By Ryan Lark

Ryan Lark is a writer living in Lexington, Kentucky. His monthly newsletter For the Love of Nature focuses on the advancements being made in sustainability. He can be reached on Twitter @ry_lark and by email at rylark8@gmail.com.

My first environmental activist meeting was in a white-walled room with fluorescent, overhead lighting that, ironically, had not a single window to see the tree-filled college campus that surrounded us. 

Although my personality holds a healthy dose of cynicism, I like to think most people are attracted to activism out of a selfless desire to help. In my case, I’d found the group online in order to do what I could to help stop this whole climate change thing. When I walked into that first meeting, nervous with the self-doubt that’s prescribed to the youth, I was one of seven people in attendance and the only new blood in the room. Despite being an outsider with no experience, the others were thrilled at my likeminded passion and eager to welcome me. 

As the meeting commenced, I listened in awe while they explained their detailed plan to convince the university administration to minimize campus carbon emissions. Fueled by angst and enthusiasm, it only took a few months before I grew into an equal amongst my ambitious peers. I was the picturesque activist, meeting with administrators about sustainability policies, learning how to lobby, and planning student marches. However, as I worked alongside my new friends, I started to see the ugliness that had invaded the organization’s focus. 

There was a constant air of ambient disapproval which wasn’t as abrasive as a direct confrontation; it was much more sinister. During a discussion, someone might mention how much they were doing comparatively. “Well, I had to skip class yesterday to fill in the petitioning time slot Ashley was supposed to fulfill.” A few minutes later, another exhausted activist would casually slide in a cutting remark, quickly rolling the negativity snowball into an avalanche. It was a constant, subtle game of self-sacrificing Olympics that my Midwestern passive aggressive upbringing couldn’t even have prepared me for, and unfortunately, I learned to play too.

Even social gatherings were stressful. Food typically brings people together, but potlucks for environmental activists can be an intricate social obstacle course where one wrong ingredient could erupt into a Shakespearian scandal. An innocent, “Oh this has eggs? I’m vegan,” was quickly followed by “I can’t eat this. I personally choose not to support the palm oil industry.”  Across the room you’d hear someone who’d brought fair trade ingredients rivaling someone who brought locally sourced ones. 

It wasn’t the mere declaration of an individual’s dietary concerns that turned the floor into eggshells. It was a palpable weaponization of them that seemed to give cause for self-grandeur and judgment for you not meeting their higher standards. It could continue until seemingly everyone felt bad about their choices because there’s always another layer to peel back, another element to dissect and denounce.

At summits and meetings with other organizations, I met groups that festered the same problems we were having. No matter where I went or which organization I connected with, there was always the same infighting but with different people, and I finally saw from an outside perspective how detrimental this was to the other members. I caught eye rolls and frustrated sighs that cut people off while speaking, creating a space that suppressed a person’s value rather than uplifted it. Activism thrives off collaboration. Creating inhospitable environments for everyone to participate only stunted our work.

Despite our internal issues, I still found activism immensely fulfilling, and what’s more shocking, it was successful. Several years into my work within the organization, the university agreed to our terms and instituted a plan to curb their carbon emissions. However, somewhere along the way I developed a specific brand of self-disapproval that overshadowed our successes. I’d been marinated in the feeling that all my choices were being probed long enough that I started scrutinizing everything I did. Regardless of convincing a university to decrease their carbon footprint, I would ridicule myself for wanting to drive to campus. I should bike. I don’t want to generate any carbon emissions. The occasional indulgence, or failure as I saw it, was never worth the mental anguish. I was “part of the problem.” I felt like my choice as an environmentalist of something as small as beef over tofu pad thai held just as much contempt from my peers as the BP oil spill, and this pressure brewed a wonderful mental cocktail of anxiety and self-flagellation.

After graduating from the university and thus forced to leave the organization, I slowly felt relieved that I no longer had to continue at 110 percent at all times. At this, a familiar pang of guilt tugged at me, but more than that, I was excited to not have to navigate this social minefield anymore. I never again wanted to surround myself with people so ready to criticize, so though I could’ve joined another environmental organization, I abandoned the work entirely and cut ties with those I perceived judgment from. 

Since leaving many years ago, I’ve rejuvenated my compassion enough to come back to environmental activism, but this time with a much different perspective. I want to live my life as an example of the choices I want to see in the world. However, I accept I’ll never be perfect, and more imperatively, my personal choices will not ruin nor save the world. 

Accidentally using a single-use straw is not going to kill every turtle photographed by National Geographic, but by working together we might be able to overhaul the city’s public transport system and drastically cut single-person vehicle use. Unwarranted nipping at one another within organizations at best distracts from the common goal and at worst mentally cripples someone by reinforcing the false notion that the issue is at the individual level and not the industry or governmental. 

I often wonder how many more people would’ve joined and how much quicker we could’ve convinced the administration had we not been so harsh to each other. With each huff, glare, or superiority-induced “selflessness,” we chip away at the foundation of the movement, a movement that usually relies on the volunteered time of everyone involved. The judgment rather than appreciation, the stress rather than support we put on each other pushes people away and leads to burnout in those who aren’t. We need to give grace to those who are trying to do the right thing, remembering they are not trying to fight against but with you. If we do not put into perspective the extent to which certain behaviors that are detrimental to the environment are occurring and self-reflect on why it matters to you that someone is not able to take on as much, we are doomed to perpetuate this cycle of selfish self-sacrifice that only estranges those seeking to help.