The Problem
As we commemorate the 55th anniversary of Earth Day, it's imperative to reflect on its origins, assess the progress made since 1970, and critically evaluate whether the current iterations of Earth Day and the broader environmental movement are equipped to confront today's escalating challenges. Despite decades of advocacy and policy advancements, environmental degradation persists, with issues like habitat loss, species extinction, and greenhouse gas emissions continuing unabated. We are currently witnessing dramatic rollbacks of environmental protections in the United States, critically undermining efforts to safeguard our natural world.
While the environmental movement has made significant strides in raising awareness and mobilizing action since the first Earth Day, it has misunderstood and underestimated the strength and influence of the counter-revolutionary forces that resist ecological progress and civic engagement. These opposing movements, driven by economic interests and ideological opposition, are now coalescing to erase environmental reforms and civil society.
To truly honor the legacy of the first Earth Day and achieve its foundational goals, it is imperative to not only advocate for environmental stewardship but also to understand and confront these powerful counter-revolutionary movements. These forces aim to diminish and ultimately eliminate public participation in governmental decision-making and thwart all progress toward achieving a sustainable world.
The Roots of Earth Day
The roots of the first Earth Day began in the 1960s counterculture movement which represented a seismic shift in American and global society. Born in the aftermath of World War II, the baby boomer generation came of age during a time of unprecedented economic prosperity but also profound social contradictions. Civil rights struggles, the Vietnam War, nuclear proliferation, and environmental degradation created a perfect storm that catalyzed widespread questioning of authority and established norms. Many young people rejected the conformist, consumption-oriented society their parents were pursuing, instead embracing values of peace, love, personal freedom, and environmental consciousness. From Haight-Ashbury to Woodstock, from the Prague Spring to student protests in Paris, the counterculture movement of the 1960s represented a global rejection of the status quo.
While environmental awareness was a crucial catalyst, it alone did not ignite the massive public engagement that defined the first Earth Day. The late 1960s were marked by intense social and political unrest, particularly on American college campuses, where opposition to the Vietnam War was fervent. A 1969 Gallup poll revealed that half of college students disapproved of President Nixon's Vietnam policies, a significantly higher percentage than the general public's 25% disapproval. Students employed various forms of protest, including sit-ins, teach-ins, and the occupation of university buildings, demonstrating our deep disillusionment with governmental decisions.
Concurrently, the environmental conditions in the United States were dire. Before 1970, industrial facilities operated with minimal oversight, legally emitting toxic pollutants into the air and discharging waste into waterways without facing consequences. There was no Environmental Protection Agency, no Clean Air Act, and no Clean Water Act to regulate these activities. The prevailing attitude accepted air pollution as "the smell of prosperity," reflecting a societal tolerance for environmental degradation in the name of economic growth.
The convergence of anti-war activism and environmental concern created a unique moment in history. The widespread protests against the Vietnam War had already mobilized a generation to question authority and demand change. However, it was a catastrophic disaster that catalyzed the first Earth Day and my own active involvement. On January 28, 1969, an oil well blew out six miles off the coast of Santa Barbara, California. Union Oil had received a federal waiver to install a shorter protective casing than required—a shortcut that proved devastating. For eleven days, oil escaped at nearly 9,000 gallons per hour. By the time the flow stopped, three million gallons of crude oil had created a slick covering 35 miles of coastline.
The Santa Barbara disaster became the first major oil spill to receive widespread media coverage. President Nixon visited the scene, calling it an incident that "touched the conscience of the American people." Local residents formed "Get Oil Out!" (GOO!), demanding an end to offshore drilling.
In the wake of the devastating 1969 Santa Barbara oil spill, Wisconsin Senator Gaylord Nelson sought to channel the nation's growing environmental concerns into a unified movement. Inspired by the anti-war teach-ins of the era, Nelson envisioned a nationwide environmental teach-in to galvanize public awareness and action. To bring this vision to fruition, he enlisted Dennis Hayes, a 25-year-old Stanford graduate, to coordinate the event. Recognizing the importance of student involvement, they strategically scheduled the event for April 22, 1970—positioned between spring break and final exams—to maximize participation on college campuses. This initiative was aptly named "Earth Day."
