Maya Dutta - Biodiversity for a Livable Climate

Rewilding the Windy City

I’ve loved Chicago from the first day I set foot there, and I’ve missed the Windy City since I left after college in 2018. When I had a chance to visit two weeks ago, I made it a point to try to understand Chicago’s ecosystems better, and check in on the many ways communities across the city are building ecological resilience and spearheading stewardship.

From the water birds and prairie meadows along Lake Michigan to the small plots of mini-forest and urban garden embedded in a concrete jungle, I was thrilled and inspired to see the many examples of nature reviving and rewilding greater Chicago.

In these relatively modest sized areas, a transformation is underway… to bring people’s hands and hearts back to the soil.

Read on to see some of the sites I visited and learned from:

Markham Miyawaki Forest

The Markham Courthouse Miyawaki Forest was created in May of 2022 by Nordson Green Earth with the Markham municipality (a township slightly south of Chicago). Planted not long after our own Danehy Park Miyawaki Forest, this sister site is Illinois’s first Miyawaki Forest, and has been growing steadily since. Christine Dannhausen-Brun, who works on forest care, further plantings, and community engagement and education, gave me a tour of the forest and shared her insights on the project’s progress.

Photos by Christine Dannhausen-Brun

Christine and I met in 2022 when we both joined SUGi’s Fellowship for Miyawaki Forest makers. As the two American participants, we immediately connected over shared experiences with urban forestry in major US cities – with the desire to promote environmental justice and public health, the increasing investment in natural infrastructure and urban forestry, and the unique regulatory and bureaucratic processes that affect the adoption of mini-forest projects in this country.

As she guided me around the Markham courthouse mini-forest and described the developing prospects for two upcoming plantings in the community, we reconnected on these topics and shared what we have learned in the past two years of planting and stewarding.

Like with our forests in the Boston area, the Markham mini-forest is in its dormant state in late February, but with the weather fluctuations including some extremely warm days, I could spot some early budding and leaf out. Watching the husks of milkweed and echinacea cones, I could imagine the site teeming with insects and birds in summer months.

I can’t wait to see how the mini-forest grows, and how community members continue to steward and grow with the project.

The Wild Mile – Chicago River Restoration

I get really excited about slow water these days. It’s hard not to once you learn about the small water cycle and the great amount of agency we have in our relationship with water, to notice the many ways that our cities have been hardened and shelled over and eroded, no longer sponges but giant systems of gutters for water.

We got some torrential rain during the week I was in Chicago, as temperatures jumped between 70 and 30 degrees Fahrenheit, wind and hail and deluges of water taking the stage at various points. I noticed that the flooding along street corners is almost immediate, with drainage stalling for hours. As we’re seeing in so many areas around the country and the world as flood/drought cycles intensify, the infrastructure developed over the past century is being tested beyond capacity. That’s why I was so pleased to visit the Wild Mile, the world’s first floating eco-park developed along the Chicago River by Urban Rivers.

The Wild Mile, as suggested by the name, is planned to be a mile-long stretch of river restoration. The first section is now completed and open to the public 24/7, and I was thrilled to visit and see some of the waterway restoration principles I have learned about applied in practice. The reconstructed wetlands, floating beds of aquatic plants and native grasses, and boardwalk area for public access can support biodiversity, water filtration, stormwater buffering, ecological education, and climate resilience at larger and larger scales as cities embrace this blue-green infrastructure.

Part of what was astounding about this little park was the contrast to what the Chicago River looks like in most other places. I walked over to the Wild Mile from the 66 bus, which dropped me at the highway-like intersection of Chicago and Halsted. I hugged the river on the way over and saw how it is treated for most of its span – hemmed back by large steel brackets, stripped of embankment, with no public access, devoid of life – human or otherwise. In small patches, 30ft here and there, you might see stark, eroded, litter strewn soil, trees and brambles still growing, life still life-ing, but clearly without any sort of intention from people, except perhaps to overlook as quickly as possible. Trees still grow in small cracks, in the divots in the steel brackets over the river’s edge, cut back into stumps but still producing shoots. Life persists, but clearly it is beleaguered and unwanted.

