They were featured speakers on a week-long Oxfam America tour, which passed through five US cities on its way from New Mexico to Missouri. Inspired by Oxfam's Sisters on the Planet initiative—and supported by groups like CARE and the League of Women Voters—the tour focused on the human face of climate change here and abroad, with an emphasis the ways the US can help vulnerable communities survive the crisis.
"Pollution, greenhouse gases, they don't respect boundaries," said Voré Gana Seck, the speaker from Senegal. "This is a global problem that needs global solutions."
Sharon Hanshaw, executive director of Coastal Women for Change and one of Oxfam's Sisters on the Planet, spoke about her personal losses from Hurricane Katrina, as well as the storm's lasting effects on her home town of Biloxi, Mississippi.
Speaking at the Kansas City, Missouri, public library, Hanshaw explained that it's not just past hurricanes that concern her community, but the ones ahead, which are predicted to intensify. "This year we've had four hurricanes in the last six months," she said. "Gustav was called a dud, but it still flooded our houses."
In Biloxi, she said, hurricanes not only wreak physical damage, but also add to the burdens of people already among America's poorest.
"Times were hard pre-Katrina, and now it's even worse; prices have gone up," said Hanshaw. "We still have people living in trailers, no healthcare, no childcare, no public library. We don't need a handout from the government. We need infrastructure to help our community live again."
Seck, Executive Director of Green Senegal and president of the international NGO coalition CONGAD, highlighted the common ground between Senegal and the Gulf Coast. In both places, she said, the poorest families are the ones to bear the burden.
At an event at the Omaha, Nebraska, public library, Seck compared the effects of climate change to those of a war: "You can't produce enough food, you can't harvest. You don't have enough money. You can't send your kids to school."
For local farming families, she said, a decrease in rainfall means that staple crops like rice, millet, and vegetables often fail to reach maturity, leaving families with less food to eat and fewer extra crops to sell. To earn a better living, some of these farmers migrate to already-crowded cities like Dakar, where floods and poor sanitation are leading to an increase in water-borne diseases like cholera.
Others join the ranks of the "climate refugees": teens and young adults who leave their villages for Spain or the Canary Islands, looking to earn money to send to their families back home. Hundreds of these young people have died while attempting ocean crossings in small, fragile boats.
"In Algeciras, Spain, there is a burial ground called the "Cemetery of the Unknown People," said Seck. "These are our environmental refugees. They are the unknown."
Despite these hardships, both speakers' organizations are leading efforts to help their communities survive the crisis.
"The first thing we have to do is be resilient," said Hanshaw, whose group distributes hurricane preparedness kits—containing fresh water, food, insurance papers, and flashlights—to Biloxi seniors and families. They're also offering affordable child care options to help women in the community return to work.
Hanshaw's organization also trains local women to go to Washington, DC, and "tell the stories that are not being told." Their message to legislators: "We're still here. We're going to be here. And climate change affects all of us."
Seck's group teaches Senegalese farmers new techniques that help crops grow in a drier climate, like drip irrigation systems and faster-maturing seeds. Seck showed photos of the successful projects in action: first a riot of green seedlings, then tall plants in orderly rows, flourishing beneath a wide blue sky.
So far, she said, these innovative methods are only in place in a few villages. But with the support of wealthier countries like the US, projects like these could help farmers throughout the region.
Many audience members at these events signed up for Oxfam's online climate change action team, which provides ways to directly influence US legislators on the issue.
For some, the speakers' words brought a change in perspective. "I came here expecting to hear about Africa, but I didn't expect to hear Sharon's story, right in our backyard," said Lillian Pardo, a retired physician who attended the Kansas City speaking event. "You don't see this on the news."
Andrew Jameton, a professor at the University of Nebraska Medical Center, was the last to speak in a question and answer session in Omaha. "I want to fight this, and a lot of people feel the same way, but it will be a tough century," he said, adding that, because of the speakers' words, "I'm not optimistic—but I'm hopeful."
]]>"Yes, these are oils on canvas," she says. "But I hardly ever create anything without a story behind it."
Cecil, a 27-year-old resident of Louisville, Kentucky, graduated from the University of Dayton in 2003 with a degree in fine arts and an ongoing passion for volunteering in her community. Three years later, she began combining these two interests, using each of her paintings to document a social issue like women and children's rights, education, and the environment. And as the artist for Oxfam America's "Climate Change on Canvas" project, she's now using her skills to depict the human face of climate change.
With clear, expressive brushstrokes, Cecil has portrayed domestic violence survivors, refugees, foster parents, and homeless kids. She's painted endangered fish, sustainable gardens, and sweeping New York skylines. And the paintings aren't just for show: when each is sold, Cecil donates a portion of the proceeds to a local or national nonprofit organization.
