The Language of the Anthropocene: In Conversation with a Student Conservation Society
Finch Heirendt ‘25
Photograph courtesy of The Leeds University Union Conservation Volunteers’ Instagram.
“Climate Anxiety” has become a part of the language of our time. It’s the sense of dread some of us feel when our minds drift back to a media cycle and a world burgeoning with ecological devastation. Climate change is in the news, at our family dinners, in our conversations. The shadow of it looms over our daily lives, and has morphed into two words to convey its presence– the hum in the backdrop of living that never really seems to go away; a case of sociological tinnitus. In an interview with members of a student conservation group at the University of Leeds, I heard this phenomenon described instead as ‘climate nihilism’, for the way this dread has snowballed into a state of acceptance in some people’s lives.
This kind of nihilism is more and more common among members of my generation. We came of age at a time when the world had never been more connected, and simultaneously never farther apart. The summer I turned seventeen I could hear the echo of voices from all over the planet through my phone, but I couldn’t leave the confines of my house. We grew up in the Anthropocene– the era of highway underpasses and targeted marketing. There has been a static screen in each of our lives, and that static has become an undercurrent of noise. The world went quiet in 2020, but the undercurrent never stopped; it only became more personal. Larger and larger numbers of us in our twenties have not only accepted the inevitability of climate disaster, but have developed a humor and artistic style that represents the absurdism of our age.
I met with two young women, Charlotte Johl and Ellie Woollerson, leading members of The Leeds University Union Conservation Volunteers (LUUCV), a campus society devoted to lending numbers of students to local conservation projects at the University of Leeds. They work in conjunction with a local conservation volunteer group called the Woodhouse Ridge Action Group (WRAG), made up of volunteers who live and work in the area. In this way, students and like-minded locals work together on WRAG-hosted action days on local nature reserves.
I met Charlotte and Ellie in a spacious and fluorescent-lit pub on the University of Leeds campus, echoing with the chatter of students gathered in groups of four and five, grunge rock music playing at a high volume from every corner. Charlotte and Ellie are both third-year students at the University– the President and Events Coordinator of the LUUCV. Charlotte is slight and brunette, with a red scarf around her throat. Ellie is blonde and wears a green scarf, with golden rings and bracelets that clatter as she talks with her hands excitedly.
Charlotte and Ellie came into conservation and ecological studies in different ways. Charlotte grew up in London, and pursues conservation through a degree in geography. She says, “I always felt connected to nature even if I didn’t necessarily grow up around it.” She tells me that she grew up near an airport, but that her mother ensured she spent time outdoors, through gardening and walks. When I ask her why she decided to pursue ecological conservation, she tells me, “I wanted to tailor my life to something that made a difference.”
Ellie, on the other hand, grew up in close quarters to the natural world. “My mum had this story about me. I would be in our garden, and we had these massive puglias, and there were little bumblebees on them. I would go up to them and look at them– I did actually pick up a bumblebee at one point- and I wasn’t stung!”
Charlotte laughs, and shakes her head, as if picking up a bumblebee with her bare hands is something Ellie would still be likely to do. “When I was younger, my mum actually told me that bees couldn’t sting you, to make me not afraid of them, and it did work.”
“Yeah, I was out– had no fear– out, like, dancing about, barefoot, in our garden.” Her bracelets jangle and her rings shine in the fluorescent light as she laughs. “I’ve always enjoyed going out and being in nature.”
They explain that most of the work they do studying ecology and geography isn’t hands-on or conservation-related, and so working with the volunteers is their main segway into doing the work they’re both interested in.
WRAG and the LUUCV work to upkeep the trails, clean up litter and replace invasive species with native ones in an effort to conserve and replenish biodiversity. The LUUCV now owns a chunk of land on the Meanwood Valley, a patch of reserved forest land near the University of Leeds. This patch of land is the home of a small, marshy pond, and the area is being evaluated for biodiversity. Plans are being made on how best to restore it to house its original population of native species. Both societies engage in projects like this one in and around the Leeds area, all focused on restoring native biodiversity to reserved wildlands.
Both Charlotte and Ellie’s days as students are in large part concerned with the natural world. Working as conservation volunteers, as Charlotte says, seemed like “a healthy way” of going about applying her research to real-world experience. I ask Charlotte about other work opportunities in the field of ecology, and they both frown, she wrinkles her nose.
“All the placements we get pushed to do are consultancies, working with big corporations, which is just not something I want to do.”