The Wild Mile takes what has essentially become an industrial canal and opens it back up into a river. This is a system, where floating beds house grasses, wildflowers, and small trees, where freshwater mussels live and grow, filtering water as they go, where birds nest and hunt and court each other. It’s alive, and it felt like a sigh of relief. It felt like a livable future. It felt like resilience in action – this will flood, this will change, and it will remain because it can change. This space will bend and adapt, not break, and it will nurture life to help keep the balance.

The birds in the area were remarkable, a brilliant tapestry of geese, gulls, ducks, starlings, and cormorants. I’ve always wanted to see a murmuration of starlings, and I was blown away by their dance-like flight. Together with the gull and goose calls, the starlings’ fluid movements made for a symphonic experience. (Having visited the Art Institute and spent time with the masterpieces there, I found this no less mesmerizing.)

Beyond the birds, I spotted mussels, milkweed, native grasses, trees, and fungi bracketing fallen logs. I appreciated the signage introducing the public to some of the animals that visited or resided in the habitat – common snapping turtles, little brown bats, big brown bats (not closely related, it turns out), Eastern screech owls, and North American river otters. For an area of about 500 ft, this was obviously impacting hundreds of beings, at least. As it grows, its positive impacts will continue to ripple through Chicago and other cities that are willing to take this step into the future with regeneration and rewilding.

May it reach a mile soon, and many more beyond that.

Community Gardens and Native Plant Gardens

Finally, one of the most encouraging highlights from my trip were the many neighborhood gardens brought to life by a focus on pollinator friendly-plants or community food growing. As I walked around Humboldt Park, I passed a fairly small, wild-looking yard that made me stop and take notice. Bracketed by branches and a thick layer of leaves and straw, this looked like a haven for overwintering insects and the species that rely on them. When I looked more closely, I noticed the signs indicating just how intentional this stewardship was. “Your yard is nature,” said one, while the other read “Thank you for your smile.”

Further along, I encountered El Yunque Community Garden, where community members can come to learn, grow, and connect. Out of a couple dozen raised beds, some are set aside for garden members to plant, nurture, and pick, and several others line the street for public harvesting. At Thomas Street Community Garden, a sign similarly encouraged all community members to join and to learn. In these relatively modest sized areas, a transformation is underway, to bring fresh produce into people’s homes, and to bring people’s hands and hearts back to the soil. I was struck by how simply and gently restoration could take hold, from a few street corners and networks of neighbors to a sweeping change in attitudes about what a city can be and how people can relate to their ecology.

Across all of these projects, I once again appreciated that resounding lesson – that to take positive climate action, you can start small, wherever you are. That ecosystems are everywhere, and stewardship can look like many things. That taking care of your neighbors is taking care of yourself. That our world may be breaking or burning, but it is also living, still. And the more we nurture, the more we heal, the healthier, stronger, and more alive this whole Earth is.

Banner Photo by Christine Dannhausen-Brun. All other photos are by Maya Dutta, except where noted.

2023 in the Forest

As the year rounds out, it is time to reflect on the changes and growth we’ve seen in 2023. Nothing gives me quite as much pride, amazement, and faith in the power of change than our young Miyawaki forests.

I was honored to share our work with the public in this short feature from the Christian Science Monitor, in which I got to discuss the Miyawaki program, my motivation in working with communities to implement these pocket forests, and the ‘grounded hope’ that springs from eco-restoration.

I also got to observe the tremendous progress in our forest sites and lead two new plantings — our first pocket forests at high schools.

Danehy Park

Our Danehy Park Miyawaki forest has become nearly self-sustaining, with a dense interior developing and a tremendous growth spurt over the last several months. Many people have come to meetups, tours, and visits, learning from the forest and observing the biodiversity within.

