Without global human rights, labor and environmental movements

Hear, O children of justice and of the earth, the words of Rebecca MacKinnon, who declared: “Without global human rights, labor and environmental movements, companies would still be hiring 12-year-olds as a matter of course and poisoning our groundwater without batting an eyelid.” In this statement lies a cry that binds together the struggles of humanity across generations. For she reminds us that the rights and protections we take for granted were not gifts bestowed by the powerful, but victories wrestled from greed by the courage of the people.

The meaning of her words is this: that unchecked power serves itself alone. Without the force of movements—of workers rising in solidarity, of citizens demanding clean water, of oppressed voices calling for dignity—the engines of profit would grind onward without care for child, worker, or earth. The 12-year-old child, forced into sweatshops and mines, is the symbol of what happens when human labor is reduced to numbers. The poisoned groundwater, left polluted for generations, is the symbol of what happens when the earth itself is treated as expendable. Only by struggle, only by resistance, did these things begin to change.

The ancients knew this truth well. In the laws of Solon of Athens, reforms were enacted to release the poor from debt slavery, for the cries of the oppressed threatened to tear the city apart. In Rome, the plebeians withdrew from the city in protest until their rights were acknowledged. History shows us that justice does not flow downward from the seats of power; it rises upward from the cries of the people, forcing rulers and companies alike to bend. MacKinnon’s words echo this ancient rhythm: progress comes only when the weak demand that the strong be bound by law.

Consider the story of the Industrial Revolution. Factories rose, fortunes were made, but children labored sixteen hours a day, their hands torn and lungs blackened. Rivers ran foul with dyes and chemicals, and workers collapsed in unsafe mines. The powerful did not stop themselves; they had no reason to. It was only when labor unions organized, when reformers exposed abuses, when communities demanded clean air and water, that laws were passed to ban child labor, shorten workdays, and protect the environment. Every safeguard we now cherish was purchased with the sacrifice of those who dared to resist.

But MacKinnon speaks also of the present, for her words remind us that these victories are fragile. Even now, in distant lands, children still labor in fields and factories; rivers still run with poisons from industries that evade scrutiny. The temptation of profit has not vanished—it waits ever at the door. Without vigilance, without continued commitment to human rights, labor justice, and environmental stewardship, society could easily slip back into the shadows of exploitation.

The lesson is plain: never forget the price of the protections we enjoy. Do not assume that justice is permanent, for what has been won through struggle can be lost through complacency. Each generation must rise to guard the rights of children, the dignity of workers, and the sanctity of the earth. To do less is to betray not only those who came before, but also those yet to come.

Therefore, O listener, let these words ignite your heart. Support organizations that fight for fair labor. Protect the environment with your choices, your votes, and your voice. Speak for those who cannot speak—whether child or worker, forest or river. For in doing so, you honor the sacrifices of the past and safeguard the promise of the future.

So let MacKinnon’s warning endure: without movements, without resistance, the engines of greed would still consume the young and despoil the earth without shame. Let us remember, then, that justice is not a relic of history, but a living duty—one that must be carried by every hand, in every age.