She explains that it’s hard to find a job in ecology that doesn’t directly involve helping large companies ascertain land rights for construction or oil operations and that neither of them have much interest in that kind of work. Instead, they both choose to put in the hours of manual labor with the conservation volunteers and gain direct experience working with charities and local groups, in the hopes of finding work somewhere they can make a more direct impact.
Charlotte explains that because of their route of study, it’s hard for either of them to get through a day of classes without hearing about the climate crisis. “It’s the conclusion of every lecture,” she says. “I think I find it more difficult not to be a nihilist when you become more educated on the subject, and it’s difficult not to be nihilistic when you recognize that the impact we have as individuals isn’t the issue. We’re very limited in what we can do.”
Charlotte, Ellie, and I talk at length about climate guilt. Another phrase in the expanding Anthropocene vocabulary: the carrying of the weight of a global environmental issue. Ellie explains that the term ‘carbon footprint’ was coined by a fossil fuels company, British Petroleum (BP), in 2005. BP is the world’s second-largest private oil company, and the term was created to hold individuals accountable for their emissions. In the wake of that idea, there has been a litany of social movements toward changes in consumption, from the lessened use of single-use plastics to changes in a person’s diet toward vegetarianism. This marketing strategy created a wave of social change and a culture of individual accountability.
“Corporations force climate guilt on individuals,” Charlotte tells me, “to make people feel responsible for climate change, when it’s not the fault of the individual.”
“It’s the corporations. Like Shell– they know the amount of damage they’re doing. They’re trying to push forward climate incentives and policies, but are they making the difference? No. Because at the end of the day, their only motivation is profit.” Ellie frowns. “Sure, we can consume less energy, eat less meat–”
“But I would never judge someone for not doing that. Or not being a conservation volunteer, because it’s not the responsibility of the individual.” Charlotte says, and Ellie nods. Looks of frustration cross their faces, and I begin to understand how hard it must be for them to push through the noise surrounding their work on a day-to-day basis.
Charlotte tells me that the Conservation Volunteers weren’t as active last year when she served on the committee. She inherited the position of president when the society was passed on from last year’s graduating class, and she and the rest of the committee have taken to increasing membership exponentially, putting on events and attending local council meetings.
I ask them what the work of conservation means to them. What it’s like on an average action day on the moors; what it is that they enjoy about it. Before long, I’m hearing stories about the kind of mischief that can come out of a large group of twenty-somethings working together on the moors. Ellie tells me about adventures in eating wild, raw garlic on foraging walks, and days that the LUUCV had gone out to learn about native edible plants on the moors. They tell me that Action Days come with free meals and hot drinks, and they explain that it’s due to WRAG members bringing snacks for everyone to enjoy while they work.
The same joy that had been on Ellie’s face as she had told me about the bees in her home garden as a child comes back into her eyes as they laugh together. The work they do isn’t all hard work on the moors– there are nights hosted by the LUUCV meant only for having fun. A good number of people involved aren’t studying ecology or conservation at all, but instead come because the kind of work is something they enjoy. Charlotte explains that as much as the LUUCV is about ecological conservation, it is also about unity.
“To me, I think the best part is meeting people in the community that you wouldn’t otherwise meet. Meeting people who are very passionate about this, it’s very inspiring.” Charlotte says. “Doing conservation just makes you feel more connected. It’s something that you’ve put your time and work into.”
“Yeah, I mean, you’re out there literally pulling out invasive species.” Ellie laughs.
“You can actually see the product of your work. It’s one of the best parts, you know, a bit of manual labor.” Charlotte adds. “It’s gratifying.”
“Creating a community focused on helping your local area. That’s the best we can do.”
What the LUUCV does isn’t about political movements or agendas, and in the face of growing nihilism, it certainly isn’t all that absurd. It’s about intimacy, about changing your relationship and shifting your focus. We were born into the biggest world the human race has ever known. A world not only entirely exploited, but flayed open by eyes at every level. So, instead of disconnection, the LUUCV offers local change, starting with community. It’s a place for meeting like-minded people on an otherwise insular campus, creating friendships, and getting to know the land that you stand on. It’s about the preservation of a space so that we can form a sustainable relationship with the environment not based on guilt, but born out of intimacy and respect.
“You don’t have to be Greta Thunburg,” Charlotte giggles. “You can go down to Woodhouse Ridge and pull some sycamores.”