Why practicing non-attachment might make us better climate activists

This article Why practicing non-attachment might make us better climate activists was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

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Over the past year, global injustice and cruelty have reached levels that my brain struggles to comprehend. The planet spent all of last year above the 1.5 degrees Celsius hoped-for limit to warming. Tens of thousands of people have been killed in genocide. I could go on, but I won’t because I know you already know the list and you know that it’s grim. 

The mass death of people and species — along with the loss of the world as we know it to climate catastrophe — tugs at my heartstrings in new and complex ways each passing year. I notice a part of myself that rages at the injustice. It wants something or someone somewhere to scream from the rooftops of every building, loud enough to bring the world to its knees. Meanwhile, another part of me tries to mourn the tragedy and find a way for that mourning to fuel new ways of organizing and campaigning. 

As I sit with this tugging, increasingly it brings me to a place of wanting to think more deeply about the practice of non-attachment — or not letting thoughts, experiences and material possessions define our lives or decisions. In particular, I’m curious about what this state of being might have to offer our collective work for climate justice. 

In psychology, attachment refers to the emotional bond between infant and caregiver, a bond that shapes an infant’s neurobiological wiring in such a profound way that early attachments fundamentally influence the way we interact with the world around us into adulthood and often for the duration of our entire lives. (This is not to say that those attachment styles can’t be changed, but it often takes a lot of hard work, self-awareness and therapy to get there.) 

It is good to be attached to people, places and objects that make us feel whole and well. Love, care, belonging, warmth, nourishment, joy — these are not indulgences, but basic human needs. While much of Western capitalist culture tries to teach us otherwise, we are social beings who need one another. To not attach is to deny ourselves the fullness of the human experience. To not rely on others is not normal. I have yet to see an example of where rugged self-reliance landed in a place of joy, wellbeing or even truly genuine contentment. 

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Non-attachment, however, has a place too. Spend any time dabbling in Buddhism and this will be one of the first concepts you encounter. In Buddhist teachings, non-attachment focuses less on the object of your attachment, and more on how those things, places or people attach to us. By practicing non-attachment we are not seeking to let go of loved ones, belonging, goals, etc. Instead, we are not allowing those things or people to own us, and we aren’t fixating on them — nor are we trying to control them. In other words, attachment only becomes problematic when it makes us inflexible to change. 

We all know the saying that the only thing certain about life is death and taxes. So too is impermanence. As a Zen master once said: “Everything breaks. Attachment is our unwillingness to face that reality.” Everything breaks, yes, but sometimes that breakage is deeply, bone-crushingly tragic, existential even. Climate change is a case in point. So what do we do in these cases? Is there still a place for non-attachment? I believe the answer is yes. But not when we let it slip into detachment (something I will come to later). 

The case for non-attachment in climate justice work

At the core of any work for climate justice is the struggle for a safe future for all human and non-human beings and ecosystems. Given that we can’t control the future, and humans actually control far less than we like to believe, this means impermanence will always be the DNA woven through any climate work. 

Every day, we wake up to a different Earth than the one we went to sleep on. Climate change is literally changing the world before our very eyes and beneath our feet. We can see it in the hockey stick graphs and the climate impacts unfolding around us — in the rising sea levels, bushfires, dangerous storms and floods, crop failure, drought and more. 

While humans have caused enormous disruption to the Earth’s climate in a relatively short period of time, the Earth as a system is far more powerful and mighty than all of us combined. We can use the very best science to predict how the planet will continue to respond to what we are doing, but ultimately we don’t know for sure, other than it’s not looking great. There are clear pathways for action that we can pursue to reduce the damage, through things like cutting fossil fuel consumption, expanding clean energy production and more. However, we can’t predict, with certainty, the outcomes of these changes, particularly where positive feedback loops are concerned. 

Considering this, some might say that practicing non-attachment in the face of climate catastrophe is a dangerous combination. Doesn’t it just lead us to a place of apathy and cynicism? 

Paradoxically, I believe it does precisely the opposite. If we allow ourselves to work through the pain and grief we feel about climate damage (noting that this is a continuous process without a definitive end), then we are in a far better place to strive for positive change. The research on grief shows it is only when we accept and process the pain of loss that we can move forward with agency, rather than getting stuck in the loss.

When we accept that there will be places and creatures we can’t save, it compels us to grieve that loss — and that grieving and processing becomes powerful fuel for working to save other creatures, homes and places from future damage. By accepting and grieving the truth of what is happening, we can soften our fears and open our hearts to the present moment, the future and its needs. 

