In my life thus far, there are two things that I’m truly proud of. As a high school student, I was involved in the creation of an extraordinary environmental group – Montgomery County Student Environmental Activists (MCSEA). Afterward, in college, I developed a system of trainings to help other young leaders start similar groups. Years have passed since those days, the group just celebrated its tenth anniversary, in fact. This blog is an attempt to preserve some of my favorite memories and, along with them, the lessons learned along the way. It is meant for fellow MCSEAns, old and new, for Sierra Student Coalition (SSC) leaders and trainers who might still want to use some of those stories, and for anyone interested in reading about how organizing changes lives.
PRECURSORS
Some background on my personal story…
Growing up, I was pretty much your basic suburban kid. Getting anywhere meant bugging my parents for a ride, but that was okay as the tv and Nintendo were right there. You know those statistics about how much tv American children watch? Yeah, I was the one dragging the average upward. In junior high, I developed an *obsession* with the mall, and would spend a few hours there every weekend, always traveling around to the same four or five stores. It was not an upbringing that you would commonly expect of an environmental leader. Nature was never really in the picture.
My first meaningful interaction with the outdoors came in the summer of 1994. I was attending a two-week leadership program in Starlight, PA, sponsored by BBYO, a jewish youth group. I was not, at the time, a particularly happy kid. No, scratch that, I was miserable. I was the classic smart kid who lacked direction, social skills, and self-esteem. Teachers regularly regarded me as one of those students with potential who consistently failed to apply themselves. Classmates regarded me as, frankly, kinda weird.
Do you remember the quiet, socially awkward kid from summer camp? Of course you don’t, nobody does. That, it turned out, was something of a blessing in disguise. With no one to talk to for a couple of weeks, I took to sitting on a log by a lake. I had plenty of issues keeping me awake at night, things I couldn’t let go of. I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but at some point while I sat at that lake, nature stopped being *scenery*. I later learned a name for the experience: a transcendental moment. It is a profound realization to accept the world around you as being a whole that you are a part of, rather than a backdrop to the play that is your life. To this day, I carry it as something of a quiet religious conviction – a conviction that I believe undergirds much of the environmental movement: humanity is not the only thing of value in this world. True, spiritual meaning – wisdom, if you will – comes from something beyond us.
For the following year, I spent as much time as I could hiking, creekwalking, or sitting by a stream, reading whatever I could. I discovered Thoreau, “In Wildness is the Preservation of the World,” and found a creed in Aldo Leopold’s “Land Ethic.” Think of it as a crash course in loving the outdoors, if you will. My time by the lake had inspired a certain instinct in me. It took some time, considering what that instinct might mean.
Now, notice, this meant that I spent the fall of 1994 discovering in environmentalism. Pop quiz: what *else* happened in the fall of 1994? Say… November? Think “apolcaypse.” Okay, times up, what did you come up with? Newt Gingrich and the Republican Revolution? Gooood answer.
This was a distinctive time for the environmental movement. In 1990, nothing was cooler than being an environmentalist. Seriously, it was a genuine fad. At that point, Student Environmental Action Coalition (SEAC) was able to launch a 6,000-person conference based largely on a magazine ad. Try that today, I dare you. By 1994, major newspapers were declaring the death of the movement. The Sierra Club’s membership was decreasing, all the organizations were facing financial pressures, and all the landmark environmental laws of the 1970s seemed to be in danger. The problem, we eventually learned, was that decades of Democratic control of Congress had made organizations too reliant on professional lobbyists. We had forgotten how to organize people. Bob Bingaman, the Sierra Club’s National Field Director and my mentor and friend, likes to say that there are two types of power in American politics: money and people. Progressive movements will never win with money – the opposition will always be better funded – but through organizing people, we can perform miracles.
