Thoughts from COP 21: In Order to Pave the Path to Great Hope and Transformation, Must We First Engage in a Ritual of Mourning?

The words fell like a blow to my solar plexus.  Nothing revelatory for me in terms of what was happening, yet, there it was.  Tears began streaming down my face. I focused my breathing to ground myself, to prevent a wild sob from bursting forth. 

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It was the Friday of the first week of the Climate talks, the Conference of Parties  (COP21) in Paris, 2015.  I was in the ‘blue zone,’ the section with badges for party members, observers, dignitaries.  Sitting next to me in Press Room 3 was my Filipina friend Sarah, a member of Global Ecovillage Network and affiliate of the Inter-Religious Climate and Ecology Network. We’d just observed an interfaith press conference panel of actors connected to these networks.

Global interfaith climate pilgrimages converge in Paris
for COP21, from the Philippines, Italy, Germany, across Africa, Korea,
Sri Lanka, Thailand...

 The interfaith panelists spoke of the role of faith leaders to engage on climate change issues. They shared how,  in part, faith leaders can show a path towards hope, to demonstrate the possibilities of another trajectory than the one we’re all on, in our global climate change work. They spoke of difficult realities too, of greed and fear as guiding forces in the talks. The panelists drew attention to the brutal suffering and systemic injustice visited upon the peoples of their countries, their Sangha, their congregations- due to the cyclical impacts and causes of climate change. Theirs was an injection of ethical awareness, a call for guiding compassion in policy decisions. They asked for recognition of our innate global interconnection as Beings of the Earth. It was a moving, clear and thought-provoking press conference. Their words embodied a projection of hope.

Just as Sarah and I were gathering ourselves to leave, a group from a global indigenous platform took their seats on the press panel. We sat down. The word ‘alarmed’ sounded repeatedly. Their tones were angry, frustrated, morose.  I learned that just in that day, the language regarding indigenous and nature rights—even language agreed to in previous COPs—had been bracketed-negating

Indigenous Peoples of the Planet speak @ COP21 press conference

commitments to these protections and responsibilities, if at least temporarily, out of operational texts.  The next potential step is deleting them altogether. 

And this is when, unexpectedly, I felt the blow to my center. For the rest of the day, uncontrollably, tears began welling up, spilling over.  I realized that all the good will and openness which ushered in the climate talks, the engagement of governmental and UNFCCC leaders in the interfaith and community programs, had allowed me a sliver of hope.  And yet, for this language to have been bracketed (and later deleted except in the non-operational preamble) indicated that the same myopic, narrow-minded and zero-sum competitive attitudes were at work behind the scenes, among some governmental negotiators. Bracketing of these texts felt like a slap in the face to the Living Earth, to this precious life. Our most cherished Beings of this planet, our inter-relationships and respect with others, our ancient wisdoms drawn from a collaborative responsive relationship to the world-- we as a global humanity cannot commit to protect and honor. 

                                                     Sarah and I started thinking about the only living tree on the COP 21 grounds.   Sarah suggested a ritual dance and song of indigenous and traditional spiritual practitioners, around the tree.  She suggested this as a message, as a way to bring people into a visceral understanding of the interconnection and sacred ecology messages of indigenous and spiritual groups—one that words alone could not seem to manifest. 

The only living tree inside the blue zone badge-required COP21 grounds (photo credit, Sarah Queblatin)

This was a hopeful idea, and intellectually, principally, and intuitively sound—as were the interfaith panel’s messages.  I found myself imagining instead, however, a great mass wailing. Gathering together around the tree and holding a wake. Gnashing teeth. Pulling hair. Weeping, grieving together as a planet for all we have lost, and all we are going to lose.  Beyond my socialized cognitive composure, my body was calling me to throw myself at the roots and trunk of this tree, to wail. To bellow out unto the earth and echoing skies. To bellow unto the midnight stars.

In Thailand, there is a Buddhist ceremony, 'non loeng sadorcro,' a death ritual in which monks conduct death rites for the living.   People wishing to release bad luck or make a change in their lives will lie down in coffins while death rites are performed. Many claim a sense of rebirth and new beginnings upon rising again and stepping out from the coffins. Around the world, cultures embrace similar metaphorical rituals or narratives that enable individuals and communities to release the old, so the new may enter.  Death rituals, mourning and wakes are a way of letting go, and opening up the universe for possibilities of new hope, of new beginnings.  Nature’s wisdom teaches us: for life to perpetuate, there must be death.

Perhaps before we can know true hope--in our bodies, in our actions, in a transformative and sustaining way—we must first properly, fully, and inclusively, engage in a ritual of grief for the losses to our planet.   We must go through it, this suffering and loss, in order to get out of it.  In order to enter into a new world. To create a new manner of Being. I believe in creating hope, in making the road by walking.  Before this can happen, at least for me personally, and perhaps  for us collectively,  we must first allow ourselves to grieve.

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Two videos worthy of viewing:

Astronauts around the world speak to leaders at COP21

Indigenous  Peoples speak at #COP21