Nature Is a Right, Not a Privilege: Environmental Education as a Catalyst for Youth-Led Climate Justice

Editors’ note: This piece is from Nonprofit Quarterly Magazine’s fall 2024 issue, “Supporting the Youth Climate Justice Movement.”

For someone interested in the environment, I have killed more plants than I care to tell. Since high school, I have rooted myself (pun intended) in a curiosity of nature. Research presented an outlet through which I felt comfortable exploring my environmentalism. Admittedly, I was the basement-dwelling, science-experiment kid, tending to my plants and their fungal mutualisms every day after school. Despite killing half my sample size (over 100 plants) on two occasions, I developed a deep appreciation for this plant–fungi duo, whose symbiosis modeled mutual aid and reciprocity. My research explored their capacity to remove heavy-metal pollutants from stormwater—toxins ever more prevalent in waterbodies due to the rise in climate-change-induced storm events. In 2019, I presented my work at the Intel International Science and Engineering Fair, receiving the Best of Category award in plant sciences.¹

As an extrovert-leaning ambivert, I recognized a need to leave my basement in order to fully explore my environmental interconnectedness. But studying these systems outdoors would significantly differ from doing so from the comfort of my home. Growing up in Prince George’s County, MD, I was used to my family cautioning me, “Amarachukwu, apụna n’ìló” (Do not go outside). This guidance came despite the reciprocal relationship I had watched my grandfather cultivate with the natural world, which is what first piqued my environmental interest. Looking back, I now recognize my family’s fear as that of many Black folks who view the outdoors as a place of historic and continued violence.

A Budding Interest in the Outdoors

While I had many reasons to embrace fear of the outdoors, I also embraced the outdoors as a beautiful space.

I anticipated that moving to Maine, which happened when I was nine, would afford me a wealth of opportunities to nurture my budding interest in the outdoors. Maine is renowned for its beauty, and it has an abundance of diverse environmental landscapes—from forests and mountains to ocean beaches and more. Yet the interconnectedness I hoped for could not be any further from what I experienced. Attempts to engage with the outdoors left me feeling less connected to the world around me than ever before. When outdoors, I was met with stares and Confederate flags, leading me to feel ostracized in my rural Maine home. Furthermore, as a lower-income individual, exploring my interests required expensive outdoor gear, which posed a financial burden that my family simply could not shoulder. I never saw those who looked like me accessing nature, so I developed a view of the environment as a place of privilege and exclusion where I did not belong.

I now know I was mistaken: nature is a right, not a privilege. Everyone deserves equitable access to, and a sense of belonging in, a healthy environment. Furthermore, as a Black, Indigenous young person whose communities are among the most harmed by—yet have contributed the least to—the climate crisis, my space in the environmental sector is indispensable to achieving climate justice.

While I had many reasons to embrace fear of the outdoors, I also embraced the outdoors as a beautiful space. I started small, near the park behind my house. There, my sense of ease was nourished and grew as I listened to the sounds of nature surrounding me.

Eagerly, I brought my experiences to folks in my community, all of whom faced similar barriers to environmental access. As the president of my high school’s Stormwater Management and Research Team (SMART), I coordinated community-science engagement opportunities for students of color as a pathway to diversifying environmental STEM (science, technology, engineering, and math). Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was an environmental educator, practicing education as a critical tool for social transformation. The traditional education system had failed many of the students. As they built conductivity sensors, plunged knee-deep into the Penobscot River, and counted macroinvertebrate creatures that called the waterbody home, they shared an enthusiasm and curiosity that many expressed they had never felt before.

Playing in the Dirt

Research, outdoor exploration, environmental education—these activities left me beaming while healing my inner child. Admittedly, they equally enshrouded me in guilt. I am a Black, Igbo woman living in what is now the United States, far from my ancestral homelands in the southeastern part of what is now Nigeria. My communities on the continent of Africa and across the diaspora are no strangers to deep inequities: bare-to-no immigration rights, Black women’s maternal mortality, gun violence, economic injustice…I could go on. Understanding what my communities face made my environmental passions feel not only trivial but also selfish. I felt that instead of working to improve these woes, I was playing in the dirt—and I compartmentalized my shame.

At age 16, my feelings surrounding my engagement with the environmental sector transformed. One day, I took a leap of faith with my best friend, and we skipped class to attend a network gathering of youth environmentalists in Maine. Beyond my high school club, I had never before witnessed other young people from diverse backgrounds eager to explore their environmental interconnectedness.

Understanding the far-reaching legacy of the environmental sector brought me to the realization that my role in these efforts is…vital to ensuring that those from communities like mine have a seat at the climate-action table.One of these young folks was Vic Barrett, who served as the convening’s keynote speaker. Barrett is one of the 21 youth plaintiffs in the 2015 Juliana v. United States court case, suing the federal government for knowingly putting young folks in harm’s way by encouraging and permitting petrochemical proliferation.² Barrett illustrated the challenges he faced while engaging in climate justice advocacy, particularly in seeing few people with identities similar to his. Yet he underscored that his identity as a young, Black, Indigenous person was not a hindrance but rather equipped him with the skills and knowledge he needed to strive for climate justice. In other words, his lived experiences allowed him to better advocate for his communities’ environmental and social rights.

