As many of you know, I was supposed to head to Paris this morning. I had packed and checked in online when the news of the attacks began to rush in. For the moment, I am staying in London, prolonging my time here by a few days while I gauge when the safest time to go to Paris may be.
Thank you all for your concern, and please keep Paris (as well as the many other cities and regions worldwide targeted by violence and fear) in your prayers.
I am writing this from my kitchen table at home in Montreal, from where I’ll be flying to Europe tomorrow. I can’t believe how quickly the time seems to race by: we are officially less than a month away from the conference that I’ve been thinking about for years now.
I don’t think I can ever be prepared for COP21; I know it will all just fly by and feel like a blur. I have been following the negotiating texts, and know not to expect the “miracle agreement” the media have been feeding us. As it stands, we have no reason to believe there will be a miracle in Paris. Nonetheless, COP21 will be a moment for climate change.
Climate justice organizers are riding on the heels of yet another big victory: the Keystone XL pipeline was fully rejected by U.S. President Barack Obama just two days ago. To think that in 2011, the pipeline was considered a done deal – we have come a long way.
So, what should we expect from Paris? I am less interested by the negotiating text itself, and more interested by what civil society produces. We’re on track to have one of the largest rallies and acts of peaceful civil disobedience take place in the lead up to COP21. How will we mobilize? More importantly, how will we react and move forward once COP21 ends?
I strongly believe Paris stands to be the end of the beginning. Whereas COP15 in Copenhagen was a deflating moment for climate justice, I believe COP21 could be an accelerator for these movements. Rather than focus only on the texts that Paris will or will not deliver, I would like to also focus on the movement we would like to build after Paris.
With solar and wind energy technologies skyrocketing, the stalling of Alberta tar sands production, and world leaders making bold statements on climate change, I honestly think we would be selling ourselves short if we thought COP21 is the only opportunity we’ve got for climate action. We are capable of so much more than that – we are creating these opportunities for ourselves.
B”H
It begins! Thank goodness I have 6-month borrowing privileges..
I’m definitely not the only engaged scholar out there, but there aren’t many researchers who are also members of the communities they are studying. I think about my community organizing as research: which tactics work, and which don’t?
Why are certain things the way they are? Did they always use to be like this?
Where do systems of power lie? How can we elevate marginalized voices?
How did our society come to be based on fossil fuels?
Why haven’t we moved forward to renewable energy sources such as wind and solar?
Organizing is effective when we do our research. Social change can definitely be unpredictable, but we can also certainly learn much from past movements, and their failures and successes.
This week, I am working on my literature review. I don’t know if I can ever finish learning about social movements, climate science, or renewable energy politics – but my goal is to compile my own mini encyclopedia of any nuggets of wisdom I may encounter reading about these topics. As I sit at the gigantic 16-person table in our office, I look out at the stacks of books and newspaper articles in front of me, and it feels daunting. In the same way, climate change as a social problem feels daunting to activists: where do we even begin?
Distilling information is a useful skill, regardless of the context.
These are the questions I have been asking myself, (inspired by this great handout from the University of Toronto):
A good literature review is narrow enough that it is manageable, but broad enough that it may be considered comprehensive. Needless to say, the balance is tough to strike. The best literature reviews, I am told, are written with consideration and purpose of your broader research goal, rather than being a descriptive list of written summaries.
This is my first “real-deal” literature review – here we go!
On the Greenlandic ice sheet BH, July 2013. Photo: Leehi Yona
I first took an environmental biology class when I was sixteen – before then, I had no interest in the natural world, let alone knew what climate change even was.
So, how did I end up devoting my entire final year of my undergraduate career studying climate solutions instead of taking classes?
Once I started thinking about climate change, I couldn’t think about anything else. You see, once I learned about the intense challenges that lie ahead in a world with human-caused global warming, I was struck by how interconnected every other major political and social issue is to climate change: education, development, national security, health, jobs – you name it.
