questions are welcome at any time, please email Nick Taylor ( Abstracts of 250 words maximum should be sent to the same address by 29th March 2019.

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Climate Justice as Economic Mobilization – 21st June

Published by Anonymous (not verified) on Tue, 05/06/2018 - 12:33am in

Climate Justice as economic mobilization
From ‘de-developing’ the Global North to WW2-style transitions

Stefan Jacobsen, Roskilde University
4pm, 21st June
Goldsmiths (RHB 143)

Drawing on a newly published book, this talk will give a brief outline of the economic ideas that have been central in the buildup of a global movement for Climate Justice (CJ) since the 1990s. Jacobsen argues that although campaigns against the dominance of carbon markets and for divestment strengthened the CJ movement in raw numbers, these approaches also marked a move away from earlier demands for radical equality as part of transitioning away from fossil fuels. Finally, Jacobsen discusses recent calls for a WW2-style mobilization as a response to the failure of reaching globalized economic principles of CJ mobilization.

Stefan Gaarsmand Jacobsen is assistant professor at Roskilde University, currently working on the project ‘Sustainable Rationalities’. Funded by the Danish Research Foundation, the project investigates the economic imaginaries of contemporary critical environmental organizations. He is currently a Visiting Fellow at the Political Economy Research Centre, Goldsmiths.

All are welcome and no registration is necessary

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Anthropocene dreams: a review of Danowski and Viveiros de Castro’s The Ends of the World

Published by Anonymous (not verified) on Tue, 27/03/2018 - 10:49pm in

Wim Wenders’ 1991 Until the end of the world shares quite a few themes with Deborah Danowski’s and Eduardo Viveiros de Castro’s The Ends of the World. The film opens with a shot of the planet taken from the orbit. The year is 1999, when, we are told, the world was expected to end, due to a predicted explosion caused by an out-of-control Indian satellite. The main protagonist, Claire, is troubled by an altogether different matter: a dream in which she is gliding in an airplane above the Australian desert – pleasantly at first, but then the plane begins to lose altitude, eventually colliding with the red, dusty ground – into which the eye of the camera folds at the end of the opening sequence.

Wenders’ mixture of millenarism, cyberpunk, and 1980s aesthetic does not, unfortunately, make an appearance in Danowski’s and Viveiros de Castro’s book. Other narratives of violent collision with the world do: from Von Trier’s Melancholia to Ferrara’s 4:44 and Weisman’s The World Without Us, from Stengers’ ‘intrusion’ of Gaia to the post-humanist speculative realism of Brassier and Meillasoux. If the Anthropocene had an intellectual mixtape, The Ends of the World would be a worthy candidate. Nor does it remain limited to tropes from the Global North. The authors contrast the ‘Western’ imaginaries of the end of the world with those of other, in particular indigenous, people, bringing in the Yanomami and Aikewara in order to challenge the assumption that the world is something humans have; and, furthermore, that it is possible to easily separate ‘the human’ from ‘the world’.

The three central chapters – ‘The outside without thought, or the death of the Other’, ‘Alone at last’, and ‘A World of people’ – present perspectives on the end of the world beyond the Western-centric, modernist view, to include those for whom the world has already ended, for instance, by the virtue of colonial exploitation. Their sense of finality – and, by extension, their sense of the world – is quite different. In this sense, the book pits Latour’s ‘moderns’ (Humans) against non-moderns/Others (Terrans) in a (not-quite-hypothetical) conflict. This conflict is no longer (or primarily) over resources, nor even about the reality of global warming: the Gaia war, authors argue, has virtually become a war of the worlds, the one that would decide the fate of the planet and its future.

As masterful as this argument and its exposition is, it is difficult to avoid the impression that Others – or Terrans – appear as last-minute saviours of the world, rather than actors in their own right. Commendably, Danowski and Viveiros de Castro want to give Others a voice, without speaking for them. Yet, the book’s references remain curiously Euro-centric, reading more like a guest list for a Latourian house party. This, of course, is not a unique feature of The Ends of the World. Social sciences, anthropology in particular, have always been very good at using Others as (literal or metaphorical) gateways to other worlds: from the reliance on natives as informants and field guides, to the ‘ontological turn’ – one of whose foremost proponents is Viveiros de Castro – that argues that cultural variation should be seen as a plurality of existence, rather than a plurality of interpretation.

From this perspective, it is not difficult to see why Others’ ends of the world – or the ends of other worlds – acquire such relevance in the Anthropocene. The existence of multiple ends of the world, after all, hints at the possibility of multiple worlds. This, in turn, holds the promise of exit from this world: in other words, even if the planet cannot be saved, perhaps we can.

