Politics and Sustainability in the Heartland

It was November of 2006 in Lawrence, Kansas. With a midwestern Autumn already well in its turn, biting temperatures made it nearly unbearable to stand outside for long. Yet, there I was: eight years old, snug in a puffy coat, bolstering a campaign sign that read “Sebelius” across the front. In Kansas, November not only forebode an uncomfortable change in the weather, but an equally uncomfortable change in political climate: the gubernatorial elections. So, when election day came along, I stood with my best friend and younger sister on the sidewalk of a busy intersection in our town. Together, we chanted in favor of Kathleen Sebelius, the democratic candidate in the race. My parents waved from across the street and took pictures. At a ripe age, I was developing as a mini-political activist.  The town of Lawrence welcomed my new identity with warmth and compassion, and maybe some fawning.

The truth is, the rest of Kansas would not have received me the same way. The state of Kansas has been coined the “conservative paradigm” state. Evangelical Christians and Kansas GOP members alike sought to mold Kansas into a privatized, minimally taxed country of its own. During my time living in the state, I saw an elementary school temporarily shut down due to drastic cuts in funding for public education. There were only two Planned Parenthoods in Kansas, both of which were at least two hours away from my home. The notorious Koch Brothers, some of the most wealthy industry people in the nation, are based out of Wichita, Kansas. The Koch brothers have openly expressed their inclination towards total libertarian politics–even going as far as to advocate for the destruction of both the social welfare system and the Environmental Protection Agency. In Kansas, the Koch brothers are heroes.

Lawrence, Kansas was the eccentric little pocket in our big, red state. Lawrence was home to the University of Kansas, a large state school known for its fine research networks and scholarship. With a professor for a mother, I have learned that college towns usually attract diverse communities and cultural richness. Lawrence was no exception. Lawrence attracted a wide range of people from different ethnicities, sexual orientations, religions beliefs, and political views. This diversity put Lawrence on the map for challenging societal boundaries and pushing for social equality.

As a member of the youth community in Lawrence, my initial fore into environmental sustainability was through the topic of climate change. Lawrence high schools teachers taught climate change as a matter of fact: climate change was real. There was evidence. And younger generations were obligated to do something about it

Keep in mind the context: our teachers were tired, underfunded by the Kansas legislature, and stretched thin. Regardless, the bags under their eyes did nothing to dampen the fire on their tongues when they spoke. My teacher’s actions were risky, as “climate change” was a bad set of words by the standards of many Kansans. It was too liberal of a concept to be stomached, even when accompanied by an insurmountable amount of evidence.

Despite the political pressures to do otherwise, my little Kansas town pushed the reality of climate change and its potentially dire effects. Documentaries, guest speakers, and essay contests were all central around our learning environment. Lawrence’s local government held art contests revolving around environmentalism. The local theatre held plays and discussions on recycling. Sustainability, to Lawrencians, was political. There was a right way to go about sustainability: endorse it. And, there was a wrong way to go about sustainability: reject it. Because of the university town I lived in, I was taught more thoroughly about how to approach and endorse sustainability than I would had I been in any regular public school system in Kansas. The politicization of climate change and sustainability ultimately led me to learn and grow. However, the same phenomena led many others to never be instructed on the possibility of sustainability and action-making.

As mentioned in The Heart of Sustainability by Andres Edwards, sustainability is more than just the well-known triple-bottom-line of economy, environment, and equity. To these, he adds the crucial component of education as well as four attributes that mark what he calls the internal landscape of sustainability: compassion, connectivity, consciousness, and creativity. Attaching sustainability to politics contradicts several of the main C’s. By middle school, I proclaimed myself a liberal, and refused to have conversations on political topics of sustainability and climate change with people who thought any differently than I did. If someone who veered further to the political right attempted to engage me in discussion, I simply shrugged them off as “ignorant” and “hopeless.” As I now reflect, I clearly see that it is neither compassionate or connected to exclude a major portion of the population from such critical dialogue. My educators deemed it important to my future to reveal meaningful data and evidence that might equip me to make better choices when it came to interacting with the environment. Because teaching climate change was a searing political statement, many students outside of Lawrence were left out of the dialogue.

Early on, my education instilled in me that my choices about discarding trash, driving my car, or conserving electricity serve a direct line of impact for myself and future generations. Knowledge is power, and education is a conduit for knowledge. In addition to the foundation of knowledge I was given in grade school, I now have the knowledge from my own critical analysis of how sustainability aligns with politics, and the impacts that coincide as a result. Going forward, I will be sure to approach sustainability with less of a political undertone in order to access people with minds both alike and different than mine. At the same time, though, I will always be grateful to the means of which I was educated on sustainability. By making the decision to wade against an overwhelming political climate, my teachers were brave. For that, I am eternally grateful.