MN Climate Strike: There is No Planet B

The kids aren’t alright—and neither are we, until we do something about it.

By Hannah Dove

The kids on the light rail are young, holding Fortnite backpacks with tall lanky limbs. They’re also holding signs decorated with planets, plants, and slogans pleading politicians to not destroy the very ground we walk on. Some are holding their parents’ hands as they walk towards the throng of people marching forward, heads high, some solemn, and some laughing with their friends. They stop at the green at the bottom of the St. Paul Capitol building and look up to lock eyes with a petite girl waiting up at the podium. 

Isra Hirsi is 16 years old and is the executive director of MN Youth Climate Strike. She’s also been going to protests since the 1st grade. 

“Take out your phones,” she directs, and a sea of iPhones emerge from the crowd. “Now I want you to text MNStrike, that’s capital M, N, Strike, to 333-39. Follow the instructions from there.” 

It’s September 20, 2019, and all over the world people (mostly youth) have walked out of their workplaces and schools and taken to the streets to demand action on climate change. This date was not purely serendipitous: the United Nations Climate Summit in New York was a mere three days away. 

This is not only a stand against those committing violence against the environment and those who suffer most from climate change, this strike is also the start of the intersectional age of environmental activism. The youth are the first to ask: whose voices are being heard, and whose voices are being drowned out by those in power?

These remarks are not meant to comfort the privileged—they are meant to speak to the environmental racism, classism, and sexism prevalent in the environmental movement. What the youth of the MN Climate Strike understand is that we can no longer ignore the disparities in the fight against climate change: not the indigeous peoples fighting against the Line 3 pipeline, nor the unequal air pollution and trash incineration within North Minneapolis, nor the poor people of color whose voices are not listened to. 

All of these organizers are eloquent, driven, and spending their childhoods begging for a future. As dozens pile into the capitol building for the die-in, bodies smushed against each other, the building snaps into silence. A written sign sits on the floor in my periphery: “You’re Killing Us for Profit.”