Another day, another climate talk

“For sometime now I’ve been terribly worried. I wish I didn’t have to acknowledge it, but everything I have feared is happening.”

Dr Sarah Perkins, Climate Scientist

Another day, another climate talk. And as the climate march leading up to it, the summit itself and the various analyses fade into the media background within a week, I sense that I am another day closer to the conversation that, for the last nine years, I have been hoping and praying I would not have to have.

Nine years ago I gave birth to my son. The day he was born I promised I would protect him. I did not have to say it out loud or sign my name in blood. I simply knew with every cell of my body that I would do everything within my power to keep him from harm. In that moment I committed my life to his. After several decades of self-determination and self-centredness I finally understood what it meant for someone else’s life to be more important than my own.

He is like all children, yet he is special. He is cheeky and funny and sensitive and angry. When I look at him I see this overwhelming beauty and at the same time I know that other mothers look at their children in that same way. We are all uniquely the same. All capable of adoring with our eyes.

My son has lots of ambitions. “When I grow up, I am going to be an Olympic swimmer, a dancer, a film maker, a graphic designer, a cook and a Dad.” He tells me he wants to have two children.

“A boy and a girl, no two boys, maybe.”

“What will you call them?”

“Timothy and Paloma.”

“A boy called Paloma?”

“No! A boy and a girl!”

I tell him I will take them off to do naughty things and feed them lots of sweets, because that’s what grannies do. “That’s ok. As long as you don’t make them eat vegetables!” He flashes his cheekiest grin. I tackle him. We roll about on the sofa, laughing.

In those moments I pretend that I don’t know about climate change. That I haven’t read yet another report that states that we need to keep 80% of remaining fossil fuels in the ground if we want to keep any semblance of a liveable planet, that despite these warnings we are increasing global emissions and that if we continue on the same course we risk unstoppable climate change within 30 years. Within 30 years is about the time my son will decide whether or not to have children. He may decide not to. No Timothy or Paloma. I will probably be both sad and relieved.

It may be hard to imagine what a changed climate looks like until you see images of the Philippines after typhoon Haiyan or the extreme floods that killed nearly 6000 in Northern India in July 2013. Climate change is already happening. What lies ahead, if we don’t act, is more of these extremes reaching more areas of the planet. The earth is an interconnected system and the Global North will not remain buffered forever. But I don’t want to think about that right now. I don’t want to think about the things I love being lost. I just don’t want to think.

The fear, love and denial battle it out inside me. In a recent article in the Guardian something Naomi Klein writes captures my eye:

“The more beautiful the experience, the more I found myself grieving its loss – like someone unable to fall fully in love because she can’t stop imagining the inevitable heartbreak.”

The thing is, I have allowed myself to fall fully in love – with my beautiful boy, with the river where we go to swim, with the bullfinches that commune in the tree behind my house, with the sound of twigs breaking underfoot when I walk alone in the forest, with the lone fox standing in a field silhouetted against the sky, with the slow falling dark. I am also in love with the beauty that humans create: the music, the art, the stories we pass on from generation to generation, the food we make to celebrate, the poetry we write, the questions we ask, the way we express who we are in dance and song. With our passing that human gift will also fall silent. I am in love with the abundance of life on this earth and I ache when I think of its demise. Every day the love grows, every day the ache deepens.

I discover there’s a name for this pain. In 2003 Australian philosopher Glenn A Albrecht coined the term ‘solastalgia’.

“Solastalgia is the pain or sickness caused by the loss or lack of solace and the sense of desolation connected to the present state of one’s home and territory. It is the ‘lived experience’ of negative environmental change. It is the homesickness you have when you are still at home.”

I don’t know if I should feel comforted that this ‘condition’ has been recognised as such. The fact that we need a new term tells me that this pain has been felt by enough people for long enough to be distinguishable from other forms of anguish, and hidden inside its meaning is the dire admission that these things we love, that offer ‘potential for solace’, have been lost forever.

This week I have been working with a group of sustainability students. Young people in their early twenties, from relatively well off backgrounds who should have everything to look forward to. The matter-of-factness with which some of them speak about human extinction and ecological collapse chills me. I wonder when they concluded that the future had ended. I wonder whether behind the relaxed acceptance they are angry or terrified.