Barrett’s words echoed the reality of the environmental sector—a reality rooted in the violent legacy of the United States. The founding of this country and all the protected areas conservation holds dear are predicated on a history of genocide, colonization, and land theft perpetrated against sovereign Indigenous nations. Environmental and conservation organizations reflect this legacy and are deeply rooted in White supremacy. The racial reckoning of 2020 compelled the sector, including the so-called Big Greens,³ to grapple with their roles in perpetuating environmental and climate injustice.⁴ Many of those regarded as the foremost ecological champions overtly expressed racist sentiments. John Muir, founder of the Sierra Club, who is considered the “father of our national parks,” often described Black and Indigenous people as “dirty” and “savages.”⁵ His boys club comprised ardent eugenicists who advocated for the sterilization of people of color. Another person who shared Muir’s past is Aldo Leopold, an ecologist whose environmental advocacy exuded White supremacist sentiments through his castigation of Indigenous folks.⁶ Other ecological leaders upholding these racist ideals include John James Audubon (for whom the National Audubon Society is named) and former US president and conservationist Theodore Roosevelt, among others.⁷ Today, Black people, Indigenous people, and other people of color continue to face marginalization in environmental spaces, at least partially due to these racist legacies.

A Seat at the Climate-Action Table

When I engaged with the world around me, I was compelled to protect and preserve it from the threats it faced—because no one wants to see that which they love destroyed.

The cohesion of environmentalism and White supremacy has given birth to a myriad of false narratives about people of color, reinforcing the historic injustices that communities of color face more broadly, and creating the systemic challenges our communities face with respect to outdoor and environmental engagement—one being that we do not like to engage with the environment. This, of course, could not be further from the truth. It dismisses my lived experience, the lived experience of Black farmers like my grandfather, and the lived experience of millions of Indigenous peoples and other people of color whose identities are inextricably tied to ecology and the land.

Furthermore, regarding communities of color as environmentally apathetic has justified overlooking us in environmental solution making at a time when climate-induced disasters are disproportionately affecting our livelihoods. In 2022 alone, severe flooding displaced 8 million people in Pakistan, droughts in the Horn of Africa impacted 36 million people, and the Philippines saw 850,000 displaced due to a tropical storm.⁸ These impacts are also costly in terms of money. The cost of the ten most expensive extreme weather events in 2022 totaled $168.1 billion—funds that could have been invested instead in the communities, so that, for instance, such a critical level of damage wouldn’t happen in the first place.⁹

As a microcosm of global challenges, the United States mirrors this trend of climate inequities: those most impacted are communities of color. Notably, disasters like Hurricanes Katrina and Harvey have demonstrated that flooding disproportionately affects Black neighborhoods. Moreover, Indigenous communities face similarly adverse impacts, such as the Native Alaska tribes, whose cultural practices, livelihoods, and even languages alter as the Arctic warms twice as fast as the rest of the world.¹⁰

As a young person involved in this work, I saw the lack of people who looked like me in the sector as a reason to disengage, and I considered my passion something to be ashamed of. However, Barrett’s keynote and my understanding of the history of this sector inspired a different perspective to take shape—one that has solidified my place as a disruptor within the climate justice movement. Understanding the far-reaching legacy of the environmental sector brought me to the realization that my role in these efforts is not selfish but in fact vital to ensuring that those from communities like mine have a seat at the climate-action table.

Climate justice has never been achieved. There has been progress over the years—the Biden administration’s Justice40 Initiative being a recent project that looks promising¹¹—however, there is much progress still needing to be made: underserved communities across the Global South and the Global North continue to suffer from climate-induced harm. Echoing the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”¹² And who are best situated to shape solutions that will redress injustices in their corners of the world? Those actively living it—primarily, young folks of color, who are living the consequences of an existential crisis they did not create.

In my seven years of climate and environmental justice advocacy, I have coordinated grassroots movements and advanced successful legislation to ensure that all youth have access to powerful environmental-education opportunities. I have found purpose in uplifting young folks, particularly Black youth and other youth of color, in the environmental movement. My theory of change—how I lead these efforts forward—stems from the lesson I learned while leading community science initiatives at my high school all those years ago: that education is a critical tool for social transformation. Over my journey, my environmental curiosity transformed into advocacy and solution generation. When I engaged with the world around me, I was compelled to protect and preserve it from the threats it faced—because no one wants to see that which they love destroyed. Thus, I aim to foster robust outdoor and environmental learning opportunities for young people, so that they can be similarly impassioned to advocate for their communities, environment, and themselves.

Engaging in this work while helping to shape the movement I hope to see has often been challenging and demanding. I have faced imposter syndrome, fear of speaking about equity, and feelings of tokenism in spaces exuding the historical exclusion of diverse identities. However, centering community in these efforts means I have always had a space in which to grieve these challenges, grow from them, and celebrate successes.