Photos by Maya Dutta and Adam Sacks

Greene-Rose Park

Our Greene-Rose Park Miyawaki forest has had a flourishing year thanks to a rainy summer season. In working with volunteers to care for the forest, we’ve seen many birds, bees, and bunnies enjoying the site, and countless seedlings springing up.

Photos by Maya Dutta

Natick High School

In September, after over a year of working with the Town of Natick to develop a Miyawaki forest project for climate resilience, we planted at Natick High School. Over 100 volunteers joined us in planting, mulching, and celebrating the new forest.

Photos by Maya Dutta

Somerville High School

In October, we planted at Somerville High School, with over 100 volunteers joining in for site preparation, planting, mulching, and celebrating the occasion. From students and parents to the Mayor of Somerville herself, it was beautiful to see the community gather to transform this space.

Photos by Cassandra Klos

To learn more about our Miyawaki Forests, sign up to volunteer with our projects, or find out about the method, check out our Miyawaki Program Page. And make sure to join our mailing list and social media to keep up with the latest meetups and news.

August meetup in Danehy Park (Photo by Jim Laurie)

I’m looking forward to keeping on growing and learning with you in the new year. To keep this work going, please consider making an end of year gift to support us today. Thank you!!

What are these tiny forests’ big benefits anyway?

What a thrilling week it has been! Since last Thursday’s New York Times article Tiny Forests with Big Benefits, my teammates and I at Bio4Climate have been buzzing with excitement at the recognition our forests and this type of restoration is getting. We are so thrilled by the enthusiasm of people’s responses, from interest in implementing native plantings and eco-restoration projects in their own communities to an influx of questions and suggestions for our work in the Boston area.

Since so many people are new to us and to this work, I wanted to cover some of the basics of what we’re talking about with this ‘mini-forest revolution’, and why these plantings are much bigger than what meets the eye.

Why are Miyawaki forests important?

Well, like forests (and healthy ecosystems everywhere), Miyawaki forests provide biodiversity, habitat, clean air, clean water, cooling, shade, and beauty, and can bring these essential functions into built environments where nature has been degraded and excluded. Though we often talk about the importance of nature to birds, insects, and animals, trying to speak for creatures who can’t advocate for themselves, humans need nature too.

Flourishing green spaces are great for mental and physical health, create a place for connection and enjoyment, and buffer extremes in weather that can be so harmful to communities. And crucially, because Miyawaki forests can be created in small pockets of space (1000 sq ft or more), these plantings give us a way to fight environmental injustice and target heat islands in our urban areas in a practical and strategic way.

What belongs in a Miyawaki forest?

Native saplings appropriate to the potential natural vegetation of an area are what make up a Miyawaki forest. This includes trees and shrubs belonging to the different vertical layers of a forest canopy (after all, in nature no space is wasted). It also consists of a living forest floor teeming with fungal and microbial activity, jump started by soil remediation, that fosters an intricate underground network of life.

Early successional vegetation (or colloquially ‘weeds’) don’t belong. Neither do non-native trees. As a blanket statement, these types of vegetation aren’t awful or malicious, and may even have certain strengths. However, we work in the first few years of forest establishment to remove this competing ground cover, as it interferes with the slower growth of the trees we’ve planted.

Ironically, one NYTimes image spotlighting the Danehy Park Forest features Queen Anne’s Lace, a non-native plant that sprung up at the forest’s edge. These, and other encroaching companions, are removed by volunteers periodically, and the forest is monitored to assess its health.
(Photo by Cassandra Klos)

At nearly two years old, the Danehy Park Miyawaki Forest has become so dense that most encroaching vegetation is shaded out in the interior.

How do we make sure a forest planting is successful?

Well, we start by following the Miyawaki Method, which is based on understanding the site of planting and the healthy forest communities that once flourished there. After a site survey, species survey, soil preparation, forest design, community planting, and two to three years of site maintenance, the forest becomes a self-sustaining ecosystem. But even after that, change within the forest is constant, as slower-growing canopy trees overtake companions that have shot up quickly, as individuals topple and create gaps for other saplings to fill, as new seeds dropped in by birds germinate, and the soil itself changes composition in response to these dynamics.

