School children march through the city center carrying a banner during a demonstration calling for action on climate change in South Africa, on June 14, 2019, in Cape Town, as part of the international "Extinction Rebellion" (XR) protests. (Photo by RODGER BOSCH/AFP/Getty Images)
A Father's Day Gift for Myself: Activism
My two-year old will barely be the age I am now when the climate catastrophe comes, and that realization is taking a toll.
News about climate change has been so spooky for so long that it can feel like background noise. We find a way to carry on like normal, even when the news is disquieting.
Well, let me tell you I'm having a moment when it's hard to do that.
For me the trigger was a recent report by Australia's Breakthrough National Center for Climate Restoration, which warns of "a near- to mid-term existential threat to human civilization."
How near-term? "The scale of destruction" by 2050, they wrote, "is beyond our capacity to model -- with a high likelihood of human civilization coming to an end."
In 30 short years, everything modern humans have built could be rent apart by an ecological catastrophe of our own making. Sorry, but that prediction's too specific -- and too near -- to tune out.
Donald Trump and his science-denying cohort have the luxury of being dead by then. But I'm in my early 30s. In 2050 I won't even be eligible to draw down the modest retirement savings I finally started setting aside (and am already wondering if it's worth it).
Most terrifying of all, my two-year old will have barely reached the age I am now. That realization is taking a toll.
Every little moment with my toddler is now darkened by a fear about what his future holds. This morning I nearly shuddered with grief when he hugged me goodbye and asked me to finish the oatmeal he'd left sitting out.
The night before, even though he was tired, I found myself drawing out the songs and stories we do before bedtime, just to prolong the sweet moments before he learns what kind of world he lives in.
When I finally told my wife what was eating at me, she confessed the same. "When I give him a bath," she said, "I wonder if I'll look back someday and just not believe we had water to use." (In fact, that's a reality millions of Americans already live today.)
It feels crazy, but we're not alone. In a Morning Consult survey, a third of young adults cited climate change as a reason to put off having kids they otherwise wanted.
Even worse, many politicians are unabashedly on the side of collapse. The Trump administration is loosening pollution controls right and left, censoring climate science, and pushing for 20-year prison sentences for activists who disrupt pipeline construction -- even as those pipelines pump poison into our atmosphere.
In Texas, they're pushing to sentence pipeline protesters on par with attempted murderers.
And here in Ohio, where my wife and I settled after years away to be near our toddler's grandparents, state Republicans are trying to use "clean energy" funds to bail out coal and nuclear plants. This is utterly insane.
Floods are submerging huge swaths of the Midwest. And in Dayton, the city where I grew up, armed people are remaining in their tornado-devastated homes for fear of their remaining possessions being looted.
When you see that in your hometown, it's easier to imagine the wheels coming off everywhere else.
The silver lining is seeing movements waking up -- really waking up -- to what climate change means and how desperately we need to remake our societies to address it.
Hundreds of thousands of children have walked out of school demanding their right to a future. Hardworking activists put the Green New Deal front and center of the Democratic primary. In Europe, Greens won big in the last parliamentary elections.
When I look at my innocent little child, I feel enormous gratitude for these people. And as a Father's Day gift for myself, I'm resolving to join them.
If you or anyone you love is still going to be here in 30 years, I hope you will too.
Urgent. It's never been this bad.
Dear Common Dreams reader, It’s been nearly 30 years since I co-founded Common Dreams with my late wife, Lina Newhouser. We had the radical notion that journalism should serve the public good, not corporate profits. It was clear to us from the outset what it would take to build such a project. No paid advertisements. No corporate sponsors. No millionaire publisher telling us what to think or do. Many people said we wouldn't last a year, but we proved those doubters wrong. Together with a tremendous team of journalists and dedicated staff, we built an independent media outlet free from the constraints of profits and corporate control. Our mission from the outset was simple. To inform. To inspire. To ignite change for the common good. Building Common Dreams was not easy. Our survival was never guaranteed. When you take on the most powerful forces—Wall Street greed, fossil fuel industry destruction, Big Tech lobbyists, and uber-rich oligarchs who have spent billions upon billions rigging the economy and democracy in their favor—the only bulwark you have is supporters who believe in your work. But here’s the urgent message from me today. It’s never been this bad out there. And it’s never been this hard to keep us going. At the very moment Common Dreams is most needed and doing some of its best and most important work, the threats we face are intensifying. Right now, with just two days to go in our Spring Campaign, we're falling short of our make-or-break goal. When everyone does the little they can afford, we are strong. But if that support retreats or dries up, so do we. Can you make a gift right now to make sure Common Dreams not only survives but thrives? There is no backup plan or rainy day fund. There is only you. —Craig Brown, Co-founder |
News about climate change has been so spooky for so long that it can feel like background noise. We find a way to carry on like normal, even when the news is disquieting.
Well, let me tell you I'm having a moment when it's hard to do that.
For me the trigger was a recent report by Australia's Breakthrough National Center for Climate Restoration, which warns of "a near- to mid-term existential threat to human civilization."
How near-term? "The scale of destruction" by 2050, they wrote, "is beyond our capacity to model -- with a high likelihood of human civilization coming to an end."
