Listen up: This week our lobby team took the youth climate message to Canberra.
I have a confession to make. It’s not something I’m proud of, and in all my time at the AYCC I’ve never come across someone with the same problem. But I’m ready to admit it – I’ve always been terrified by the concept of the ‘personal narrative.’
The ‘personal narrative’ is something that most people involved in climate action will come across at some stage or another. Developed by the Obama campaign, the personal narrative is a way of communicating our individual stories and tying them to the issues we are passionate about. Starting with your own journey, it’s a way to engage with everyone from politicians to school students.
That’s the theory, anyway. In my case, however, putting it into practice was nothing short of agonising. I don’t have an amazing turning point that catapulted me into climate action. I haven’t worked for five years as a coal industry lobbyist, had a revelation involving a sunset and the fresh mountain air, or ended up onstage with Bono. I just care about social justice, was frightened by the impact climate change could have on the issues I cared about, and joined the AYCC. Simple. Boring.
So it was with more than a little trepidation that I landed in Canberra on Sunday to prepare for the Climate Advocacy Day. My nerves, however, had nothing to do with the horde of politicians I would be meeting the following day in my first experience lobbying. A flick through the notes for the Sunday training confirmed my fears – there would be no getting out of the dreaded personal narrative.
After half a day practicing with our team members – each group consisting of one AYCC member, one from the Union Climate Connectors, and a representative for The Climate Project – it was time to head to Parliament House and meet with some politicians.
We arrived at Parliament House early yesterday morning. I’d only been once before, a few years ago, as a tourist. I’d watched a few minutes of question time, and the only clear memory I had was of watching backbenchers in their seats writing Christmas cards, presumably to members of their electorates, as their part leaders battled it out.
My team had a mixed bag of meetings lined up. We knew from our research that some would be sympathetic, some less so, and some downright hostile – or, as one Senator put it to us, ‘a bit prickly.’ The toughest one, a climate sceptic from Western Australia, was up first, so we gathered in a corner and conducted a practice meeting, minus the politician.
The time came for the meeting, and we began the trek through the labyrinthine corridors of Parliament House. On the way we noticed Therese Rein – or, to put it more accurately, she noticed us noticing her. She smiled and said hello. Phillip Ruddock opened a door for us, unfortunately literally rather than metaphorically.
We were ushered into the Senator’s office and she shook our hands, before sitting and, in a tone that could be interpreted as either cold or businesslike, said, ‘Well, off you go then.’
Off we went. I was starting, and had no choice but to launch straight into my story of self. I just wanted to get through it, and then get into the policy we were there to present as quickly as possible.
But as I was telling my story, I was surprised to see her look up from the page in front of her and engage with what I was saying. I won’t pretend that my story transformed her outlook on the issue – but what it did do was open our meeting up into a real discussion.
Once we shared our stories, our politician jumped straight in with her own. Being from a farming community, she told us, made her uncomfortable being told by non-farmers like us what was best for the land. It is the farmers, after all, who are quietly adapting to changes as they occur. What she wanted, in other words, was for us to acknowledge her own story – and it was through our personal narratives that this was able to occur.
We didn’t change her mind about specific policy points, but that was never a realistic option. What we did do, was break down some of the communication barriers between our community as climate activists and hers. Once we made it clear that we had no hostility toward farmers whatsoever – quite the opposite – she visibly relaxed. She even apologised at the end for being a bit ‘rough with us’ at the beginning. It was a small step in the right direction, and it is through many small steps such as these that we can change individuals, communities, and, ultimately, politics.
So, after all the torment that my ‘story of self’ has caused me, I now find myself an unlikely advocate of the personal narrative. It not only conveys our journeys, but invites others to reflect on and communicate their own. If we wish to empower and inspire change, then I can’t think of anything that could be more important.
- Lucy Manne is a student and the AYCC’s Volunteer Media Liason