Like everything in nature, restoration, and the ecological succession that occurs in a Miyawaki forest, takes time. It’s a humbling process to participate in, to work to jumpstart an ecosystem, do what we can to steward it, and respect that the behaviors and interdependent activities in the system drive most of what happens afterward. We are learning as these years unfold what works best in adapting this method to our region. As we keep monitoring, maintaining, planting, and observing these pocket forests, we get to better understand how these processes unfold, and how we can play an appropriate role in this regeneration.

It is an honor and a joy to take part.

Thank you to everyone whose support makes this work possible! Your volunteering, donations, advocacy, and encouragement keep us going. Learn more about our Miyawaki Forest program and how you can participate.

Northern Bush Honeysuckle (*Diervilla lonicera*)

American Elderberry (*Sambucus canadensis*)

Bonus: Should I plant a Miyawaki Forest?

It depends! Where do you live, and what is the natural ecosystem there?

The Miyawaki Method is an approach to reforesting previously forested areas, based on the natural vegetation there. While forests are wonderful, so are healthy grasslands, wetlands, and savannas. There are many different types of ecological restoration, and the process of regeneration begins with understanding your context – what ecological communities (including human communities) have existed there, what healthy functioning looks like, and what causes of degradation have led to the current state of things.

The exciting thing about community-led ecosystem restoration is that there are so many creative possibilities, and it all begins by connecting to what is around you and finding a place to contribute to the healing. Get started by learning more about ecosystem restoration in general, and finding out what is happening where you are.

Photos are by Cassandra Klos for The New York Times where stated, and otherwise by Maya Dutta, Danehy Park, 2023.

Miyawaki Forests and the Meaning of Regeneration

As many people know through firsthand experience, we planted the Northeast’s first Miyawaki Forest last weekend. After several months of planning, discussion, and organization, we gathered in Danehy Park in North Cambridge to create the forest. This was the part I participated in, but like so much of our work at Biodiversity for a Livable Climate, the roots are deeper, and the lifespan, relationships, and systems involved are larger and more complex than the simple joy and hard work of days and months.

Where does this story start exactly? In the soil, where compost and biochar prepared for new life to take root and thrive? Deep underneath that, where landfill sits dormant in the ground, unaware of the changes that will take place when life comes to the neighborhood? Decades ago, when a vision for a park to replace the dump was born? On Saturday, when people came from across the city and country to work together in common vision? Or perhaps hundreds of years ago, when this Wampanoag land grew berries and weaving wood, nourishing people who gave back in turn, and listened to the lessons that the forests held?

The story of this forest is all of that and more – it is in the people who came to plant with friends and family, who taught others as they worked and listened and learned in turn. It is in our healing intentions and resolute hearts. Our friends from the Yakama and Navajo nations helped us honor the tribal history of this land and the pain it holds, but also to recognize the possibility of the healing that comes with honest acknowledgment of the past, hope for a better future, and the compassion and connection that can bridge them.

Our work is at that unity of big and small, long term vision and the short term actions that bring it about. It is about cooling the Earth here and now, and stewarding the healthy ecosystems that can rebalance our water and carbon cycles and return us to livable and predictable conditions over time. What’s so special about restoration as a solution to climate change is that feeling in your soul and spirit – that your actions are not at odds with the living world, but instead are born out of alignment with nature that you take part in. It is that feeling you get when you plant a living tree in the soil, knowing you are channeling it to its permanent home, knowing that there it will root and grow and go on to outlive you.

It is that feeling of being on a team, turning to your neighbor and finding out what brought them out, when they first began to garden, or to learn the names of birds or berries, or what family member they wish were present to take part too. People spoke of what they wanted to see in their communities. They made plans for more planting and more action. They talked about the maple cookies you could make from sugar maples, and speculated on the flowers that would sprout from the rose bushes.