On April 22, 1970, an estimated 20 million Americans—approximately 10% of the U.S. population at the time—participated in demonstrations, teach-ins, and rallies nationwide, making it the largest civic event in American history. College students organized symbolic protests, such as burying cars and placing gas masks on statues, to draw attention to the pressing issue of pollution. Earth Day 1970 achieved a rare political alignment, garnering support from Republicans and Democrats, the affluent and the working class, as well as business and labor groups.
The momentum generated by the first Earth Day led directly to the establishment of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and the enactment of landmark environmental legislation, including the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act, and the Endangered Species Act. These foundational laws have played a crucial role in safeguarding our environment and public health for over five decades. Reflecting on this pivotal moment, it's evident that collective action and civic engagement can drive significant policy changes and foster a more sustainable future. But it’s not been nearly enough.
Throughout history, counterculture movements have emerged during periods of significant social tension, often driven by younger generations disillusioned with prevailing norms and structures. The inaugural Earth Day on April 22, 1970, epitomized such a movement. However, over the ensuing decades, Earth Day and the broader environmental movement have undergone significant institutionalization and strong counter-movements have arisen. The once-radical spirit of environmental activism has, in many cases, been supplanted by more mainstream and corporate-sponsored initiatives. While these efforts have maintained a sanitized environmental awareness, they often lack the urgency and transformative ambition of the original movement. Consequently, despite increased participation and awareness, global greenhouse gas emissions have continued to rise since Earth Day 1970, underscoring the need to rekindle the movement's foundational passion and commitment to systemic change.
The Radical Roots of Resistance: 1960s Counterculture and Its Revolutionary Impact
The 1960s counterculture wasn't merely a fleeting moment of youthful rebellion—it was a profound rupture in the American social fabric that forever altered the trajectory of Western civilization. To understand its revolutionary impact, we must first recognize the stifling conformity from which it emerged. Post-war America presented a façade of prosperity and contentment, with its gleaming suburban developments, burgeoning consumer culture, and rigid social hierarchies. But beneath this veneer of the "American Dream" festered deep contradictions that could not be contained indefinitely.
Growing up during the 1950s and 1960s, Baby Boomers were deeply affected by the pervasive threat of nuclear annihilation. The implementation of "Duck and Cover" drills in schools, designed to prepare children for a potential atomic attack, served as a constant reminder of this existential danger. Our weekly drills, while intended to educate, often instilled a profound sense of fear and helplessness among students. Research indicates that by the late 1950s, approximately 60% of American children reported experiencing nightmares about nuclear war, highlighting the deep psychological impact of these practices.
The psychological toll extended beyond childhood, influencing the worldview and mental health of many in our generation into adulthood. Studies from the 1980s revealed that the fear of nuclear war was a significant source of anxiety, second only to the fear of losing a parent among adults in the United States. This chronic exposure to the threat of sudden, catastrophic destruction fostered a collective sense of vulnerability and mistrust in governmental assurances of safety. The legacy of this era underscores the profound and lasting effects that sustained exposure to existential threats can have on a generation's psychological well-being.
This latent anxiety and mistrust of government was compounded by a series of national traumas that unfolded during my generation’s formative years. The Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962 brought the world to the brink of nuclear war, a moment etched into our generation’s collective memory - I can still vividly recall President Kennedy’s televised speech. The subsequent assassinations of President John F. Kennedy in 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in April 1968, and Senator Robert F. Kennedy in June 1968, each struck devastating blows to the nation's psyche, eroding trust in leadership and the promise of progressive change.
Amidst the turbulence of the 1960s, the counterculture movement emerged as a vibrant tapestry woven with threads of peace, love, and a quest for expanded consciousness. This era found its early expression in 1964 when Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters embarked on a cross-country journey aboard their psychedelically painted bus, "Furthur." Their odyssey, chronicled in Tom Wolfe's The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, symbolized a hopeful rebellion against societal norms, embracing psychedelic experiences and envisioning a harmonious "Age of Aquarius."
