I have something to confess. I’m guilty of NIMBY, or Not In My Back Yard. This is a common behavior where we turn a blind-eye to things that don’t directly affect us, even if we know they are detrimental. It also includes the practice of protesting against negatively perceived activities… such as industrial areas, landfills, and airports being located nearby, but not voicing concern if their proposed location is in a different part of town or another country. I have also been guilty of overwhelm…when a problem seems so large and complex that you collapse into passivity instead of taking steps to address it.

But now, I face the menace daily in my work, and last week, I discovered that the enemy brought the fight to my backyard. I cannot stand down any longer and I think it’s a lack of integrity on my part to not speak out. Sometimes apathy, if you know something is very, very perilous, is equal to the wrongdoing.

“The simple step of a courageous individual is not to take part in the lie. One word of truth outweighs the world.”  Aleksandr I. Sozhenitsyn

Here’s what triggered my tipping point-research results from Peace River BC:

“Edible and medicinal forest plants that survive aerial spraying of glyphosate can retain the herbicide and related residues for at least a year, a new study has found.” [1]

“The highest and most consistent levels of glyphosate and AMPA were found in herbaceous perennial root tissues, but shoot tissues and fruit were also shown to contain glyphosate in select species. Levels found in some cases were greater than expected. Findings indicate the ability of glyphosate to be stored in root structures of perennial plants during dormancy periods, and move up to shoot and fruit portions in years following applications in some species.” [2]

Although I’m from Washington State, because of the proximity and similar geography, flora, and fauna, British Columbia is part of what I consider to be my backyard. These are my people…with the same forest-based activities that I’ve spent a lifetime enjoying. And now, there is glyphosate, the active ingredient in Roundup inside the tart berries that we coveted and treasured. These are supposed to be wild, safe, natural, and healthy-not laden with toxic herbicide residues. Every year my mom would make a pot of blackberries and dumplings from the first harvest, amid warnings not to peek while it cooked, and then served it in bowls, still steaming and topped with vanilla ice cream. I loved being out in the woods with her and Grandma Mary, searching for the best patches and of not telling Uncle Wally where they were! We would make jam and freeze the remainder for pies or cobblers. This is so integral to my family that my granddaughter has a lavender bedspread that my great-grandmother bought with money earned from picking and selling the berries. (6 generations)

And now I cry. This tears out my heart. We know the terrible health effects of glyphosate and its correlations to cancer and many other disorders. There is clear evidence that it alters our microbiome and one of its patents is as an antibiotic.[3] We know it has long-term negative effects, that it makes billions of dollars of profit, and that safety studies were suppressed.[4] We know there has been collusion between Monsanto and our government.  And I’m guilty. I didn’t cry for Iowa…for the runoff in the Mississippi, or that 75% of air samples in the southeast test positive for glyphosate[5]. I’m a Paleo advocate that didn’t cry for the corn, or the soybeans and I should have.

But now, I cry for the forests…and for the First Nations peoples, and Native Americans who hold these lands, plants, and animals sacred and count upon their harvests for survival, and for my friends and family who do the same.

I cry for my grandchildren. How can I take them into the wooded hills…to search for the tiny treats and hopefully to emerge with purple lips and stained fingers? How can I feed them poison? And what about the ubiquitous elderberries…both medicinal and magical? How can I teach them to make an elderberry tonic that will support their immune systems every winter?

These forests are my home. They are the homes of my people.

One of the definitions of culture is- the things that are important enough to pass on to future generations. Those forests and berries are part of my culture…of my family….of me… and I can no longer hand it down through generations, but instead must give frightening warnings and relegate our history to stories instead of experiences.

We could talk about the complex role that forests play in our global ecosystem. We could talk about how corporate profits have knowingly been valued more than human health. We could wonder about what is happening to the animals that eat the plants that have glyphosate in them. We could gaze at a glistening creek at dusk and wonder if the fish we catch are safe to eat.

But first we must cry. For the forests, for the berries, for the corn. For our people.

And then we must stand up and do something about it.

“Think about it: virtually every atrocity in the history of humankind was enabled by a populace that turned away from a reality that seemed too painful to face, while virtually every revolution for peace and justice has been made possibly by a group of people who chose to bear witness and demanded that others bear witness as well.”  Melanie Joy

1. https://vancouversun.com/news/local-news/the-herbicide-glyphosate-persists-in-wild-edible-plants-b-c-study
2. http://www.nrcresearchpress.com/doi/pdf/10.1139/cjfr-2018-0331
3. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/29635013
4. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/29843257
5. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/24549493

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