Featured

Apr 13, 2026

NYBG: ORCHID SHOW 2026

Apr 13, 2026

The most fantastic thing about the New York Botanical Garden’s annual Orchid Show is the orchids themselves

Apr 13, 2026

Alexandra 6/8/23 Alexandra 6/8/23

6.8.23: Stop MVP

Alexandra 10/30/20 Alexandra 10/30/20

Nicky Sundt Jumps into fires

On July 9, 1978, Nicky Sundt joined a friend—and more than a hundred thousand self-identified feminists including Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, and Bella Abzug—at a march in Washington, D.C., calling for an extension of the deadline for ratification of the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA).

At the rally organized by the National Organization for Women, Steinem told the crowd that “the lawful and peaceful stage of our revolution may be over. It's up to the legislators. We can become radical, if they interfere with the ratification of the ERA, they will find every form of civil disobedience possible in every state of the country. We are the women our parents warned us about, and we're proud.”

In a photo from the march—the first of many to capture Sundt protesting in the streets—she stands tall, surrounded by dozens of people clad in suffragette white. Her fist is raised and she appears to be the only one in the crowd who is aware of the camera—if not the dress code. “I didn't get the memo that I was supposed to wear white,” Sundt says, laughing. “I showed up in a striped shirt that made me look like Waldo. Can you find me?”

Sundt at the 1978 ERA march in Washington, D.C. | Photo courtesy of Nicky Sundt

Nearly four decades later, Sundt still stands out—but she’s much more savvy about how and why. On January 21, 2017, she once again joined thousands of women on the streets of D.C. for the first Women’s March, the largest single-day protest in U.S. history. People from all around the world descended upon the District—and this time Sundt, who is transgender, joined them presenting publically as female for the first time.

Although she says that transitioning in her early 60s is scary, Sundt—a former smoke jumper who fought forest fires in the western U.S. for a decade—is not one to shrink under the weight of a stressful situation. “I thought I’m going to do it now,” she says. “I'm going to be there as a trans woman at that march because it just felt like this was the time to do it. I thought I should present as who I am, as opposed to what I'm supposed to be. It was hard. I wasn’t entirely ready yet, but I’m a late bloomer.”

PERENNIAL PROTESTER

The more I find out about Sundt, the more I would argue that the appropriate plant comparison might be a perennial: one that flowers over many different seasons during its lifetime. She was born in San Francisco; when Sundt was seven years old, her family moved to the Centre-Val de Loire region of France. After their parents divorced, she and her four siblings split their time between Europe and the U.S.

Her dad worked abroad as a computer systems analyst for the U.S. government. He was a big supporter of Pete Seeger, who was blacklisted—along with his group, The Weavers—during the McCarthy era. “As soon as I was old enough to reach the record player, I was listening to The Weavers,” Sundt says.

In the ‘60s, Seeger struck out on his own to become a fixture in the folk music scene, writing and recording songs in support of civil rights, environmental issues, and disarmament. “I think I probably got some of the temperament for protest from my dad—to my knowledge, he himself never protested but that’s where his heart was.”

Sundt says the roots of her environmental activism in particular can be traced to the time she spent as a teenager in suburban Georgia. “There was garbage everywhere—people would just throw their bottles out the window,” she says.”It was such a contrast for me to see how careless people could be.” In 1972, two years after the first-ever Earth Day, Sundt organized a large protest at her high school in Germany.

When she enrolled at the University of California, Berkeley, Sundt was able to combine her interests in the environment and international policy. She wrote her senior thesis on ozone depletion, and completed her graduate degree in a new energy and resources program started by then-27-year-old professor John Holdren.

Holdren eventually served as the senior advisor to President Obama on science and technology issues, and Sundt’s career trajectory has been no less impressive. In the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, she worked as an analyst for the U.S. Congressional Office of Technology Assessment, co-authoring several of the first official reports on climate change including Changing by Degrees: Steps To Reduce Greenhouse Gases.

Sundt says people were generally receptive to the science sounding the alarm on climate change—at least in the beginning. “There were people who took me seriously,” Sundt says. “On all of these big problems there’s always someone sounding the alarm—it’s the people in powerful positions who don’t listen.”

FIRE DRILL FRIDAYS

Hoping to attract the attention of at least some of those powerful people, Jane Fonda temporarily moved to D.C. at the end of 2019 and teamed up with Greenpeace to form Fire Drill Fridays. The weekly protests took place on Capitol Hill; frontline activists spoke about environmental justice, called for an end to all new fossil fuels, and pressed for the advancement of the Green New Deal.

Sundt, who lives near Lincoln Park, joined several of the Fire Drill Friday rallies and was arrested for civil disobedience three times. She spent time in police detention with Fonda, Ted Danson, Joaquin Phoenix, Martin Sheen, Catherine Keener, Rosanna Arquette, and hundreds of others, including myself. On December 20, Sundt found herself protesting alongside Steinem once again—albeit under different circumstances than the 1978 ERA march.

