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How does one come to care about a place, about a community? Is it a straightforward path of experiences and relationships and memories, or is it a winding road of growing, of learning what is important to you, what you care about and what you cherish?

Learning to value the community I now live in and the importance of sharing my climate story took some time, but I think I am on the right path.

My first steps on that path started in northern Minnesota: sledding in the winter, spending summers near the water, and exploring the trails and woods behind my house. The trail was pretty straightforward until I was 14 and my family decided to move to Dhaka, Bangladesh. Previously, I had only traveled to Montana, Arkansas, and Ontario, Canada. So, there was a TINY bit of culture shock as I stepped off the plane, and a wave of heat and humidity hit me in the face.

Growing up in a family and community of privilege, I had been sheltered from many of the realities of the world, from inequality, hunger, and polluted air. While I had to leave the US to truly start my journey of understanding the necessity of climate justice, the numerous stones I stepped on in my path led me to realize that we are all connected. We all must take action against the unjust impacts of climate change.

Follow me as I take my first step, or leap, toward that realization.

Dhaka is one of the most densely populated cities in the world, and at the time it was hard to find a natural place that was not covered in plastic and other trash. My time in Bangladesh and its surrounding countries was truly eye opening and grounding in helping me realize what people around the world face when trying to find clean water to drink, enough food to eat, and work that supports their family. While the path felt unfamiliar at the time, these were important steps in realizing the power the climate has on communities and that you cannot have climate justice without social justice.

Dhaka, Bangladesh

Time passed, my trail was easy and straightforward, and I could fall back into my day-to-day activities, burying my head in the sand a bit and not worrying about ‘big issues’ like climate change or climate injustice.

Further down the path, I joined the Peace Corps and was off on a plane again, moving to far eastern Ukraine.

While learning enough Russian to be able to buy groceries and explore the industrial city of Lugansk, I noticed how reliant the local economy was on coal mining. I woke up hearing the whistles of shift change and saw workers walking down the street, covered in coal soot. The markets and bars were busy on payday, and it was clear that without the mine the neighborhood would suffer greatly. Meanwhile, many of the buildings nearby were stained black, a harsh reminder of the impact the mine was having on everyone’s health.

Ukraine

Another turn in the trail, and I was living in rural Wisconsin in a community of transition. The county I lived in was in the midst of a sand boom. Sand mining, removing sand for fracking for oil in Oklahoma and Texas, was changing both the economy and the relationships of the entire region. Local farmers, who for years had dealt with lower prices, had the opportunity to make quick money by selling mining rights, and many took it. This infusion of millions of dollars was sending house prices soaring and hurting community relationships; neighbors were understandably frustrated and concerned about the demolition of entire hillsides and the possible impact it could have on water quality.

Again, the path winded over a rise I couldn’t envision, and I found myself living in coastal Alaska, a step away from the most pristine wilderness I could ever imagine. Daily interactions with musk oxen, sea otters, and eagles only strengthened my understanding and resolve that while the world is a big place, there are so many connections that we cannot possibly do any of our work in isolation.

Musk Oxen

These experiences have pushed me and turned me around. They brought me back on a path toward knowing that sharing the importance of climate action is where my trail leads right now. It took me quite a bit longer than it may have for others. My privilege could easily have allowed me to keep my blinders on to how we all are impacted by climate change and climate justice, but definitely not on equal terms. My path required me to leave the country and see new experiences and cultures and people to be able to open my eyes to how my own community was, and will be, impacted by climate change.

I now know the only way my path will ultimately lead me to where I want to go is by engaging, supporting, and empowering my community to come together and demand action and resilience on the climate crisis.

Seth joined Climate Generation in 2020 and coordinates the Teach Climate Network, helping the education program to create powerful professional development opportunities for educators across the country. Seth is a member of the Midwest Climate Collaborative’s Community of Practice Fall leadership team, and coordinator of the Teach Climate Network Cohort Collation. He recently returned to his home state of Minnesota after five years in coastal Alaska and was able to see firsthand the negative impacts that climate change is having on rural communities. Seth is excited about sharing his experiences in environmental education and positive youth development with the climate change education community.

The post A Winding Journey appeared first on Climate Generation.

A Winding Journey

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Low-Producing Oil Wells in Texas Cause Headaches for Landowners

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Jackie Chesnutt, who lives outside San Angelo, is tired of pollution from wells she says should have been plugged years ago. Experts say Texas rules allow companies to defer plugging wells for far too long.

Reporting for this story was supported by a grant from the Fund for Investigative Journalism.

Low-Producing Oil Wells in Texas Cause Headaches for Landowners

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America’s Dirty Secret

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An interview with author Catherine Coleman Flowers.

The fourth installment in our special Earth Day series

America’s Dirty Secret

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With love: Love to the researchers

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Greenpeace activists investigate the consequences of the severe explosions at the Nord Stream Pipelines. © Gregor Fischer / Greenpeace

When the sciences and the humanities; democracy and ecology, are all under common and increasing attack, the efforts of independent experts and researchers matter more than ever.

David Ritter

So often in life, our most authentic moments of joy are the result of years of shared effort, and the culmination of a kind of deep faith in what is possible.