Perhaps it is possible to commit one’s self to life and to living fully within one’s values without the prospect of a bright future. Despite the apparent futility and hopelessness, so many of us continue to find ways to untangle ourselves from the deceptions and distractions of western civilisation and in our efforts we are building something new. From the mess we are attempting to create something of real value, even with what little time we may have. We are waking up to the realisation that the industrial growth system destroys so much of what we hold dear and provides only some of the things we really need – and even those at a cost we are no longer willing to pay. We are gathering together, supporting each other, sharing ideas, offering solace and solidarity. I cling to this tiny bit of hope.

Still, I suspect and fear that one day in the not too distant future I will have to have that conversation with my son. I will have to tell him the truth about the world that he has inherited. I will have to admit that the civilisation he was born into made the accumulation of financial gain more important than life on earth. That it told us that we were lazy and greedy, that we would be happy accumulating more consumer goods and conveniences at the expense of lives lived with effort, but in freedom. We believed it and acted accordingly. So we sacrificed the streams, the rivers, the aquifers and coral reefs and soil, the giant pandas, rhinos, elephants, butterflies, river dolphins, tigers and so many other lives so we could watch television and eat convenience foods. I will have to somehow explain that despite the warnings, the evidence, the protests, the marches, the creative community-led solutions, the devotion and commitment of millions, the scientific knowledge, the technical expertise available – that despite all this – so called democratically elected world leaders refused to take appropriate action.

And I will mourn my broken promise.
A view of home from Apollo 8, 1968

Is this how you feel? – Scientists describe how they feel about climate change.

Extract from Naomi Klein’s book This Changes Everything: Capitalism v The Climate

Glenn A Albrecht’s blog

11 Comments Add yours

  1. Murtagh's Meadow says:

    I have two young children and I feel exactly like you do – I just couldn’t put it down in words as eloquently as you have. Can I reblog you on my site?

    1. Inez Aponte says:

      Hi Karina,

      Of course you can reblog my post. And thanks for letting me know you feel the same. It took me ages to find the courage to actually post something about climate change and my despair as there doesn’t seem to be any place for those feelings. I hope and pray that for the sake of all our children we can turn it all around, and if not, that we can find the strength to support them and each other come what may.

      Wishing you well,

      1. Murtagh's Meadow says:

        Thank you for finding the courage Inex – it is such an important discussion we should all be having. I am sure there are lots more mothers (and fathers) who are thinking the same. I think it is inevitable that the world will change (our climate certainly is here in Ireland) – just how bad things will get no one knows. But by teaching our children vital skills, and showing them how humans can adapt to change, I think there is hope. What is that word people use – resilience – that is something we will all need for the future and hope too. Best wishes K

  2. Murtagh's Meadow says:

    Reblogged this on Murtagh's Meadow and commented:
    I wanted to share this post with you because I can’t stop thinking about it since I read it. Inez Aponte’s message about climate change comes from the heart. It is profound and begs us all to listen. Even if you are not a mother, you may be a father, a grandparent, uncle, aunt. This is about all our children’s future.

  3. ImaginEcoDesignBlog says:

    Your words reflect my same feelings: “I am in love with the abundance of life on this earth and I ache when I think of its demise. Every day the love grows, every day the ache deepens.” Thank you for saying these things so eloquently! I remain optimistic though it’s a daily challenge.

  4. Kate says:

    inez, this is powerful and moving. Beautifully written. so true and so hard to answer those emergent questions from our children….

  5. Graham says:

    Thanks for the post Inez, it’s hard not to share your anxieties. I was reminded that my parents told me that they had also had their own anxieties about bringing me into a dangerous and uncertain world in 1959, with an escalating cold war and nuclear weapons proliferation. Perhaps we were just lucky that the worst didn’t come to pass, or perhaps the subsequent campaigning efforts of our own generation had some discernible effect.

    It’s clear that the current debate on climate change and the catastrophic shortcomings of free market capitalism is widening. Surprising initiatives and converts appear daily. The new ‘story’ is unfolding, even though there will always be those who will resist it. And whilst it may take longer than we would have wanted, we might just have to trust that the paradigm shifts with time to spare. As with our generation, it is those who stand to be most affected who are likely to make the most effort to bring about change. I’ve recently met a lot of very capable young people who are passionate about searching for new ways forward and who already completely ‘get’ the new story. I’m encouraged that this new generation – our sons and daughters – is rising to the challenge.

    They may yet fail, but it is beautiful to behold.

  6. Robin says:

    Beautifully expressed Inez, thanks for sharing your thoughts, some of which I relate to in the context of being a parent.

  7. Shaun says:

    “Perhaps it is possible to commit one’s self to life and to living fully within one’s values without the prospect of a bright future”.

    It truly is.

    Speaking as one who promised to protect someone who is now dead.

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