I threw my fears to the wind

[Adam1]

http://lifeandhealth.guardian.co.uk/fam ... 78,00.html

Eco activists spend their lives agonising over the planet's future - but that doesn't stop them having children. We mustn't give up hope, says Angharad Penrhyn Jones

Saturday February 23, 2008
The Guardian

There was a time when I thought I wouldn't have children. I worried about the terrible things the world would do to them. I also worried about what they would do to the world.

Then a fellow environmentalist assured me it was fine to have one or two children if you lived carefully. "It's all about limiting your emissions," he said. He had just come across a man who was single-handedly burning 100 tonnes of carbon a year - that's roughly 10 times the national average - through a pathological love of flying.

This put things in perspective. I hated flying. So, like most people, I threw my fears to the wind. I was going to have a low-carbon, politically engaged child, and I wasn't going to think too far into the future. My husband, George Monbiot, an environmental campaigner, caved in.

Our daughter, Hanna, is now almost two. So far, she is pretty impressed with the world. Her favourite expression is "Oh wow!", and she often throws her hands up triumphantly, especially if she has had the good fortune to spot a fire engine. More than anything, she loves to look out of her bedroom window at the A489. There are the timber lorries to admire, the tractors, the boy racers' overpowered hatchbacks. Military aircraft, ripping through the skies on their training exercises, are a delight. Hanna adores anything that burns fossil fuels. When do we tell her the nasty truth about climate change?

Growing up in North Wales in the 80s, I was part of a privileged generation. I did have a few ecological concerns: I worried about acid rain, the logging of tropical rainforests and the hole in the ozone layer, which, like everything, was the size of Wales (though luckily for us was situated elsewhere).

Yet there was a fundamental difference between our environmental consciousness then and now. Then, we believed the planet was essentially stable. The seasons were fixed and the sea was contained. Buying food was a happy, uncomplicated affair, and every summer we welcomed the heat of the sun - the hotter, the better - working diligently on our tans. We flew on holiday without a moment's thought, and carbon was something you came across only when you burnt your toast. The economy was kind to a middle-class family. We had faith in the idea of progress.

What we thought of as progress turned out to be the opposite. Twenty years later, there is a strong and disturbing sense that things are going to get a lot worse. While we are still confronted with a series of single environmental issues, we also have a cumulative, systemic problem on our hands.

Parents have always worried about their children, and our imagination struggles to identify with the suffering of our ancestors. My grandfather, a doctor and author, wrote about diseases in Wales in the 18th century. He published a photograph of the gravestone of a family whose seven members all died of smallpox. George's great-great-grandmother lost nine of her children to a single outbreak of scarlet fever. Then there were the wartime parents, who make us all seem like wimps, and the parents (including my own) who feared the world would be obliterated at the touch of a button.

But though every generation has had its own fears of annihilation, for about 150 years there was an expectation that life for future generations was going to get better. It is much harder to be optimistic now. How, knowing that the biosphere is in a state of collapse, can we be cheerful about the prospect of our children growing up?

When Hanna was nine months old, she learned to crawl. Unfortunately, she could only go backwards. The expression on her face broke my heart as she moved farther and farther away from the toy she was trying to reach. It was like a metaphor for our fight to stabilise global temperatures. However hard we try to reach our targets, they only seem to get further away. We are faced not just with climate change, but potentially with runaway climate change.

In the pages of the Guardian, we learn about peak oil and the disastrous carbon emissions caused by biofuels and other alternatives to oil. We find out about the thawing of the Arctic and the 500bn tonnes of carbon that could one day escape from the ground. We read about the global food and water deficit that is predicted for this century, the anticipated displacement of hundreds of millions of people and the vicious wars that are likely to follow. (Arguably, this is not just a future problem: the conflict in Darfur has been described by some people as the first climate-change war.)

And in the meantime, here we are, holding our babies in our arms, wanting them to be safe and happy.

If we live to be old, when George and I die we could be leaving Hanna behind in a society in which people kill each other over basic resources, and in which the rules of civilisation start to break down. This idea is not something we can easily confront. I still haven't read Cormac McCarthy's The Road - an account of life after a complete collapse of the biosphere. George, grey in the face, urged me to do so. Before giving birth, I would have gritted my teeth and followed his advice. Now, as a mother, I fear that it would be like looking down from the tightrope, and that I would fall. Maybe, in some respects, we have to be climate-change deniers.

A part of us needs to believe that our political representatives are in control. They'll do the maths, invent the technologies, sign the papers, and hey presto! We'll be saved! In our fantasies, they are like airline pilots: rigorously vetted for signs of mental, physical or moral weakness; clever, capable people with soothing voices and a talent for staying calm in a crisis. They will also, crucially, do anything to keep us alive. Ladies and gentlemen, they say, we're now cruising at 30,000ft. Our palms are sweating but we put all our trust in them. We sit back and watch a film.

