With more and more severe environmental disasters happening each year, along with mass protests and human rights disputes, the climate crisis is affecting Generation Z more than ever before. It has sparked the largest acts of civil disobedience in Canaidan history, a new form of anxiety called "eco-anxiety," and a unique form of escapism as a coping mechanism.
British Columbia alone has taken massive hits of devastating wildfires and colossal floods in 2021. Meanwhile, big companies continue to invest in worsening the climate crisis. Teal-Jones Group is logging the old-growth rainforests of Fairy Creek, located on unceded Pacheedaht territory, and Coastal GasLink is attempting to build an oil pipeline through unceded Wet'suwet'en lands. Both companies are utilizing militarized RCMP to enforce their work against peaceful land defenders.
Here in London, Ontario, concerns about these happenings are present in some Generation Zers. In interviewing random Gen Z passersby on the street, I was able to capture the effects, despite being so far away from the action.
"I follow the Fairy Creek Blockade on Instagram for updates, and I occasionally see videos from the frontline land defenders on my [TikTok] for-you page," said Madeline Baker, 20. "[The peaceful protestors] are doing what needs to be done. Destorying those ecosystems while the climate crisis begins to take hold isn't good for anybody."
Another Gen Z youth, Aaron King, 23, expressed similar concerns. "What makes me the angriest about [the happenings at the Gidimt'en checkpoint] is all the violent and illegal arrests of Wet'suwet'en land defenders that's going on up there," he said. "Not only that, but fossil fuel is definitely a major contributor to climate change. The construction of this pipeline at a time like this is pure greed."
Displaying such deep passion for environmental activism is not as uncommon in Gen Z as you might think. Going onto Instagram to read the updates and see the videos at Fairy Creek and the Gidimt'en Checkpoint for myself, many peaceful land defenders hold their ground, even while enduring assults of macing, the danger of being around enormous falling trees, and the RCMP aggressively handling and arresting land defenders.
Despite facing the constant threat of harm, injury, and legal consequences, land defenders will not back down in the name of preserving the land and climate for future generations. What's wrapped up in this motive is an immense amount of climate-based anxiety; people everywhere, but especially Generation Z, fear for the survivability of both their future selves and the future generations.
"Climate change occupies a large portion of my thoughts throughout the day," Baker said. "It's pretty distressing, especially since there's n ot a lot I can do about it right now except change my habits and attend protests." Baker also noted that while trying to otake on more sustainable practices and habits as an individual helps a little, it's nothing in comparison to real, systemic change that the environmental activism at places like Fairy Creek and the Gidimt'en Checkpoint are pushing to evoke. Without governmental interference, Baker worries that the climate crisis will grow worse.
On the other hand, King worries that the government won't step in. "I don't think the government we live under wants us to seriously prioritize sustainability because, ultimately, it's not profitable," he said. "Everything they say is so performative. I don't know what my future holds. And that's a scary thing, because all generations before ours have had that privilege."
This article by Sarah Simon on Verywell Health calls it "eco-anxiety." In this article, Naviot Bhullar, PhD, professor researching environmental influences on mental health at the University of New England in Australia, said that the symptoms of eco-anxiety can be similar to that of generalized-anxiety disorder (GAD), or even as severe as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). In the comments offered by Baker and King, these findings appear to hold true.
"[Climate change] just amkes me anxious like nothing else," King said. "I feel stuck."
"It's like we're battling two mental health crises at once," Baker said. "One from the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic and lockdowns, and the other from the state of the climate."
Within the online community of Generation Z, particularly on the popular video-sharing app known as TikTok, an interesting form of escapism is emerging as a coping mechanism for youth facing these mental health crises. From my own experience in this space, many of my peers (myself included) are prioritizing spending more time in nature in order to combat the eco-anxiety.
Many of these TikTok users document their journey to become closer with nature, including learning to garden, forage, and identify various types of plants and mushrooms. Mushrooms, particularly, seem to be an area of interest for many. In addition to this, these creators are learning to utilize the plants and mushrooms to make eco-friendly versions of products, including homemade twine, dyes, teas, foraged meals, and much more, even going as far as glue.
Many even dream of owning and working a self-sustaining hobby farm. A TikTok creator by the name of Redleaf Ranch (@redleafranch), who has accumulated 1.2 million followers, showcases his hobby farm. He has grown this popular just by means of spreading how abundant this way of life can be; many people seek the same kind of life, where they can grow closer to nature and lead physically, mentally, and spiritually healthier lives.
"I dream of creating a self-sustaining life for myself," Baker said. "I see more and more people shifting to off-grid living. I could have a garden and chicken, maybe some other animals, too."
To learn more about the Fairy Creek Blockade and how you can help, visit their LinkTree, linked in their Instagram bio (@fairycreekblockade on Instagram. To learn more about the Gidimt'en Checkpoint for the oil pipeline on unceded Wet'suwet'en territory and how you can help, visit their website.
My dad has always been one to move slowly, and my mom hated it. It took him a long time to fix the crack in the foundation of the pool when they bought our house, and to change the oil in his car, and to get back from the grocery store, and to cook dinner (which he loved to do). My dad has always taken his time.
Ever since my childhood, when my cousins and family would visit us from Croatia, I have waited ever so patiently for my dad to speak to me the words he did in the summer of 2022: "Darija, will you come home with me?". Of course I would; he hadn't been back since he fled the draft for the Yugoslav Wars in 1991.