However, the idealism that characterized this period faced a stark confrontation with reality on May 4, 1970, just two weeks after the First Earth Day. On that day, National Guard troops opened fire on unarmed students at Kent State University during a protest against the U.S. invasion of Cambodia, resulting in four deaths and nine wounded. This tragedy marked a profound turning point, signaling the end of the student-led cultural revolution and casting a long shadow over the aspirations of a generation. The journey from the exuberant explorations of the Merry Pranksters to the somber aftermath of Kent State encapsulates the dramatic psychological swing experienced by a generation. It reflects a shift from the optimism of transformative possibilities to a sobering recognition of the challenges inherent in confronting entrenched systems of power.
The psychological journey of the Baby Boomer generation—from the fear instilled by nuclear drills to the disillusionment following political assassinations and the Kent State shootings—reflects a complex interplay of hope and despair. These experiences not only shaped our worldview but also left an enduring impact on our collective consciousness, influencing our responses to subsequent societal challenges.
The counterculture that emerged from these questions was not monolithic but rather a complex tapestry of overlapping movements, each challenging different aspects of the established order. The civil rights movement provided both moral clarity and tactical inspiration, demonstrating the power of nonviolent resistance against entrenched systems of oppression. The anti-war movement mobilized millions against what they saw as an immoral, imperialist conflict in Vietnam. The women's liberation movement challenged patriarchal structures that had limited female potential for centuries. The environmental movement awakened consciousness about humanity's destructive relationship with nature.
What united these diverse strands was a fundamental rejection of unquestioned authority and a belief that radical change was not only necessary but possible. This revolutionary optimism, the conviction that young people could indeed create a better world, fueled the counterculture's explosive growth and creative energy.
Yet for all its revolutionary fervor, the counterculture contained internal contradictions that would ultimately limit its transformative potential. The movement's emphasis on personal liberation devolved into self-indulgence, undermining collective political action. Its rejection of structure and authority made sustained organization difficult. Its predominantly white, middle-class composition meant that issues of race and class were often inadequately addressed, despite rhetoric of universal brotherhood.
By the mid 1970s, the counterculture was already fragmenting. Some participants retreated into rural communes or spiritual pursuits, abandoning broader social change for personal transformation. Others channeled their energy into single-issue movements focused on specific causes like environmentalism or women's rights. Still others were co-opted by the very consumer culture they had once rejected, as corporations quickly learned to market rebellion and self-expression as lifestyle choices rather than political stances.
Perhaps most significantly, the counterculture movement demonstrated that radical alternatives to the status quo are always possible, even in seemingly fixed societies. It showed that cultural revolution—changing how people think, feel, and relate to one another—is as important as political or economic revolution. This legacy of creative resistance, of imagining and embodying different ways of being in the world, remains its most valuable gift to subsequent generations of activists and visionaries, with Earth Day being one of its most enduring symbols.
Forces of Change and Reaction: The Destabilizing Potential of Competing Movements
To fully understand America's current precarious position, we must confront the equally powerful counter-revolutionary movements that have emerged in response to the counterculture movements of the 1960’s. The interplay between these opposing forces—progressive countercultures and reactionary counter-movements—creates a volatile dynamic that threatens the stability of American democracy and the environmental movement in unprecedented ways.
The Dialectic of Revolution and Reaction
Throughout American history, periods of progressive change have typically triggered reactionary responses. The civil rights movement sparked massive resistance; second-wave feminism provoked the anti-ERA campaign; gay liberation catalyzed the Moral Majority. This dialectic between progress and backlash is nothing new. What is new, however, is the intensity, scale, and apocalyptic framing of today's counter-revolutionary movements, particularly those centered around apocalyptic Christianity, the Techno Religious State and the MAGA phenomenon.