I think this open and accepting mindset also prompts us to come up with creative solutions that allow us to look at all the data points and wisdom available to us. We can then use this information to craft just solutions for the context we are living in now, rather than clinging too steadfastly to an unhealthy and romanticized nostalgic view of “how things used to be.” I believe humans have the mental capacity to hold multiple seemingly competing states simultaneously — in this case, the knowledge of the tragedy that’s ensuing as well as the freedom to imagine and create more just futures. 

Perhaps this is how the lotus flower, a symbol for non-attachment in Buddhism, offers us lessons for addressing the climate crisis. Just as it manages to produce an immaculate flower growing in muddy waters, so too our work for climate justice can grow flowers and gardens amid the rubble of climate devastation. As above, two seemingly opposing things can co-exist simultaneously: hope and beauty amid tragedy and chaos. 

We cannot open ourselves to love without opening ourselves to grief and pain. I believe that when we allow ourselves to feel and grieve the world’s pain, we are able to love the world more fully and act more effectively in pursuit of justice.

How to bring a more non-attached mindset into climate work 

Follow your fluidity: Given impermanence is a law of the universe and the climate is changing every day, it follows that doing things to cultivate greater inner diversity, fluidity and flexibility, will support us to chart the stormy waters ahead. This could look like working to explore parts of ourselves that we feel less familiar with, and seeking to understand different perspectives to our own. It could also include mindfulness practices (e.g. meditation, walking, journaling) that help us notice calcified thought patterns in ourselves and others which, if softened, could open up new pathways and ideas in support of climate justice. 

Make time to grieve: Work with friends, a support group (climate cafes are an excellent example), and/or a therapist to process the grief that you feel about the climate crisis. Climate grief is normal, expected and a healthy response to what is happening. It is not something that should ever be pathologized. By processing the pain of this grief, we can arrive at a place where we are able to take more effective action, rather than getting stuck in painful emotions that either prevent us from acting or lead to ineffective or even harmful forms of action.

Cultivate your imagination: To change ourselves and the world, we must first change our minds. Imagination is an act of both courage and intelligence. Far from naivety, it arises from a place of deep sensing — of how the world is, how it was, and then exploring how it could and should change. Social change demands deep imagination because it is about striving for conditions and worlds that have never existed before.

Something about generating new ideas feels risky in a crisis where we have a deficit of time and the stakes are so high. When the climate clock is perpetually ticking, we can feel the need to be certain that what we are doing is right. But how can we know, when we have never done the thing we are being asked to do? Such a mission takes more than just science and engineering. It also takes dreams. What supports your imagination is often quite individual, but it could include things like reading and watching fiction/science fiction (though not of the climate dystopian variety!), brainstorming with friends, spending time in nature, engaging in creative arts and movement.

Detachment, near enemies and burning out

This is all well and good but if you’re like me, perhaps you already do a bunch of these things, yet still regularly find yourself at the doors of detachment. And when things are feeling too much, perhaps you step inside and make yourself comfy in there. 

In Buddhism, there is this concept of near enemies — qualities that seem similar to desirable traits but actually undermine them, and can easily be slipped into if we aren’t paying attention. For example, compassion can slip into pity, equanimity into indifference. While Buddhism doesn’t talk about the relationship between non-attachment and detachment (and detachment can have different interpretations, not all negative), it’s been my observation and personal experience for some time that non-attachment can quite easily slip into a kind of cynical detachment if we are not mindful. 

For example, say I grieve my pain as suggested earlier; I let go of the permanence of all things; I keep taking action for a just climate future; but I repeatedly see my organizing and campaigning efforts thwarted. Without the necessary support and practices in place, I may eventually become disillusioned, cynical or apathetic. I find myself back at the familiar house of detachment, walking through the door, or already bunkered up in there, perhaps even unsure when or how I arrived. This is a common experience for climate activists.

While we can do things to move through a detached state into a different one, sometimes detachment can hang around a long time. The slip into resignation and cynicism can be a daily, perhaps even hourly tug in the face of so many overwhelming, intersecting, enormous issues, let alone the struggles so many face to pay bills, maintain secure and affordable housing, and stay well-fed and healthy.

But for those of us who have chosen to be climate activists, I think we have a responsibility to not follow the tug, to not fall for the temptation, where we can. After all, as economist Anne Case and Nobel Prize winner Angus Deaton remind us in their 2020 book “Deaths of Despair and the Future of Capitalism,” despair is a product of capitalism.

Detachment is a state of feeling withdrawn, disinterested, lacking in drive. It is also one of the telltale signs of burnout, and is directly connected with all three of burnout’s foundational components: 1. Emotional exhaustion; 2. Depersonalization; 3. Reduced sense of accomplishment.

Detachment overlaps somewhat with disassociation — in which we witness the world as if through a smoke screen where everything feels somewhat surreal, like we are watching our lives and the world pass by, rather than actively participating in them. 