The dialogue from Von Trier’s Melancholia Danowski and Viveiros de Castro relate reflects this idea. As the encounter with the planet Melancholia draws nearer, Justine (the main protagonist) expresses no desire to mourn, saying: “The Earth is evil. We do not need to grieve for it. Nobody will miss it”. To this, her dismayed sister Claire responds with “But where would Leo [her son, Justine’s nephew] grow?” In this exchange, the drive to escape Earth/death through transposition into the Other is rendered literal through the figure of children as virtual extension of self (on)to another being. The fact that Justine, at the very end of the film, relents by building a ‘magical cave’ in which to hide with Leo – as the inevitable collision approaches – underscores mortality as the final fact of inseparability from (the) earth, from which there is no escape.

The real predicament of the Anthropocene, in this sense, may lie in the fact that even if Others could create worlds – if, like Latour, we can hope for a generation of Terrans to inherit the Earth – there is nothing to suggest they would consider ‘us’, the Moderns, worthy of saving. In Wenders’ film, Claire will come to learn the same thing. Having survived the plane crash – which happens exactly in the way she previously dreamt of – she arrives to a research facility at the heart of the Australian desert, where she participates in the development of a camera that helps blind people see. After the experiment fails, even the local Aborigines abandon the research facility, leaving Claire lost in the desert, addicted to the only successful function of the camera: the capacity to record the viewer’s dreams. This recalls another quote in Danowski and Viveiros de Castors’ book, by Davi Kopenawa, the Yanonami shaman:

“Whites only treats us as ignorant because we are different from them. But their thought is short and obscure; it cannot go far and elevate itself, because they want to ignore death. Whites do not dream far like we do. They sleep a lot, but they only dream about themselves”.

The challenge of the Anthropocene, then, is how to learn to dream about something other than ourselves. The Ends of the World only begins to address it: but, in the process, it offers good material for thinking about who we are, and, by extension, who are the others.


Jana Bacevic is a postdoctoral research associate at the Faculty of Education, University of Cambridge. Her work is in social theory and the politics of knowledge production. She has a PhD in social anthropology and is completing one in sociology.

The post Anthropocene dreams: a review of Danowski and Viveiros de Castro’s The Ends of the World appeared first on Political Economy Research Centre.

An Eco-Marxist Blockbuster – on Blade Runner 2049

Published by Anonymous (not verified) on Tue, 27/03/2018 - 2:17am in

Each night, sometime between six and seven, a cold, blue-white glow fills my flat. It unfolds across the room, like a book opening and closing. Some days I encounter this sterile glow as I walk to or from the shop. It casts me in half – searing one retina and not the other – leaving a dark humanoid form to stalk me for a few seconds. Looking up at the source, pupils constricting, more often than not ‘I ♥ LDN’ emblazons itself upon my face. On other instances, the giant LED screen of the bin lorry is advertising a foreign currency exchange business and the company’s own waste collection services. Seemingly, the medium isn’t taking off. For the time being, at least, even this is too far for the lunacy and brutality of the late capitalism we find ourselves in.

But amidst this chilly glow, my mind is drawn away from that moment and pulled to another, one of the cinema screen, one of dreary Los Angeles, electric animals, AR girlfriends and replicants, all of which are caught in the ceaseless emissions of neon and diode. Well “drawn” is perhaps a negation of my will; I want my mind to be drawn back. I hold tightly onto any sensory rope that pulls me to the world sculpted by Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and later remodelled, first by Ridley Scott in 1982 and last year by Denis Villeneuve. It is the final world, the reimagining of the reimagining, where my mind especially wishes to dwell.

Rich, grand and beautiful, Blade Runner 2049 is far more intriguing than its predecessor. Its gaze weaves through the definitions and dives into the boundaries of the human with a deftness that surpasses the original. Villeneuve slows the pace and extends the scenes, providing the viewer with time to get lost in wondrous tableaus that flawlessly enmesh the conventionally real and the computerised real. This slowness, which certainly bored some viewers, Ridley Scott included, also allows for a level of introspection often amiss in blockbuster sci-fi. The viewer can truly immerse themselves in the world crafted for us and begin to grasp at its dynamics . But what world do we encounter? Of course, it is one where technological advancement begs us to consider what it is to be human. But it is also one, I believe, that is especially pertinent to our ecological, political and economic moment.


