Boy, howdy, does the left ever love to virtue signal. Oh, sure, there are some of us on the right who will engage in a little bit of it at times, from our MAGA caps to the "Molṑn labé" bumper stickers on our trucks, although there's a key difference; the right tends to do it as a statement of principle, rather than a "hey, look at me" message.
The left doesn't lack options here. Example: whenever you see a car, usually a Subaru for some unknown reason, that is covered with bumper stickers, it's a safe bet the driver is a leftist. It doesn't matter what the stickers say. In fact, there is a fundamental law of the universe that I discovered some years back, which states that the intelligence of a driver is inversely proportionate to the number of bumper stickers on their vehicle; this law is now known as "Clark's Law of Inverse Bumper Sticker Intelligence."
Climate scolds elevate virtue-signaling to a fine art, and one of their favorite tools is the humble shopping bag. Watts Up With That's Charles Rotter has some observations.
There are few modern rituals more spiritually affirming than standing at the checkout counter, gazing into the cashier’s eyes, and declaring, “No bag, thanks. I brought my own.” It’s a moment of environmental piety—a reusable tote pressed reverently to the chest, cotton fibers woven with the smugness of 149 plastic bags not used (but, as it turns out, probably still made). The problem is that like all good sermons, the gospel of the grocery bag is riddled with contradictions, caveats, and a whole lot of carbon.
The New York Times, ever ready to preach the faith of “climate responsibility,” recently published a piece titled “What Shopping Bags Should I Use?” It’s a fascinating read, not because it provides clarity, but because it demonstrates just how convoluted eco-virtue has become. Spoiler alert: you can’t win. But you can feel like you’re winning, and maybe that’s the point.
You can't win and, to listen to the climate scolds, you can't get out of the game, unless you're willing to live in a grass hut with a mud floor, with no plumbing or electricity, to keep the planet from warming a degree and a half (Fahrenheit, not commie Celcius) over the next 100 years.
Now that would be a virtue-signal, but I'm not seeing any of the climate scolds (I'm looking at you, John Kerry) going to that extreme.
Mr. Rotter describes the arch-demon of climate-unfriendly shopping bags: Plastic.
Plastic bags, we are told, are the spawn of fossil fuels, and as such, must be banished. Their recycling rate is a dismal 10%, and their afterlife often involves floating past a turtle’s nose or breaking into confetti-sized microplastics that haunt us for centuries. But here’s the twist—according to not one but two studies cited by the article (from Britain’s Environment Agency and Denmark’s Environmental Protection Agency), those unholy plastic bags actually have the smallest environmental footprint of the lot when judged by greenhouse gas emissions.
So how did they become public enemy number one? Simple. They look bad. They’re flimsy, crinkly, and associated with other people who don’t bring their own bags to Trader Joe’s.
What's worse? Paper. Our own local chain, Fred Meyer, uses paper bags, which is convenient for us because they make great kindling for starting a fire in your non-climate-friendly wood stove in the wintertime.
Then there’s paper—renewable, biodegradable, and about as sturdy as wet tissue paper and prone to tearing dramatically halfway across the parking lot, right as your oat milk makes a break for it. Surely this is the sanctified option? Not quite. Paper bags, according to the same British study, need to be reused three times to match the global warming impact of a single plastic bag. Which, for anyone who’s ever had a soggy-bottomed paper bag explode in the rain, is optimistic bordering on delusional.
Still, paper has better PR. Its recycling rate is 43%—respectable, though still meaning most paper bags end up decomposing into methane and carbon dioxide in landfills. Methane, for those keeping theological score, is one of the top demons in the pantheon of greenhouse gases. That’s right: while plastic might just sit there, paper actively farts its way through the afterlife.
So what's a virtue-signaling climate scold to do? Paper is recyclable but not always practical. Not only do they tear open all too easily, but they are fully open at the top; here in the Great Land, many grocery store parking lots are surrounded by a cadre of ravens, who perch on the light posts and roof tops waiting for a careless shopper to leave a cart full of groceries untended for a moment to open their vehicle. Ravens are amazingly intelligent, even to the point where they can identify their favorite plunder - usually meat - among the other groceries, and they only need a few seconds to land, grab their booty, and fly away.
Climate scolds, therefore, have their fall-back: Reusable tote bags.
Dr. Samantha MacBride of Baruch College offers a clue. She notes that plastic bags “perpetuate the fossil fuel industry,” and that “system needs to retract if we’re going to have a future.” Ah, there it is. The issue isn’t just emissions or landfill space. It’s symbolism. Plastic is original sin. Paper is purgatory. And totes—well, they’re your chance at salvation, provided you repent and reuse until your shoulder gives out.
One would suppose that the climate scolds' virtue-signaling has become more important to them lately, as they have lost several high-profile battles in the real world lately.
See Also: US Supreme Court Finally Shuts Down Children's Climate Lawsuit
The Energy Transition That Isn't - Growth of Renewables Just Isn't There
Now, full disclosure: Let's not be too quick to assume that the use of these bags is always a virtue signal. We use reusable bags for our monthly grocery shopping. When you have to travel a ways to get to the grocer, and when you buy a month's worth of groceries at a time, the stouter bags are more practical for hauling your purchases home - they hold up better in the truck - and schlepping all your stuff into the house. We also bring a soft folding cooler for freezer/refrigerator stuff. But up here in the Great Land, conditions on the ground are quite different; you don't see many Birkenstock-wearing urban types with dreadlocks and hemp clothing carrying their cloth bags into Whole Foods to buy arugula.
Well, not outside of Anchorage, anyway.
Yes, the left loves to virtue-signal, and you know, that's OK. Life can be hectic and, at times, stressful, and we can always use something to point and laugh at.
