Getting the Fight Back: Thoughts Six Months Later

Photo by Anna Brones

Like with other big events, I remember exactly where I was when I first learned about the oil spill. Exhausted after several days of working a PR event in New York I was packing the last of my things with the TV on at a low volume. For some reason I’d chosen CNN as my background sound. Not really paying attention to the news, in the midst of packing, out of the corner of my eye I saw flames coming from atop an oil rig. “Breaking news” flashed across the screen, along with a variety of messaging that went along the lines of “oil spill” “BP” and “disaster.” The second I saw it, I knew. I knew how bad this was going to be. So I turned the TV off.

Instead of engaging, I turned it off. Consciously. Because I knew perfectly well the ramifications of what sitting and watching would have, and I was too tired to go down that road. Too tired, overwhelmed with other preoccupations, other things to do… all feelings and thoughts that are easy to have when a disaster of these proportions doesn’t happen in your own back yard.

Flash forward two months.

“But mommy, what did the sea turtles do?”

A good friend was recounting the interaction she had with her five year-old daughter after showing her some videos of sea turtles in the Gulf Coast region. Wanting her child to be aware of what was happening in the Gulf, she had shown her the least heart-wrenching of the images she could find and thoughtfully explained to her what was taking place and why. For a five year-old, complicated issues like this get pretty simple. Humans need oil. Oil requires drilling. Drilling can lead to disasters. Those disasters hurt wildlife. Wildlife that hasn’t done anything wrong.

As we sat in the comfort of a semi-trendy corner restaurant in SE Portland, I could see and feel the tears welling up. It was the first time I had an emotional reaction to an environmental issue.

I grew up with a mother that washed out our ziploc bags so we could reuse them, and as a child I would dig through the compost to find worms to walk around with in a bowl and “babysit.” Low impact life choices weren’t really choices, they were just part of the norm.

Back to the Gulf. 10 days on the ground and I was emotionally and physically exhausted; transitioning back to the mild temperature and fresh air of Portland took a few days of adjustment. Honestly, I was a wreck, not really able to convey to my friends what I had experienced and not really ready to take on interacting with the elements of everyday society that got us to this point. I went to a child’s 1-year birthday party and cringed as her grandparents gave her a plastic bike. This kind of behavior went on for awhile, but as time passed, I transitioned back into my normal life, with my everyday routine and my everyday actions. As is perfectly human, I started focusing on my to do lists, and my mundane tasks, and I lost a little bit of the sense of urgency that I felt upon our return.

But if I was losing it, what did that mean for everyone around me? The people that didn’t get to see the Gulf up close and personal?

Today marks the 6-month anniversary of the spill, and as I read through a variety of articles posted around the web, the sense of urgency came back. The voice in my head that got hoarse from screaming “fight” while I was in the Gulf got its power back. I got irate and furious and confused all over again. But I needed to.

If this 6-month anniversary teaches us anything it’s that the fight is far from over. There’s still oil on the ground. People are still out of work. Wildlife is still, and will continue to be, at risk.

So what do you do?

Ultimately, this question isn’t just about an oil spill in the Gulf. It’s about protecting the wilderness in your back yard; it’s about biking more; it’s about calling a Senator to tell them you support clean energy; it’s about protecting our wetlands; it’s about  buying local food; it’s about our dependence on petroleum-based products. This anniversary should be a blatant reminder that these many issues that we grapple with on a daily basis are all interconnected.

Fortunately, that interconnectedness is empowering. It means that small choices affect bigger things. It means that although you can’t go to the Gulf and clean up oil, you can choose to drive your car one less day every week. It means that you can call your local leader and tell them that you support policies that protect the places that are part of our environmental and cultural heritage. It means that you can vote. It means that you can talk to the people around you, and encourage them to talk to their friends.

How do we create a revolution? We start by taking action on an everyday basis, no matter what that action is. We’re all complacent in this issue, and we all have to stand up for what we believe in. Not just on anniversaries of environmental disasters, but everyday.

By Anna Brones