I'm not a politically-charged person. I don't want to be. I don't

The words of Oliver Sykes—“I'm not a politically-charged person. I don't want to be. I don't want to talk about politics and I don't want to sing about politics, but if you're talking about environmental issues then you can't talk about one without the other.”—reveal the struggle of an artist who seeks truth yet finds that truth inevitably leads into the realm of power and responsibility. In this declaration lies a profound paradox: the desire to remain apart from politics while recognizing that the fate of the earth itself has become entangled in political will. Sykes, a musician who speaks through melody and emotion, reminds us that the environment is no longer a neutral topic, but the battleground where morality, governance, and humanity’s future intersect.

The origin of this quote arises from Sykes’ reflections on climate activism and the broader social consciousness that artists now inhabit. As the lead singer of Bring Me the Horizon, he has long explored the tension between chaos and clarity, despair and hope. When he speaks of environmental issues, he does not do so as a politician but as a witness—as one who sees the world’s beauty fading under the weight of indifference. Yet he acknowledges a hard truth: to speak of the planet’s suffering is to speak of the systems that perpetuate it, and thus, whether one wishes it or not, one stands upon political ground.

The ancients would have recognized this conflict well. The philosopher Plato once said, “Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber.” Sykes’ words echo this timeless dilemma: though he may not seek to join political debates, his care for the environment demands that he confront the forces that shape it. To remain silent in such a time would be to surrender the voice that art was born to use. Thus, his statement is not an evasion but a confession—a recognition that to defend nature is to challenge power, and to challenge power is always a political act.

History too bears witness to this entanglement. Consider Rachel Carson, the biologist whose book Silent Spring awakened the modern environmental movement. She did not set out to wage a political war; she merely sought to protect the living world from poison. Yet her words sparked outrage, legislative reform, and fierce opposition from corporations and governments alike. Her story proves the very truth that Sykes speaks: the defense of the earth cannot remain apolitical, for it strikes at the roots of profit and power. Like Carson, Sykes reminds us that those who love the planet will inevitably find themselves at odds with those who exploit it.

There is also a deep emotional resonance in Sykes’ admission. The artist yearns for purity—for music untainted by ideology, for messages born only of the heart. Yet the world he inhabits is one where rivers are polluted and forests burn, not by accident, but by policy. His lament, therefore, becomes a moral awakening: a realization that art cannot exist in isolation from the reality that surrounds it. Even the act of silence becomes a statement. To sing of the environment is to sing of justice, stewardship, and accountability. It is to weave beauty into the struggle for survival.

Sykes’ insight calls upon us to reflect on our own reluctance. Many of us, like him, would prefer not to be “political.” We wish only to live in peace, to admire the sunrise without thinking of smog, to enjoy music without hearing protest. But his words remind us that neutrality is a luxury the planet can no longer afford. To care for the earth is to care about policy, consumption, and the choices that shape our shared destiny. To remain uninvolved is to stand by while the balance of life tilts toward collapse.

Thus, the lesson of Sykes’ words is not one of resignation, but of awakening. We need not all be politicians, but we must all be participants—voters, consumers, creators—who understand that every action is part of a greater whole. The artist’s duty is to awaken hearts; the citizen’s duty is to act upon that awakening. Together, these form the symphony of responsibility that our age demands.

Let every generation remember: the line between politics and morality vanishes when the earth itself is at stake. To protect the environment is to defend the foundation of life, and that, above all, is the highest form of citizenship. So, as Sykes teaches, speak not of politics for power’s sake, but for the sake of the planet, whose song is the first and oldest melody of all.