The Right To Be Angry

Climate Change. Anger. Enragement.

From the countless uproar of protests to the solemn sounds of reflection, a common thread of anger fuels our climate action. We think of governments not doing enough, people not doing enough, and ourselves, a vessel for our own pensivity, not doing enough. We surround ourselves with news of disasters, calls of nature for help, our blood boiling, akin to the waters that surround us. 

But might we, step back, and ask? Do we have a right to be angry? Are our voices too loud? Are our pens too sharp?

It is faced with these questions, with a veil of worry, that I write this. I type this, rather, on a laptop fueled by the blithering smoke of our coal mines. The very same coal mines that I countlessly called to be closed down. The very livelihoods that my calls for climate justice were ignorant of, now face a threat that my countless calls might actually come to fruition. My voice, strained, ached and loud, might successfully drown those of countless others.

Voiceless. For that is the story of Energy Transitions in India. 

While we marvel at the speed at which India has achieved its NDCs (Nationally Determined Contributions), or cross swords on their lack of ambition, we sit twiddling fingers in our fog-filled rooms, unable to see beyond the horizon. And in this bout of diminished visibility, we lose sight of the implications. We don't see how the ongoing energy transition today is one that functions without an active plan for rehabilitation.

Notice is not taken of the indigenous lands lost under the oath of development. Attention is not given to the countless livelihoods at stake with the closure of every industry that we have deemed polluting. 

Energy transitions work on myths of climate change, a myth not strung with denial, but entrenched with seeds of prejudice. They serve to mobilize popular discourse to justify restructuring society. It is only that this restructuring is to the effect of perpetuating inequality. The changing climate, real, and daunting, is significantly more real for others. Others, whose voices are silenced by the constant roar of windmills and whose faces lay hidden behind the reflection of the sun that falls on stolen lands. 

It is with this, I wish to ask myself, do we have the right to be angry? And if yes, about what?

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