Here’s a thought: In responding to the climate crisis, what if less is actually more?
That’s the question animating Associate Professor Ruhan Nagra’s current research. As an environmental justice expert and faculty member at Utah Law’s Wallace Stegner Center for Land, Resources and the Environment, Nagra knows the urgent need for action on climate change. And she’s acutely aware that the effects of the crisis often impact marginalized communities most.
But there’s also increasing evidence that the most prominent solutions being put forward—such as transitioning to renewable energy—bring their own negative impacts and may even be unrealistic on their own, given the tight timeline we’re on.
So, what to do when we’re faced with what seems like an impossible situation?
Nagra’s research focuses on the concept of “degrowth”—the idea that the best and most equitable option for addressing the climate crisis is to produce and consume less as a society and economy. While the idea has traction in other parts of the world, it’s been largely overlooked in the United States.
Nagra is seeking to change that.
“So far, the discussion of the climate crisis in the U.S. has focused on the transition to renewable energy,” she says. “But it’s not feasible to continue growing the economy and also expect to transition to 100% renewable energy on the timeline we need.”
“Perpetual economic growth demands constantly increasing production and consumption, which increases energy demand,” explains Nagra. “And if energy demand is constantly increasing, we just can’t roll out renewables fast enough to avert the climate crisis. From an empirical standpoint, the ‘green growth’ path is totally unviable.”
The hidden cost of renewables
There are other problems. Much of the switch to renewable energy relies on “transition minerals,” the raw materials such as lithium that are used in batteries and other renewable energy technology. There’s a growing awareness that—although these minerals are ultimately helping us move away from fossil fuels—mining them leads to serious environmental degradation, with impacts often hitting marginalized communities hardest.
“The green growth pathway is socially unjust because of its materially extractive nature,” says Nagra. “It relies on heavy extraction of minerals that are predominantly located in Global South countries and, to a lesser extent, on Indigenous reservations in the U.S. and in Global North countries. So who bears the burdens? We absolutely need the renewable energy transition. But we have to ensure that the transition is feasible, as socially just as possible, and ecologically sound.”
Rebalancing priorities
The concept of degrowth offers an alternative pathway.
“Instead of indiscriminately growing all sectors of the economy, what we should really be doing is having democratic discussions about what parts of the economy actually need to grow, and what parts need to shrink or remain in a steady state,” says Nagra.
For instance, we might choose to continue to grow the renewable energy technology sector, while de-emphasizing sectors that have negative impacts on society.
“Degrowth is a call for reducing production and consumption in a planned and deliberate way,” she says. “It’s not saying, ‘Let’s let the economy crash and burn.’ It’s saying, ‘Let’s do this in a very intentional manner.’ If we do, we can actually improve well-being for all, and save our planet.”
Nagra sees our present moment as a prime opportunity to jumpstart discussion about degrowth in the U.S. There’s increasing interest in mining transition minerals in our own country, rather than importing them from elsewhere. That means the damaging effects of extraction are increasingly impacting communities in the U.S.—and are becoming more obvious to the American public.
“It feels very pie-in-the-sky to be talking about this type of deep, structural, transformative change,” says Nagra. “But I also think that we need to seize the narrative about feasibility—because the path that we’re on right now is completely infeasible. And degrowth is ultimately about very common-sense solutions, like ending planned obsolescence and expanding public goods. Our attachment to the status quo is a result of deep cultural and social conditioning; if we could de-program ourselves, I think many of these solutions would seem self-evident.”
Scholarship and practice converge
Nagra’s focus on degrowth emerged from her work in the Environmental Justice Clinic, which she established at Utah Law in 2023. The clinic provides opportunities for students to address a range of environmental injustices in partnership with Indigenous communities in Utah and across the southwest. The clinic has devoted much of its attention to southeastern Utah, home to parts of the Navajo Nation and Ute Mountain Ute reservations—as well as major energy development projects like the Aneth Oil Field.
For years, those who live on or near this oil field have experienced high rates of health problems associated with pollution exposure.
“In many cases their houses are right next to oil and gas wells, and they’re dealing with day-to-day acute health impacts,” says Nagra. “Community members will send a photo of a massive emissions plume, or they’ll call and report that they and their family members are experiencing acute health symptoms,” she says.
The region is a center for other kinds of development as well: in recent years, for instance, an energy company has proposed a new hydrogen pipeline that would stretch 200 miles across the Navajo Nation.
“The narrative around the pipeline was ‘clean energy,’” says Nagra, since hydrogen power has been discussed as an alternative to fossil fuels. “But our clinic has been working with a coalition of community members who are very concerned about the pipeline.”
It’s a prime example of the growing impacts of green energy development on marginalized communities.
“The renewable energy transition has given corporations new ammunition to push development projects in Indigenous communities,” she says. “And even if those projects are good for the climate, there’s a cost that certain communities are made to bear. So how do we balance this in our overall plan to address the climate crisis? In my scholarship, I’m trying to marry the clinic’s local advocacy work with bigger-picture issues.”
“The community drives the conversation”
A certain “less is more” approach characterizes the Environmental Justice Clinic’s work. Nagra says it’s essential for the communities with whom the clinic works to set the agenda around their needs and priorities.
“You could have a clinic where all your work is top-down litigation and very lawyer-centric,” she says. “But to me, running an environmental justice clinic means doing the work in a way that empowers communities, and doing everything we can to meet their goals and needs. We try to make sure the focus is on them, not us.”
This approach is evident in a project the clinic is working on in partnership with the Ute Mountain Ute community of White Mesa. The town is located next to the White Mesa Uranium Mill, which has been frequently cited as a source of radioactive contamination in the air and groundwater. Residents have been fighting for more accountability for years.
“We did a health survey at the community’s request, because they’re very concerned about health impacts from the mill,” Nagra says. “We’re now in the process of analyzing and processing the data,” which will then be provided to the community. From there, the residents of White Mesa will decide how they want to use the data in their advocacy going forward.
“We start our engagement with a blank slate, and let the community drive the conversation,” says Nagra. “We seek to do this work in a community-engaged way that ends with the community feeling like it has more power and is better-equipped to tackle other challenges moving forward. That matters just as much, or more, than the outcome or product of a particular project.”
For Nagra, this principle of community empowerment drives both her scholarly work and her on-the-ground efforts through the Environmental Justice Clinic.
“I subscribe to a power-based theory of social change—that change happens when we succeed in shifting power,” she says. “To me, this is what environmental justice is about: How do we get power back in the hands of affected communities, so they can fight for just futures and be in charge of their own destinies?”
It’s a potent question—and one that Nagra hopes will drive more discussions, both local and global, as we shape our collective future.