Years ago, I worked in a close-knit community that had experienced a violent tragedy. As people absorbed what had happened, it felt like everyone was frozen. Incomprehension immobilized.
After a couple of months, leaders were determined to help the community find a way. They struggled to figure out what to do. I remember saying to someone, “This is a community searching for hope.” The person reacted with a kind of shock. “Hope is already not the thing itself, but if you have to search for it, you are a long way from what you need.”
The community was a long way from the peace and confidence it needed. Leaders dug deep into their roots, their traditions. They built on that foundation and found a direction. Hope was reborn. Peace deepened. Growth happened.
I thought of that discussion of hope as I listened to an interview on CBC radio where the woman being interviewed said that they did not use the language of hope. The interviewer sounded shocked. (Sorry I can’t remember if it was Tapestry or The Next Chapter, and I did not catch the name of the woman being interviewed.) Sensing the interviewer’s discomfort, the woman referred to the young leaders on climate action. “When I look at them, I don’t see hope.” Rather, those leaders embody determination and direction, active seeking, bold initiatives.
The trouble is that sometimes, the statement “I have hope” is the end of the story. “I have hope that things will change” does not in and of itself accomplish the change. It is better than “I despair of things getting better,” because if we experience despair we won’t even try. But just having hope is not enough. It can be a way of relinquishing responsibility.
The quality or direction of the hope also matters. If a person hopes to become rich and own a mega house and a big car, they are contributing to the economy that fuels climate change. They may hope that the climate emergency is addressed, but that is a vague hope, one that is not directing their actions.
If a person hopes to be part of the solution to climate change, they will examine their carbon emissions, buy an electric vehicle or at least a hybrid, carpool, shop in thrift stores or wear their clothes for years rather than changing to the latest fast fashion outfits. Hope that is active motivates changes in behaviour.
For a few years now, I have hoped that I could lessen my use of plastic. I sewed bags from old cloth to use when shopping.
But a year ago, I realized that my hope had not driven me any farther. I looked around and saw plastic containers everywhere. Solving the laundry detergent bottle was easy. Tru Earth advertises everywhere and their strips are great. I rediscovered bars of soap and got soap dishes for the kitchen and bathrooms. I had used a refillery for dishwashing soap, but I found a local option which has a plastic bag in a box – a lot less plastic – and a concentrate that I ordered online. Some food items still come in plastic, but I buy food and juices in a can, glass, or cardboard when I am able.
Holding close the hope to lessen plastics in my life, letting that hope be the lens I used with all my shopping, and being willing to make the effort cut my plastic footprint hugely.
Hope is important. Without a sense of vision, without a sense that change is possible, we are frozen, immobilized. Hope can thaw us out, provide a sense of what is possible. Hope can also shine a light on the path we need to take. It opens up our sense of the world and shows us what is possible. But “I hope so” said with a shrug is worse than despair. It acknowledges that we could act but abrogates our responsibility to do so.
When hope is grounded in reality and in life-giving traditions, we can fill it with determination and energy. Then what we hope for can become real.
Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway Nation.
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dandelion photograph: Joe from Pixabay