“I was next to Gloria Steinem as they read her Miranda rights,” Sundt says. “I asked her if she had been arrested before and she said ‘Oh yes, but it’s been a long time.’ I asked her how she ended up here, and she said ‘Oh well, Jane [Fonda] was at my house and she made me come.’”

Fonda, a notoriously persuasive and prolific activist with a history of championing LGBTQ issues, made a positive impression on Sundt—a feeling that appears to be mutual. At a post-protest dinner with fellow climate experts, Sundt says that Fonda immediately enveloped her in a big hug and they later shared a piece of carrot cake for dessert.

Not only was Sundt surrounded (and accepted) by the revolutionary women Steinem had been warned about—but now Sundt was officially one of them too. “The women were all amazing,” she says. “It was scary, I had never been arrested before—and now I have a police record. But I’m proud of it.”

WHERE THERE’S SMOKE

Sundt’s police record may be relatively short, but her resume is not. In the late ‘70s, Sundt started firefighting for the U.S. Forest Service; she is certified as a parachute rigger, squad boss, and tree faller. “It looked like a blast,” Sundt says of smoke jumping. “But it was absolutely terrifying. The first time I jumped, I forgot to do the roll and landed on my feet. My boss said ‘You should have broken both legs.’”

After a decade—and a few more injuries—Sundt decided it was time to hang up her parachute. She stayed in the District, wrote and edited several newsletters and magazines devoted to climate change, and worked as a communications director for the U.S. Global Change Research Program Coordination Office.

The first national climate assessment came out just as the Clinton/Gore administration was departing, which Sundt calls “really bad timing.” She says there were forces within, and outside of, the Bush/Cheney administration that wanted the climate assessment buried—but that she “found all sorts of creative ways to make it really hard for them to do that.” These so-called “gatekeepers” were censoring reports, altering scientific documents, and watering down the language to make climate change seem like a minor threat.

“Suddenly the powerful people recognized that this was no longer an academic issue or a science issue—that this couldn’t be confined to perpetual research any more and it was starting to pose a threat to their bottom line,” Sundt says.

Sundt, whose ex-wife works with infectious diseases, might joke that they raised their daughter in a “disaster household,” but her bottom line is pragmatic. “My approach is rooted in my own personal experience which is, if you’re focused on preventing stuff from happening, then you’re going to feel like you’re losing,” Sundt says. “Things are not getting better—climate change is permanent, the planet is going to continue warming, we’re going to see continued disruption, and the magnitude of these disruptions is going to grow.”

Sundt understands—both in her own life and in regards to the climate crisis—that you can’t turn back time. “The question is not ‘Can we get back to where we were?’ but ‘What are the alternative futures we can have?’” she says. “And the alternative futures are very different depending on what we do now.”

But one thing is certain: “You cannot have an unfettered energy industry and an effective climate policy,” Sundt says. “It requires massive government intervention in the energy market and there’s no way around it. The people who have the power to change things aren’t suffering the consequences of their actions and they don’t have to listen. They’re not even hearing you because you’re not in their orbit—but also they are choosing not to hear you, particularly given the implications.”

It’s been almost a decade since Sundt wrote an article published in the Huffington Post calling on politicians to “Wake up, smell the smoke, and act on climate change.” With each passing year—increasingly full of super storms, devastating wildfires, and rising temperatures—the implications of government inaction become more and more clear.

“Alas, many of our elected representatives in Washington are napping on the fireline,” Sundt wrote in 2012. “They need to wake up and smell the smoke. They need to take climate change seriously. They need to help Americans cope with the impacts we’re feeling now, and prepare for the impacts that will grow more disruptive in coming decades. And they need to reduce the risk of catastrophic consequences from climate change in the longer-term through policies that help us reduce our dependence on fossil fuels.”

NAPPING ON THE FIRELINE

In 2016, Sundt was napping on her own fireline: while working as the Director of Climate Science and Policy Integration for the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), she woke up and smelled smoke. Thanks in part to therapy, the internet, and the popularity of trans celebrites like Laverne Cox, Sundt finally realized that she was transgender.

When she was a kid, Sundt says she begged her mom to let her wear dresses. When her mom eventually acquiesced, Sundt recalls being ridiculed by her peers: “I realized this was not an experience I wanted to go through again.” In the early ‘90s, Sundt got married and started a family; she stopped fighting physical fires and started fighting mental ones.

“So many of us are forced to spend some portion of our life trying to be something that we’re not,” she says. “It’s so hard. We just did what we thought we were supposed to do and it creates all this stress. You think, ‘What’s wrong with me? Is this normal? Why am I feeling this way?’ You just kind of keep it to yourself.”