She also promotes these nonprofit groups on her website, The Painting Activist, which functions as an important showcase for her work. Part personal journal, part virtual artist's studio, Cecil's site hosts a faithful community of online readers. She says the website has helped not only to draw attention to the issues she works on, but also to identify new painting opportunities.
It was through this website that Oxfam America staff first contacted Cecil and asked her to submit a proposal for Climate Change on Canvas. Though juggling many other commitments—including her day job as a program manager at the Louisville Visual Arts Association—Cecil says she quickly threw together a sketch for the project, wanting to seize the opportunity even if the chances of selection were slim.
It came as a surprise, then, when Oxfam contacted her a few weeks later to tell her that her proposal had been selected out of a national pool of submissions. Cecil's canvas will be displayed alongside those of other emerging global artists at the next big UN climate change meeting in Poznan, Poland.
"I was flattered and honored, but I also thought, oh my gosh, now I have to find a way to do this!" Cecil recalls with a laugh. "But it turned out that it fit into my schedule after all... And some [website] subscribers even said it's the best piece I've ever done."
To begin her painting of two brightly robed women in a barren landscape, Cecil first juxtaposed several different visual elements. "It's like putting a puzzle together," she explains. "I make a collage of photos and sketches, and I glance at it while I'm painting. For this piece, I had everything from swatches of fabric, to women's profiles, to women holding bowls, to my favorite sunsets."
She also researched the effects of climate change on agriculture in poor communities. "I realized that farming is hard these days because of changing temperatures, but it's often the sole survival for people in rural areas," says Cecil. "It's hard to feed a family when you can't farm."
This struggle inspired one of the painting's most striking elements: the long trail of dust that streams from one woman's empty bowl. "I wanted to show that the women are not harvesting crops the way they had hoped," Cecil explains. "They're holding a bowl of dust, because this is what they're left with—burnt, dry dust, dry branches... In other words, what we'd expect to see is not there." (To learn more about Cecil's techniques, view a slideshow of the painting in progress.)
Cecil says she considers climate change one of the most pressing problems of our time. "The [US presidential] elections are bringing attention to it right now—the urgency is absolutely critical," she says. "And for people in developing countries, it is devastating."
She believes that Americans need to do more to tackle the crisis, even if it's just by making small changes to their lifestyle. "The first piece is education," she says. "Whether it's though statistics, words, or images—whatever turns on that light bulb for someone, and makes them act."
]]>The Oxfam Action Corps is a group of dedicated volunteers in over a dozen US cities who campaign with Oxfam to fight poverty. Each city has two trained volunteer co-leaders who welcome and orient other volunteers throughout the year.
"We do everything, from visiting legislators to gathering signatures at concerts," she says. "I love the breadth of the activities involved, and the opportunities to learn through each of them."
Born in Vietnam and raised in Canada, Nguyen was drawn to Oxfam's international focus and commitment to fighting poverty worldwide. She says she feels a personal connection with Oxfam's climate change campaign, in part because of her Vietnamese heritage.
"I saw a story on the Vietnam news station about the town of Hue, where my mom visited last year," she says. "People there used to experience flooding at the same time every year, and it had become a normal way of life. They developed a strategy for dealing with floods—they would go to live on boats for a few weeks during the worst of the rainy season. After the storms cleared, they would return to their homes and repair the damage."
But climate change has broken down these traditions. In recent years, the floods now come to Hue as often as four times a year; and when they do come, they are more severe. The cycle of people's lives has changed because they have less time to recover.
"The watermarks on the walls of people's houses showed how dramatically the flooding increased. Once the watermarks were only waist high, but now they reach to shoulder or even eye level," says Nguyen.
"To me, this is the bottom line of our climate change campaign: trying to show the human face, and tell the stories of people dealing with changes in their environment. It's up to us to get those stories heard."
]]>So, when it comes to educating the public about how worsening storms, rising sea levels, droughts, and disease hurt poor people, the organizers spend months just laying the foundations, and building understanding among the general public.
This was the goal for Oxfam America's Walk for Climate Justice, a weekend of attention-grabbing events around the country this April. Oxfam field organizers and volunteers organized the walks in 11 cities from Los Angeles to Miami; Lawrence, Kansas to Burlington, Vermont.
Jim French, Oxfam's field organizer in the Midwest, said that amidst a sea of other organizations, Oxfam's efforts got a lot of attention. "There were approximately 30 different NGOs present at the Denver Green Apple event," he said. "Oxfam was both very visible and very well attended."
Holding buckets and walking in a procession, the organizers and volunteers used the walk to symbolize the increasingly long distances poor people must travel to collect water for drinking, cooking, and bathing. At the end of the procession, the volunteers stacked the buckets in pyramids and read stories about how climate change affects people in developing countries like Nicaragua, Cambodia, and Malawi.