I can no longer do this. In 2003, I went to Milan to film the negotiations over the Kyoto treaty. Through a stroke of luck, my researcher secured an interview with Harlan Watson, the US government's climate negotiator. His role was not to sign the treaty, but to sabotage it. It was a tense interview.

At the end, I asked him what steps he was taking to curb his own carbon emissions. He hesitated. "Well," he said, "when I leave the room, I try to switch the lights off, which my wife doesn't always appreciate." He laughed a little nervously. "And I don't use my car a lot," he added, "because I'm always travelling."

"By plane?" I asked, and he said, "Er, yes, by plane," at which point he got up very quickly and shook my hand.

I was not a mother then, but if I had been, maybe I would have asked him if he had children and grandchildren, and whether he worried about what the US government was doing to them by undermining the treaty. It might have been harder for me to keep my cool.

This was a low point: in some respects, these people are bringing up my child.

So what psychological tools can we use as parents when we feel so frightened and so helpless? A disproportionate number of my friends are climate-change journalists and campaigners, and most of them have children. I phoned one couple to talk about an issue that, for some reason, we had never previously discussed.

"Even among people you're close to," said Annie Levy, "there's a code of not talking about how you cope with climate change as parents." She told me about the dream she'd had a few nights ago, involving her two young children being washed out by the tide. But in her waking life she generally remains optimistic, because "when your beliefs and your actions are in line with each other, you get a sense of clarity and purpose, and so you don't necessarily feel pessimistic."

Her husband, George Marshall, is founder of the climate-change charity Coin and the blog Climatedenial.org, and author of Carbon Detox. This family is more exposed than most to concerns about the future, and their six-year-old is already starting to ask questions.

"Elsa asks what's going to happen to the planet," said Levy, "and I tell her we're working really hard to keep the heat down and make sure these things don't happen. I say, 'this is why we walk to school, this is why we don't fly, this is what your daddy works on every day.'"

Marshall told me about an Ipsos/Mori study carried out in 2004. The research revealed that people with children under 16 are less likely to express fear about climate change than people without children.

"One way of explaining this," he said, "is to say that parents are put in a difficult ethical situation. Here we are, through our own actions, creating a worse world for our children. When people have a dissonance between what they believe and what they do, they either change what they believe, or change what they do. And the tendency for most people is to reconfigure what they think about climate change, and to think 'maybe it's not that bad'.

I then spoke to Mark Lynas, author of Six Degrees: Our Future on a Hotter Planet and father of a toddler and baby. Despite the harrowing scenarios he portrays in his book, he is sanguine. "When you've got loved ones facing an unknown future," he said, "it's always going to be difficult. In a sense we're returning to the uncertainties of our evolutionary past. But many of the situations I've written about are avoidable. I genuinely think we can do something about climate change."

As parents, we cannot indulge in pessimism. While we want our children to know about the world, we must not deprive them of hope.

When my brother was five, my mother saw him crying in bed. When she asked him what was wrong, he said "I think I've got Aids." Why on earth did he think that, asked my mother. "Because I haven't been using a condom," he said. He'd probably heard the government advice on television.

I have a visceral urge to protect Hanna's innocence. I don't want her to be brought up on tofu and fear. Otherwise we might as well throw ourselves on the compost heap right now.

But for now, life is good. There is plenty of food on the table and water running from the tap, and the climate here in Wales is benign. For millions of people across the world, this is not the case. Children in the developing world are already dying of the diseases, the famine, the wars, that we fear will come to us. Our future is their present.

As I write, Hanna is putting a few belongings in her miniature pram. She packs a cuddly toy, her wellington boots, a cardigan and a book. "Bye, Mam!" she says as she walks towards the door. She's been doing this a lot recently, so maybe she's thinking about leaving home. I hope we can delay her by around 16 years. This is a magical time, and we must enjoy every moment of it.

[leroy]

Thank you for posting this article, Adam. This is a fascinating subject. I have just turned thirty and am surrounded by friends who are having children or are planning to. I clearly remember driving to Cheddar a few years ago with a friend who studied environmental science at university. As we wound through the gorges I was talking to him about climate change (think I called it global warming back in 2003) and he said to me 'if you want to see a really scary idea, you should check out Peak Oil - thats a bad one'. I lost touch of my friend and bumped into him in Bristol last summer. Over drinks he told me that he now had a baby son and that he had settled down. I reminded him of the heads up he gave me about PO in Cheddar and said how I had only really recognised the issue years later. To my amazement he claimed no recollection, and rapidly changed the subject.

