The call from Strong's office was exhilarating. The trip to a camp in the Amazon would have to be postponed, a huge undertaking in Brazil, but Tara went ahead and began to make new arrangements. Severn had had the inspiration more than a year before to go to Rio and make a plea. The girls had worked like demons to raise money, publish papers, and attend the meetings. And now they were to speak to the delegates.
What could she say? I was overwhelmed with the immensity of the opportunity and the challenge of compressing the important issues into a short talk. I began firing off ideas about points I thought she should make in her speech on pollution, wildlife, future generations. Sev said to me, “Dad, I know what I want to say. Mommy will help me write it all down. I want you to tell me how to say it.”
We didn't have much time. Sev wrote out her speech on a piece of paper, adding words and phrases in the margins as all of us offered our critique. I had no idea how she would be able to read the scribbling. We rushed out to grab cabs, and as we careened through the streets of Rio, I made Sev go over her speech several times, trying to help her smooth her delivery and remember which words should be emphasized, just as my father had done for me when I was a boy.
The conference center was air-conditioned, with only a murmur of background noise — a stark contrast to the vibrant colors, smells, and sounds of the Global Forum. We entered the conference room, an immense hall that could have held thousands but contained only a few hundred people; it looked almost empty. Sev was last on the list. The other girls made their presentations well, pleading for better care of resources, wildlife, water, and the poor — the kind of statements adults could feel good about listening to and in response could promise they were doing their best.
Finally, it was Sev's turn. She was twelve years old and had not had time to prepare thoroughly, and I was scared stiff — but I hadn't given her enough credit. She has a mother who is a superb thinker and writer, and Sev herself had been listening to us, absorbing our concerns and solutions, thinking about her life and her surroundings, and she spoke simply, straight from the heart. Here is what she said:
Hello. I'm Severn Suzuki, speaking for eco, the Environmental Children's Organization.
We are a group of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds trying to make a difference — Vanessa Suttie, Morgan Geisler, Michelle Quigg, and me.
We raised all the money to come five thousand miles to tell you adults you must change your ways.
Coming up here today I have no hidden agenda, I am fighting for my future.
Losing a future is not like losing an election or a few points on the stock market.
I am here to speak for all generations to come; I am here to speak on behalf of the starving children around the world whose cries go unheard; I am here to speak for the countless animals dying across this planet because they have nowhere left to go.
I am afraid to go out in the sun now because of the holes in the ozone; I am afraid to breathe the air because I don't know what chemicals are in it; I used to go fishing in Vancouver, my home-town, with my dad, until just a few years ago when we found the fish full of cancers; and now we hear about animals and plants going extinct every day — vanishing forever.
In my life, I have dreamed of seeing the great herds of wild animals, jungles and rain forests full of birds and butterflies, but now I wonder if they will even exist for my children to see.
Did you have to worry about these things when you were my age?
All this is happening before our eyes, and yet we act as if we have all the time we want and all the solutions.
I'm only a child and I don't have all the solutions, but I want you to realize, neither do you — you don't know how to fix the holes in our ozone layer; you don't know how to bring the salmon back in a dead stream; you don't know how to bring back an animal now extinct, and you can't bring back the forests that once grew where there is now a desert — if you don't know how to fix it, please stop breaking it!
Here you may be delegates of your governments, business-people, organizers, reporters or politicians, but really you are mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, and all of you are somebody's child.
I'm only a child yet I know we are part of a family, 5 billion strong; in fact, 30 million species strong, and borders and governments will never change that.
I'm only a child yet I know we are all in this together and should act as one single world toward one single goal.
In my anger, I am not blind, and in my fear, I'm not afraid to tell the world how I feel.
In my country we make so much waste; we buy and throw away, buy and throw away; and yet northern countries will not share with the needy; even when we have more than enough, we are afraid to lose some of our wealth, afraid to let go.
In Canada, we live the privileged life with plenty of food, water and shelter; we have watches, bicycles, computers, and television sets.
Two days ago here in Brazil, we were shocked when we spent time with some children living on the streets, and here is what one child told us: “I wish I was rich, and if I were, I would give all the street children food, clothes, medicine, shelter, love, and affection.”
If a child on the street who has nothing is willing to share, why are we who have everything still so greedy?
I can't stop thinking that these are children my own age, that it makes a tremendous difference where you are born.
I could be one of those children living in the favelas of Rio, I could be a child starving in Somalia, a victim of war in the Middle East, or a beggar in India.
I'm only a child yet I know if all the money spent on war was spent on ending poverty, making treaties and finding environmental answers, what a wonderful place this Earth would be.
At school, even in kindergarten, you teach us how to behave in the world — you teach us not to fight with others; to work things out; to respect others; to clean up our mess; not to hurt other creatures; to share, not be greedy.
Then why do you go out and do the things you tell us not to do?
Do not forget why you are attending these conferences, who you are doing this for — we are your own children.
You are deciding what kind of a world we will grow up in.
Parents should be able to comfort their children by saying, “Everything's going to be all right,” “We're doing the best we can,” and “It's not the end of the world.”
But I don't think you can say that to us anymore.
Are we even on your list of priorities?
My dad always says, “You are what you do, not what you say.”
Well, what you do makes me cry at night.
You grown-ups say you love us, but I challenge you, please make your actions reflect your words. Thank you.
I was absolutely floored. It was a powerful speech, delivered with eloquence, sincerity, and passion. The audience was electrified. All of the presentations in the convention hall were broadcast on monitors throughout the building, and I am told that when Sev began to speak, people stopped what they were doing and gathered around the television sets to listen to her. Severn received one of only two standing ovations given during the entire conference (the other was for President Fidel Castro of Cuba, who also gave a powerful speech).