Climate change is, without a doubt, a wicked problem of monumental proportions – I felt compelled to do something about it.
The more I began studying the problem, the more I realized I didn’t know. As a young person who became acutely aware of how her future would be impacted by action (or lack thereof) on climate change, I suddenly found that climate justice demanded my attention.
I couldn’t possibly be doing anything else.
(This media piece was published in ClimateHome.)
President Obama spoke of his daughters at the Glacier meeting in Alaska, but it was a cab driver whose words hit home
By Leehi Yona
I spent the past few days in Anchorage, Alaska – sometimes in the same room as John Kerry and Barack Obama – but the most incredible words I heard came from a cab driver.
The conference I attended, the Glacier (Global Leadership in the Arctic: Cooperation, Innovation, Engagement, and Resilience) summit, brought together foreign ministers from twenty Arctic and observer nations. It was billed as a crowning moment for climate change, with both the United States secretary of state and president as keynote speakers, among a list of other high-profile attendees.
Yet, the conference has ended mere hours ago and all I can remember are the words of Agron, a kind cab driver I’d briefly met while traveling on Sunday.
(Anchorage Yellow Taxi, if you’re reading this – give the man a raise.)
Agron was remarkable not only because of what he said, but also because he said it without knowing that I was even going to the conference, let alone that I am a climate justice organiser.
“Something is going on here,” he said. “I’ve been in Alaska seventeen years, and every year it is getting warmer. I didn’t even use my snowblower once this winter.”
But here’s where it gets better: “We need to do something, but people are scared of what climate change will do and scared of changing. Don’t get me wrong. I love my 700 horse power car. You have no idea what muscle cars I have right now. I love cars like Jay Leno.
“But I have three kids. I think of my children and grandchildren, and I’d be willing to give it up for them. People are selfish and greedy, but we need to care for future generations.”
And, the kicker: “I’m not a scientist, but there are some facts you can’t ignore. You gotta be a dumb*ss not to realize something is happening.”
When I told him I was going to Glacier, he encouraged me in a way that no adult has before, let alone a complete stranger. “Raise your voice! Wherever you go! No matter how important the people there are. Young people, this is your future!”
Young people.
We are young, and terrified. President Obama delivered a speech documenting how bad things would get in the Arctic. “We will condemn our children to a planet beyond their capacity to repair,” he said.
My future. Our future. My generation. Much as I hate to admit it, tears rolled down my cheeks.
But beyond the sob story, the tokenising of young people as “the future”, we were left voiceless at this conference. We were sidelined, kept for photo opportunities.
An Arctic Youth Ambassador program was created, so young people could “blog” and “tweet” but not be given a seat at the table. Of the dozens and dozens of speakers at Glacier, not a single person was young, let alone a young woman and/or person of colour. In fact, while ceremonial statements were delivered, not a single tangible action served as an outcome to the conference.
What does that say about how much these world leaders value our future?
Obama and Kerry spoke of us. They spoke of the horrors their generation is bequesting to us. Obama spoke of his daughters, of the need for us to act in Paris this December for future generations. He spoke of what was at stake.
But I wonder if government officials love their children enough. I wonder if they love us enough to act beyond rhetoric and commit to the ambitious targets the Paris intended nationally determined contributions (INDCs) were created to motivate. I wonder if they love us enough to freeze new fossil fuel infrastructure projects, to divest, to ban Arctic drilling. I wonder if they love us enough to invest in the adaptation some of us will now require. I wonder if they love us at all.
When I came to Alaska last week, I went hiking. Only when I saw glaciers again did I realize that I’d left parts of my soul strewn across the Arctic, scattered among the fireweed.
My heart breaks for the immense love and fear I hold for this place. I wonder how long it will take for decision makers’ love for their children, for the world, to overcome their fear of change.
Do we love ourselves enough to leap and make this world better?
As I left the cab Sunday, I thanked Agron and asked him to keep talking to his riders, especially if he comes across a government representative.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I plan on talking to all the old farts about this.”