VICTORIA, BC — I spend a lot of time fear-mongering when I write a column. I think about the world’s numerous problems and how to convey them in non-technical terms. I list the ways these problems affect us directly and brainstorm metaphors for their severity. Most of these tidbits don’t make it into the final piece, but my columns do fall largely on the gloomy side.

So, when I looked at the schedule for the second International Marine Conservation Congress (IMCC), I was surprised to find the conference’s first day dedicated to conservation success stories.

Upon further reflection, it wasn’t hard to come up with a long list of happy conservation outcomes. But the list of woes seems far longer. So why, then, did an eminent group of marine scientists and conservationists earmark an entire day for the “win” column?

Partly, I’m sure, to give all of us hope in increasingly frightening times. And also to remind us to fold that hope into our stories, so that we can continue to motivate others’ conservation efforts with the promise of eventual success.

Those of us at the IMCC share a common passion: the oceans, their fate and changing that fate for the better. Our sense of the relative importance of the key threats (overfishing, pollution, ocean acidification, etc.) may vary and our methodologies for addressing them (research, advocacy, politics) are equally variable. But for most of us, our passion defines us.

At the ripe old age of 24, though, I’ve finally figured out that not everyone cares about my passion. (It’ll take another 24 years for me to figure out why they’re so misguided.) Of course, I’ve also gotten better at figuring out why everyone should care — the obvious result of many hours spent thinking and talking about the things I’m invested in.

We tend to care a lot about things that are close to us: the local weather, for example, the syllabus for our term paper, how our grandparents are doing and why our incredible best friend still can’t get a date. In other words, proximity rules our passions. That proximity can be physical, intellectual or emotional. Either way, the closer something hits to home, the more likely we are to respond.

That’s part of the reason we’ve been so slow to address global environmental threats. Sure, carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere are rising — fast. Sure, some mysterious models say that the climate will change, and the oceans will acidify (and actual, tangible evidence is accumulating, too). But these changes are incremental, so gradual that it would be impossible for you and I to perceive a change on our own, the way we notice when the temperature drops 20 degrees Fahrenheit overnight. And the effects are equally incremental: glaciers don’t melt overnight and coral reefs don’t dissolve in a day.

So how do we bring these effects home? How do we motivate ourselves to care?

Communicating science in the present day — of climate change and ocean acidification, of global problems with tough solutions — is all about balance. The fear balance.

Scare tactics can be effective — to a point. We’ve known since childhood that fear of punishment is a formidable motivator. So we tell people that they don’t want their children to be spanked by sea level rise. They don’t want their favorite vacation spot to be confiscated.

But as an environmental communications professor once told me, “You need to scare people. Just not so much that they shut down.” Climate change, when we really meditate on it, is totally overwhelming. The impacts are terrifying, but the prevention steps are equally paralyzing. How can we possibly “get off” of fossil fuels? How can we transition into a sustainable economy when we hardly know what “sustainable” means?

Taken aback by the magnitude of the problem, many people respond by ignoring it or by denying its existence. So the conservation community has taken to spitting out bite-sized pieces of advice. “Drive less, bike more.” “Offset your carbon emissions.” “Buy fresh, buy local.” Climate change has been watered down for general consumption, and the drink is becoming popular.

Losing your audience is the same as saying nothing — except that you’re frustrated and out of breath. But it can be equally frustrating to watch people feel vindicated when they remember their canvas shopping bag or when they choose one vegetarian meal out of five. Mostly we tell ourselves, “something is better than nothing,” but sometimes that something distracts us from the real issues at stake, gives us a false sense of security and allows us to push a serious problem to the backs of our minds.

Our challenge, now that the majority of Americans acknowledge climate change, is to keep the ball rolling. We have to know our audience and the changing state of their knowledge. We must reward success without indulging complacency. We must continue to push the boundaries of our communication, to introduce new issues and their solutions.

The IMCC, bolstered by a first-day jolt of hope, carries on with an optimistic tone. The ocean is in trouble, but these people are busy finding solutions and communicating their passion. At least here, in this moment, in this place, the future looks dim. A long way from bright, but still better than black.

 

Holly welcomes rays of hope and lasers of criticism via email at [email protected].