Wednesday, July 13, 2022 // The Statement — 5
This year, I was more enraged
than inspired when Earth Day rolled
around. Scrolling through Instagram
and swiping through stories with
silly stickers made my blood boil
more than it made my heart flutter.
Comments like “love you Mother
Earth” and “give nature a chance”
made my eyebrows furl and my smile
turn low and flat — what a vapid, if
not intentionally shallow, attempt to
“celebrate” Earth Day, I thought.
Photos of beaches and bikinis
and tree swings in grass meadows
and the shade that all the oaks and
willows and birches provide — all
coated with a saturated filter and
cropped to fit one’s Instagram theme.
These posts were nothing more
than an inane attempt to celebrate our
Mother Earth, as if what she needs
more of is fruitless appreciation,
rather than fierce protection. We
shouldn’t be hitting “post” as much
as we should be gnawing our teeth
at
incompetent
and
ineffectual
legislators who, at every turn, deflect
their responsibility as lawmakers.
For me, every day is Earth Day, and
though I am far from a saint, I spend
each day reflecting on my actions
and re-evaluating whether I am
doing my best — not just on April 22.
And though I miss the flavor of
bacon on my breakfast sandwiches
and the sweet saltiness of salami
slices, and despite how difficult it is
to cut my showers short and make
my feet work for my destination
rather than the gas pedal, I do it not
for the benefit of myself, but for the
benefit of our planet — Earth.
Because,
believe
it
or
not,
sustainability
is
not
always
aesthetically pleasing — think about
how gross compost actually is.
Gritty, individual actions are often
not as “Instagrammable” as posting
pretty landscapes is — they’re
not
concerned
with
aesthetics,
or any particular social rewards.
And,
expressing
gratitude
for
something given is way easier than
reciprocating said kindness.
Because sustainability sells
Yet somehow, much of what we
call sustainability — that which we
define as environmentalism — has
come to garner a particular look. Not
necessarily a fad, but something of
the sort. As organizations ponder on
how to implement sustainability into
their business models, I can’t help
but feel like brands are choosing to
do so for selfish interests. Whether
it be for increased profit margins,
more positive consumer perceptions
or
access
to
new
markets,
environmentalism has become a tool
of capitalism, rather than a weapon
against it.
And though their actions aren’t
always necessarily performed in
good faith, some companies do try
and make a real effort to integrate
sustainability into their business
models.
Others,
if
not
many,
understand that nothing sells better
in 2022 than environmentalism, or,
the appearance of it.
SHEIN,
the
infamous
fast-
fashion clothing giant with brutal
working conditions, continues to
hold commitments to protecting
the environment, supporting the
community
and
empowering
entrepreneurs.
By Valerija Malashevich, Statement Columnist
By Shannon Stocking,
Statement Contributor
Land Acknowledgment: As the
author of this piece and a frequent
visitor
of
the
Great
Lakes,
I
acknowledge that many of the cities,
and landmarks discussed in this piece
reside on traditional and ancestral
indigenous lands. I encourage readers
to explore the cultures, traditions and
history of the 20 (recorded) tribes that
resided around The Great Lakes in
the past and advocate for the tribes
that remain around the lakes and in
Michigan. I stand with the Indigenous
tribes who have faced prejudiced,
unfair and violent treatment and I
stand against the colonization of these
tribes and advocate for a decolonized
future.
For anyone born or raised in the
state of Michigan, the Great Lakes
are an essential part of childhood,
education and growth. In the state of
Michigan, you’re never further than
85 miles from one of the Great Lakes,
allowing these majestic wonders,
wrapped around our mitten state, to
closely intertwine with each aspect
of our lives.
These freshwater wonders have
become increasingly important at
a national level as droughts across
the country have caused Great Lakes
waters to be used as far as Arizona.
Because of the lake’s abundance of
resources and temperate climate,
they’re often viewed as a place
of climate refuge, immune to the
impending changes in our natural
environment — but this is far from
true.
Our increased reliance on the
natural resources of the Great Lakes
has instead put our country and state
at more risk. Each lake plays a vital
role in our state’s economy, natural
resources and tourism industry,
which will make their deterioration
even more traumatic.
Beyond the economic concerns,
climate change threatens education
and exposure to the natural world
for generations to come, stripping the
staple family trip to Lake Michigan
and replacing kayaking on Lake
Huron with a flight to somewhere far
away.
As students of the state, we need
to recognize the importance of these
lakes to our economy and actively
work to promote the conservation
and preservation of these natural
wonders.
Huron
When I was 16, my parents agreed
to let my best friend and I embark on
our first camping trip alone together.
Despite our best efforts to convince
our parents to approve a trip to the
Traverse City area, the four-hour
drive didn’t sit well with them and
we compromised, agreeing on a small
town called Port Austin. We packed
up the faithful Volkswagen in the
mid-July heat and took off to the
crooked thumb of Michigan. With
the exception of the lack of vegan
cuisine, our small town proved to
be perfect — welcoming us in with
a flurry of wildlife preservations,
lakeshores and hiking trails that lay
relatively empty despite it being the
peak of tourist season.
On our third day, we packed up
camp, wrapped up sandwiches and
rented kayaks in preparation for a
three-mile paddle to the crown jewel
of the area. The trek out proved to be
an unpleasant combination of rocky
waves and an uncomfortable amount
of seasickness. But after about an
hour, we rounded the cliffs, and the
crown jewel of the thumb appeared.
Mushroom Rock, nestled into the
rocky cliffs of Lake Huron, emerged
into our view as a majestic inverted
pyramid that erupted 40 feet out
of the water and stayed there. The
impressive formation, we later read,
was thanks to thousands of years of
erosion from Lake Huron’s unique
intensity of water level fluctuations.
In 2020, The Chicago Tribune
covered the turbulent changes in
water levels that have taken place
over the last 10 years across Lake
Huron’s Shoreline. Due to the
absence of dams, and its connection
to Lake Michigan by the Straits of
Mackinac, both Lake Huron and
Michigan are prone to more extreme
fluctuations in water levels than the
other Great Lakes. In the Tribune’s
reporting, they found that the water
level fluctuations were increasing
in both frequency and intensity. In
2013, Lake Huron reached a record
low water level of 576 ft. at its deepest
point, leaving docks and boats
surrounded by mud and costing the
coastline communities thousands of
dollars. Just six years later, the water
level rose six ft. clocking in at 581.9
ft, the seasonal record high for the
Michigan-Huron basin.
Environmentalism
doesn’t have to be
Instagrammable
Environmentalism
doesn’t have to be
Instagrammable
Design by Abby Schreck
Read more at michigandaily.com
The Great Lakes are not a
climate refuge, and here’s why
The Great Lakes are not a
climate refuge, and here’s why
Design by Reid Graham
Read more at michigandaily.com