And we march for generations yet to come, our children, grandchildren, and their children, whose lives will be systematically impoverished and degraded. It's the first time one century has wrecked the prospects of the millennia to come, and it makes us mad enough to march.
We march with hope, too. We see a few great examples around the world of how quickly we could make the transition to renewable energy. We know that if there were days this summer when Germany generated nearly 75% of its power from renewable sources of energy, the rest of us could, too -- especially in poorer nations around the equator that desperately need more energy. And we know that labor-intensive renewables would provide far more jobs than capital-intensive coal, gas, and oil.
And we march with some frustration: why haven't our societies responded to 25 years of dire warnings from scientists? We're not naà ¯ve; we know that the fossil fuel industry is the 1% of the 1%. But sometimes we think we shouldn't have to march. If our system worked the way it should, the world would long ago have taken the obvious actions economists and policy gurus have recommended -- from taxing carbon to reflect the damage it causes to funding a massive World War II-scale transition to clean energy.
Marching is not all, or even most, of what we do. We advocate; we work to install solar panels; we push for sustainable transit. We know, though, that history shows marching is usually required, that reason rarely prevails on its own. (And we know that sometimes even marching isn't enough; we've been to jail and we'll likely be back.)
We're tired of winning the argument and losing the fight. And so we march. We march for the beaches and the barrios. We march for summers when the cool breeze still comes down in the evening. We march because Exxon spends $100 million every day looking for more hydrocarbons, even though scientists tell us we already have far more in our reserves than we can safely burn. We march for those too weak from dengue fever and malaria to make the journey. We march because California has lost 63 trillion gallons of groundwater to the fierce drought that won't end, and because the glaciers at the roof of Asia are disappearing. We march because researchers told the world in April that the West Antarctic ice sheet has begun to melt "irrevocably"; Greenland's ice shield may soon follow suit; and the waters from those, as rising seas, will sooner or later drown the world's coastlines and many of its great cities.
We don't march because there's any guarantee it will work. If you were a betting person, perhaps you'd say we have only modest hope of beating the financial might of the oil and gas barons and the governments in their thrall. It's obviously too late to stop global warming entirely, but not too late to slow it down -- and it's not too late, either, to simply pay witness to what we're losing, a world of great beauty and complexity and stability that has nurtured humanity for thousands of years.
There's a world to march for -- and a future, too. The only real question is why anyone wouldn't march.
Eddie Bautista is executive director of the New York City Environmental Justice Alliance. LaTonya Crisp-Sauray is the recording secretary for the Transport Workers Union Local 100. Bill McKibben is the founder of 350.org and a TomDispatch regular.
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Copyright 2014 Eddie Bautista, La Tonya Crisp-Sauray, and Bill McKibben
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