By Lina Boyer
The first time I heard about ecoanxiety I was 13. A girl who was a friend of mine always said that word, and I thought she was exaggerating.
I was the kind of little girl who always wanted to appear strong, who wasn’t bothered by external forces. I constantly minimized my own feelings, smothering them so I wouldn’t have to face them. But I was frightened. Frightened about the world I was growing up in, of the decisions being taken by our heads of state, of our relationship with nature and consumerism, and of our thirst for conquest and power.
The more I heard this word around me, the more it resonated in me and made sense.
Since I have grown to understand the existence of this concept I am haunted by it, but it also motivates me.
Why this wind of hope through such a dark forest? Because putting a word on such a strong feeling permits me to point a finger, exchange with other people, and recognize myself through these other human beings.
In my case, ecoanxiety has manifested itself in many sneaky ways.
I once adhered to the “zero waste” movement, which seemed to me to be the solution to our sick society. I enrolled, without asking too many questions, as a consumer and, very soon, as an active supporter of this movement.
At 19, I had the opportunity of becoming the manager of first ever zero waste food warehouse in Quebec. Even though I was proud of getting such a responsible position in such little time, I had a lot of work to do. Impostor’s syndrome invaded my thoughts every morning. But all that responsibility kept me busy, and I was motivated by the prospect of making real change.
During my reign, I tried to reduce the waste generated by our company as much as possible, because even though it was a zero waste grocery store, we were still generating waste. A zero waste warehouse is a lot like any large-format food warehouse, except that we do business with small producers and artisans, and the people we hire have a well-developed ecological conscience. Other than that, the system isn’t very different: flour in enormous paper bags, dried fruit in plastic bags, and cardboard boxes. The real difference is in the enlightened, ingenious spirit of the employees.
Garbage bags in trash cans were reused; cardboard boxes were saved for home deliveries and other types of storage until they couldn’t hold up anymore. I was obsessed with the idea that we could get our waste down to zero; that’s what I dreamed of at night. I tried to arrange with our suppliers that everything be recyclable, be it jars, bags or boxes. Sadly, there was a limit to what we could do.
After a few months, I hit a wall known as “capitalism.” I realized that despite all the efforts I could deploy to change things, we still had to make a profit; and profit means consuming. When I got back from vacation, the company had started selling packaged products that the big chain grocery stores were selling too. The reason was simple: we were losing customers who were buying their strawberry yogurt or their oat milk in packaging at the Metro store next door.
It didn’t take long for me to decide to resign. I came to realize that I was more radical than I thought I was. I couldn’t see how I could navigate between a company, which is a product of capitalism, and my values. I took the concept of zero waste so much to heart that forgot that I sometimes had to compromise to advance. I imagine that that is what you call wisdom.
Nonetheless, I ask myself if a society that respects the environment can live with capitalism.
My main mission was never to dismantle this political and economic regime, but after this experience I can only see only one possible option: make the wall fall.
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