When I visited the Water Institute's Baton Rouge offices

Hear the words of the chronicler Nina Easton, who, gazing upon the mighty Mississippi River from the offices of the Water Institute in Baton Rouge, declared: “When I visited the Water Institute's Baton Rouge offices overlooking the Mississippi River, I couldn't find a drop of the charged politics that drives so many environmental conversations in Washington.” These words, simple yet profound, reveal a truth as vast as the river itself: that the work of healing the earth is noblest when it rises above the noise of factions and the venom of partisanship, and when men and women labor not for victory over each other, but for the survival of all.

The Mississippi, ancient and unyielding, has long been a river of both life and destruction. It feeds the soil, carries the commerce of cities, and inspires poets. Yet it also floods, erodes, and consumes. Those who dwell upon its banks do not ask whether it belongs to one party or another. They do not pause to inquire whether their neighbor votes this way or that. For when the waters rise, they rise for all; and when the levee breaks, the flood does not distinguish between the red roof and the blue. Thus Easton found in Baton Rouge a spirit free from the poison of charged politics, for necessity had burned away the trivial quarrels, leaving only the unity of purpose.

Mark this, children of tomorrow: Washington, that capital of argument, too often wages war with words while the rivers rise and the seas encroach. There, the clash of interests, the lust for power, and the ceaseless debate drain the strength that ought to be given to the earth itself. But in Baton Rouge, at the edge of danger, the voices were not raised in rivalry, but bent toward the work of knowledge, of research, of practical healing. There Easton saw a truth hidden to many: that when men are confronted directly with the power of nature, the veil of politics is torn away.

Consider the story of the ancient city of Corinth. Divided by factions and plagued by strife, it wasted its energy in endless disputes. Yet when the Persians threatened to sweep across Greece, Corinth joined with Athens and Sparta, setting aside rivalries for the survival of Hellas. So too in Baton Rouge, the looming threat of the river’s might forced a unity that politics in distant halls could not. In the face of common peril, men learn that what divides them is a shadow, but what unites them—the soil, the water, the air—is eternal and real.

Thus Easton’s words are not only a description of what she witnessed, but a teaching for us all. They remind us that the earth is no respecter of politics. The hurricane does not pause at the border of a district. The drought does not ask the farmer his party. The forest fire consumes the just and the unjust alike. And if nature’s wrath is shared by all, so too must be the labor of healing her wounds. To bicker while the levee cracks is folly; to labor together is wisdom.

What lesson, then, must you take? It is this: when faced with the trials of nature—be they floods, fires, storms, or droughts—cast aside the cloak of division. Do not waste your breath in quarrels over ideology while your house is sinking. Unite in common cause, as the people of Baton Rouge have done, and turn your energy toward knowledge, action, and stewardship. Let your hands be joined, not clenched; let your voices speak solutions, not accusations.

In your own life, practice this wisdom: in the family, do not argue endlessly when the roof leaks—repair it. In the community, do not divide over blame when the river rises—build the levee together. And in the world, do not let politics blind you to the truth that we all breathe the same air, drink the same water, and inherit the same earth. Thus you will not only preserve your home, but teach future generations to place unity above discord, and survival above pride.

So remember the vision of Nina Easton at the banks of the Mississippi: that the grandeur of nature strips away the petty, revealing what is essential. Let this be your guiding star—that when the waters rise, you rise together.