Here is an excerpt from a fiction piece I wrote a few years ago. The narrator is a man named Daniel. I was actually at the climate march in New York some years ago and I wrote about it here, but this fictionalized version can bring a slightly different angle to it. To read the piece in its original contact, go here.
I was in The City for the climate march on Sunday.
I think a lot of people from the school were there, although I didn’t bump into anyone I knew except for my own group. It was a big march.
My wife and daughter and I drove down with Allen, Lo, and Alexis, and Kit and her husband. We actually parked in Long Island and took the train in. We met David, Kayla, and Aidan at Port Authority. They’d taken a bus.
The march was big enough that there were multiple staging areas, each with its own theme. We chose the one for religious groups and spent most of the day tagging along with a group of pagans. They waved banners and drummed and burned incense as they walked. Sometimes we dropped behind and found ourselves in among either of two groups of Buddhists, all ringing bells and wearing robes. Occasionally, we ran into one or another of a group of Franciscans, also in robes.
“Makes me wish we’d worn our uniforms,” Kit said, sadly.
“If we’d identified as a religious group,” Allen replied, “who would we identify ourselves as?” He has a point, since the school no longer exists.
My daughter, riding on my back in a carrier, wiggled and bounced.
“Watcha doing, sweetie?” I asked. She didn’t answer.
“She’s mugging for cameras,” my wife said. I really wish people would ask before they took pictures of my daughter, but we had dressed her up to attract attention. She was carrying a blue and green pinwheel and wearing an oversized t-shirt that read “It’s my planet, too!” Her sun-hat was covered with political buttons.
Some people carried signs in the march, I carried my baby.
Seriously, there are times I can’t even bear to think about climate change because of her. She won’t get to grow up in the same world I did. What kind of world she does get to live in depends on the outcome of this march, whether 310,000 people gathered together is enough to convince the powers that be to sign an emissions-reduction treaty with teeth in it next year.
We never used to pay much attention to politics, when I was at school. I suppose we considered it too worldly, or something. When I was a novice, we never paid much attention to climate change, either. Of course, the school itself was carbon-neutral and had been for five or ten years, but except for one or two required classes, we never talked about it. It was one more thing that belonged to the outside world. By the time I became a candidate, that standard had changed, we’d started talking about climate issues in philosophical and moral terms, but we still didn’t talk about politics. Not climate politics, nor the political implications of any of the other issues we learned about and discussed.
Now, I think the standard has changed again. Some of us are starting to talk as a group about how to engage with the world, how to do what Kit calls “the Great Magic.” Greg calls it “civic alchemy” or “applied mysticism.” We’re talking about how to use what we know and what we have to change the world. I think that if the school still existed as a school, we might begin to teach activism.
Or, maybe we had to lose the campus in order to learn how, as a community, to reach beyond it.