I have other friends, previously open to discussion on any subject, with young families who are becoming increasingly selective over which parts of the newspaper they will read or have stopped reading them at all. Mentioning Peak Oil is an absolute no-no in conversation. Very interesting in Ms Penrhyn Jones' article about how people change their beliefs more often than their behaviour in response to perceived ethical problems. I think that is called cowardice in my book.

I know that some men really want to have children, have a biological urge to procreate - I know a guy who was miserable for years until he had a family, and just to look at him it has obviously made him complete. For myself I have no desire to have kids, certainly not into this world. A problem arises in that single women who I know and meet who are of a similar age to me all want to have them. I could have married a couple of years ago but for my insistence that I didn't want children - I don't think that I will ever 'cave in' on that one as George Monbiot did. Making the decision to bring life into this world based on how much you are in love with someone strikes me as irresponsible. Does this mean that I will just have to keep dating girls in their early twenties (and thus have to continue to keep killing myself at the gym ) or are there many like-minded women out there who don't want to have children either?

I have just read over this - looks like one for a relationships column in a magazine . Can anyone relate to what I am saying?

[RevdTess]

leroy, i think you'll find that as you get into your mid to late thirties either you'll suddenly decide you want kids or you'll start meeting women who've made the same decision you have (or for whom it's becoming or become too late). The choice on whether to have children can change overnight, even in those who swear blind they'll never have any. I've seen it happen. Felt my own views change as well. A few months from my 30th birthday I knew I never wanted children and completely accepted it. Now I have some regrets on that score when it's too late, but not enough so that it's really painful - just a choice I made which seemed right at the time. What changed my mind? The feeling that I'd learned some wisdom to share, and the sudden sense that raising children is one of the few things in the world that has clear and obvious meaningfulness. Until then I guess it had mostly been about me and what i might achieve. Middle-age, eh. What can you do.

[leroy]

Thank you Tess, what you say is reassuring. Regarding the reasons behind your emergent desire to have children, don't you feel that you can share any accrued wisdom with those other than your own offspring. As for having something of real meaning in life, I can relate to that one. Hard work floating around in a lake of relativism and moral uncertainty in this postmodern world. I was very glad to read JH Kunstler's assertion that we would be doing away with such things in the years to come

[PS_RalphW]

Sorry to repeat myself, but my partner and I found a good (?) compromise on this issue - we adopted kids. Not that we actively chose adoption over production, just that by the time we met it was the only practical option to us. We both see the world overpopulated etc. etc., but we would have produced our own earlier on if the occaison arose. Parenting is deeply satisying, seeing the kids develop and surprise you with their new talents - although you could happily murder them on occaisons

We adopted locally, kids that had a tough start. Loads of moral issues about what is best for kids or the original parents, but there is no doubt that the kids are getting a better start with us. In a way we feel more proud of them because we are not related, there is no question of 'Well - she didn't inherit that trait from me...'

[jonny2mad]

The annoying thing is the sort of people who should have kids dont and the ones that really shouldnt do .

really peak oil wouldnt stop me from having kids wouldnt worry me a bit , are people worried about the kids or is it just adding to the population .

whats the worst that can happen to them ?

[leroy]

whats the worst that can happen to them ?
_________________
nuclear war survival

You seem to have one very real possibility right there.

[RevdTess]

Thank you Tess, what you say is reassuring. Regarding the reasons behind your emergent desire to have children, don't you feel that you can share any accrued wisdom with those other than your own offspring.

Simple answer to that is most people find my wisdom not very wise at all. The urge to share though is incessant

[Adam1]

Thank you for posting this article, Adam. This is a fascinating subject. I have just turned thirty and am surrounded by friends who are having children or are planning to. I clearly remember driving to Cheddar a few years ago with a friend who studied environmental science at university. As we wound through the gorges I was talking to him about climate change (think I called it global warming back in 2003) and he said to me 'if you want to see a really scary idea, you should check out Peak Oil - thats a bad one'. I lost touch of my friend and bumped into him in Bristol last summer. Over drinks he told me that he now had a baby son and that he had settled down. I reminded him of the heads up he gave me about PO in Cheddar and said how I had only really recognised the issue years later. To my amazement he claimed no recollection, and rapidly changed the subject.

I have other friends, previously open to discussion on any subject, with young families who are becoming increasingly selective over which parts of the newspaper they will read or have stopped reading them at all. Mentioning Peak Oil is an absolute no-no in conversation. Very interesting in Ms Penrhyn Jones' article about how people change their beliefs more often than their behaviour in response to perceived ethical problems. I think that is called cowardice in my book.

I know that some men really want to have children, have a biological urge to procreate - I know a guy who was miserable for years until he had a family, and just to look at him it has obviously made him complete. For myself I have no desire to have kids, certainly not into this world. A problem arises in that single women who I know and meet who are of a similar age to me all want to have them. I could have married a couple of years ago but for my insistence that I didn't want children - I don't think that I will ever 'cave in' on that one as George Monbiot did. Making the decision to bring life into this world based on how much you are in love with someone strikes me as irresponsible. Does this mean that I will just have to keep dating girls in their early twenties (and thus have to continue to keep killing myself at the gym ) or are there many like-minded women out there who don't want to have children either?