A crisis of capitalism

Blade Runner 2049 opens with a title card, the first of many nods to its predecessor, which introduces the viewers to the world they are about to enter. It tells us that the Tyrell Corporation, the capitalist locus of the original film, went bankrupt after the production of replicants was prohibited following a series of rebellions.  Shortly thereafter, sometime in the mid-2020s, the Earth’s ecosystem collapsed. Whole scale crisis was averted by the evolution of agro-industrialist Niander Wallace’s synthetic farming. Wallace’s new power ensured he was able to acquire the remnants of Tyrell’s operations and restart the production of replicants, who were then further bioengineered to ensure obedience. This supposed subservience means that replicant labour is found across Earth as well as the outer space colonies.

K, played by Ryan Gosling, is one such obeying replicant. He works for the LA police force as a blade runner, “decommissioning” stray replicants from the Tyrell-era of production. The opening shots of the film place us with him as he travels to a protein farm to execute an operation. The camera moves with K’s hovercar over Gurskyian landscapes – tessellating polygons of plastic sheeted agriculture and radials of concentrated solar power fill the horizons of this California. Its towers take the mind back to the flaring platforms that punctuated the sky of the original Blade Runner’s opening scene, and seemingly mark the transition from fossil fuels to renewable energies.

But for a viewer today, this combination of title card and opening scene produces an unnerving incongruity: renewable energy yet ecological collapse. Presently, reducing carbon dioxide emissions through renewable energy is discussed as if it is a panacea to all the environmental and consumptive ills of capitalism. This logic, dubious yet reassuring, bypasses serious consideration of a multitude of environmental problems, such as resource depletion, the ruinous disruption of the nitrogen and phosphorus cycles, or the sixth mass extinction, to pick three.

Blade Runner 2049 is full of such discoordination – the Voight-Kampff is now an instrument of control for workers as well as prisoners; the splendours of the space colonies do not end up in the hands of the impoverished city dwellers; the bioengineered labour force does not alleviate the enslavement of children. Even disregarding the immorality of replicant biopolitics, there appears little or no evidence of emancipation for the humans in the technological advancements of Blade Runner 2049. The future received does not align with any conventional formulation of hope for human or replicant, alike. Instead, humans appear, like replicants, as objects to this future. So, in what future does Blade Runner 2049 find itself?

Using two scales – planetary abundance-scarcity and social equality-hierarchy – and taking each combination of extremes along with a constant of wide-spread automation, Peter Frase formulates and maps out four futures in his book of the same name. These oscillations and interferences of ecological crisis and class power produce four possible systems which Frase names Communism, Rentism, Socialism and Exterminism. If we align the bioengineered workforce of Blade Runner 2049 with the automation of Frase’s thought experiments, in which future do we find ourselves for those 163 minutes? Clearly it is not Communism or Socialism, both of which are predicated on the destruction of class division. So that leaves Rentism and Exterminism, abundance and scarcity, respectively.

In Rentism, the means or techniques to produce abundance are monopolized by an elite. Frase envisages networks of intellectual property ensuring the extraction of rents from the masses despite the promise of abundance. Exterminism, however, envisages a world in which ‘scarcity cannot be totally overcome for all but can be overcome for a small elite’, leaving the majority of the ‘residents of Earth [to appear] less like a proletariat than like inmates of a concentration camp’, left to be ‘warehoused rather than exploited for their [labour].’ As with today, the elite of this future would enjoy a life of intractable consumption and comfort, leaving the vast majority of people with the rotting corpse of capitalism. These two futures require the further expansion and empowerment of state power to ensure the sustainability of such inequity. Notably, in both Scott and Villeneuve’s films, we see a police force of such power, nearing omnipotence.


The shadow of the past

But then there is much of Blade Runner 2049 that does not fit such dystopias. For one, we see capitalist power far surpassing that of the state and its police force. But more generally, there is something disconcertingly familiar, even mundane, to this world. It’s as if the world has partly stalled in time, allowing the future, the present and the past to concertina together. Pan Am, Coca Cola and countless future brands vie for space and attention, creating mesmerising overlaps of neon glow. Futuristic assemblages of vacuum packed foodstuffs are overlaid and hidden by projections of steak and chips as Sinatra croons in the background. Most illustratively, in one incredible scene we see holograms of Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe and Elton John crackle, jump, rewind and fast-forward, appearing and disappearing without intention or thought. The ghosts of the past are glitching into the future of Blade Runner 2049. Such an impression is further emphasised by the social relations the film presents us with. K and his AR girlfriend present the viewer with the new potentials of love. But this relationship, while seemingly radical, is at its core conservative, existing within the structures and confines of patriarchal power. This latter point is unavoidable throughout the film – as blatant as the sexualised, stripped and sky-scraping holograms.

