The argument for reparations rests on the stark reality that poorer countries face: for them, the devastating consequences of climate change are not only imminent, but often are already in progress. Faced with a lack of resources, lack of control over the resources they do have, or inadequate infrastructure, they are left to contend with the brunt of the consequences of climate change while having contributed only minimally to global carbon emissions. Perhaps the most poignant example is Bangladesh: in spite of being the world’s eighth most populous country with over 160 million people, Bangladesh only contributes 0.3 per cent of global greenhouse gas emissions. In the New York Times article “Borrowed Time on Disappearing Land,” leading Bangladeshi climate scientists hypothesize that by 2050, up to fifty million Bangladeshis will be displaced by rising sea levels. In light of the current refugee crisis in Europe, it is hard to imagine how a forced migration of that magnitude could not lead to turmoil, especially if we consider that Bangladesh is not the only country faced with rising sea levels. Other extreme weather events like cyclones, the rising frequency and severity of which have been clearly linked to climate change, have in turn been devastating to island and coastal countries which often receive little foreign aid, putting enormous stress on already strained economies.

The relaxed attitudes of wealthy countries toward climate change is merely a manifestation of chronic shortsightedness and insular indulgence allowed to exist only by virtue of a narrow worldview. Climate change is still seen as a secondary issue, the consequences of which have conveniently been sequestered in the haze of an indeterminately distant future. Insofar as climate change is perceived to be a concern for subsequent generations, wealthy countries feel entitled to pursue economic interests so long as they commit to some abstract notion of sustainable energy reform and vague promises of eventual emissions reduction. In order to pander to an electorate that has its own interests in mind, leaders have for the most part been hesitant to act against corporate interests and limit emissions rates. The movement for reparations must be seen as a sort of unwelcome wake-up call, a reminder that the unbridled pursuit of domestic interests is having undeniable ramifications around the world. It is no surprise that as populations begin to contend with the environmental consequences of industrialization, the world’s most wasteful countries are reluctant to admit guilt and take responsibility for natural disasters outside their borders.

The concept of reparations itself is quite widely-accepted, having been used to restitute the victims of international abuses since the infamous “War Guilt Clause” following World War I. The Oxford English Dictionary defines reparations generally as “the action of making amends for a wrong or harm done by providing payment or other assistance to the wronged party.” Following this definition, climate reparations seem incontestably reasonable. Wealthy countries are clearly guilty, as shown by their overwhelming monopoly over greenhouse gas emissions, and poorer countries like Bangladesh are clearly wronged parties, since there is irrefutable evidence that environmental destruction is arising as a result of these emissions. Once this cause-and-effect relationship is laid out, it is clear that more prosperous countries have the responsibility to make amends.

The problem that arises is that a more nuanced definition of reparations is needed – one that takes into account historical precedence, that accounts for the severity of wrongs done, and that satisfies existing standards of international humanitarian law. Surely not all harms necessitate repayment, and it seems more refined notions of guilt must be applied to justify climate reparations.

The UN’s basic principles on reparations define victims as “persons who individually or collectively suffered harm, including physical or mental injury, […] economic loss, or substantial impairment of their fundamental rights, through acts or omissions that constitute gross violations of international human rights law.” Again, there is clear evidence of substantial economic loss, but are there gross violations of human rights? Articles 15 and 17 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights declare that no one shall be arbitrarily deprived of their “nationality” and “property” respectively. Forced emigration and property destruction certainly violate these fundamental rights, and the inevitable repercussions of a large-scale migration even more so.

What remains to be examined is whether the wealthy countries of the world are legally responsible for these violations. Cass Sunstein, in the Bloomberg View, argues that “most people in wealthy nations – whether rich or poor […] – did not intend, and are not personally responsible for, the harms faced by citizens of India.” This notion of intent follows the precedent of historical instances of reparations, where there was perhaps a more direct intentional link between actions and contested harms (residential schools, for example). The idea is that fossil fuels are burned purely for economic and industrial purposes; the environmental damage that they incur is merely an unintended side effect, thus precluding any supposed responsibility. While this argument may hold for emissions produced when the effects of climate change were largely unknown, the overwhelming availability of information and resources confirming the consequences of emissions production today should render it obsolete. Inaction in the face of evidence should be seen as an implicit acknowledgement of the known consequences of emissions, and therefore a conscious shirking of responsibility. Pretensions of ignorance are simply not a viable means of avoiding guilt in the 21st century.

So, what is to be done? First, guilty parties must admit responsibility for the increasingly devastating weather events that are ravaging the poorest countries of the world. Unless we are comfortable infringing upon the lives of millions of people, this is going to involve some monetary compensation on our part. At a certain point we must reconcile that after years of brinkmanship, we are finally on the precipice: no matter how we are to resolve the climate crisis, it will involve some measure of sacrifice.

The value of reparations, and to whom they should be paid, is something that should be decided by climatologists, economists, and international leaders in rational dialogue, but no matter what, change is going to need to be instigated by international bodies. The ‘invisible hand’ is not going to suddenly turn back on itself and save the day, and mutual self-interest won’t solve issues that transcend borders. Through collective action, we must pressure leadership to rise above materialistic self-interest and invest in universal human rights – not because it benefits us, but because it is right.

Connor Tannas is a U0 Arts student. To reach him, contact connor.tannas@mail.mcgill.ca.