We planted a multitude of species, creating what will develop into four vertical layers of forest – shrub, tree, mid-canopy and canopy levels. From the first central plantings of the sisters chokecherry and elderberry, we added maple, dogwood, sumac, oak, witch hazel, rose. They will flower and bloom at different times, change color and drop leaves, huddle underground under a blanket of winter snow. They create a new family in place, our children today and elders tomorrow.

Collaboration and deep connection is what makes Miyawaki Forests so strong, and it is also the key to the way we as people can go onto both survive and even thrive in a world that is still being degraded. The forest is a testament to the vision and practice of restoration, making tangible so much of what I have learned in lectures, classes, conferences and my work with Bio4Climate, and giving those memories a home in my heart.

In the midst of it all, with the soil all over me, clumsy feet stepping around newly rooting trees, surrounded by warm and open faces on a bright and beautiful day, it struck me – this is what we work for. This is what success looks like. It is that win of multiples – home for biodiversity, filtered air, remediated soil, sequestered carbon, a sponge for water, plants that teach and provide, and something greater than the sum of any parts – connection and relationship, which nurtures your soul with each bit of energy you put into the job.

I say it over and over – I don’t know what the future looks like. But if it looks like this, more forests, greener cities, more teaching, learning, and appreciating life in its complexity and interconnectedness, then I can continue to have hope for myself and for this world I so love. I don’t need to reach a point where the work of making a more whole, healthy planet stops. To participate in its restoration and know that there are millions of others doing the same, and that as I go, I can make more of this and spread these seeds of such joyous change – that is enough. I am so grateful to everyone who participated, in digging, in planting, in planning and spreading the word, in supporting Bio4Climate and making this all possible. It’s truly an honor to sow and grow with you.

Lessons from a Monarch Butterfly

What can we learn from the monarch butterfly? A few months ago, as the new year rolled in, I reflected on the way we humans use holidays and calendars to mark time’s passage, and how this might look to other creatures whose life span and sense of time is very different.

For example, most monarch butterflies live only weeks long, but they carry out their Spring migrations over the span of generations. Their behavior strikes me as a beautiful example of keeping faith and working toward a collective good. Here’s what I thought Mona the monarch might have to say to us on the subject:

Hello there! I’m Mona, and though people tell me I’m a Monarch, I like to think I’m just a regular old butterfly. I don’t feel very old yet, but I’ve been around for a few weeks, so I know the show is over soon. I’ve been journeying my whole life, to places I’ve never been before but know I need to go. This is the way we do things, in spans of generations, following the stories of our ancestors and the knowledge deep in our bodies that lead the way.

I stop where there is flower and food, settle in the trees you have left standing, and the new ones that have risen. Every once in a while, over patches of concrete gray, I see unexpected green! I flutter down and find the milkweed for my children, and know I’ve got a safe spot to lay them down.

The trees where I rest become my friends, and they tell me they’ve been here a long time. They say they’ve seen many new “years” begin, and to them, each looks a lot like the last, but not very much like the five before that. I understand that, I think. It’s how I start each day – I know I will see something familiar, but soon I’ll be places I’ve never been, bright strange worlds that I simply adjust to. My children will have new homes and new friends, and so will their children after that. Though I only see one piece of the puzzle, I know I have a greater purpose, and I am happy to do my part to get us where we need to be.

Along the way, I find plenty to delight in. Each time I worry I won’t find my next meadow and one appears on the horizon, I gain a little more faith. The birds say that new ones are being made, fresh havens for us winged folk, and tell me my descendants will be okay. I trust them, and keep flying forward. This is my mantra for each new start – follow your instinct, the flashes of color ahead, and the wisdom of other life you encounter. Ever onwards!

by Maya Dutta

Imagine Earth Day in Ten Years

How do you experience your connection to the planet?

For me, my sense of intimacy with other life comes from my senses – feeling the sun on my skin, smelling the magnolias blooming in the air, watching day by day and week by week as buds sprout, unfurl, and flower to invite bees and ants inside.