It is not just time that is disintegrating in Blade Runner 2049, but time and space. The disintegration of space can be understood in two ways. First, the environments of the film are devastated by ecological collapse. Outside Los Angeles, dark, charcoal-like dust lands dominate while, later in the film, we find Las Vegas engulfed in deep orange of desert sand. These two environments appear like extrapolations of our present – the wildfires that increasingly encroach on the cities of California and the unavoidable desiccation of Sin City. Secondly, this collapse of space is experienced in the contradictions of Blade Runner 2049’s geography. The forces of expansion and contraction coexist – humans and their bioengineered labour force have colonised space; the waste and rubbish of life, once shipped away to impoverished lands, now consumes San Diego. Indeed, amidst these rusting topographies, we find the exploitation of children that in our world is held (emphasis on held) at arm’s length. The landfills of Agbogbloshie now brush up against the sprawl of Los Angeles.

The worlds that Philip K. Dick created in his novels were full of such juxtapositions, ones where ontologies dissolved across the pages. In Ubik, for example, the dead and the living coexist and become increasingly indistinguishable, much like the human and the replicant in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? In the former, the dead can override and alter the thoughts of others who have died and even the living, who are themselves able to morph and reconfigure thoughts, feelings and even histories through telepathy. Dick’s futures are contradictory futures; they thread together places remote in time and space into a whole, a whole which disintegrates and reforms and disintegrates as the world is increasingly detailed to the reader. They make my mind think not of Frase’s social science fictions, which seem clean and streamlined by comparison, and instead drag it backwards to Jason W. Moore’s historically exhausting Capitalism in the Web of Life. As Dick puts it in Ubik, the ‘past is latent, is submerged, but still there, capable of rising to the surface’.

Moore’s study takes in early Dutch capitalism, the sugar plantations of Brazil and the Caribbean, Bohemian silver mines, Norwegian forests, the riches of Potosi, the Atlantic slave trade, agriculture and industry in England, Indonesia spice, and American cotton, and contextualises each within the boom and bust cycles of capitalism. To understand such a deep history and its dynamics, Moore draws on Marxist, feminist and environmentalist thought to develop a theory of “Cheap Nature”, which is split into “Four Cheaps” – food, energy, labour-power and raw materials. Building on social reproduction theory, Moore understands capitalism to be reliant on free or cheap labour of slaves, women, animals, land and resources. If capitalism were to pay for these, it would, as a world system, collapse. Indeed, Moore sees the cycles of capitalism as being indelibly tied to these Four Cheaps – when one or more can no longer be extracted for free or cheaply, then capital accumulation enters crisis.

But despite the many crises that have punctuated its 400-year history, capitalism persists, organising human and nature alike. How is this so? Moore acknowledges the conventional wisdom of technological advancement in dealing with these crises but devotes greater attention to the expansion of the exploitation of cheap/free human and non-human natures. To illustrate this, consider the sugar plantations of the Caribbean. The lands cultivated and exhausted were captured in colonialist expansion, they were laboured by West African slaves, and the energy for production came from deforestation. The sugar – once a luxury product – was exported across the Atlantic to feed workers cheaply in Western Europe. This sugar-slave complex provided profits for the colonialist slave traders and plantation owners as well as buffering the wages of the working classes in Great Britain, Spain and France.

The political economy of Blade Runner 2049 fits neatly within Moore’s understanding of capitalism and its reliance on Cheap Nature. Food remains plentiful due to the agro-industrial developments of Niander Wallace and the expanses of now worthless land. Cheap energy is provided through the capture of free solar energy. Resources are extracted from the space colonies. The bioengineered replicants are enslaved and put to work across Earth and these new colonies. As now and then, the Cheaps of this future world intersect and reinforce one another, with all dependent upon each and each dependent upon all.


The limits to capitalism

Capitalism in the Web of Life concludes with a chapter that asks if our moment denotes the end of Cheap Nature. Centrally, when capitalism enters crisis mode again (if it is not there already), where will it turn for profitable exploitation? Where are the new frontiers to ensure a supply of cheap food, labour, resources and energy? Renewable energy, perhaps. Resources provided by seafloor and space mining with ever deeper extraction. Automation and AI could ensure cheap labour in the coming years through minimal costs and increased competition. But what of agriculture? Genetic modification looks unlikely. Moore draws attention to the inability of agro-biotechnology, the new frontier in agriculture, to stem the long downturn in productivity. Indeed, perhaps this future crisis for capitalism is even more profound than those of the past. This one also denotes the emergence of negative value, the most prominent and profound example of which is climate change. How will capital accumulation persist when the externalities become insuperably internal?

