The environmental movement does not always have to be about

Hear the words of Mark Kurlansky, spoken with the wisdom of one who has studied the rise and fall of peoples and the shifting tides of the earth: “The environmental movement does not always have to be about stopping things. It can be about fixing problems.” This is no small utterance, but a reminder that the spirit of stewardship is not born only in denial, but in creation, renewal, and the art of restoration. It is not enough to raise walls against destruction; we must also plant the seeds of healing where the soil has been wounded.

Too often do men think of the guardians of the earth as those who shout “no!”—no to drilling, no to cutting, no to burning. This has its place, for resistance is a shield against greed and blindness. Yet Kurlansky, a chronicler of oceans and of the bounty of salt and fish, teaches that true guardianship is also a labor of hands and hearts. The movement is not only a barrier, but a builder. To fix problems is to transform despair into hope, to turn scars into living soil, to create instead of merely prevent.

Look to the story of the Hudson River in America. Once poisoned by industrial waste, its waters were choked and its fish diseased. But the people, led by the voices of ordinary citizens and great singers like Pete Seeger, rose not only to halt the poisons but to restore the river. They cleaned its banks, fought for its waters, and renewed the life within it. Now fish return, and eagles soar above its waves once more. This tale proves Kurlansky’s words: the strength of the environmental movement lies not only in saying “stop,” but in saying “let us mend what has been broken.”

So too has this wisdom been seen across the seas, in the rebirth of forests where once there was barren land. In South Korea, after war left mountains stripped and bare, generations planted trees with patience and devotion. Year after year, they sowed and nurtured, until the land was clothed again in green. These men and women did not merely stop the cutting; they labored to fix the wounds of war, proving that healing is possible even after great devastation.

The message is thus clear: to guard the earth is not merely to resist, but to restore. The oceans can be replenished, if we let the fish return and protect their spawning grounds. The air can be made pure, if we plant trees where deserts spread. The soil can be cleansed, if we learn to till it with reverence rather than greed. To fix is harder than to forbid, yet more powerful, for it shows the way forward rather than only the path of retreat.

And what shall we do in our daily lives, we who are not kings nor lawmakers? Let us be healers of the earth in small acts. Let us plant gardens where there is concrete, let us tend to riversides and forests with care, let us mend rather than throw away. Let us teach our children not only to say “no” to destruction, but to say “yes” to renewal. By mending broken things, by giving life where it falters, we join the great chain of restoration that binds generations.

Remember this teaching: the earth is not defended by rage alone, but by love. To fix problems is an act of love—patient, enduring, hopeful. Just as a physician does not only forbid what harms but also prescribes what heals, so too must we approach the care of our planet. Let us not be remembered as those who only resisted, but as those who repaired, renewed, and restored.

Take this lesson to heart, O listener: be a mender, a planter, a healer. Do not walk past the broken without tending to it. In the smallest acts of repair, you wield the greatest weapon against despair—the promise that what is broken may yet be made whole.