Justine Norton-Kertson

How did Grist’s climate fiction initiative and Imagine 2200 competition get started?

Tory Stephens

In early 2020, during a lockdown, we hosted “Imagine 2200,” a virtual brainstorming session with Grist 50 members. We used role-playing and visioning techniques to imagine a transformed world: blurred political borders, reparations, restored lands, transformed prisons into healing centers, Earth with rights, revolutionary food systems, and an economy based on ecological care. This experience changed my perspective, making me see the potential of visionary storytelling in shaping the future.

Post-session, I delved into climate fiction, but found most narratives bleak and unrepresentative. Discovering Afrofuturism and solarpunk changed this, inspiring stories rich in diversity and hope. These genres offered varied perspectives, including Black, Latine, Asian, queer, and Indigenous futurisms, and emphasized community, renewable energy, and equality. “Imagine 2200” evolved into an intersectional climate fiction initiative, focusing on environmental justice and climate solutions, and amplifying marginalized voices.

Our first call for stories in winter 2021 received thousands of global entries, confirming the initiative’s impact and reinforcing our commitment to sharing these visionary narratives.

Justine

Speaking of intersectionality, Imagine 2200 does an excellent job of amplifying voices and stories from marginalized groups. It’s not just a happy result, it’s baked into the contest. How have you achieved that?

Tory

Western narratives have been dominated by privileged, Western perspectives. I grew up with comic books. They helped me become more literate. I’m a 46-year-old Black man, and throughout my whole life, the majority of the stories and characters I’ve fallen in love with didn’t look like me and weren’t intersectional. Spiderman, Batman, and Wolverine were some of my favorite characters growing up. They’re all straight white men. I loved them, but I always hoped for more diversity, and I often searched for stories that resonated with a wider range of experiences. 

Now attuned to issues around diversity and representation, I often wonder what impact the lack of representation had on us. We now know when we primarily see heroes who share our background, it reinforces a sense of normalcy and belonging. But when those heroes consistently lack real-world diversity, it sends a message that certain identities are more worthy protagonists, of existing in these fictional universes. 

Tory

This is why Imagine 2200 actively seeks stories from and about BIPOC communities, Indigenous groups, LGBTQ+ folks, and people from the Global South. And it’s not just about representation, but enriching the discourse and ensuring a wide swath of concerns and solutions are heard. The competition explicitly encourages stories addressing racial and environmental injustice, exposing the unequal impact of climate change, and advocating for transformative solutions. Imagine 2200 recognizes the interconnectedness of struggles. By showcasing stories that bridge the gap between climate justice and other social movements, it fosters stronger solidarity and broader engagement. 

We took the time to listen and incorporate diverse voices when envisioning and developing the initiative. My hope is that the Imagine 2200 competition serves as a model for what deep listening looks like. In a short time span, I went from not seeing the value of climate fiction to becoming an advocate trying to prioritize inclusivity, marginalized voices, and showcasing diverse solutions. 

Listen more, we can all do better in that department.

Justine

Are there any important themes from this year’s soon-to-be-released contest finalists that readers might want to watch for? 

Tory

Imagine 2200 has taught me that people see hope differently. Hope is a spectrum. What feels hopeful to one person isn’t hopeful enough to another. We’ve wrangled with this from the beginning. In fact, I’ve had an epiphany around hope: I now believe it’s important to explore hope collectively. Through Imagine 2200, I came to realize there’s a growing movement dedicated to cultivating and amplifying shared hope as a catalyst for positive change. 

Many people think an Imagine story needs to be utopian, and that’s simply not true. We love a good utopian story, but most are simply climate fiction with a healthy dash of hope. Some lean more utopian than others. This year a few stories are set in the near future as opposed to the far future, and embody what folk are calling Thrutopia. That term was originally coined by philosopher and Green Party activist Rupert Read. Thrutopia stories challenge the traditional “utopia vs. dystopia” dichotomy, acknowledging the challenges we face while promoting a realistic and action-oriented alternative that emphasizes the need for collective effort and adaptation to navigate current and future challenges. 

That newish term fits some of the standout stories from the upcoming collection, which drops on January 23. I’d also add that a lot of the stories do what we’re known for. This year’s stories feature characters who form strong bonds and support networks and highlight the importance of collective action in overcoming adversity. Also as in past years, our stories challenge the dominant doom-and-gloom narrative, opting for optimism and resilience despite the challenges. Finally, you’ll also find stories exploring climate and environmental justice.

Justine

I love that people are coming up with new terms to describe building a better world. Another one I’ve seen is optopia, or a society that isn’t perfect, but rather is striving to do the best it can given the circumstances it’s in. But the truth is, despite our focus on creating a better world and optimistic storytelling, we’re still collectively so drawn to dystopian media right now. Why do you think that is?

Tory

You might think I’ve done away with doom and gloom, but I love me a good dystopian story and the important conversations they spark. Our world faces multiple crises. Climate change, political polarization, economic inequality, and technological advancements—like AI—that come with uncertain consequences. Dystopian stories offer a way to explore and process these anxieties, providing a cathartic outlet for our fears and frustrations. Plus, life can be mundane. High-stakes action sequences and suspenseful plots tap into our primal need for excitement. 