Along with other members of Biodiversity for a Livable Climate, I have been working to imagine Earth Day in ten years. It’s hard to feel certain about anything ten years from now, and as used to dire warnings and terrible news as I am, I guard against making predictions of the future. But visions can also ground us, and when I calm my fears a bit, I imagine that a late April day in 2031 will probably be filled with some of the same familiar joys – the sun on my skin, floral fragrance, birds chirping.

Of course, much depends on how we act now, because we are intimately connected with all the living systems of our planet. While that used to frighten me, I now see the flip side – we have so much opportunity, especially when we recognize the resilience of life, its innate longing to thrive, and its remarkable ability to do so when given a chance.

By sharing a single story, you can dramatically change someone’s understanding of the climate, our planet’s current ecological state, and possibilities for the future. By growing the movement for ecosystem restoration, we can regenerate more than soil or wetlands – we can regenerate hope, and regenerate ourselves.

That’s our goal!

So this spring, we’ve launched our Planet Partners Campaign, doubling down on building the future in which we, our children and grandchildren, and our fellow members of the web of life can thrive. You’re invited to join and participate in whatever way you can! Let’s keep our eyes set firmly forward.

Reflections on Activism

At Biodiversity for a Livable Climate, we believe that everyone has a place in the fight for a livable climate and flourishing future. We were called to this work from different places and for different reasons, but we’re united in our commitment to be stewards of nature, and to work with nature and each other to heal the earth. We’ve been pondering what brought us here and what it takes to maintain this work, since changing the world is an ever-evolving pursuit.

“Activism for me is not a job, but a choice. A choice to make the world a better place for all people and for all living things. It is also a daily choice. To be an activist is to choose every morning when you wake up that you will do what you can today to leave a positive impact. The way this decision is carried out looks different for everyone, but that decision is the same nonetheless. As for me, this is a choice I do not take lightly.

I made the choice to be an activist when, at 22 years old, I found out about the sixth mass extinction happening right now. I have loved animals, especially wild ones, my entire life. This was more than a sign – this was my calling. In response to this epiphany, I changed my career path and applied for a graduate program where I studied wildlife conservation and public policy.

In 2020, I experienced another realization. When Black Lives Matter spread like the wildfires in my home state of California, I made the choice again to be an activist, and to reevaluate what that term meant to me.

Before then, I was going about my activism all wrong. By only focusing on the welfare of wild animals and the environment, I forgot about the intricate role humans play in our planet’s destiny. If human activities destroyed ecosystems, and humans were the only ones who could repair this damage, then of course I had to include public health in my activism. Marginalized communities do not have the time to worry about the fate of far-off animals or of the planet when they are struggling to feed their children, or when they are being discriminated against, or when they are targets for violence, especially violence without repercussions.

My activism is powered by my vision for my future children who will hopefully live in a world with fewer inequalities and more nature. It is powered by my vision of a place where immigrants like my family are not disregarded as “other” because of the countries we come from. It is powered by my vision of a world where I can dream of SCUBA diving in the reefs of Belize without feeling the urgency to go before they disappear. Ultimately, my activism is powered by my overall goal – to help build a world where all living things are respected.”

– Tania Roa

“As a kid, I thought it was my job to save the world. I knew our planet was in peril, and although I didn’t totally understand why or how we got there, the same message echoed down from parents, teachers, and media – you and your peers will be the ones who have to fix this. I accepted this in a very isolating way, thinking I had to carry the weight of the world’s fate on my shoulders.

Perhaps this was because of the fantasy stories I was addicted to, where I saw so many heroes who shouldered impossible burdens and prevailed through dedication and sacrifice. Perhaps it was a little bit the defiant independence and stoicism I clung to as a response to feeling helpless and out of control at home. Either way, I was bent on pushing myself to the max, imagining that one, I could solve everything, and two, that I, and I especially, had to.