I never understood why my dad was so slow to do anything until we came back to Canada. During our time in Croatia, we stopped frequently to visit many towns and cities; he carefully showed me places and things and told me stories of memories he had connected to them. Sometimes we'd stop simply to admire a view, and sometimes we'd spend an entire afternoon sitting on the patio of one cafe, completely welcome. Nobody rushed us away. It was unexpected; I thought we would've just kicked it all the way down to Capljina, where my baka and dedo and cousins lived, as fast as we could. My brain expected him to have a set plan that he'd execute efficiently. But my dad had much different plans: just winging it.
So, Capljina. A small town with a population of just under 30,000 people, Capljina was cozy; its size reminded me of my hometown in Canada: St. Thomas, Ontario, except everything you needed was in walking distance of your apartment. Bosnia and Croatia use land MUCH more efficiently than we do here in Canada. Just about everything was different. Cities here are grid-like, designed to be easiest to navigate with a car. It's part of our never-ending hustle culture; everything here is about the grind. In Capljina, it was easy (and actually fun) to wander, to explore. It was exciting to leave my Tetka Andela's apartment by muself to walk around, looko around. The streets seemed to wind about the town in a way that didn't make a lot of practical sense, at least in terms of getting places quickly. It didn't matter, though. I was in no hurry. I was more interested in the old stone buildings whose roofs had long fallen away, buildings' curiously placed windows and doors, and the small, intricate pedestrian pathways that wove throughout the town. There simply just isn't anything like this in Canada. You can almost see through time just looked at the way buildings' stones were stacked. There didn't appear to be a system or pattern. Just whatever fit.
For the first little while, I would help my baka make dinner. Back in Canada, I didn't have an interest in cooking at all. I actually saw it as something of a chore and constantly struggled to cook for myself because of this. When my baka taught me some of the recipes she knows, I fell in love. We'd make a dish called japrek (pronounced YEH-prick), which was a childhood favourite of mine that my dad would make. I was the only sibling who liked it, so every time he'd make it, I knew it was just for me, and it made me really happy. My baka's way of making it was different from my dad's, but the dish turned out just as delicious. She also taught me how to make squash soup, which she actually learned from my dad when she visited us in Canada a few years ago. She liked his recie so much that she made him take her to our local flower shop before she left to buy butternut squash seed that she could plant in her garden back home. Oh, her and dedo's vegetable garden. I was completely ridden with anticipation to go there.
But first, I decided that I needed a more touristy experience, so I asked if we could go to Dubrovnik. I specifically wanted to see the city's Old Town, still surrounded by its 15th centry medieval wall. I had to see it. Dubrovnik's streets, like Capljina, were winding and weaving, not made for cars, and Old Town was even better. Inside the old medieval walls, the beautiful, old buildings, many still with their original relief sculptures and carvings, were packed tightly together. There wasn't room for cars--Old Town was built before cars existed--except maybe along the main street and in the fountain square. Even then, though, cars scarcely came through, and when they did, it was strictly for maintenance purposes. No civilian cars, period.
The square in Old Town had a beautiful centre-piece of a fountain. It was a 15th century domed fountain, or, in Croatian, "velika onofrijeva fontana", literally meaning "large domed fountain". It's a circular, domed structure with multiple faucets on its many faces. The faucets were decorated with ancient relief sculptures of various animals: monkeys, lions, and human faces as well. People took from the fountain freely, drinking the water, washing their hands, splashing their faces. In fact, it's completely normal in Croatia and Bosnia for there to be fountains on the corner of each block, free to drink from. Sometimes, even, water would gush out the side of a mountain, and you could drink right from it. It was the coldest, most pure water I'd ever drank. Many of the reliefs were worn down, especially the decorative ones where the water falls, and on the barrier people lean on, from centuries of use. I had the same feeling looking at the old stone buildings in Capljina: I felt like I could see through time, and that feeling came to me quite a lot during our visit to Old Town, Dubrovnik. The old brick wall, the skinny staircase that you could climb to get to the top, the relief structures, pretty much everything to be completely honest. In Canada, there's nothing that lets me see through time like that. Well, not anymore, not after colonizers stole it all for material, museums, or just outright destroyed it. Not even the Parliament buildings in Ottawa contain such depth in their bricks.
Besides the ancient architecture that so amazed me during this visitt, I also found it incredibly surprising that there were shops, aparments, and people in the alleyways of Old Town, Dubrovnik (or any other town in Croatia). The alleyways were decorated with plants and art, and people mingled in the stores and bars and restaurants in them. This was weird for me. Here in London, Ontario, I'd never think to step foot in an alleyway. There's garbage, dirt, and they're dark and damp. Dangerous. I almost second guessed myself before going into the alleys, but my dad reassured me. Thing's aren't like that here. It felt warmer, safer, more compassionate. No cars, pretty alleyways, a sense of community and openness.
After we got back to Capljina from Dubrovnik, it wasn't long before my baka and dedo decided that it was time to take me to the village and the garden. The village was Radesine, just west of Konjic where my dad grew up, located deep in the rural mountains of Bosnia i Herzegovina. Downslope from my baka and dedo's lone cottage (that my dedo built himself in his youth!!!!) was their vegetable garden.