The issue I have with lots of dystopian fiction isn’t with the type of story, but instead comes down to how we’re consuming these stories. African speculative fiction writer, editor, and publisher Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki addressed this in his article, “Too Dystopian for Whom? A Continental Nigerian Writer’s Perspective.” He raised a crucial point about the consumption of dystopian fiction by Western audiences, concluding that many Westerners approach dystopian fiction as a form of entertainment without fully recognizing the harsh realities reflected in these stories. Ekpeki takes it a step further, making the case that there are numerous examples of poverty, oppression, violence, and environmental degradation occurring right now in this world, and not in some nebulous future. However, we Westerners often lack awareness or understanding of these realities, making our engagement with dystopian fiction primarily theoretical and sensationalized. We should engage with these stories not just for entertainment, but also for reflection and education. We should question our own privilege, acknowledge the global context of dystopia, and seek out diverse narratives to enrich our understanding of these themes and their relevance to the real world. 

Broadening our horizons moves us beyond stereotypical “future nightmare” narratives and connects with people’s lived experiences. Dystopian fiction remains a powerful tool for understanding and confronting uncomfortable truths, even in seemingly dystopian times. Instead of escaping harsh realities, let’s embrace diverse perspectives and strive for a better world for all.

Justine

Great points. I still love dystopian fiction too, and I think we often downplay the hope at the heart of such stories in our effort to rally behind solarpunk and other optimistic genres. But regardless of whether they’re dystopian, utopian, thrutopian, or otherwise, I’m curious about your thoughts on the role of storytelling generally—and climate fiction specifically—in the development of real-world climate solutions.

Tory

Climate fiction itself could be a powerful climate solution if we used it enough. When we do use it, we aren’t using it effectively. Stories are how we communicate and motivate large swaths of society. Think about religion and the powerfully motivating role it’s played throughout history. Tales of creation, divine interventions, and journeys of spiritual awakening continue to shape people’s lives. 

Another example is the civil rights movement and stories Martin Luther King Jr. told to raise the fight for racial equality here in the States. He constructed a powerful narrative of freedom and justice, which helped fuel change across the globe. Narratives provide meaning, purpose, and a sense of community, but for them to take root, a robust web of stories needs to be woven throughout the public sphere. That’s why we’re having trouble shifting the public narrative. We need a vast and intricate tapestry of stories and mediums telling a similar story, and each thread represents a different perspective or voice. The more threads you have, the richer and more impactful the overall picture. 

In addition, stories need to reach people where they are. This means utilizing various platforms like traditional media, social media, podcasts, literature, art, and music. Each platform caters to different folks, maximizing the reach and impact of the stories. By building a diverse, dynamic, and strategically amplified web of stories, we can effectively shift public narratives.

Justine

This idea of climate fiction itself as a solution is important so let’s continue on that train of thought. I’ve heard you say climate storytelling is the most underfunded, but necessary and effective climate solution. What do you mean by this? 

Tory

Society is bombarded with negative messages. I call this “negativity overload.” We’re immersed in a constant stream of negative news, social media pessimism, and bleak entertainment. And the average person spends close to seven hours glued to screens daily. This soup of negative content stunts our collective imagination, making it harder to envision and work toward positive change. 

We started Imagine 2200 to inject a dose of optimism and possibility into climate fiction. Narrative storytelling is one of the crucial missing links in our climate solutions toolbox. Narratives profoundly influence our understanding and responses to the world around us. They inform our values, beliefs, and actions. They can drive us forward, move us back, or confuse us. Without a story of where we want to go, what are we even doing?

Here’s what I think we need to get on track.

First, climate storytelling is wildly underfunded. To push back against the onslaught of negative messages, we need the philanthropic community to recognize the problem. There’s no lack of brilliant storytellers—the world’s full of them. The issue is funding. Everyone in the field says the same thing. Funding flows to technology, direct needs, and a host of other solutions, but funding is tight or non-existent for climate storytellers.

Second, climate storytellers need more advocates. Good Energy, the advocacy and research outfit led by Anna Jane Joyner, is a great example. Through their research and advocacy, Good Energy found Hollywood’s average climate story is dismal. Done in collaboration with the USC Norman Lear Center’s Media Impact Project, their study analyzed 37,453 film and television scripts produced between 2016 and 2020 and found:

•   Only 2.8% of these scripts mentioned keywords related to climate change, such as “greenhouse gas,” “sea level,” “clean energy,” and “fossil fuel.”

•   66% of the climate stories they did find portrayed bleak and dystopian futures, often focusing on disaster narratives.

Thankfully, Anna and her team are bringing this message to Hollywood, magazines, climate spaces like TED Countdown and Aspen Ideas, podcasts, and wherever people are talking about climate storytelling. But we need more advocates. 

Third, we’ve all got to recognize that climate storytelling is one of the most important climate solutions. We need more people to take action, demand positive change, and call for justice. Storytelling, along with a web of other climate solutions, can accelerate our transition to a more sustainable and equitable future.