In Blade Runner 2049 we find a coordination that has allowed capitalism to persist, just as perversely and destructively as ever, despite the ecological ruin of Earth. Fitting with Moore’s theory, the wealthiest and most powerful person on Earth is the one who overcame the problems of agriculture. However, counter to Moore’s hypothesis, the coming crisis of Villeneuve’s film is not the lack of cheap food but of cheap labour. Niander Wallace’s main concern is his ability to reproduce the replicants upon which the capitalists’ wealth relies. The systems of technological reproduction are too slow, too cumbersome, resulting in a limitation on their access to workers/slaves. Simple supply and demand tells us that this is a problem – what happens when replicants begin to understand their irreplaceability? What happened last time, as the opening title card told us, we can guess.

In response, Wallace works on the development of replicants that are able to reproduce themselves, organically, like human and non-human life. Yet his Promethean ambitions are stumbling, appearing to rub, instead, against the limitations of science and technology. When K happens across the skeleton of a replicant who has given birth to an unknown but presumably alive child, Wallace expends all the force and power he wields to capture the evidence and material necessary to ensure his reproductive ambitions.

This information, the reproductive potentiality, is also of extreme interest for the state in Blade Runner 2049. K is tasked by his senior at the police force to destroy all evidence pertaining to the replicant who gave birth and whatever they gave birth to. The world must not know that they could produce like us, for what would then differentiate us, or so the logic goes. As K’s police chief notes, the ‘world is built on a wall.’ But this is not a new wall – it is an old wall reconfigured and repurposed for 2049. Aristotle spoke of humans who were, by their nature, bound to be slaves, to be the property of someone else. This concept was the basis for the enslavement of Amerindians during the European colonization of the New World. Enlightenment thinkers such as Linnaeus reified such brutality with reason and empiricism. They sought to differentiate the European from the African, consigning the latter to a lower rung, an inferior species, to Nature with all its violent abstraction.

It is this wall, between Human and Nature, that Moore’s history casts its gaze upon, understands as essential to capitalism and, most importantly, wishes to dismantle. Viewing Villeneuve’s Blade Runner 2049 through the prism of Cheap Nature, we find a future in which this division has been built up, reinforced, not crumbled as Moore would hope. The film presents us with the devastation of both environment and society, illuminating and outlining the threads which connect them. It is a clear and devastating articulation of what Isabelle Stengers has called the ‘coming barbarianism.’ But this is not a unidirectional flow of influence, it’s cyclical: the book feeding the film, the film feeding the book. Villeneuve’s film enriches the history and theory of Capitalism in the Web of Life. Blade Runner 2049 is an appendage to the history, articulating a future in which the forces and dynamics identified by Moore have been able, as they have for so long, to sustain themselves, ensuring accumulation and ruin.

But what of the present? We are used to history being a tool to understand and to shape the present. When that present, however, folds up against a future that appears unprecedented, as it is with this moment that lies on the edge of a climate, resource and ecological crisis, history begins to feel lost. The ideas it has helped produce for today increasingly feel redundant, ineffective or even counterproductive. But what we are experiencing today is history itself crashing through the present and into the future. This is not a glitching past, but one of devastating actuality. We require new histories and theory to make sense and struggle with this present and looming future. Capitalism in the Web of Life is one an example, Andreas Malm’s study of the industrial revolution and coal, Fossil Capital, is another.

The multiplicity of realities offered by science fiction, however, provides us with another means to grapple with our reality and craft a new one. They provide us with the distance and perspective necessary to gaze upon our moment and see both its deficiencies and possibilities, understanding how and where the world can be changed, whether that is for better or worse. To articulate this, Peter Frase draws on the documentary Los Angeles Plays Itself in his Four Futures: ‘If we can appreciate documentaries for their dramatic qualities, perhaps we can appreciate fiction films for their documentary revelations.’ And so it is with a blockbuster sci-fi film and a piece of eco-Marxist world history.


David Lee Astley works for an environmental NGO and writes occasionally on art and politics


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Wildlife in the Anthropocene: Conservation after Nature

Published by Anonymous (not verified) on Wed, 06/05/2015 - 6:43pm in

An interdisciplinary discussion of Jamie Lorimer's book Jamie Lorimer (Associate Professor in Human Geography, University of Oxford) discusses his book with William Beinart (Rhodes Professor of Race Relations, University of Oxford), Daniel Grimley (Professor of Music, University of Oxford) and Nikolaj Lübecker (Associate Professor of French, University of Oxford).

In Wildlife in the Anthropocene, Jamie Lorimer argues that the idea of nature as a pure and timeless place characterized by the absence of humans has come to an end. Offering a thorough appraisal of the Anthropocene—an era in which human actions affect and influence all life and all systems on our planet—Lorimer unpacks its implications for changing definitions of nature and the politics of wildlife conservation.