Innocence in Activism
The face of my activism has changed many times over the past decade but there has been one constant; compassion. In these next few posts, I am going to tell a little of the story of my past decade as a self-proclaimed Social Activist. This first stage of my evolution I will call ‘Innocence.’
It started for me, like many people’s coming of age stories do, at university. I was lucky enough to have modules on sustainability in my degree course, and although minor, they offered a glimpse into an alternate reality from the status quo. Equally, I was blessed to have a couple of passionate lecturers, who, although I did not yet understand many of their arguments, showed me a conviction I had yet to experience in any other part of my life. Conviction and passion; two characteristics that can keep a person’s attention in its orbit.
My first foray into this new world of activism was aimed firmly at the hypocrisy- and ignorance, of my local authority. Their brazen attempt at green-wash — by outsourcing the creation of a local policy document to a big multinational corporate- had produced a hyped-up, substance-less report. The consultant-spun language was talking about a place alien to all the residents whom they were professing to save. The response came swiftly and frenetically, a community-led reaction that brought together the best minds of the city at a community level to create its own version. A far superior one. There were gatherings in meeting rooms that crept long into the night, spilling out into local pubs. The result was a list of suggestions, answers and imperatives that, although raw and a little rough, spelt out a vision and pathway the community was ready to jump on board with. We then used it to beat the powers that be around the head with until they succumbed to its logic.
The power of the will of the people swept me up and left me aching for more- like a person feeling the euphoria of their inaugural drug hit; believing in some way that they had found an answer and unlocked a secret room of their soul. This smash to first base came in the wake of the global success of the Transition Movement, the ominous message of campaigns like 350.org and Hundred Months and the march towards the COP15 talks in Copenhagen. We began to feel invincible like a switch had been flicked and the tide was ebbing our direction.
As with all pure highs, there inevitably comes a hangover. This swirl of momentum, a seemingly unstoppable force, faced an immovable object. An entrenched machine with tentacles of influence that reached every corner of the human experience. A projection of reality so vivid that it was almost impossible to not comprehend anything else as the enemy. And I, as a fresh face graduate was fully under-prepared for the harsh truth of that world.
For those of you who were involved in the Climate Movement in 2009, you will know there was a real sense of change. A real moment in time feeling. The Transition Movement had become the fastest social movement in the world and campaigns like the Hundred Month Club had set out a challenging but achievable timeline for global change. The leaders of the world were using appropriate rhetoric and offering action plans that deduced real commitments. But it never came. And it still hasn’t.
The altered state of how the world functions felt real. When any state is experienced it becomes true. Its void is filled with those experiences. The more people that experience it, the more form and validity it takes. This reality was real to me and millions of others around the world. Every differing perspective we took made sense from every side of the argument.
Maybe this was at the core of its failure. The millions of disrupted voices sang along to the same tune- but were all miming their own version of the words. Although it offered the dream of a better world in every facet of our existence may be, it ultimately did not have the lucidity to capture the attention and win over the mindset of the masses.
The desire for global equality, a world of abundance and a healthy planet, flourishing local economies, openness and freedom for all and an endless list of potential outcomes that would make life on this planet richer. They all fell deaf against the beating drum of the dominant hyperbole of the machine; GDP, GDP, GDP.
The relentless repetition of rhetoric that rallied against the undermining corporate profits, of threatening jobs and slowing down growth had hypnotised the world. The methodical march among trenches of capitalism had forced every other concept, theory and dream to perish in no-mans-land. This is where I found myself a depleted boy who had just lost his innocence, reeling from defeat and licking his wounds.
The compassion of the world was still waiting for its time to come and it was time for me to pivot and lean into what my heart was aching for.