They collected about 3,700 petition signatures from onlookers, each asking the US presidential candidates to set aside funding to help poor and vulnerable communities adapt to the realities of a changing climate. These signatures will be submitted to the presidential candidates later this election season along with thousands of other signatures collected by members of the Climate Equity Campaign, a coalition which includes Oxfam America, Friends of the Earth, ActionAid, Climate Action Network, and Oil Change International.
For Oxfam's second group of trained volunteers, known collectively as the Oxfam Action Corps, the event was a good, early foray into on-the-ground organizing. Twenty Oxfam Action Corps volunteers organized around the Farm Bill last year. And the new class of 26 began by visiting with members of Congress on Capitol Hill and then organizing Walks for Climate Justice around the country in April.
Christina Bronsing, an Oxfam Action Corps volunteer from Chicago, organized two walks. She gathered 15 volunteers at a Green Apple Festival in April. And later that month, she led 50 high school students through a procession along Michigan Avenue, one of Chicago's busiest streets.
Bronsing said the walks, like just being a part of the Oxfam Action Corps itself, gave her an opportunity to speak out about climate change and its disproportionate effects on poor people.
"It's something I really care about, so this gives me such a practical way to put it into action," she said.
Dan Coe, an Oxfam supporter and astronomer at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Los Angeles, learned about the Walk for Climate Justice through an email from Oxfam. He was intrigued by Oxfam's take on the issue, so he decided to get involved.
"I think global poverty is about the most important issue there is," Coe said. "The fact that Oxfam is coming at it from the climate change angle is interesting. Let's help poor people: It doesn't matter if it's climate change that's behind it."
]]>In April 2008, 26 new and returning Oxfam Action Corps members traveled to Washington, DC for leadership training—followed by a day of in-person meetings with members of US Congress.
As the minutes ticked down toward departure, the volunteers were nervous, though they tried not to show it.
Today, they looked the part of Washington, DC lobbyists—conservative business suits, folders full of handout materials. But they weren't here to push for special interests. Instead, they would meet with members of Congress to ask for legislation addressing the effects of climate change on the world's poorest people.
Although passionate about their message, most of the volunteers had little experience with these face-to-face meetings. Their leadership training with Oxfam had helped them prepare, but now it was time to put that knowledge into practice.
As planned, the group split up into regional teams to focus on their local legislators. Duyen Nguyen, a Los Angeles-based volunteer, shared a cab with three West Coast teammates. On the way, she recalled the bureaucratic, complex process of setting up the legislative visits. Would today's meetings follow the same pattern?
Adam Olson, a returning Oxfam Action Corps member from Minnesota, felt more prepared than most, since he meets regularly with legislators in his day job as a public library advocate. But today was different, more personal—like many others, he had taken time off from work to attend the training. Today, he was here not as a paid advocate, but as a constituent.
Moments before their first meeting, Nguyen's team gathered around a table in the House cafeteria for a quick last-minute role play.
Then, in what seemed the blink of an eye, they were walking in to their representative's office, shaking hands, and sitting down at the table. A staff member looked at them expectantly, waiting to hear what they had to say.
Olson's team was surrounded by crowds. Everywhere they went—waiting rooms, security lines—hundreds of other activists waited, demanding action on everything from veterans' programs to national parks. Seeing so many other groups, each with their own cause, he wondered if their voices would really be heard.
For the third time that day, Nguyen told a Congressional staffer about how climate change-related flooding affects people in Hue, Vietnam—people that she identifies with because of her Vietnamese heritage. She shared the story as a way to connect with legislative staff, and the plan worked: people opened up, and conversations flowed more easily.
Nguyen's team found that most legislators supported climate change adaptation funds for poor communities, at least in concept?though they acknowledged that the political reality involved stiff competition with other funding priorities. One staffer advised the team on how to approach their legislator's district office, while another gave them an insider update on House climate change legislation.
A senior staff member greeted Olson and his team—and she turned out to be informed and passionate on the subject of climate change and poor communities. "We're behind you all the way, but it's a hard battle," she said. "Change can't come from the top down. We need groups like you to ensure that adaptation funding becomes a part of climate legislation."
Olson was reassured by her words. Even if much work and many voices were needed to get results, he thought, their message was being heard.
The borrowed meeting room was hot and cramped, but it didn't matter. The volunteers sat on windowsills and leaned against walls, eager to share their stories.
As they spoke, it was clear they had succeeded both in spreading Oxfam's message about climate change and poverty, and in building their own skills and confidence as activists.
"I felt like I was delivering a message about climate change for people who couldn't do so themselves," Nguyen said. "It was worth it just to sit down and talk to the people who can actually change the situation."