Unlike previous conservative reactions that generally accepted the basic framework of constitutional democracy while fighting specific policies, today's counter-revolutionary movements increasingly reject the legitimacy of democratic governance itself. The New Apostolic Reformation—a charismatic movement embraced by tens of millions of American Christians—explicitly seeks to destroy the secular state and replace it with theocratic rule. MAGA adherents routinely question the validity of elections they lose and portray political opponents not merely as wrong but as existentially evil. And the Techno Religious State adherents are actively replacing civil involvement with an AI government decision-making system. These movements frame contemporary politics not as normal democratic contestation but as an apocalyptic battle between good and evil with civilization itself at stake.
This apocalyptic framing makes compromise impossible and violence increasingly thinkable. When politics becomes a war against demonic forces, democratic norms of tolerance, pluralism, and peaceful transfer of power become not virtues but dangerous weaknesses. The January 6th insurrection—justified by many participants in explicitly religious terms—demonstrated the real-world consequences of this worldview.
Apocalyptic Christianity as Counter-Revolution
The rise of apocalyptic Christianity represents a direct response to the cultural transformations initiated by the 1960s counterculture and accelerated by today's progressive movements. As traditional Christian hegemony in American culture has declined, a significant segment of believers has embraced increasingly radical theology centered on end-times narratives and spiritual warfare.
The New Apostolic Reformation exemplifies this trend. Organized around the "seven mountains mandate"—the belief that Christians must take dominion over government, business, education, family, arts, media, and religion—this movement rejects pluralism in favor of Christian supremacy in all aspects of public life. Its prayer "war rooms" across America coordinate spiritual warfare against perceived demonic influences in these seven spheres. For adherents, Trump's election represented divine intervention to restore America's covenant relationship with God.
This movement's theology directly informs its politics. The goal is not merely to influence policy but to fundamentally transform America into a Christian nation where biblical law supersedes secular governance. The movement's vision of "purity" extends beyond personal morality to the national body politic, seeking to create an America that is "heterosexual, white, native-born, speaks English as first language, and thoroughly patriarchal." This vision explicitly excludes immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, and secular influences as sources of "impurity" threatening America's divine purpose.
What makes this movement particularly destabilizing is its growing rejection of democracy itself. As Paul Weyrich, an influential conservative strategist in the 1990s, believed that demographic changes meant democracy would increasingly favor progressive values. His solution? Abandon democracy. The movement's growing affinity for authoritarian leaders like Putin and Orbán—who use religious rhetoric while dismantling democratic institutions—reveals its willingness to sacrifice democratic governance to achieve its vision of a purified Christian nation.
MAGA as Secular Apocalypticism
While deeply intertwined with Christian nationalism, the MAGA movement represents a broader coalition united by apocalyptic thinking about American decline. For adherents, America faces not just policy challenges but existential threats requiring extraordinary measures. The movement's slogan—"Make America Great Again"—implies both that America has fallen from greatness and that this decline can be reversed through sufficient will and force.
MAGA's appeal transcends traditional religious boundaries, drawing support from secular Americans anxious about changing demographics, economic dislocation, and loss of status. It offers a comprehensive narrative explaining these changes not as inevitable results of globalization or technological advancement but as deliberate betrayals by corrupt elites. This narrative provides both scapegoats for complex problems and the cathartic promise of retribution against those deemed responsible.
The movement's relationship with truth further destabilizes democratic functioning. By creating alternative information ecosystems where conspiracy theories flourish unchecked, MAGA has undermined the shared factual reality necessary for democratic deliberation. When significant portions of the population believe elections are stolen, COVID-19 is a Chinese plot and climate change is a hoax, meaningful policy debate becomes impossible.
Most concerning is the movement's increasing embrace of violence as legitimate political expression. From valorizing the January 6th insurrectionists as "patriots" to fantasizing about civil war against liberal cities, MAGA rhetoric normalizes political violence in ways unprecedented in modern American politics. This normalization creates fertile ground for lone-wolf attacks and organized militia activity targeting perceived enemies.
