Weekly Climate Word: Wicked Problems
The climate crisis is a great example of what design theorists Rittel and Webber would call a wicked problem (1973). A wicked problem is difficult to solve because there are so many variables; many of these variables are confusing, constantly changing, misrepresented, or assigned diverging values based on a person’s interests or politics. The size and complexity of these moving targets makes formulating a plan of action difficult.
With wicked problems, we’re dealing with "how do you catch a cloud and pin it down” kind of stuff. (Except that cloud is full of greenhouse gases and pinning it down will compromise any community within a 100 mile radius.)
Wicked problems are difficult to solve because their solutions cause unintended or unavoidable consequences, thus perpetuating the same wicked problem. For example, building a river sediment diversion might mitigate wetland loss by allowing sediment to reach eroding banks, but it might also decimate dolphin and oyster populations by allowing too much freshwater into their habitats. Liquified natural gas (LNG) might cut back CO2 emissions when it is burned for fuel, but refining processes for LNG are energy-intensive, and LNG exponentially increases dangerous methane emissions—which has 80 times more warming power than CO2.
This “yes, but also” nature of wicked solutions causes us to avoid these issues like a minefield. These problems are the knots that seem impossible to untie, or a tangled mess of electrical wire. Instead of disentangling them, we’d rather cut and throw out the knot or hide the wires behind furniture or under rugs—out of sight, out of mind.
When we do face these wicked problems, their adverse consequences aren’t always visible until much later. In 1928, the Army Corps of Engineers built hundreds of miles of levees along the Lower Mississippi River in response to historic flooding the year before. Almost 100 years later, and the devastating effects of that wicked solution keep disappearing under murky water a little more each day.
Sometimes wicked problems force us to have conversations about uncomfortable trade-offs that push against our morality. Do we value short-term safety more than longevity? The individual more than the aggregate? Inclusion more than efficiency? Justice more than efficacy?When 200+ countries meet to discuss climate change, should every country get a seat at the table and voting power? After all, we share a biosphere and each country is affected in some way. Or should the twenty countries responsible for 80% of the emissions have more voice, responsibility, and ultimately, power when it comes to climate issues? (If these questions made you a little uncomfortable, then you understand that this is a wicked problem; there are no easy answers.)
So we’re dealing with morally-compromising, highest-stakes problems with no clear formulation or solution. Also, these problems require one-shot guess and check methods with possibly catastrophic consequences that could leave individuals liable and our planet uninhabitable. No pressure.
Maybe framing the climate crisis as one of the stickiest, most entangled wicked problems we’ve ever faced can help us understand why our current diplomatic measures aren’t working. Maybe it will help us realize that universal treaties can’t possibly meet the needs of every country, each one having unique strengths, weaknesses, and experiences with the climate crisis.
I know that naming something won’t make it go away, but when we frame the climate crisis within the context of a wicked problem, it becomes easier to cut ourselves some slack. It’s easier to understand why we aren’t all waking up every day, ready to fight our dependency on fossil fuels.
And just maybe, that slack is the small self-kindness you need to push yourself forward into creative action.