A few weeks ago, I had the honour of being in Canberra, along with some fellow environmentalists and scientists, to witness the enactment of the High Seas Biodiversity Bill 2026 by our federal parliament.

This was the moment that the Global Ocean Treaty—one of the most significant environmental agreements of our time—was given force through a domestic Australian law

If you are part of the great Greenpeace family, you will know exactly why this was such a huge deal. The high seas make up around 60 per cent of the Earth’s surface and for too long, they have been subjected to open plunder. Now, for the first time in human history, there is an international instrument that enables the creation of massive high seas sanctuaries within which the ocean can be protected. This is a monumental collective achievement by Greenpeace and all the other groups who have campaigned for high seas marine sanctuaries for many years.

But as momentous as the ratification was, the parliamentary proceedings were distinctly lacking in drama or fanfare–so much so, that Labor MP backbencher Renee Coffey felt the need to gesture to those of us in the gallery with a grin, to indicate that the process was over and done.

The modesty of the moment had me thinking about the decades of quiet dedication by many hands that are invariably required to achieve great social change. In particular, I found myself thinking about researchers. So much of the expert academic work that underpins achievements like the Global Ocean Treaty is slow, painstaking, solitary—and often out of sight.

I think of the persistence and tenacity of researchers as an expression of love, founded in an authentic sense of wonder and curiosity about the world—and frequently linked to a deep ethical desire to protect that source of wonderment.

Crew operates underwater drone to document Woodside’s sunken oil tower. © Greenpeace

In 2007, one of the very first things I was given to read after starting with Greenpeace as an oceans campaigner in London was a report entitled Roadmap to Recovery: A global network of marine reserves. Specific physical sensations can tend to stick in the mind from periods of personally significant transitions, and the tactile reminiscence of holding the thin cardboard of the modest grey cover of that report is deeply embedded in my memory. I suspect I still even have that original copy in a box somewhere.

Written by a team of scientists led by Professor Callum Roberts, a marine conservation biologist from the University of York, the Roadmap provided the first scientifically informed vision of a large-scale global network of high seas marine sanctuaries, protecting the world’s oceans at scale. Of course, twenty years ago, this idea felt more like utopian science fiction, because there was no Global Oceans Treaty. But what seemed fanciful at the start of this century is now possible-–and I have every confidence the creation of large scale high seas marine sanctuaries will now happen through the application of ongoing campaigning effort—but we would never have gotten this far without the dedication of researchers, driven by their love of the oceans. And now here we are, with the ability for humanity to legally protect the high seas for the first time.

Campaigning and research so often work hand in hand like this: the one identifying the need and the solutions; the other driving the change. Because in a world of powerful vested interests, good science alone doesn’t shift decision makers—that takes activism and campaigning—but equally, there must be a basis of evidence and reason on which to build our public advocacy.

So, I want to take a moment to think with love and appreciation for everyone who has contributed to making this possible. I’ve never met the team of scientists who authored the original Roadmap, so belatedly but sincerely, then, to Leanne Mason, Julie P. Hawkins, Elizabeth Masden, Gwilym Rowlands, Jenny Storey and Anna Swift—and to every other researcher and scientist who has been involved in demonstrating why the Global Oceans Treaty has been so badly needed over the years—thank you for your commitment and devotion.

And to everyone out there who continues to believe that evidence and truth matter, and that our magnificent, fragile world deserves our respectful curiosity and study as an expression of our awe and enchantment, thank you for your conscientiousness.

When the sciences and the humanities; democracy and ecology, are all under common and increasing attack, the efforts of independent experts and researchers matter more than ever. You have Greenpeace’s deepest gratitude. Every day, we build on the foundations of your work and dedication. Thank you. 


Q & A

I have been asked several times in recent weeks what the ongoing war means for the renewable energy transition in Australia.

While some corners of the fossil fuel lobby and the politicians captured by these vested interests have been very quick to use this crisis to call for more oil exploration and gas pipelines, the reality is that the current energy crisis has revealed the commonsense case for renewable energy

As many, including climate and energy minister Chris Bowen have noted, renewable energy is affordable, inexhaustible, and sovereign—its supply cannot be blocked by warmongers or conflict. People intuitively know this; it’s why sales of electric cars have climbed to an all-time high, it’s why interest in rooftop solar and batteries has skyrocketed in recent months.

The reality is that oil and gas are to blame for much of the cost-of-living pain we’re feeling right now; fossil fuels are the disease, not the cure. If Australia were further along in our renewable energy transition and EV uptake, we would be much better insulated from petrol and gas price shocks and supply chain disruptions.

Yes, we need short-term solutions to ease the very real cost-of-living pressures that Australian communities and workers are facing as a result of fuel shortages. While replacement supplies is no doubt a valid step for now—Greenpeace is also backing taxes on the war profits of gas corporations to fund relief measures for Australians—in the long term, we will only get off the rollercoaster of fossil fuel dependency and price volatility if we break free from fossil fuels and accelerate progress towards an energy system built on 100% renewable energy, backed by storage.

With love: Love to the researchers

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