Abi Taylor is one of the Co-Head Facilitators of the Durham student environmental campaign group, EcoDU. Interview conducted by Tabitha Lanyon, Editor of the EcoDU society newsletter.
When did you start out with climate activism?
So, I was an unbelievably anxious child, and I refused to watch the news because I couldn’t cope with it. I even used to fake sick out of History and Geography lessons because I didn’t want to hear about natural disasters. Or Hitler. I found hearing about human suffering just unbearable and overwhelming. There was a significant turning point for me when a friend of mine did a charity fundraiser for WaterAid and I was like: ‘Oh my gosh! we’ve got some power here!’ So, then I started doing a lot of fundraising activities, particularly over lockdown for charities like Tearfund. The key event that pushed me from fundraising to activism was when I did A-level Politics on a whim and became totally obsessed with it. I was really, really interested in its power to shape ordinary lives.
To try and get into University – sadly it was that vain – I read a lot of books. Classic ones about stigma – ‘Poverty Safari’ is a classic – that sort of thing. Books about feminism. I read ‘The Communist Manifesto’. That’s very short, but it took a lot of brain-power.
I was just fascinated with the idea that I, Abi Taylor, could stop someone experiencing suffering in some form. And not like ‘I feel brilliant that I’ve done this thing’, but just in terms of: ‘I would hate that to happen to me’, and I think it’s so important to care about other people and the world and the planet. I’ve been a Christian since I was born and I think the Church, for its many flaws, does try and think about what it means to look outwards and care about other people and be radically generous. I think I’ve felt that weight and that importance and that feeling for a really long time.
A-levels were really key. I had some really inspirational female political teachers and then it just went from there. I was like: ‘this is the thing.’ And then I did a degree in Politics and Sociology and you just can’t really avoid getting stuck in!
How does studying politics interact with your climate activism?
I believe that politics is probably the best pathway to tackling the climate crisis. It’s a really slow, annoying way, but I think it’s the way to do it. People have argued it would be business or it would be the corporate world or it would be the free market or whatever. And unfortunately, I don’t really trust them- if it’s not driven by money they aren’t interested. It’s not that I trust politicians, but I think that they’re going to probably have a better stab at it.
The climate crisis is so multi-faceted in terms of what you have to tackle; it’s basically every sector. How you do that is borderline impossible, particularly when it’s transnational. It’s all very well that maybe the UK could get a grasp on its transport and its eating and its manufacturing but what about all the imports that we get from China and those emissions and what about our relationship with companies that operate at an international level like the fast fashion industry? I don’t have an answer to how you legislate for that, and that’s scary, but I do think that a great place to start is national change.
I think my most recent reflections on politics and the climate crisis have been surrounding the American election. I remember my seminar leader asking me why I was interested in the American election, and I said: ‘Because I think it decides the future of the planet.’ America is one of the biggest consumers per capita. Its emissions are ludicrous. They really need to be cracking on with that. They don’t have four years to wait. Particularly when you have someone who’s not even just saying he doesn’t care, he’s saying he wants to put more into oil and gas. We’re just going to go backwards again. But I think that election showed how much politics matters for the climate because when you do have a leader who acts like a dictator and doesn’t believe in climate change, what are you supposed to do? You could try the local level, but if they’re just approving oil and gas licences every other day, I don’t know what you do with that. What does it say to oil states like Azerbaijan, who’s just done COP, who need to make a really sacrificial transition away from oil which will hurt their economy and mean that they’re less influential in the world? What does it say to them that America, captain of the free world, isn’t interested in climate transitions? It just gives everyone else permission to take a back seat, and I find that really concerning.
Are you feeling the strain right now?
Yeah, I feel exhausted. I haven’t worked out how we sustain ourselves. I haven’t figured that out. It’s very hard to constantly take in pessimistic information. I’m someone who tends to lean towards optimism.
I do quite a lot of stuff in Christian social justice spaces, and I don’t know how people without religious faith are doing okay. I applaud them, because I need to hand this huge issue over to someone bigger than me. And actually, I think that’s the only thing that sustains me. I wonder whether, if I wasn’t a Christian, I would completely burn out.
The way I semi-manage that exhaustion is by thinking that 1. It’s not on Abi Taylor to solve the climate crisis, and 2. Eventually, at the end, we will see a restoration of the planet to how it’s supposed to be. And also, that there’s a force at work besides Donald Trump. That is reassuring. I also do think good wins over evil in the end.
