When the government undertakes or approves a major project such

Hear the steady and wise words of Frances Beinecke: “When the government undertakes or approves a major project such as a dam or highway project, it must make sure the project's impacts, environmental and otherwise, are considered. In many cases, NEPA gives the public its only opportunity to be heard about the project's impact on their community.” This is no idle remark, but a call to justice, a reminder that the works of power—be they dams, roads, or towers—must never trample the voices of the people nor the well-being of the earth. For what is government, if not a steward of both land and citizen? And what is progress, if it silences those whose lives it alters?

The heart of her words rests in NEPA, the National Environmental Policy Act, a law born in the twentieth century, when men and women first awakened to the truth that the earth is not an endless storehouse, but a fragile home. NEPA demands that before a mighty project rises, its impacts—on rivers, forests, air, and human lives—must be studied, weighed, and spoken of in the open. It is the shield that guards against reckless ambition, and the bridge that connects the halls of power to the voices of ordinary people.

Beinecke reminds us that often, this law offers the only moment when the public may speak and be heard. For in the building of highways, factories, or dams, decisions are often made by those far removed from the communities they affect. Without NEPA, the farmer whose field will be flooded, the villager whose air will be fouled, the child whose health will be endangered—these would remain voiceless, their lives altered without consent. But through NEPA, their concerns must be recorded, considered, and weighed in the balance.

History itself provides testimony. Consider the building of the Three Gorges Dam in China, the largest dam on earth. It brought power and control of floods, but also drowned entire towns, displaced over a million people, and scarred the ecosystem of the Yangtze River. Had there been stronger protections for public voice, had environmental and social impacts been honored, the outcome might have been more just, more balanced. Beinecke’s words point to this truth: that progress without participation becomes tyranny, and ambition without restraint becomes destruction.

The wisdom here is that true progress is not only what is built, but how it is built. A highway may shorten journeys, but if it divides a community and poisons its air, is it truly progress? A dam may generate power, but if it destroys fisheries and livelihoods, does it not also impoverish? To consider impacts is not to halt progress, but to purify it—to ensure that what we build serves both present and future, both man and nature.

The lesson is plain: we must defend the right of communities to be heard, and we must honor the environmental impacts of every great endeavor. Citizens must rise to speak when projects threaten their homes, and governments must listen with humility, not haste. In this way, power becomes stewardship, and development becomes a shared labor rather than an imposed decree.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, remember the teaching of Frances Beinecke: demand to be heard, demand to be considered, demand that the earth itself be given a voice. When you see mighty works proposed in your land, do not remain silent—ask what will be lost as well as what will be gained. For in the balance of voices lies justice, and in the honoring of impacts lies the hope of a future where human progress walks hand in hand with the flourishing of the earth.