| "Ladies and Gentlemen," says the man onstage. "I am very pleased to give you a sneak preview." He leans in over the podium, wearing a dark suit, his voice swelling over the clatter of knives and forks, the chatter of conversation in the hall.
It’s the keynote luncheon at Gas and Oil Exposition & Conference (GO-EXPO), Canada’s largest energy conference, held this year at Stampede Park. Of the 20,000 people at the event, only some 250 energy analysts and executives have paid $50 each to attend the luncheon. These folks are the lucky few who’ve come to hear "can’t miss" speaker, Mr. Lee Raymond, ex-CEO of ExxonMobil, and currently special advisor to the National Petroleum Council (NPC).
Sadly, Lee Raymond couldn’t come today. He’s in Washington advising President Bush on energy policy. Shepard K. Wolff, a policy analyst from the NPC, is speaking in his place. "I need to say how wonderful it is," says Wolff, "to see, on all the faces here today, the childlike exuberance of a great industry in full flower, biting deep into all of life’s opportunities, and, like a giddy and well-fed infant, savouring that life to the fullest."
I look around the room. It seems like no one’s paying attention. The women at my table, representatives from public relations companies, are talking about their night at Coyote’s. Well-dressed oilmen at the table to my right are laughing and networking between bites of succulent chicken.
"If climate science is right," says Wolff, "there’s a growing possibility of global calamities." War, death, flooding and migration could result from global warming, he adds, and, if so, "starving would become the new black." Luckily, ExxonMobil has developed a solution to the coming energy crisis, he explains, one that requires no changes to current energy policies and that derives energy directly from "this battery we call life." In the past, he says, "Animals were burned for light and warmth." A picture of a dead puffin appears on the wall-screen. "Even today," he says, "Shetland Islanders lop the heads off puffins and put wicks in the stumps to make candles." This makes little impression on the crowd. Those looking to the front are watching a live bird perched on top of the screen. "Look," says a woman at my table. "It’s a pigeon."
"To assure an uninterrupted supply of fuel in even the worst of calamities," says Wolff, "we need something like whales, but infinitely more abundant." An animation plays on the screen. Everyone at my table is watching the pigeon, now flapping near the rafters, and I’m watching, too, but a glimpse at the screen reveals a factory where bio-matter is being scrunched into blocks. "We’re calling this product Vivoleum," says Wolff. He extends an arm, welcoming Florian Osenberg from the Exxon Vivoleum program to the stage. Osenberg carries a lit candle in his hand. As he comes to the podium, several people stand up at a far table and fan out through the room, handing candles to the attendees. One by one the candles are lit. The stink of burning hair drifts in the room. A woman at my table looks at her candle, pressed into the shape of a man with a bulbous head. A cardboard skirt around the candle says, "Reggie Watts, 1971-2007."
"This is weird," she says. Onscreen, a video pictures a black janitor named Reggie Watts. Apparently, Watts developed a terminal illness and donated his body to Exxon. "I always wanted to be a candle," he says. Small print on the cardboard notes: "This candle is made of 80 per cent Vivoleum, sourced from an ExxonMobil employee."
"Vivoleum works in perfect synergy with the continued expansion of fossil fuel production," says Osenberg. "With more fossil fuels comes a greater chance of disaster, but that means more feedstock for Vivoleum. Fuel will continue to flow for those of us left."
Onstage there’s a commotion. Someone’s recognized the speakers and text-messaged the event organizers. One of them, a giant of a man, grips Osenberg and Wolff, forcing them from the stage. Journalists crowd around. "We're not talking about killing anyone," says Wolff. "After all, 150,000 people already die from climate-change-related effects every year. That's only going to go up – maybe way, way up. Will it all go to waste? That would be cruel."
Two hours later, at the back entrance of the Roundup Centre, Wolff and Osenberg (real names Andy Bichlbaum and Mike Bonanno, activist pranksters from New York known as The Yes Men,) walk out with two policemen. They’ve been fined $300, but everyone is smiling. "I can’t condone what you do," says one of the policemen, "but I’d like to shake your hand." They shake hands, and The Yes Men are free. |
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