How do you tackle that exhaustion when it does happen?
The burnout’s real. One thing that I’ve been really disciplined on is not feeling obliged to always tune in, because I think there’s a lot in the activist sphere that says ‘to be informed is to care.’ And if you’re not constantly switched on and aware of all the change and all the bad things then you’re doing a disservice to people who are suffering. I can understand why you’d think that, but one of the ways I’ve not exploded has been recognising in myself when I feel I’m on the verge of exploding, and not feeling bad about going: ‘I’m out for a bit, and I’m going to live in my little Durham land for a day, or a week, and I’m not going to feel bad about that.’ That feels self-indulgent but I think it’s one of the only ways we can deal with it.
Even just seventy years ago, you just got a newspaper, that was kind of the extent of the news that you knew. People read local news. But now, we’re expected to have 24/7 input. International news. International suffering. Constantly feeding in all the time. We feel obliged to know everything and actually we don’t have to do that.
Sometimes the climate headlines are too upsetting, and I can’t read them, and that’s not me suddenly not caring about the climate movement, it’s me saying I’m going to stop so that I can keep caring. That’s been a good practice for friends of mine who’ve been on the verge of burning out in various spheres. Maybe you just want to talk about Gilmore Girls. For a day. And that’s okay! Because, actually, that means you come back strong and fighting, rather than flagging and emotional and exhausted. And actually, we don’t need those people, we need people who are ready. Strong and ready people need quiet space, and they need to be detached. Then they can re-engage.
It’s great to see people in EcoDU, and in any other movement I’ve been in – there are so many people who care and people who want change. Fired up, passionate people with a lot of heart. There are a lot of people like that all over the world, and we’re all working simultaneously, so even if EcoDU is just trying to do Durham or the UK, there are people in New Zealand fighting for Indigenous land to be preserved or people fighting fossil fuel giants in court in Switzerland.
Every time in history we’ve thought change couldn’t come, it has. Who would have thought slavery would end at the time? No one. They thought it was literally impossible, and it did. Women getting suffrage. That seemed like it was never going to happen, and it did. Change does come. You don’t feel it, but it does. I just have to look around and be like ‘it will be okay.’
Do you consider yourself an activist?
I think of others as being more activist than me. I think that’s because direct action doesn’t come very naturally to me. I love it as a concept, totally see the need, totally support people doing it, but in terms of me, I find the idea of a criminal record, and also the idea of knowing my rights in a particular situation, slightly terrifying. I don’t think of myself as that courageous compared to the climate activists that I see sitting in roads or installing massive projectors onto things. I admire that bravery, and for me the stakes are as high as they feel, but I’m not doing those things. So, I think there’s a hesitancy to say I’m an activist because the label holds a seriousness that I think means putting stuff on the line. And I don’t know how much I’ve put on the line other than my time and care. I’ve put a lot of time into it, but it would take a lot for me to disrupt something. I think that’s slightly my nature. I think that that’s okay; we need people who want to sit at the table with people. At the same time, I’d like more of that courage. I’d like to be less precious about my status or reputation in regards to that.
In the end I would probably say I was an activist. Do I feel like there’s a bit more I need to do to earn the badge? Slightly, yes. Because I’m very politics focused, I’m very interested in systemic change and how you work within the system and negotiate. A lot of activists come from more external places, how do you protest outside stuff. I’ve done protests but I’ve never done direct action. I’m sure the time will come.
How do you balance working in between those two worlds (internal policy and external activism)?
It’s difficult. Where’s that line? How much do you pen-push within the system and when do you decide you’ve had enough? For me, generally, my posture is quite pragmatic. I won’t sit in a system for the sake of it. I equally won’t disrupt for the sake of it. But that is so blurry, like when do you decide which to do? I mean, I’m not a wizard! I don’t know! I can’t see the future! But I try and mediate that. That can be one of the biggest places of conflict in activism, 100%. A lot of places split on that basis.
I definitely feel, sometimes, that it makes you never totally belong in either space – the internal or the external. In politics, you don’t totally belong because you’re probably more radical than the people sat there. In activism, for me, I’m probably on the less radical end. You’re mediating in both places rather than committing to one. It’s the fun of activism, and also the bit that’s personal and sometimes painful and sometimes tiring. If you have mutual respect – and actually I think EcoDU has a lot of respect for the diversity of people there, which is why it’s special – it doesn’t become painful. We just want to work with how different people feel about stuff.
