The heart-heavy paradox of parenting in a brutal, warming world
How we fight the battles we may never win.
I’m writing this on the evening of May 24. The news is currently reporting that, several hours ago, 14 18 19 children and two adults were shot to death in a fourth-grade classroom at Robb Elementary in Uvalde, Texas.
After I read that news and the pain in my chest subsided, one of my first thoughts was about planting trees, in fourth grade, when Ms. Cunningham carried big cardboard flats of small red vials into the classroom, each one sprouting a little spruce tree like a green-blue pipe cleaner.
I remember how we went out beyond the wood playground structures and the little garden and planted those saplings in a long row between the mountains and the school. Trees that would only stretch a few inches taller before we left, destined as we were for middle school and life beyond.
A couple hours ago, I picked my daughter up from preschool, half an hour earlier than usual. I wanted to open the wooden gate to the play yard and see her face and hold her small hand.
I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about those parents in Texas whose desperate yearning to hold a small hand will never end, and I drove my daughter home, and I hoped she wouldn’t notice or ask about the tears on my face.
Are those green-blue trees still there, behind my old elementary school? Do they shade the children from the afternoon sun? Do birds rest there?
Nineteen children shot dead today. Let’s not bother with shock, or surprise, or any of that though, please. We’re all Americans here.
That sounds cynical, but I do find some hope knowing that this will galvanize some percentage of Americans. Many parents will feel the compassion and love they have for their children grow in quick, painful spurts until it encompasses a new drive to fight for the future.
They will see themselves, perhaps for the first time, as agents of change.
“The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.” — Joanna Macy
There’s a good chance, I figure, that the little spruce tree I planted is not even there anymore. The town I grew up in was surrounded by protected “open space,” a situation which created interesting conditions for development. The “open space” was made up of these large tracts of nature surrounding the city on all sides, and was preserved many decades ago for the good of the local ecosystem. The open space was fought for and protected by the town’s earliest environmentalists, who had no way to know if their efforts would stand after they were gone.
They did stand, though, and that meant the town had no way to grow out and had to find creative ways to grow in. All of which is to say, it’s not impossible that the strip of parkland where we planted a line of spruce trees 30 years ago is now a line of expensive townhomes.
If you are one of the newly galvanized parents, a new warrior who feels called to action by this senseless tragedy, what I want you to know is that changing systems is like planting spruce trees in fourth grade.
“To be hopeful means to be uncertain about the future, to be tender toward possibilities, to be dedicated to change all the way down to the bottom of your heart.” — Rebecca Solnit
As you look for ways to help, you will be told to call your elected officials, to donate, to speak up and to organize. You will, hopefully, take guidance from the tree planters who came before you. But the chances are good that you will pour so much of yourself into your sapling and still never get to see it grow. Worse, your sapling may get mowed down like so much grass beneath the blades of America’s misplaced loyalties.
But I hope you know that you should grasp your spade and get to planting anyway.
You see, as parents, we have a horrible paradox to shoulder. No matter what we do, it will never be enough to shield our children from tragedy. We will fight, and fight, and fight for our kids to have a better future, and at the same time, we will face the fact that their fate is out of our control.
Another tragedy in the headlines, and “When will this end??” we ask. And the answer is: it won’t. There is no end to tragedy.
We cannot protect them from the world, but we can work to make the world better anyway.
All that we have, all that we have ever had, is the capacity to reduce harm and suffering. And set a good example for our children in the process—an example that says doing what’s right and good is worth doing. And example that says when the world is awful, we are not helpless.
Last summer, I listened to a single mother of four, an immigrant from Mexico, talk about the organizing she had done for years in Elyria-Swansea, the most polluted zip code in America. She had fought for years to try and get the Suncor petroleum refinery next door to stop exceeding its pollution limits. That pollution was in the air her kids breathe, and it was making them sick.
I listened to her talk about the years she had spent fighting unwinnable fights, the years she has spent watching her kids get sicker. While most of the organizing against Suncor failed, she knew, like so many other parents, that even the smallest gains were worth it. Every bureaucratic battle fought, every city council meeting she showed up to, every bit of pollution kept out of the air, meant that her kids might be a little less sick, a little safer. She knew that even if her kids grew up and got out of the neighborhood, the work she was doing could help protect the next generation of children. She may not get to see her spruce trees grow very high (Suncor still recklessly pollutes the poorest neighborhoods in Denver), but someday, even after she’s gone, they might grow to provide some shade for the kids of Elyria-Swansea.
“We don’t have time to sit on our hands while our planet burns.” — Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez
Here’s a truth: We won’t end senseless gun violence. We won’t end deadly pandemics, suicides, drug overdoses, pollution, or any other societal ill.
And we won’t end climate change.
The world is going to get hotter, and harder to live in, especially for disadvantaged populations, including Indigenous communities, people of color, the poor, children, and the elderly.
But our efforts are not futile. Every thing we do now has the potential to reduce harm and save lives. More gun control is better than none. More climate action is better than none.
And we need your help.
We can, bit by bit, leave the world better than it would have been without us, and I’m so glad you’re in this fight. Our chances are much better when we work together, planting our saplings side by side.
And while we cannot know if our spruce trees will thrive, we can certainly hope.
Sincerely,
Jessica