I thought I had to have a perfect action plan in order to accomplish such a monumental task. I wanted a complete understanding of how climate change operated and all of the types of solutions put forth for mitigation and adaptation, and figured that once I had that map, I could choose where I best fit and how to make the most efficient use of my life to help. I was obsessed with optimizing both humanity’s way out of this crisis and my own life in service to that goal.

I held to this very punishing mindset, and in that all or nothing model, I most often chose “nothing” because I simply could not do it all. But in the past couple of years, I’ve come to accept that I don’t have to have all the answers to be useful, and that most importantly, I don’t have to shoulder this alone. I don’t have to lead the charge against ecological destruction because there are already people out there doing this work. There are leaders I can follow, and leaderless movements I can join. I don’t have to be perfect to have a place in this. It is my inheritance as a creature of this Earth to love my home and fight for it out of that love.

In my experience, taking the first steps to act relieved a lot of the pressure I was putting on myself that used to paralyze me. The more I learned about ecosystem restoration and the people and groups involved in it, the more I realized that we are no different than the natural systems we speak about. We are dynamic, engaged in growth and processes, and we can either be depleted through the conditions we choose for ourselves or regenerated by them.

If I have learned anything from connecting to the Bio4Climate community and the speakers and educators we feature, it is that action is the antidote to despair. I have met so many people from so many different places who are all, in their own way, trying to make a safer, healthier, more loving and flourishing world. That encouragement has done more for me than any single piece of information I have gained. And of course, by opting in, I also learn so much about the natural solutions that can lead our way out of the broken systems we have come to know. When I feel my hope being eroded, I remember that engaging in activism is regenerative for my spirit, and with that strength, I carry on.”

– Maya Dutta

“There are many ways to engage in advocacy and activism, beyond joining a protest or demonstration against some project. I’m not one of those to get “out in the streets with a sign” to express something or other. Not that I’ve never done that. I have, but I’ve always wondered whether it mattered as much as other perhaps more articulate or effective forms of activism. I’m an economist, and so I have some knowledge and talents that can be put to good use in efforts that I am particularly suited to pursue or advance.

There are several recent examples of work I have done pretty much without compensation on issues important to me – and hopefully to others (who may be unable to pay for that work) – that I can take on and do well, while those affected cannot address or resolve them without this sort of help.

Recently, a large developer’s proposal for re-zoning conservation land in Wareham, MA threatened one of the last remnant MA populations of sea-run brook trout as well as its underlying aquifer, which is the entire region’s source of clean drinking water. I was asked to review the arguments, and found that the economic case being made was deeply flawed and also conflicted directly with a raft of recent Town of Wareham land use planning documents. So I wrote a report detailing these issues that was recently released for public discussion.

Asking questions that others avoid is something I do quite well. I have spent 50 years as a critic of very well-established doctrines in economics that cost me an academic career, although I’ve continued as an independent troublemaker, and my research papers have gained the attention of several journal editors who often publish my writings without changing a word. I often notice other academic colleagues who won’t do stuff unless they get paid. I’d rather just get it done.

I’ve learned to live without much acknowledgement or recognition of my efforts, though when it comes, it’s incredibly welcome! Just the other day I sent my Wareham Report off to the President and CEO of National Trout Unlimited. Much to my surprise – as I didn’t expect a response – I got the nicest pair of emails from him the very next morning complimenting me on my work: “Fred, this is incredible. Well done!” Music to my ears.

I think the most important part of being this sort of activist is to learn not to expect a response, and to do these things for other reasons. I call it “The Mirror Test” – that I want to be able to look in my mirror each morning and see someone for whom I can have respect, admiration and love.

That’s what matters most. And I have a lot of control over that, while I have none over others’ reactions to the things I do. It’s not that you learn not to care. That’s just not the primary goal.

You need to be happy with yourself, and to believe in your causes. The rest of it is just detail…”

– Fred Jennings

To hear more and share your own perspective, join us in conversation on Thursday, April 15th 2021 at 7pm ET for The Movement, The Moment – And You.

Author: Maya Dutta