The Techno Religious State
Among the various counter-revolutionary movements challenging democratic norms, the proponents of a "Techno-Religious State" appear to be making the most significant strides. Drawing inspiration from Mao's centralized governance model, they substitute traditional political engagement and over-throw with technological oversight. This emerging paradigm is a fusion of Silicon Valley's technological capabilities with religious-political ideologies, crafting a new form of governance.
Central to this development is Peter Thiel, partner of Elon Musk, co-founder of Palantir Technologies, and a key figure in this convergence. Palantir, under the leadership of CEO Alexander Karp, has established deep connections within the corridors of power, notably with Vice President J.D. Vance, a past employee and protégé of Thiel. Thiel's substantial financial support for Vance's political ascent underscores this alliance.
This intertwining of technology, religious ideology, and political influence raises critical questions about the future of democratic governance in America. As these three counter-revolutionary forces coalesce, they challenge traditional democratic structures, redefining citizen participation and the role of technology in public life.
The Architects of a New Order
Peter Thiel, the billionaire venture capitalist who co-founded PayPal and was Facebook's first outside investor, employer of now Vice-President Vance in Thiel’s investment firm, is a self-described Christian influenced by French philosopher René Girard. Thiel has funded numerous conservative Christian causes while simultaneously advocating for a post-liberal political vision skeptical of democracy itself. His companies, including Palantir (named after the all-seeing stones in J.R.R. Tolkien's Catholic-influenced Lord of the Rings), reflect this worldview.
Vice President J.D. Vance, whose rise to political prominence was significantly aided by Thiel's financial backing, converted to Catholicism in 2019—a journey he has credited to Thiel's influence. Like Thiel, Vance has been heavily influenced by René Girard's mimetic theory and has described his Catholic faith as a means of resisting what he sees as the empty competition of meritocratic systems. Together, these three figures represent a fusion of technological power, religious worldviews, and political influence that is reshaping American governance.
Their goal is to replace what they perceive as messy civil discourse and unwieldy decision-making, with a centralized AI government operating system. Palantir Technologies has positioned itself to become what its CTO Shyam Sankar has explicitly called "the central operating system for the U.S. government." The company's Gotham platform, described on its website as "THE OPERATING SYSTEM FOR GLOBAL DECISION MAKING," integrates massive amounts of data from disparate sources into unified interfaces used across government agencies. In a short few years they have embedded Palantir AI systems into the U.S. Army’s ‘identity enemy systems,’ Israel’s targeting systems, FBI predictive analysis, management of Medicare and Medicaid data, CIA information systems and IRS systems to name a few.
On the other flank of this effort to convert the American decision-making process into a central AI decision-model is Elon Musk's Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). DOGE has rapidly expanded its reach within the federal government, aiming to centralize control over vast amounts of sensitive data across multiple agencies.
Recent reports indicate that DOGE has been consolidating data from agencies such as the IRS, Social Security Administration, and Department of Health and Human Services into a centralized database hosted by U.S. Customs and Immigration Services. This move has raised significant privacy and security concerns, with critics warning of potential violations of the Privacy Act and the risks associated with mass surveillance.
Furthermore, DOGE has reportedly employed artificial intelligence tools to monitor federal employees' communications, scanning for sentiments deemed disloyal to the current administration. Such practices have sparked debates over the erosion of transparency and the potential suppression of dissent within federal agencies. The overarching vision of DOGE is but one part of the creation of a streamlined, AI-driven governance model that consolidates power and eliminates traditional checks and balances.
The Religious-Political Framework
The relationship between Thiel, Karp, and Vance is not merely professional or political—it's philosophical and, for Thiel and Vance, explicitly religious. Both men have been profoundly influenced by René Girard, a Catholic philosopher who argued that human desire is fundamentally mimetic—people desire what they see others desire—leading to competition and violence. He saw Christianity as revolutionary because it recognized the innocence of victims and revealed the injustice of scapegoating. For Girard, Christianity offered a way to reorient mimetic desire away from competing with other humans and toward mimicking Christ.
