Why I’m Organizing for a Green New Deal in Canada
When I was little, I spent my summers at my grandma’s house. She lived with my grandpa in a ranch-style bungalow a few hundred meters up from the shores of Lake Huron. The house had an immaculately kept garden, mint shag carpet, and a blue porcelain bathtub. It was perfect. When the weather was good, my grandma would spend hours outside with me, collecting Queen Anne’s Lace in the meadow across the road, walking under the cool green canopy of the forest nearby, or splashing in the waves at the beach for so long that when she brought me inside she would immediately place me in the bathtub to wash the sand off. If I sit quietly I can still hear the sound of the grains of sand settling at the bottom of the blue porcelain as she washed the day out of my hair. It was during this time outside that I first learned what it felt like to feel at home in what we refer to as “nature”. I learned that I could eat apples right off the trees in the woods, scrub myself clean- and then get hopelessly dirty again- at the lake, or sit in our secret spot and nap in the shade of a pine tree with the person I loved the most. On days that were cold and rainy, my grandma and I would stay inside, flipping through a Reader’s Digest encyclopaedia of North American Wildlife, or watching TVO. On those days spent inside, every Saturday or Sunday morning (I can’t remember which) I would park myself in front of the old tube TV to watch the same two mid-nineties infomercials each week. The first, a classic in Canadian Millennial cannon- was from the Humane Society- the one with Sarah McLachlan playing in the background, while sad kittens stared into the camera. The second, slightly more scarring, was produced by the World Wildlife Fund, and this one broke my heart. Every weekend I’d sit on that mint shag carpet and sob watching images of Amazon Rainforest being clear cut, or Bengal Tigers being poached and separated from their cubs. Silly as it might seem, it was these early morning infomercials that taught me the devastation and heartbreak of losing nature. They taught me empathy for creatures I will never see or touch in real life, a sadness and longing for places and times I will never live in. They taught me that if I wanted to see things change, I would have to take action myself. My grandma echoed these lessons in her care of me, and those around her. Her compassion for all creatures-humans and animals alike- sticks with me even now, years after her passing. Anyone in our family could tell you about the time that Grandma nursed an abandoned baby mouse back to health, or when we hand fed a litter of baby bunnies for weeks when the mother was scared away by my Aunt Pauline’s dog, or when she brought our Cat, Mr. Tibb’s back from the brink when he was sick and my parents’ had already booked us a trip to Mexico. What I’m trying to say is my grandmother taught me that even if you can’t immediately relate to someone, or something, even if you’re a different species, when help is needed, you offer it. She taught me that there was beauty in the world and that it was worth saving. I haven’t mentioned my Grandpa yet, but he was the love of my Grandma’s life. They met when she was 17 and living in Florida with her parents. He saw her singing in the church choir when he was on vacation with his family, and three months later she had moved up to Canada, they were married, and soon my Aunt Debbie was on the way. My Grandpa’s brother’s made their way owning car dealerships and racehorses, and lived well into their 80s and 90s- my Grandpa got into the oil industry. First in Sarnia, then Nova Scotia, the United States, Calgary, and, for a short period of time, Saudi Arabia, among numerous other towns and cities. My Grandpa managed oil refineries for decades- and was proud of his work and all it afforded his family. Both he and my Grandma had jackets and hats stitched with the Turbo Canada logo (a now defunct petroleum company) and somewhere in my closet at my parent’s house, I still have one of his old jackets tucked away, with a decades old cigarette hidden in the pocket. My Grandpa was in insanely good health, for his entire life. Due to his health, and love of his job, he didn’t retire until he was in his early 60s. When I was about 11 his health abruptly changed. He got very sick, very quickly, and for the first time in his life, he was admitted to a hospital overnight, and for the next 6 months or so, he didn’t really leave. My Grandpa died of Leukaemia in his early 70s, due to, what the family believed, was from a lifetime of benzene exposure from working in the oil and gas industry. Much of the generational wealth I still benefit from, is due to the Canadian oil industry; this makes me uncomfortable. But this same industry, the one that allowed my grandparents to raise 4 daughters comfortably, and retire on the shores of Lake Huron, in a house that they built, is the same industry that ultimately cost him his life- it’s the reason I no longer have a Grandpa. It’s also why when my grandma had a series of mini-strokes resulting in dementia, she spent the last few really difficult years of her life alone, without the comfort of her lifelong partner by her side. I’m not going to say that my Grandfather dying is the reason I work with other young people for climate justice- that fate was sealed over two decades ago, when I first started crying in front of the TV seeing the harm we have the capacity to inflict. But what my Grandpa’s leukaemia does compel me to do is work for a world where no one else has to leave this world too soon in order to provide for their family. The oil and gas industry in Canada has given so many of us so much, and it has also taken so much away. Not just from those like my family who lost a single loved one too soon, and too painfully, but from the communities like the Aamjiwnaang First Nation in Chemical Valley, downstream from the refineries my Grandfather worked at in Sarnia, where miscarriages are frequent because of exposure to chemicals like cadmium and mercury. The weight of our affluence shouldn’t be borne by those who have had their land stolen from them, or by the workers who risk their health and livelihood working in mines and refineries because our government can’t be bothered to subsidize job training programs for low-carbon work, or support an energy economy that doesn’t make a few influential people exorbitant amounts of wealth. The greed of the Canadian petro-state is devastating. It is so easy to give into the heartbreak, the malaise, to wallow in the understanding that we are already losing, that we have lost so much, and so many to climate change, and the fossil fuel industry. What’s hard is hope. What’s hard is to continue to love, to continue to plough ahead despite the odds, to demand better of our leaders; of ourselves. The Green New Deal is the first thing that has offered me real hope in a very long time. The Green New Deal and it’s “no one left behind” attitude offer us a chance to build the world we want to live in- a world without catastrophic climate change, a world where workers are respected and valued to a higher degree than the resources they’re extracting. A world where having the energy to power our lives doesn’t mean sacrificing entire communities like the Aamjiwnaang, and their children. Where, in order to provide for your family, you don’t first have to sign away your red blood cell count. My heart was first broken in front of that TV when I was little. I’m so ready to put it back together. And I’m going to do that the only way I know how: by working with those I love to try to save my home. We can do that with a Green New Deal, but we need your help, we need your hope, and we need your hands. We need to get to work.
