My dearest future grandchildren
I’m writing to say sorry. I owe you, and everyone of your generation, an enormous apology. All of us old timers do.
The worst thing is we can’t say we weren’t warned. We knew we were sleepwalking to disaster.
As I’m writing this, in November 2022, the population is about to reach eight billion and a climate change conference is being held in Egypt. Powerful people are making “blah blah blah” speeches, saying they want to save the planet but doing very little.
Perhaps by now you will refer to it as CopOut27, if you even mention it at all.
When your daddy was seven years old, we had a summer where some days reached 40 degrees.
That probably seems like nothing to you, but back then it was a record temperature. We cowered inside, and watched as parts of Britain became so hot they burst into flames, the country literally on fire, in a metaphor come to life.
But then it got cooler again, so we just carried on as normal. When Pakistan flooded so badly that a third of it was underwater, right before our eyes, we looked the other way. If I can stop coughing for long enough, thanks to the polluted air, I hope I hang my head in shame when you see me nowadays.
Yes, I rinsed my yoghurt pots for recycling, and did Meat Free Mondays, but it wasn’t anywhere nearly enough, was it? And you – Bob and Liz, if your dad sticks to the names he chose for you when he was little – are now paying the price.
You’re probably wondering why – at this stage, when so much was clearly wrong, and there was still time to do something about it – people weren’t rioting in the streets, demanding change.
Well, some were.
Climate activists did their very best to force us to take notice, wake up to the emergency, stop turning the other way.
They tried over and over again, they blocked roads, caused scenes in art galleries, and made as much noise as they possibly could, so they were impossible to ignore. So their message got through.
And were they thanked for this? Hailed as heroes? Nope, they were arrested, like criminals, by police who, by that time, had mostly stopped turning up when people had been burgled.
I can’t imagine the world you’re living in now, the future you’ve inherited from us.
Maybe I’ve just watched you put out the latest wildfire in the corner of our overcrowded climate refugee camp, using up all of our family’s water ration for today.
Maybe that sounds like a dream scenario compared with our dystopian reality. What’s most unfair is that my time on this ruined planet is nearly done, and you still have so long to suffer through.
Even though you’re currently imaginary, I love you, my grandchildren. I know you may struggle to believe that – actions speak louder than words, after all – but I really do.
I’m not asking for forgiveness, as none of my generation deserve it, we were warned, repeatedly, we knew what we were doing, or – more importantly – not doing.
But I’m sorry. So, so, sorry.
Granny Polly x