Thiel has applied these ideas to his critique of Silicon Valley's competitive culture, while Vance views his Catholic conversion as a way to escape the "mimetic rivalry" of elite meritocratic society. This shared philosophical framework informs their approach to governance and technology.
The fusion of Catholicism, capitalism, and technology creates a worldview that is skeptical of liberal democracy's emphasis on individual freedoms and competitive markets. Instead, it favors more hierarchical, tradition-based governance systems that can impose order on what they see as the chaos of modern society.
Peter Thiel envisions a future where traditional nation-states give way to privately governed enclaves led by a cognitive elite. He has actively pursued this vision through ventures like the Seasteading Institute, which aimed to establish autonomous floating cities, and Pronomos Capital, a firm investing in charter cities such as Próspera in Honduras. Próspera aspires to be a libertarian hub for biotech innovation, including initiatives like Vitalia, which explores longevity research and genetic biohacking .
Despite these transhumanist pursuits, Thiel identifies as a conservative Christian, aligning his technological ambitions with his faith. He draws inspiration from thinkers like Nikolai Fedorov, who advocated for the scientific pursuit of physical immortality as a Christian endeavor. Thiel believes that scientific and business innovation are divine gifts that can help overcome human limitations and bring humanity closer to a perfected state.
Politically, Thiel supports figures like Curtis Yarvin, a proponent of the neo-reactionary movement, which advocates for replacing democratic systems with corporate-style governance led by CEOs. Thiel's investments and political activities reflect a belief in strong, centralized leadership and a skepticism toward traditional democratic institutions.
The Holy Surveillance State
Palantir's technologies enable what critics have called a "Holy Surveillance State"—a system of governance that uses AI-powered surveillance and decision-making tools guided by specific religious-political values. This system has several key features:
- Data Integration: Palantir's platforms integrate vast amounts of data from various sources, creating comprehensive profiles of individuals and organizations.
- AI-Powered Decision Making: The Maven Smart System and other Palantir tools use AI to assist with target identification and decision-making processes.
- Centralized Control: By integrating systems across government agencies, Palantir centralizes control over data and decision-making.
At the Crossroads
The question is not whether AI will transform governance—it already is—but whether that transformation will fully eliminate democratic values.
What began as a spark of revolutionary fervor in the 1960s—the same spirit that gave us Earth Day and transformed American society—now faces an unprecedented threat. The progressive movements that once reshaped our nation through grassroots activism, legislative victories, and landmark court decisions now stand at a precipice, confronting counterrevolutionary forces of staggering power and sophistication.
The "Holy Surveillance State" is not merely a theoretical concern but an emerging reality at the intersection of Silicon Valley's technological innovation and Washington's political power. Understanding this convergence is essential for anyone concerned about the future of democratic governance in the age of AI and the ability to influence progressive causes represented by Earth Day.
Make no mistake: we have gravely underestimated our opposition. While we've continued to rely on the civic playbook of the past—organizing marches, lobbying legislators, and filing lawsuits—our adversaries have weaponized advanced technologies to fundamentally alter the landscape of power. They don't merely seek to win political battles; they aim to rewrite the rules of governance itself.
This is not simply politics as usual. The technological arsenal now deployed against progressive values operates at a scale, speed, and level of penetration that renders our traditional methods of resistance dangerously obsolete. AI-driven surveillance systems, algorithmic manipulation of public discourse, and data-powered decision engines are not just tools of oppression—they represent a wholesale reimagining of how society functions.
For Earth Day to remain more than a hollow ritual, for the progressive vision that inspired generations to maintain its relevance, we must recognize this existential challenge. The fight is no longer just about specific policies or individual rights—it is about preventing the complete technological capture of our democratic institutions. Either we develop new strategies to counter this technological coup, or we surrender the future to forces that will systematically dismantle everything the progressive movement has built.
The choice before us is stark: adapt and confront the technological takeover of government, or witness the quiet extinction of the democratic ideals that have fueled progressive change for over half a century. The revolution that began in the streets must now enter the digital domain—our liberty depends upon it.
