Permafrost in Herschel Island. Photo: Boris Radosavljevic / Wikimedia Commons.
‘I’ve made a list of ten things to do, right now.’
Alison Leonard has some cold comfort in the 'Thought for the week'
Two things came together recently. The first was watching Simon Reeve’s TV series about Russia, in particular the moments he spent watching the melting of Siberian permafrost. ‘When that goes,’ he said, ‘the land gives up its stores of methane. Methane is a far worse climate-changer than carbon. The results will be catastrophic.’ The second was watching a huddle of Extinction Rebellion activists sheltering from torrential rain in Manchester. Their drums were still drumming, their cymbals still clashing, their voices still shouting against the thundering torrent: ‘What do we want? Climate action! When do we want it? Now!’
A third key moment came later: the memory of protesting at Greenham Common in the 1980s, standing at the air base fence, shouting out our songs to distract police attention from other women’s wire-cutting action farther along. I and another woman found ourselves face to face with the flaring nostrils of police horses, and moments later, we stood, breathless, weeping, far away from the whole demonstration. Instinctively, we had fled from the action we had come to fulfil.
I’m absolutely with the activists of Extinction Rebellion, and support them in every way I can. But I find that I can’t join them in their street actions. That’s mainly for practical reasons: a seventy-five-year-old bladder and a tendency to claustrophobia. When there’s an emergency, it’s important not to become a victim of the action you’re there to support.
So, how can I help? I’ve made a list of ten things to do, right now. My numbers one to nine are meditative (‘Deepen the quiet inner space’) or practical (‘Look at each meal and each journey for its climate impact’). My number ten combines both: ‘Watch out for openings.’ I’m especially watching out for ways of confronting the pig-headedness of our Brexit-soaked society and persuading it to turn, in every possible way, towards decarbonising our economy.
I’ve also found a number eleven: I’m reconnecting to the work of Joanna Macy, who inspired me in the 1980s and who, in her old age, is still at work today. She helps me to accept the grief that I feel about the possible end of human life on this planet. ‘That grief,’ she says, ‘if you are afraid of it and pave it over… it shuts you down… Our difficulty in looking at what we’re doing to our world stems not from callous indifference or ignorance, so much as it stems from fear of pain… [But] when we look at it, when we take it in our hands, just be with it and keep breathing, then it turns. It turns to reveal its other face. The other face of our pain for the world is our love for the world, our absolutely inseparable connectedness with all life.’
I can’t persuade Vladimir Putin to stop the thawing of Siberian permafrost. I may not be able to get the UK government to reverse its decision to expand Heathrow. But I can make connections, and give support, and listen to inspirational voices like Joanna Macy’s. And I can travel deep inside myself in Meeting for Worship, and connect with others doing the same. I’ll see you there, Friend.
