What’s a black girl from the Nation’s Capital (aka: the Chocolate City) care about compact fluorescent light bulbs, reforestation in the Brazilian rainforest, or endangered wolf packs in Colorado? Had you met me ten years ago, I would’ve told you “not a damn thing!” But today, I stand proudly as an advocate for renewable energy, toxin-free personal care products, and organic food for the masses.
How could this unexpected metamorphosis happen?
Growing up, I always loved taking long nature walks with my dad in the vast woods behind our house, running through the sprinkler on a hot summer afternoon, making mud pies after a good rain, blowing dandelion seeds in the wind, and snapping fresh green beans with my mom from my grandfather’s garden. But I never thought about being an “environmentalist.”
Not because environmentalists are bad people. In fact, some of my “best friends” are environmentalists. Just kidding. In truth, the environmentalist movement has accomplished many great feats, from planet-friendly legislation to helping to spur a counter-culture where “gorgeous” and “green” are now synonymous. But as a young teenager, then in college and finally law school, whenever the issue of environmentalism came up, I always had a negative reaction. A reaction I tend to have about all “isms.” Why? In my view, they are all are based on some form or another of separation consciousness, an insidious “us versus them,” a human-designed zero-sum game that keeps the “good cops” and the “bad cops” on different sides of the railroad tracks. Like racism, sexism, nationalism, and classism, isms have the power to segregate people instead of uniting them—even if in theory, the ism happens to be for a justifiably good so-called “cause.”
Historically, the environmentalism movement—unlike many more populist movements—has appealed to people who have the luxury of getting beyond just surviving to contemplate the world at large and their relationship to it. Given the past and present struggles of the African-American community—and other segments of the world population that have traditionally been disenfranchised by the institutionalized isms of mainstream culture—it’s no surprise that the environmentalist movement has not been of much interest to people of color. Disturbing, yes, but think—when was the last time you saw or even heard about an all-Black rally for Save the Whales?
There are numerous reasons for this. Perhaps, like me, many people of color grew up hearing or believing that “environmentalists care more about penguins than they do black people.” Or perhaps, as my brother-in-Spirit, Van Jones, has so eloquently articulated, the “green movement” has traditionally not put much effort into enrolling or advocating on behalf of people of color, the uneducated masses, and those who cannot afford to shop at Whole Foods. And for this reason, it has yet to reach a tipping point within the mainstream population.
The same is true for all movements designed to benefit just a singular group of people: They fail to speak to and for everyone. Personally, I never felt included or inspired by the green movement. I always felt like I had to choose between caring about the fate of “my people” and caring about the fate of “the planet.” Now there’s separation consciousness at its finest.
And then I met my husband, Michael. He was the perfect mate: tall, dark and handsome with an athletic build, a brilliant personality, and a sharp mind. And best of all, he shared my values. But he was white, from San Francisco, and … scariest of all … a passionate environmentalist.
Not soon after our wedding, he encouraged me to exchange my toxic Tide detergent for eco-friendly Seventh Generation. “Why?” I asked, “Because each cup of chemical-laden detergent you use kills one cubic foot of phytoplankton” he would answer. But why should I, a sister who prided herself on having the freshest smelling clothes on the block, care about a marine organism I couldn’t even see? Because, he said “the phytoplankton in the ocean produce at least 50 percent of the world’s oxygen and remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.” Wow, impressive. Changing my laundry detergent could minimize global warming! I was starting to believe. As an African-American with a life-long passion for justice, caring about planetary justice seemed like the right thing to do—and best of all, it was an excuse to go shopping!