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My efforts in the sector have left me with many lessons learned, which I offer as advice:

Young folks, especially young folks of color who are engaged in or looking to engage in the climate movement: I see you. I recognize that the climate crisis is a significant, existential issue, often shrouded in academic verbiage and incomprehensible data. I remind you that your lived experiences of intergenerational injustice equip you with more than enough skills and knowledge to be a critical thought partner in building a world free of climate harm. Also, never lose sight of your relationship with the natural world and with those within your communities—these relationships will serve you well as a reminder of why you hold steadfast in these efforts.

Nonprofits, philanthropic organizations, governmental agencies, and other institutions that are joining the effort to engage young people in this work: I now turn to you. I advise you to recognize our vital contributions to this movement and act accordingly. That does not mean providing a seat at the table as an act of lip service; it means equitably engaging young people by equally weighing our ideas and contributions as highly as you would any other person. It also means actively working toward participatory justice by removing barriers that limit our engagement. Abolish the unpaid internship, consider changing meeting times, provide a stipend for engagement, offer transportation assistance, and ensure that participants leave meetings with full bellies. These are but a few ways to center equity in youth engagement. Similarly, I implore you to lead, fund, and promote environmental education programming as a pathway for young folks to realize their crucial place in the sector.

Building community is foundational to building a better world. As one individual hoping to address climate and social inequities in Maine, Nigeria, and beyond, I have learned that centering relationships is paramount. The relationships I’ve cultivated with the natural world, my kin, and my identities have been indispensable in solidifying my role in the climate movement. By connecting young folks of color to the outdoors and reminding them that centering their communities and identities should never be done in shame, I hope they will realize that their voices hold much power in shaping a more just and sustainable world.

Notes:

1. See “Five questions with ISEF 2019 Best of Category in Plant Sciences winner, Amara Ifeji,” ISEF (blog), Society for Science, July 12, 2019, societyforscience.org/blog/five-questions-with-isef-2019-best-of-category-in-plant-sciences-winner-amara-ifeji/; and “Striving Toward Environmental Access with Amara Ifeji,” Community Voices (blog), Northern Woodlands, March 6, 2024, northernwoodlands.org/blog/article/environmental-access-amara-ifeji.
2. See “Youth Gov: Juliana v. US,” Our Children’s Trust, last modified July 5, 2024, www.ourchildrenstrust.org/juliana-v-us.
3. For more on the Big Greens, see Deeohn Ferris, “Environmental Justice: Moving Equity from Margins to Mainstream,” NPQ, August 15, 2019, org/environmental-justice-moving-equity-from-margins-to-mainstream/.
4. Jason Dinh, “Did Big Green Groups Fumble Their George Floyd Moment?,” Green 2.0, June 5, 2024, diversegreen.org/did-big-green-groups-fumble-their-george-floyd-moment/; and “Sierra Club apologizes for racist views of ‘father of national parks’ John Muir,” The Guardian, July 23, 2020, www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/jul/23/john-muir-sierra-club-apologizes-for-racist-views.
5. “Sierra Club apologizes for racist views of ‘father of national parks’ John Muir”; and Prakash Kashwan, “American environmentalism’s racist roots have shaped global thinking about conservation,” The Conversation, September 2, 2020, com/american-environmentalisms-racist-roots-have-shaped-global-thinking-about-conservation-143783.
6. See Sam Harrington, “Reckoning with the racist legacy of Wisconsin’s conservation heroes,” Tone Madison, April 28, 2023, com/articles/reckoning-with-the-racist-legacy-of-wisconsins-conservation-heroes/; and Kashwan, “American environmentalism’s racist roots have shaped global thinking about conservation.”
7. Ibid.
8. “Climate Crisis, Displacement, and the Right to Stay: Pakistan,” Othering & Belonging Institute at UC Berkeley, accessed July 12, 2024, berkeley.edu/climatedisplacement/case-studies/pakistan; and Counting The Cost 2022: A year of climate breakdown (London, UK: Christian Aid, 2022), 5.
9. Counting The Cost 2022.
10. Oliver Milman, “Alaska indigenous people see culture slipping away as sea ice vanishes,” The Guardian, December 19, 2016, theguardian.com/environment/2016/dec/19/alaska-sea-ice-vanishing-climate-change-indigenous-people.
11. Courtney Lindwall, “What Is the Justice40 Initiative?,” NRDC, December 4, 2023, nrdc.org/stories/ what-justice40-initiative; and Miranda Green, “Can Biden’s Justice40 plan deliver a fairer environment for people of color?,” The Guardian, June 2, 2021, www.theguardian.com/us-news/2021/jun/02/biden-justice40-plan-environmental-justice.
12. Martin Luther King , “Letter from a Birmingham Jail [King, Jr.],” April 16, 1963, African Studies Center, University of Pennsylvania, www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html.