CULTIVATING COMPASSION
Combining Eco-Grief and Action on the Heels of Hurricane Helene
in numerous protests and civil disobedience actions. But deciding to be vegan for the animals, and the planet, nearly 40 years ago, is the action I feel most passionately. For those of you new to activism, I invite you to learn how to RESIST while striving to make positive change. In the DMV, there are hun - dreds of nonprofits and thousands of activists actively seeking new recruits. Pick one, or try out several. The old adage, ”think globally, act locally” still holds true! A man-made tsunami will slam into DC on January 20th. The debris field connected to this impending disaster — also of our own making — threatens something our world has never known. But there is no time for apathy and despair, dear reader. Speaking as an older activ- ist, the only viable antidote to climate collapse, and the next 4 (plus?) years is the power of relentless action and activism — it’s also how we dig out of planetary grief, and its offshoots — depression, anxiety, and anguish. Together, if we act accordingly and immediately, the future will take care of itself. And our collective grief will heal along the way.
A MESSAGE FROM CAM MACQUEEN, CULTIVATING COMPASSION CONTRIBUTING EDITOR
Experiencing Hurricane Helene, an ecological monster, has been the fiercest wake-up call of my life. As you may know “Cultivating Compassion” focuses on animal rights, environmental rights, and social justice issues. So you won’t be surprised I write this piece from a heart-centered place about my deep love and concern for the planet and the living world. I’m combining this love and the environmental trauma of Hurricane Helene with the importance of taking action to fend off climate calamity. Thank you for the opportunity to share a bit of my story as personal catharsis. It’s also to thank Kelly and IFAW, Howard and the HSUS, and all the hundreds of people from all over the country who’ve offered assis - tance, often at their own peril, badly needed supplies, and basic com- fort to human and nonhuman animals. The work of our neighbors, community volunteers, local nonprofits, religious organizations, and governmental agencies has been extraordinary, too. Words simply cannot capture the devastation of a sudden mountain hurricane. In order to understand Helene’s wrath and the toxic after - math fully, I encourage you to spend 22 minutes watching this power - ful video, Hurricane Helene: A Love Letter To Appalachia , available on YouTube (https://youtu.be/J53T7Cvw6wo?si=nqJVl9UxH4Q - JuHKn.) Most know someone who lost loved ones, companion animals, homes, businesses, jobs, or vehicles. A high school coach at my neph- ew’s school lost 11 members of his family due to mudslides. Some of the still missing may never be found. And many who fared well are experiencing survivor’s guilt and the randomness of survivor’s luck. Needless to say, our collective grief over the losses is felt viscerally throughout 35 impacted WNC counties. In 17 WNC counties, a total of 822,000 acres of trees and habitat have been lost. Over 40% of the trees in Buncombe County, where Asheville is, have been damaged or downed. My grief over the trees is hard to bear. I wonder about their grief! How do they express their sadness? In some cases, centu - ries-long friendships with intertwining roots, wisely communicating in ways we’ve only yet to consider, violently ripped apart. And what about the countless animals whose homes they had care- fully crafted in those branches, nooks, crannies, and canopies, offer - ing shelter for themselves and their cherished families? How are they coping with separation, loss, and homelessness? If we could only hear their cries, and know their inner thoughts, imagine how our hearts might open and respond. There’s grief, too, for the rivers, creeks, and tributaries contaminat - ed with toxic chemicals, killing aquatic life and harming wildlife; and the air, filled with dusty, orange clouds of particulate matter from the dried, polluted river sludge left behind when the waters receded, now seems dangerous to breathe. Enormous debris fields serve as a gruesome, depressing memorial to our indifference to the natural world and to the lack of care and con - cern for its residents. This is called eco-grief, and it’s grief that comes from the sadness of knowing what you love, the natural world and all inhabitants, are being harmed and destroyed. Nothing new, it’s now chronic for many. I have experienced this grief for the planet and the animals my entire life. My activism began at 8 years of age when I called the police on a neighbor for shooting squirrels. Out of college, I worked in DC for various animal rights groups, organizing, lobbying, and participating
PATHWAYS—Winter 24-25—33
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