I Wanted to Save the World

 I Wanted to Save the World

I have been thinking about an old blog post I wrote years ago.

The title was: “Social Movements Don't Die Out, THEY GROW!!”

I was writing about Fury for the Sound: The Women at Clayoquot, a documentary about the women who fought the clearcutting of Clayoquot Sound. Women, children, grandmothers, activists and elders stood together to protect the rainforest. Some were arrested. Some went to jail. The logging company kept photographs and records of protesters. It was a powerful and frightening reminder that standing up for the land can come with a price.

And then, years later, we watched similar battles unfold at Fairy Creek.

Sometimes it feels like we have learned very little.

About ten years ago, I was part of a Carving and Reconciliation cohort at Langara. I remember Mary Jane, an Indigenous elder who was Elder in Residence. I had so many ideas and so much energy.

At one point she simply said to me:

“You do them. I am tired.”

I didn't understand then how deeply those words would eventually come back to me.

I am tired now too.

I think I know what originally pushed me so hard. I remember seeing images of children being detained at the U.S. border. Children in cages. Children treated like numbers.

It horrified me.

My child is half Mexican. These were Mexican children.

Something inside me said, I have to do something.

I think many of us believed that with the internet, all this information and all these connections, we could finally change the world. We could expose injustice, organize people, share knowledge and make governments listen.

I believed that.

I still believe knowledge matters.

But ten years later, I look around and wonder what happened.

We have more information than any generation in history, yet we are still arguing about whether we should keep expanding fossil fuels while forests burn every summer. People hear the warnings, see the smoke and watch communities lose their homes—and then someone is still setting off fireworks when everything around us is dry.

We have known about climate change for decades.

We have known about disappearing species.

We have known about pollution.

We have known about the consequences of endless consumption.

And still, somehow, money keeps winning.

Maybe that is one of the hardest things for me to understand.

So much of our identity has become tied to the system that is causing the problem. Cars, oil, mining, consumption, endless growth. People depend on these industries for their livelihoods, their pensions and their sense of security. Changing the system can feel like threatening their entire lives.

But what happens when protecting the old system means making the future less secure for our children?

That is the question I keep coming back to.

I don't hate people who work in oil, construction, transportation or other industries that aren't “green.” People need jobs. Families need homes. People need to eat.

What I want is a transition where people aren't abandoned while the economy changes.

Canada could invest in clean energy, public transportation, batteries, agriculture, ecological restoration, safer communities and all the technologies and industries that will matter in the future.

Instead, we keep being told that another pipeline is necessary.

And I keep thinking about Tzeporah Berman and the women of Clayoquot.

They were fighting this battle decades ago.

The forests were worth protecting then.

The children were worth protecting then.

And they still are.

Maybe the world really has become darker in some ways. There is certainly more suffering than I can comfortably think about.

But perhaps the answer isn't to stop caring.

Perhaps it is to understand that one person cannot carry the whole world.

For years I thought I had to do my part to save the world—to protect the environment, to protect children, to make things better for my own child.

And the strangest, saddest part is that my child doesn't even talk to me now.

Ten years of silence can make a person question everything.

But I'm beginning to understand something.

My child not speaking to me doesn't mean my love wasn't real.

And the world not becoming what I hoped doesn't mean the dream was foolish.

I wanted a better world.

Was that really such a terrible thing?

Maybe I don't have to save the world anymore.

Maybe I can make paintings.

Write books.

Tell stories.

Talk to people.

Hug trees when nobody is looking. 🌲

And when I am tired, perhaps I can finally sit down.

Mary Jane said:

“You do them. I am tired.”

I think I finally understand.

Sometimes the work is passed from one generation to another.

Sometimes we carry it.

Sometimes we rest.

And sometimes, after giving everything we have, we simply have to trust that someone else will pick it up.

I hope they do.

#ClimateChange #EnvironmentalActivism #ClayoquotSound #TzeporahBerman #EnvironmentalJustice #IndigenousReconciliation #ClimateAction #ProtectThePlanet #SocialMovements #HopeForTheFuture