Disassociation is a common hallmark of trauma and a protective mechanism that is seeking to give us some space from the source of the trauma. Given the all-pervasive nature of climate change, it’s unsurprising that it would have a dissociative effect, particularly for those experiencing its most intense effects. 

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Even as a privileged middle-class white climate activist, I’ve had multiple experiences of feeling detached and dissociated in my climate work. For example, seeing the continent I live on burn catastrophically during the 2019-20 bushfires, watching floods destroy local communities, and witnessing movements I am part of put years of hard work into outcomes that are then overturned with a change of government in little more than an afterthought. 

Large swathes of the general population employ a certain level of detachment and dissociation from the climate problem. In stating this, no judgement whatsoever is implied or felt. At a time when multiple crises are weighing down upon us, it is stressful to prioritize the onslaught of competing demands that capitalism piles upon us. And it’s no surprise that attention and focus difficulties are at an all time high, globally. I see the spectrum of detachment from climate as spanning two polarities:

1. No time to act: On one end are those who don’t know much about the problem and/or who have no time or resources to engage with it. When it comes to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs — climate simply can’t afford to feature in these folks’ priorities. Financial stresses, illness or caregiving responsibilities are constantly bumping it down the chain. After all, environmentalism is often practiced by the privileged, and outside of that by those on the frontlines who are thrust into activism because their lives and livelihoods are on the lines. 

2. Choosing not to act or complicit: On the other end of the spectrum are those who are very aware of what is going on with the climate crisis and either choose to do nothing about it, or are complicit in activities that make it worse. Think fossil fuel companies or right-wing governments. 

I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with detachment. We all need time and space away from existential issues. Our capacity to hold complexity is very individual. I liken it to taking a breath — each of us has our own unique capacity to breathe in and hold the world’s complexity, but ultimately, all of us have to breathe back out again to find some relief in simplicity. I think that detachment is only problematic when it stagnates and persists beyond the point we want it to, making us feel depressed and unable to act on the things we care about. We have to breathe in (be it with some complexity) to breathe out (in order to get to the simplicity). 

What can we do to protect against detachment?

Given detachment is a feature of burnout and burnout is a collective problem, I would generally turn to acts of collective care to help us move out of unhealthy detachment. As “Burnout: Solving Your Stress Cycle” co-author Emily Nagoski reminds us, “When you think you need more grit, what you need is more help. When you think you need more discipline, what you need is more kindness.”

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Here are a few ideas that might help you navigate or prevent slipping into chronic detachment:

Take breaks, step away: This might sound paradoxical, but I believe the best way to mitigate against getting trapped in a state of detachment from climate work is to regularly step away from it, at both a micro and macro level. At a micro level, this could mean having clear daily and weekly boundaries when you will and won’t engage with it, phone free time or no reading about climate issues after a certain time. At a macro level, it might look like booking in holidays or breaks away from the work. If climate is your paid work, it might look like taking sabbaticals or trying different forms of work for a while to help give your mind and body a break. 

Reflection and gratitude: Consider taking regular moments (short each day or week, and longer every few months) to reflect upon what you enjoy about this work, and find the many examples of beauty, joy and kindness that still exist in this precious world.

Connect with community, your hands, the Earth: When the world feels too overwhelming, it’s often a sign we need to make our world a little smaller, and go to ground for a while. We all have different thresholds for holding the world’s problems and complexity. As with the breath analogy earlier, some of us can hold a lot for a long time and not suffer negative consequences, while others of us need to pendulate in and out to stay well and healthy. There is nothing wrong or right with either approach. It’s all very individual. 

When I am feeling overwhelmed, I find that doing things to make my life less abstract helps — this can include making things with my hands (drawing, making craft or objects, gardening), moving my body (running, dancing), connecting with the solidity of the Earth (walking in nature, holding a tree trunk, swimming in the ocean, letting the sky’s vastness hold my sorrows a while), or being with good people whose nervous systems are regulated and letting the safeness of their energy hold some of my weariness and abstraction.

We need each other. We need to feel attached to people, places and things to feel whole and well as humans. It’s only when those attachments start to define and control us that things get tricky. By forcing us to grieve the loss of place, culture and community, climate change is an invitation to lean into practicing radical non-attachment and letting the result of that grieving process fuel powerful action and change for good. Indeed embracing non-attachment can protect us from the very feelings of detachment and cynicism that stand between us and a more just world.

This article Why practicing non-attachment might make us better climate activists was originally published by Waging Nonviolence.

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Source: https://wagingnonviolence.org/2025/03/why-practicing-non-attachment-might-make-us-better-climate-activists/