One central moment happened in the winter of ‘94/’95. My grandmother gave me a Sierra Club membership for my birthday, and I also spent $35 to join Greenpeace. Over the course of the following year, the Sierra Club sent me local, state, and national activist newsletters, along with a magazine that detailed the “War on the Environment” being waged by Newt and company. Greenpeace sent me five mailings that year, all telling me that they were doing great work and asking that I please send more money. Sierra wanted me to become a member, Greenpeace wanted a supporter. I have been a devoted Sierran ever since.
PRECURSORS
Some background on my personal story…
Growing up, I was pretty much your basic suburban kid. Getting anywhere meant bugging my parents for a ride, but that was okay as the tv and Nintendo were right there. You know those statistics about how much tv American children watch? Yeah, I was the one dragging the average upward. In junior high, I developed an *obsession* with the mall, and would spend a few hours there every weekend, always traveling around to the same four or five stores. It was not an upbringing that you would commonly expect of an environmental leader. Nature was never really in the picture.
My first meaningful interaction with the outdoors came in the summer of 1994. I was attending a two-week leadership program in Starlight, PA, sponsored by BBYO, a jewish youth group. I was not, at the time, a particularly happy kid. No, scratch that, I was miserable. I was the classic smart kid who lacked direction, social skills, and self-esteem. Teachers regularly regarded me as one of those students with potential who consistently failed to apply themselves. Classmates regarded me as, frankly, kinda weird.
Do you remember the quiet, socially awkward kid from summer camp? Of course you don’t, nobody does. That, it turned out, was something of a blessing in disguise. With no one to talk to for a couple of weeks, I took to sitting on a log by a lake. I had plenty of issues keeping me awake at night, things I couldn’t let go of. I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but at some point while I sat at that lake, nature stopped being *scenery*. I later learned a name for the experience: a transcendental moment. It is a profound realization to accept the world around you as being a whole that you are a part of, rather than a backdrop to the play that is your life. To this day, I carry it as something of a quiet religious conviction – a conviction that I believe undergirds much of the environmental movement: humanity is not the only thing of value in this world. True, spiritual meaning – wisdom, if you will – comes from something beyond us.
For the following year, I spent as much time as I could hiking, creekwalking, or sitting by a stream, reading whatever I could. I discovered Thoreau, “In Wildness is the Preservation of the World,” and found a creed in Aldo Leopold’s “Land Ethic.” Think of it as a crash course in loving the outdoors, if you will. My time by the lake had inspired a certain instinct in me. It took some time, considering what that instinct might mean.
Now, notice, this meant that I spent the fall of 1994 discovering in environmentalism. Pop quiz: what *else* happened in the fall of 1994? Say… November? Think “apolcaypse.” Okay, times up, what did you come up with? Newt Gingrich and the Republican Revolution? Gooood answer.
This was a distinctive time for the environmental movement. In 1990, nothing was cooler than being an environmentalist. Seriously, it was a genuine fad. At that point, Student Environmental Action Coalition (SEAC) was able to launch a 6,000-person conference based largely on a magazine ad. Try that today, I dare you. By 1994, major newspapers were declaring the death of the movement. The Sierra Club’s membership was decreasing, all the organizations were facing financial pressures, and all the landmark environmental laws of the 1970s seemed to be in danger. The problem, we eventually learned, was that decades of Democratic control of Congress had made organizations too reliant on professional lobbyists. We had forgotten how to organize people. Bob Bingaman, the Sierra Club’s National Field Director and my mentor and friend, likes to say that there are two types of power in American politics: money and people. Progressive movements will never win with money – the opposition will always be better funded – but through organizing people, we can perform miracles.
One central moment happened in the winter of ‘94/’95. My grandmother gave me a Sierra Club membership for my birthday, and I also spent $35 to join Greenpeace. Over the course of the following year, the Sierra Club sent me local, state, and national activist newsletters, along with a magazine that detailed the “War on the Environment” being waged by Newt and company. Greenpeace sent me five mailings that year, all telling me that they were doing great work and asking that I please send more money. Sierra wanted me to become a member, Greenpeace wanted a supporter. I have been a devoted Sierran ever since.
posted by sierradave at 5:16 PM
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