In 30 short years, everything modern humans have built could be rent apart by an ecological catastrophe of our own making. Sorry, but that prediction's too specific -- and too near -- to tune out.
Donald Trump and his science-denying cohort have the luxury of being dead by then. But I'm in my early 30s. In 2050 I won't even be eligible to draw down the modest retirement savings I finally started setting aside (and am already wondering if it's worth it).
Most terrifying of all, my two-year old will have barely reached the age I am now. That realization is taking a toll.
Every little moment with my toddler is now darkened by a fear about what his future holds. This morning I nearly shuddered with grief when he hugged me goodbye and asked me to finish the oatmeal he'd left sitting out.
The night before, even though he was tired, I found myself drawing out the songs and stories we do before bedtime, just to prolong the sweet moments before he learns what kind of world he lives in.
When I finally told my wife what was eating at me, she confessed the same. "When I give him a bath," she said, "I wonder if I'll look back someday and just not believe we had water to use." (In fact, that's a reality millions of Americans already live today.)
It feels crazy, but we're not alone. In a Morning Consult survey, a third of young adults cited climate change as a reason to put off having kids they otherwise wanted.
Even worse, many politicians are unabashedly on the side of collapse. The Trump administration is loosening pollution controls right and left, censoring climate science, and pushing for 20-year prison sentences for activists who disrupt pipeline construction -- even as those pipelines pump poison into our atmosphere.
In Texas, they're pushing to sentence pipeline protesters on par with attempted murderers.
And here in Ohio, where my wife and I settled after years away to be near our toddler's grandparents, state Republicans are trying to use "clean energy" funds to bail out coal and nuclear plants. This is utterly insane.
Floods are submerging huge swaths of the Midwest. And in Dayton, the city where I grew up, armed people are remaining in their tornado-devastated homes for fear of their remaining possessions being looted.
When you see that in your hometown, it's easier to imagine the wheels coming off everywhere else.
The silver lining is seeing movements waking up -- really waking up -- to what climate change means and how desperately we need to remake our societies to address it.
Hundreds of thousands of children have walked out of school demanding their right to a future. Hardworking activists put the Green New Deal front and center of the Democratic primary. In Europe, Greens won big in the last parliamentary elections.
When I look at my innocent little child, I feel enormous gratitude for these people. And as a Father's Day gift for myself, I'm resolving to join them.
If you or anyone you love is still going to be here in 30 years, I hope you will too.
News about climate change has been so spooky for so long that it can feel like background noise. We find a way to carry on like normal, even when the news is disquieting.
Well, let me tell you I'm having a moment when it's hard to do that.
For me the trigger was a recent report by Australia's Breakthrough National Center for Climate Restoration, which warns of "a near- to mid-term existential threat to human civilization."
How near-term? "The scale of destruction" by 2050, they wrote, "is beyond our capacity to model -- with a high likelihood of human civilization coming to an end."
In 30 short years, everything modern humans have built could be rent apart by an ecological catastrophe of our own making. Sorry, but that prediction's too specific -- and too near -- to tune out.
Donald Trump and his science-denying cohort have the luxury of being dead by then. But I'm in my early 30s. In 2050 I won't even be eligible to draw down the modest retirement savings I finally started setting aside (and am already wondering if it's worth it).
Most terrifying of all, my two-year old will have barely reached the age I am now. That realization is taking a toll.
Every little moment with my toddler is now darkened by a fear about what his future holds. This morning I nearly shuddered with grief when he hugged me goodbye and asked me to finish the oatmeal he'd left sitting out.
The night before, even though he was tired, I found myself drawing out the songs and stories we do before bedtime, just to prolong the sweet moments before he learns what kind of world he lives in.
When I finally told my wife what was eating at me, she confessed the same. "When I give him a bath," she said, "I wonder if I'll look back someday and just not believe we had water to use." (In fact, that's a reality millions of Americans already live today.)
It feels crazy, but we're not alone. In a Morning Consult survey, a third of young adults cited climate change as a reason to put off having kids they otherwise wanted.
Even worse, many politicians are unabashedly on the side of collapse. The Trump administration is loosening pollution controls right and left, censoring climate science, and pushing for 20-year prison sentences for activists who disrupt pipeline construction -- even as those pipelines pump poison into our atmosphere.
In Texas, they're pushing to sentence pipeline protesters on par with attempted murderers.
And here in Ohio, where my wife and I settled after years away to be near our toddler's grandparents, state Republicans are trying to use "clean energy" funds to bail out coal and nuclear plants. This is utterly insane.
Floods are submerging huge swaths of the Midwest. And in Dayton, the city where I grew up, armed people are remaining in their tornado-devastated homes for fear of their remaining possessions being looted.
When you see that in your hometown, it's easier to imagine the wheels coming off everywhere else.
The silver lining is seeing movements waking up -- really waking up -- to what climate change means and how desperately we need to remake our societies to address it.
Hundreds of thousands of children have walked out of school demanding their right to a future. Hardworking activists put the Green New Deal front and center of the Democratic primary. In Europe, Greens won big in the last parliamentary elections.
When I look at my innocent little child, I feel enormous gratitude for these people. And as a Father's Day gift for myself, I'm resolving to join them.
If you or anyone you love is still going to be here in 30 years, I hope you will too.