I (We) Deserve It All
It's hard to feel gratitude after yet another failed COP, but we've got to try, right?
LISTENING: to that "fuck you" kind of rap
FEELING: hormonal lol
SEEING: a lovely bouquet of flowers my boo gave me
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. By the time you all read this, the day will have likely come and gone. This year, I'm especially grateful to you all — the ones who have stuck around. Some days, it's hard to write these newsletters. There are only some 440 of you who receive them. And as much as I hate to admit it, I feel envy and jealousy when I see newer newsletters reach subscription numbers I could only dream of.
So, yeah! I'm glad y'all have stuck around. I'm not sure how much longer I'll publish this newsletter in the new year. We're halfway through year two of Possibilities, and subscriptions aren't increasing the way I need them to for the time and effort that goes into these to be worth it. I'll keep you all updated on my decisions as I make them, of course. I always appreciate feedback to ensure the newsletter is meeting your expectations, too!
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Anyway, I'm writing to you all on the heels of the latest global climate negotiations in Baku, Azerbaijan. I'm not sure what bright spot there is for me to take away from COP29. Wealthy world leaders agreed to give low-income developing countries $300 billion in climate financing so that they can withstand the changes their countries face in a hotter world. For us regular folks, that might sound like a lot of money, but frontline world leaders need over $1 trillion to prepare and recover from disaster.
To provide some context, the U.S. has experienced 24 extreme weather events this year where costs surpassed $1 billion. We're one country — a country that's not even experiencing the worst of climate calamity given our geographical position and socioeconomic infrastructure — and the annual cost of extreme weather events can range from $61 billion (this year) to nearly $400 billion (in 2017, the year of Hurricanes Maria and Harvey). The world's poorest countries have less than the higher end of that range to share among themselves. Sigh.
I visited Malawi in southern Africa last year to see firsthand what extreme weather looks like beyond our borders in the countries set to benefit from a climate reparations fund. You can read my reporting for Vox here. I'm thinking a lot about the people of Blantyre these days.
In March last year, record-breaking Cyclone Freddy devastated the community. A landslide had caused boulders to crash into their town. Houses remained in rubble. People told me bodies remained lost under the thick mud. It was awful to see. And so heartbreaking for the survivors who remained, scared of when the next storm would cause the rocks to come tumbling down the mountain again. The government estimated the loss and damages of that event amounted to $1 billion.
When I met community members, they saw a loss and damage fund (where those $300 billion will be going) as their last hope. They hoped they could get money to relocate somewhere new — somewhere safe. Don't they deserve that? Don't they deserve to go to sleep at night when the clouds burst, knowing they will wake up in the morning?
Maybe it's because my period is nearly here, but I just feel so angry. At everyone! The toxic folks in the climate movement in my DMs who choose to attack and disparage others when they should be building solidarity. My former colleagues and so-called friends who care about climate change but don't care enough to subscribe to my newsletter. World leaders who give endless billions to genocidal nations like Israel but refuse to hold themselves accountable for the climate crisis they created and give to the nations who will suffer despite having done nothing to get us into this mess.
I do have gratitude — for the ones who tune in every week and share, for the non-tóxicos, for the organizers who lead with love and not ego, for the handful of politicians who actually give a fuck. I try to sit with my gratitude and soak in it because that's how I rewire my brain away from the negative and anger. It's how I regulate my thoughts, a practice my therapist has been teaching me because the thoughts of "fuck this," "we're fucked," "people fucking suck" can be loud.
And then, I think of you all. I think of the people in Malawi with smiles on their faces despite their grief. I think of my nephew and my niece whose hugs feed my soul. I think of my ancestors who saw worse days during bloody years in El Salvador. I think of us and what we're fighting for.
We deserve it all. We really, really do. 🌀