✊On how to build an activist

while pushing for the 3.5%.

Dear activists, and activists in the making,

These last few weeks, I’ve found myself revisiting many of my earliest memories of climate and environmental activism (as you’ll see in the eco-story below). I’ve been thinking about when it all starts — that moment when something switches in our minds and compels us to act. What do we need to see to react? And more importantly, how can I transfer that sense of urgency to others, while our house is already on fire and most seem not to understand?

I guess it becomes clearer — or more obvious — when we find ourselves with no other choice. When we’re forced to fight for our land, the ecosystems we are a part of, the nature that sustains us. When no other solution exists, activism lights the way. Direct action becomes the only possibility.

It’s both a blessing and a curse that these moments of being forced into activism are happening in so many places around the world at once — like this week, when Hawaiian people were attacked by their central government while trying to protect the islands they call home. It certainly happened to many in Canada ahead of their elections, hence the results.

Activism moves the world. It moves us, defends us, and fights for us all.

I often find myself wondering what my life would be like if activism weren’t such a central part of it. If I wasn’t so focused on this path. And then I think about a couple of generations from now — about the children of today, and those yet to come — and the uncertainty they’ll face.

And I picture them, quite fairly, asking us — those who still had the ability to act — what we did. They look me straight in the eyes and ask, “What did you do when there was still a fighting chance?”“What did you do when you saw this coming?”

I think I know when my journey started. I don’t know where it will lead me, but I’m sure of one thing:
I will be able to say that, at the very least — like those who helped during the Prestige catastrophe — I truly tried my best.

Hopefully, there’s still plenty of time before that moment comes. And when it does, I’m sure we’ll be able to tell them how hopeless this all once seemed — and how, despite it all, we joined forces and fought.

Helena Constela, Head of Content

🗞️ In Climate News

📈 Cool Trends

♾️ eco-story

I met my six-year-old self last night.
She couldn’t sleep. She was scared.

She only wanted to talk about the seagulls and the cormorants, the fish and the dolphins she had seen covered in a thick, black layer—their feathers and wings glued together as they struggled to open them, their eyes shut. They were trying to survive under a petroleum blanket that spread faster than they could ever outrun it.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did they let it happen? Why are animals suffering? Why aren’t the waves moving? Why is the ocean black?”

I could have answered her. I could have explained that a handful of old men allowed it to happen. We could have talked about how they got away with it—how a carefully managed chain of irresponsibility and corruption let them walk free.

But she didn’t want to hear it. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have understood.

Twenty-three years later, I don’t think I understand it either.

🌏 The Culture Column

📺 What we’re watching: An Inconvenient Truth