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Children and the Climate by Dominic Tscherny
ch i l d r e n and the C l i m a t e
My children will suffer the climate crisis. Should I have them?
Words By Dominic Tscherny Image by Celine Delahoy
It’s December and I am visiting my grandmother. As her youngest grandson, the rules of our relationship dictate that I must endure the usual interrogation:
Are you seeing anyone? Nein,
Oma. Will you get married soon? I don’t think so, Oma. Would you like to have children someday? Pause. This time it’s different.
Because I don’t know how to answer that question anymore.
Although I have always wanted children, lately I have begun to fear the life they would lead. Burning summers, melting ice caps, mass extinction. In the face of total ecological breakdown, is it fair to create new victims of this crisis? Another question reaches my mind. It is one that is increasingly asked in both media and the arts: “Will my children contribute negatively to the climate crisis?” I first heard the question during a college performance of Duncan
MacMillan’s “Lungs”, a stage play where, referring to the carbon footprint of her would-be child, the female lead laments: “That’s the weight of the Eiffel Tower. I’d 6
be giving birth to the Eiffel Tower.” Of course, I can’t be certain what the carbon footprint of my future children would be. It depends on the type of life they lead. But more importantly, it depends on the type of world they inherit. To be sure, of all people in the world today, my life is among the most carbon intensive. Despite the choices I make to mitigate my environmental impact, my existence remains opulent - much of the food I eat is imported from far away, I enjoy intensive appliances like washing machines and refrigerators, and I still fly multiple times each year. Compared to most people on Earth, mine is a life of luxury. If I have children, their lives will likely look like this too; I hope that every child will live as well as I do, and better. I wish delicious, millennial avocados upon the children of Siberia, washing machines to remote settlements in Africa, and yes, I wish the joy of air travel to every human being. Such statements are not popular. I can already hear the critics spitting: “How can you say
this? Your way of life is destroying the planet! These children you speak of, they cannot live like you!” - and they are right. My lifestyle actively contributes to the destruction of everything that I love: the forests and the air, the corals and the waters, the plants and animals... My life is devastating to the biotic community; if I bring children into this world, it seems that theirs will be too. Does it follow that I should not create them? Concretely, the current trajectory of human consumption is abysmal. We need to drastically reduce our consumption of meat, fast fashion, air travel, concrete, and so on. But we cannot accept that the only acceptable life is one devoid of carbon. Nor can we justifiably deny the comforts of rich countries like ours to poor ones. Who are we to deny others the luxuries we have thus
far enjoyed? When so much of global inequality is caused by the colonial and post-colonial structures from which we still benefit, we are dutifully bound to promote better lives for our planetary brothers and sisters, not hold them hostage to emissions. We must treat our children the same way. We must be careful not to view them as means to an end (where that end is a planet rid of global warming), but as ends in themselves. The threats facing us are not children per se, but rather the carbon structures of modern life. Changing these structures is the challenge of our time because all people and their children deserve a life that is both rich and sustainable. So I respond to my dear critics: yes, our children cannot live like us. But neither can we. Another, more pressing reason why many are now electing not to have children is the concern that their life as an individual will be made painful by the climate crisis. The worry is that if people are already feeling the force of climate change today, then those who are born later will suffer even more. If this is true, maybe it is best not to bring them into existence at all. Although similar, this position is not to be conflated with the philosophical doctrine of antinatalism. The best-known interpretation of antinatalism argues that coming into existence generates both pain and pleasure, whereas not coming into existences generates neither. The argument goes that the absence of pain is good even if there is nobody to enjoy that goodness, but the absence of pleasure is not bad if there is nobody around to miss it. Therefore, the antinatalist argues, it is best not to come into existence. Antinatalism aside, I am not alone in the worry about bringing a child into existence in a world suffering the climate crisis. Globally, a movement of people who have chosen not to have children out of this concern is swelling. For these people, the primary concern is not the aforementioned worry about their children’s effect on the environment, but rather, that of the environment on their children. BirthStrike, founded by UK based musician and activist Blythe Pepino, is an international community of parents and would-be parents who have come together to raise awareness about how the climate crisis is affecting their “human ability and desire to give birth”. The movement consists of hundreds of people representing an array of genders, capacities to conceive, as well as parents and the childfree alike. The group calls for a just and systemic response to the climate crisis, and protests that children should not have to grow up in a world of searing bushfires and catastrophic hurricanes. While many members of BirthStrike have explicitly declared “not to bear children due to the severity of the ecological crisis and the current inaction of governing forces in the face [of] this existential threat”, the group does not seek to instruct others how to make their reproductive choices. Concretely, BirthStrike defends all parents, and “celebrates their choice and fights for the safety and lives of their children”. Rather than telling others how to make reproductive decisions, BirthStrike is born out of the loving, compassionate desire to protect all children both present and future. However, despite the clarity of the BirthStrike position, many commentators either deliberately or accidentally associate voluntary childlessness with enforced population control. Not only is this accusation unfounded but it reinforces the false narrative that the environmental movement is at odds with a growing human population. As Pepino herself says: “BirthStrike does not seek to coerce or pass judgement on anyone having children” and “BirthStrike is not campaigning about population or for population reduction”. Of course, it is worth remembering that many people are not in a position to even consider relinquishing parenthood. Many couples do not have access to birth control, or it may not be safe for them to use it. Among those that do have access, some communities may rely on their children for security or care. Alas, for couples who are in a position to consider going childfree, BirthStrike offers valuable support. There are many reasons why couples consciously decide to forgo parenthood. A growing number are doing so out of concern relating to the environment. Principally, because they want to avoid contributing to the climate crisis, or because they want to avoid their children suffering from that crisis. It is easy for me to say that life itself is not contributing to climate change, that the structures of a carbon society are to blame, and so on, but it is difficult to ignore the overlap. More worrying still, the concern that a life under climate change might not be worth beginning. We don’t know the answers to these questions. But, hopefully, whether we start families or not, bearing them in mind will make us better parents and more responsible citizens of the Earth.