How important is student activism? Can it make change?
Yes and no. I don’t think it’s unimportant, otherwise I wouldn’t spend a meeting a week, plus all the extra stuff (and Just Love) doing it.
Weirdly, I think the people in it are the most important part. I totally think that the Durham Dump Barclays campaign is significant and should be pushed for. I totally think that having great relationships with CAD (Climate Action Durham) is really vital. But student politics is significant because students become future leaders and become the adults in the room. I want the adults in the room to be conscious of the climate. This is the time that people start the trajectory towards whatever they’re going to, and it’s quite formative.
If people have a space where they feel like they can be themselves, learn and grow and actually be energised and excited about campaigning, that gives them a really good grounding to be social change-makers. If people think, ‘Oh, actually I don’t want to do a fossil fuel-based career,’ that totally changes the trajectory of their life. I think Universities feel not that important, but they are important if you think of the thousands of people who then become members of the workforce. I think it’s a cracking training ground, and also, I would like to see my University, who represent me, do better on stuff that they claim to care about.
Also, it’s a knock-on effect. If Durham University does that, maybe Durham council will do that and maybe that sets a precedent for another council. I do see it. It’s slow change. It’s like pushing a boulder up a hill. But it’s a great place to start.
Should we be optimistic about making that change?
I really struggle with hope for the future. It’s the anxious brain versus the optimist brain. The anxious brain tends to win out. The climate impacts we’re seeing now are really concerning. We are basically past 1.5C. 1.5C would still not be brilliant. I am really worried about it.
Even if, in the next decade, we see some meaningful change – and I do believe we will – will change come as quick as it needs to come? No. That means that our future looks at least wobbly, and I don’t like that. When I’ve thought about whether I want to have children, I find that really difficult. I don’t necessarily trust that the future will be great.
The thing about extreme weather is, it just totally destroys. If your home is flooded, that’s it. You can’t resell that. You might have some insurance on it, but potentially in impoverished communities you won’t. If your possessions and your family home go, that’s life-defining stuff. If your crop fails and that’s your entire source of income, how do you grapple with that? If there’s food shortages or water shortages, that brings conflict. I’m quite optimistic about other social justice issues. I do believe in the slow march of change and that a breakthrough will come, but with climate it’s so scary because it is a ticking time bomb and in ten years, the climate might have teetered over the point of being too far gone. Even if then, amazing things have passed and incredible stuff happens, you can’t undo the carbon that’s come out.
The idea of a future that’s fixed past a certain point terrifies me. Climate is so different to other social justice issues because there is no backwards step. You can’t undo the typhoons. You can’t stop the typhoons from coming.
I don’t feel very hopeful for that future. But I feel that it’s too high stakes to not believe that it could be good. If I thought it was totally gone, I don’t think I could live with that, and that’s where you get people being apathetic. I don’t think you can justify that.
Rationally, I’m really worried, but in my activist brain, there’s nothing I can do but fight. If the future is rough, I can live with myself. I really tried, in my local or national capacity, to the best of my abilities at that time, as a flawed human being. I gave it a really good shot. I really cared and I really wanted to see change. I voted for change. I protested for change. I prayed for change. I did that. That’s the only thing you can do. I have to be hopeful. But if you made me bet, I wouldn’t say it was good odds currently. But you have to hang on to the good bits. Cling onto them for dear life.
I’m hopeful for the future at the end of time, in terms of God’s restoration. I suppose that’s helpful. When I cry about nature and destruction, one of the ways I deal with that is I go: ‘I know that one day, my eyes will see this flourishing.’ And that will be either because human beings crack on and sort it out or because I believe a loving creator God will come back and kick some arse. I will see that, one way or another. But it’s really hard. It’s very scary.
At the end of the day, I don’t really want to be an activist. I’d just like to own a bookshop, you know? Can’t I just own a bookshop? But the world is too bad. Do I wish someone would just come and sort it out? Yes, I do. Someone in my seminar was saying: ‘People who do social justice stuff almost want it to exist so they have a purpose.’ And I do not agree with that. If you gave me the choice, I would love it to all be sorted, and for me to just be a part of the system. I can’t have my florist business; I have to fight and fight and fight. I long for a time when I can retire. I pray that that time will come.
Featured image: Robin Erino via Pexels