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The authors of “The Coddling of the American Mind,” Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt, begin their essay (published in the Atlantic) with the bold claim that a “movement is arising, undirected and driven largely by students, to scrub campuses clean of words, ideas, and subjects that might cause discomfort or give offence.” However, a trigger warning merely consists of signalling in advance the presence of content that could be triggering for individuals suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or who have otherwise traumatic associations with the given topic, so that they can decide on their own terms how to engage with it. Nowhere do trigger warnings, by definition or in practice, endeavour to censor specific information. Rather, their explicit goal is the opposite: to advertise the presence of potentially sensitive topics, not to erase them.

Nowhere do trigger warnings, by definition or in practice, endeavour to censor specific information.

This misunderstanding is at the root of Lukianoff and Haidt’s tenuous claim that to endorse trigger warnings is to endorse an entire canon of other issues on the slippery slope toward the restriction of free speech and intellectual freedom. The writers assume that the application of trigger warnings is an implicit acknowledgement that some topics should be avoided entirely if they may make a student uncomfortable; supposedly seeking to protect intellectual freedom, the authors urge universities to “officially and strongly discourage trigger warnings.” Based on the same assumption, Lukianoff and Haidt also assert that trigger warnings are actually detrimental to mental health, as avoiding triggers only compounds anxieties, whereas facing them “rationally and critically” is the sole credible approach to recovery from trauma.

In practice, however, trigger warnings do not preclude a person from ever facing trauma triggers. On the contrary, trigger warnings merely alert students that they will encounter a potential trigger, and rather than necessarily compelling them to leave the lecture, give them time to reflect upon and reconcile themselves with the impending content instead of shocking them into a traumatic recollection. It is thus not surprising that Aaron Hanlon, assistant professor of English at Colby College and author of “The Trigger Warning Myth” in the New Republic, finds that “in my three years of teaching […] not one [student] has left class or failed to turn in an assignment because of a trigger warning.”

It appears that trigger warnings actually lead to a more purposeful and reflective approach to addressing trauma because of the element of control. To remove the warning is to undermine reason entirely, leaving only a visceral, involuntary, and inherently public reaction that would likely compound any residual feelings of trauma, shame, and humiliation. Is this what critics want when they speak of facing fears “rationally?” More likely, these critics’ fundamental lack of understanding about the purpose of trigger warnings makes them ill-equipped to assess whether trigger warnings live up to their intended purpose.

It is important to differentiate between trigger warnings and these perceived attempts to eliminate sensitive material entirely from courses.

Others have also argued that trigger warnings lose effectiveness simply due to their prevalence. In the Guardian article “We’ve gone too far with ‘trigger warnings,’” Jill Filipovic argues that proponents of trigger warnings have corrupted their purpose, proposing that “generalized trigger warnings aren’t so much about helping people with PTSD as they are about a certain kind of performative feminism,” whereby demanding a trigger warning “identifies you as even more aware, even more feminist, even more solicitous” than those who do not. The insinuation that being vocal about trigger warnings is necessarily insincere is condescendingly dismissive; besides, even if it were true, it is unclear how this would undermine the effectiveness of trigger warnings for those who need them.

It is clear that critics are mistaken in dismissing the effectiveness of trigger warnings with regards to accommodating mental health. What remains to be evaluated is the dubious association between trigger warnings and a broader ideology of censorship. The question that arises is whether trigger warnings are genuinely undermining rationalism and free speech, or whether this controversy is just the product of a reactionary and misguided assumption that trigger warnings aim to homogenize discourse on university campuses. It is because of the pedagogical nature of the university itself that this would be a legitimate concern; a university degree isn’t just meant to provide a well-curated collection of facts, it’s meant to promote and engender vital critical thinking skills, and expose students to culturally and contextually diverse ideas that challenge and refine their own views.

Lukianoff and Haidt allude to a number of widely-discussed instances where students have pushed to have certain information or views removed from campus, such as when law students at Harvard questioned how rape law was being taught, with some requesting that it be removed from exams or first year content altogether. Concern over attempted censure is valid (having lawyers who don’t understand the legality of rape is clearly not in the interest of survivors), but, as with many other viral examples of campus “censorship,” these students were not suggesting that the delicate subject not be taught, but rather that it be taught in a way that is more considerate toward survivors of sexual violence. It is important to differentiate between trigger warnings and these perceived attempts to eliminate sensitive material entirely from courses. The latter, as shown previously, can actually increase dialogue around controversial topics by making them more accessible to people who have experienced trauma.

If trigger warnings by definition do not censor, why have they been so closely associated with censorship? Since the debate has been polarizing from its inception, opponents of trigger warnings still see endorsing them as endorsing “everything else,” and believe that the presence of trigger warnings on campus will be the inauspicious beginning of a precipitous fall into thought policing. Better dialogue that overcomes perceived ideological incompatibility is needed: perhaps by embracing the ‘threatened’ rational and intellectual flexibility that they hold so dear, critics of trigger warnings will see that their use can be a nonintrusive, helpful, and considerate way of addressing PTSD and trauma triggers without marking the end of free speech. Only when trigger warnings are correctly understood for the purpose they serve can the pretension of implicit ideological ramifications be discarded; then, universities can move towards a more inclusive and considerate campus environment.

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