I have just read over this - looks like one for a relationships column in a magazine . Can anyone relate to what I am saying?

That's a story that resonates with me leroy. My anecdotal experience is that amongst friends and acquaintances parents do often seem to block out bad news that bit more than non-parents.

My OH and I are expecting our first child this summer. It's been a long time coming and we are both very excited at the prospect of becoming parents. In my more doomerish moments since learning about peak oil in Sept '05 I have worried about how consistent our choice is to bring a new human being into the world, given where we seem to be heading. In those moments, I have sometimes imagined a conversation with my child in 20 years' time where s/he asks angrily why we chose to bring him/her into the world with the fore-knowledge of what was to come.

I don't know whether our choice is unwise or irresponsible. Time will tell. I guess that sounds a bit cavalier but for me peak oil means living with more uncertainty about the future and living more for now. My parents hesitated before having me for various reason including worries about the future - I was conceived around the time of the Cuban missile crisis - but I'm glad they decided to take the risk.

I think it likely that peak oil could limit their geographical horizons, their material standard of living and their access to modern healthcare and dentistry. But, hopefully, our child will be healthy and happy and fulfilled in their life; and maybe they will make some kind of a positive difference in the wider world.

Tess is absolutely right about the primal nature of the need to procreate. I think most people who rationalise not wanting children probably aren't resisting a strong need to be a parent. When I was 30, I didn't think about having children much.

[RevdTess]

I have sometimes imagined a conversation with my child in 20 years' time where s/he asks angrily why we chose to bring him/her into the world with the fore-knowledge of what was to come.

I'd have been more angry if my parents had decided *not* to give me the chance

[RenewableCandy]

I have sometimes imagined a conversation with my child in 20 years' time where s/he asks angrily why we chose to bring him/her into the world with the fore-knowledge of what was to come.

It's not 20-year-olds who do that it's more usually teenagers. Shortly before slamming a door and wandering off to sulk somewhere.

Heck, I was born during the Cuban Missile Crisis, when we all thought we were going to get nuked. Now we have 2 children: 2, to replace us, no problem population-wise.

[Adam1]

I have sometimes imagined a conversation with my child in 20 years' time where s/he asks angrily why we chose to bring him/her into the world with the fore-knowledge of what was to come.

I'd have been more angry if my parents had decided *not* to give me the chance

Yeah, that's what I feel. I don't think that sort of conversation would happen in real life, except when dealing with a moody teenager as RC says.

[SunnyJim]

Can't see this blocking things out when becoming a parent at all! It seems that when I became a parent I suddenly took an interest in the world at large again. Peak oil awareness occured to me while my wife was pregnant with our second child. I wouldn't say that it would reverse my decision, and yes I worry what their future might be like, but I am now a 'stakeholder' in the future. I really have a vested interest in what the world will be like after I'm dead.

Would I have chosen to have kids if I had known about peak oil before hand? Dunno. I don't think humans are as rational as we would all like to think. We are very good at doing exactly what our instincts tell us to, then rationalising that decision. I suspect that I would have had children regardless.

[RenewableCandy]

Well I'd say being in a family does 2 things: first, logistics preclude some of the more way-out 'Green/PO' options (to be fair I miss, for example, going on demos and to talks), but to make up for that, lots more non-'Green/PO' people (parents of kids' friends, for example, sometimes teachers too) see you doing what you're doing and the message spreads beyond 'the usual suspects'.

A lot of the things we do round the house have a sort of elemental appeal all of their own: planting stuff, chopping up wood, cooking from scratch. It gives the chance to show that there's some fun in not being reliant on our present infrastructure for every minute of everything.

[careful_eugene]

Our 2nd child was born in October last year, despite my being PO aware (and having read The Road). Whatever happens in the future I want the human race to survive, that means that at least some of us have to keep on having children.

The annoying thing is the sort of people who should have kids dont and the ones that really shouldnt do

I sort of agree, but feel ashamed of doing so.

I think it likely that peak oil could limit their geographical horizons, their material standard of living and their access to modern healthcare and dentistry. But, hopefully, our child will be healthy and happy and fulfilled in their life; and maybe they will make some kind of a positive difference in the wider world.

This pretty much sums up how I feel about it. I try very hard with my 5 year old daughter to explain that things won't always be like they are now. She knows that the car needs petrol to work and that by the time she's a grown up there won't be any left for her to drive a car. The 1 big problem I have is the amount of crap (advertising, marketing, brand awareness) she sees on TV and elsewhere, hopefully that won't be around for too much longer.