With a flurry of farewell hugs and handshakes, the volunteers headed to their airport and their various destinations—though their work was far from over. In the year ahead, they were tasked with leading a grassroots movement in their home cities in support of Oxfam's climate change campaign.
Brian Rawson, senior organizer at Oxfam, accompanied the Oxfam Action Corps members throughout their training. "We really came together as fellow activists," he said. "Once they return home, each of these 26 leaders will show dozens more people how to hold similar meetings with their legislators" district offices. So, today is only the beginning."
]]>But now Hanshaw, and a growing number of other women in the Gulf Coast community, have a new foundation from which to begin rebuilding part of their lives: Coastal Women for Change, or CWC, a fledgling group of newborn activists determined have a say in the recovery of their neighborhoods.
Whatever the 2006 hurricane season brings, CWC may serve as a buffer to additional hardship. It has taught many of the women that each of them has a voice, and those voices count—individually and collectively.
"Our mission is to empower these women with knowledge of what they can do," said Hanshaw, the group's new director. "It's unlimited. You can build. You can go back to school. You can call your local officials. You can talk to them. They're there for us."
Now numbering about 25 regular members, with a core group of 10, CWC was launched with the help of Safiya Daniels, a community development specialist for Oxfam America, who has been working chiefly in Biloxi and Gulfport.
"One big difference that I saw between these two cities was the existence of organized community groups," said Daniels. "I realized that outside of the churches, Biloxi had none. I also noticed there was very little institutionalized female leadership in Biloxi."
Daniels also worried that there seemed to be few community gatherings in Biloxi to discuss what direction the city was taking as it began recovering from Katrina. Long-range community planning was not on anyone's neighborhood radar screen.
"This was a dangerous situation," said Daniels. "Everyone else was making a plan: casino developers, condo developers, and the city, but there was very little evidence of broad community participation."
She knew the concern was there—"in every community there are lots of concerned women who want a vibrant, healthy, and safe community for their families to live in"—but how to turn that interest into action was the missing piece. So, Daniels called a meeting.
"I brought a group of women together to talk about what was happening in their community, what issues and problems they faced, and how these could be addressed," said Daniels.
That first meeting grew into a series of sessions which blossomed into action, spawned weekly gatherings, attracted new members, and finally gave birth to an official group with a name and stated mission. Its goal is this: "to make a difference in our communities through securing and revitalizing our neighborhoods." Information sharing is the critical tool in achieving that end.
"I don't want people to be left out," said Hanshaw. "I want to give them knowledge. Knowledge is power."
Knowledge starts with asking questions, and one of the first events CWC sponsored was a Biloxi community forum to which it invited the mayor, city councilors, and members of the city planning department. Questions abounded—about flood elevations mapped out by the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), about affordable housing, about displaced people. Nearly 200 residents showed up for the forum.
Attendees not only got some answers, some of them learned a deeper lesson as well.
"Democracy works only if people make it work," said Daniels. "And we do that by holding people accountable. There possibly has never been a time during the mayor's 13-year tenure that he found himself in such a position, being watched and held accountable by this particular community, and in such a public way."
Asking questions is the first step. Having a say in the answers is the next step. Right away, CWC members sought seats on a planning commission formed by Biloxi Mayor A.J. Holloway. Called Reviving the Renaissance Committee, it was given 90 days to come up with a plan for the city's recovery.
Five CWC members have been weighing in on matters of finance, education, land use, and affordable housing—the subcommittees for which they signed up. And people are beginning to listen to CWC's opinions.
"We are in the paper every week," said Hanshaw, adding that she gets the sense she is even making some of the powerbrokers nervous.
"They try to turn their heads when I come up," she said. "Especially the developers. They don't want to talk to me. They know where I stand."
For Cass Woods, working with CWC has given her a direct link to her community, and that link is allowing her to make things better all around.
"It makes me feel good to help someone," said Woods, who has been living in a government issue trailer—the size of a matchbox, she said—parked in her back yard for months. "That's what has helped me get through my loss."
With a $30,000 seed grant from the 21st Century Foundation, CWC will be able to pay Hanshaw a salary, purchase office supplies, and begin to look ahead at how to fund itself into the future.
Meanwhile, the organization is undertaking a new task: a survey of East Biloxi to find out the childcare needs of the community's residents. To renew its license, a local day care organization is being required to assess the need for its services in the area.
"This is our first project," said Hanshaw. "Another accomplishment under our belts."
And it's just the kind of project Daniels had a hunch a group like CWC could offer the community.
"The needs of the community will drive what CWC takes on," said Daniels. With those needs being constant—as they are in every community—Daniels expects the new organization to have a long and productive life.
"It's going to stand on its own. I am confident of that," she said. "I could see it truly growing into a coastwide organization."
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