Sundt says she didn’t even know the word “transgender” existed until fairly recently. But once she did, “it was such a relief—realizing what you are—understanding yourself and then getting other people to accept you for what you are and being able to live that life,” she says. “I just thought ‘I can’t live my life as something else.’ I mean what a pity. What a wasted life if you can never actually be who you are. I thought, ‘I can’t live this way anymore. I can’t deprive myself of my identity.’”

Before she had even decided what her own alternative future would look like, Sundt helped change the WWF’s discriminatory insurance policy to cover transition-related expenses. “I just knew that I wasn’t going to hide it and that I was going to be an advocate for trans people, including myself,” she says. “It’s hard if you don’t fit—you’re left to make your own road map, which makes us stronger and more resilient. But, of course, I would have preferred not to have had to go through some of it.”

Because she started her transition later in life, Sundt realizes that she “just can’t pass for a lot of people, but that’s OK,” she says. “I’m trans, and that’s what I am. I’m not trying to be anything else. I’m just a trans person. I want to present the way I feel, but I don't want to change for other people.”

THE ‘WORST POSSIBLE THING’

Sundt left the WWF in the midst of her transition, hoping that her first job presenting as female would be within the Hillary Clinton administration. Then of course on November 9, 2016, “the worst possible thing happened.” During the campaign season, trans people had become a hot button issue for Republicans. “They were using us to stir up their base,” Sundt says. “We became like flag burning or prayer in the schools or abortion—it was now ‘trans people are in your bathrooms!’”

Sundt tried to channel her energy positively while working with trans groups and candidates—and into the streets. She estimates that since Trump took office she’s been to more protests in the last four years than in her previous 60. “I think that for all the negative stuff that Trump has done, he has done a lot to galvanize groups to act,” Sundt says.

Although Sundt says she was taught by her parents to care about people, she admits that “it’s so much easier to tear things apart than to build things.” As she watched the Trump administration ignoring or actively dismantling so much of the climate policy she had helped create over the years, Sundt felt largely powerless. Living in D.C. without proper representation in Congress limited her options further. “It just seemed like street protests were one of the few things we could do,” she says.

She says that doing so as a woman has been eye-opening in a lot of ways she didn’t expect. “You start seeing patterns of behavior that were invisible to you before,” Sundt says. “I’ve become more sensitive to the different perspectives that people have depending on their race, their religion, their ethnicity—all of those things can make people see the world very differently.”

But Sundt knows instinctively that no matter how stark our differences, meaningful change can only be achieved by focusing on what connects—not divides—us. “We have to sew these different movements together into a coalition that deals with a whole range of concerns,” she says. “If we’re all pushing and pulling in different directions, we’re too easy to defeat. We need to unite, we need to focus and accept that maybe our issue is not going to the top one this time.”

In her own life, Sundt tries to practice what she preaches. She says she tries to be a “good ambassador” for the trans community and prefers not to scold people who may misgender her. She encourages people to ask her questions, and tries to be cognizant of the times when she should speak out, or step back and let others have the spotlight.

“I believe strongly in the power of example and trying to find a positive way forward, not letting fear dominate what you do, and in being generous,” she says. “When I go to a protest I try not to be angry, I try to make people laugh. You can have a good time and also change the world while you’re doing it—we can all be happy warriors.”

HAPPY WARRIORS

The idea of a “happy warrior” may seem contradictory, but Sundt sees no reason why social justice can’t be served with a smile. Her statement earrings and colorful leggings make her easy to spot on daily bike rides or while she’s walking her dog, Blue, around Capitol Hill. During the past few months she passed out coupons to friends, each redeemable for a free hug once the pandemic is over. When she went to the police station to post bail after her third arrest with Fire Drill Fridays, Sundt brought along a ‘Get out of jail, free” card from Monopoly. She asked the officers “Is this good here?” (they said no). At the most recent Women’s March, Sundt wore a feathered face mask and carried a sign adorned with tombstones that read “Scare ‘em on Halloween. Bury ‘em on election day.”

Whether or not she has always embraced it, Sundt knows that she wasn’t made to blend in. Drawing on her strengths as a communicator, Sundt crafts simple and evocative protest signs; she knows how to position herself in front of a camera (or climb a light pole) and knows how to provide journalists with the perfect protest visual. When Sundt got arrested with Danson and Fonda, her dad called her from France; he had seen her photo in a local paper.

“To me, there’s no point in making a sign if the only people who see it are the people at the protest,” she says. “You want to entertain people and make them laugh but ultimately what you really want is for your message to be broadcast everywhere.”

She may smile—or even sparkle—while she says it, but Sundt has always been serious about the climate crisis: “We no longer have the luxury of time,” she warns. “We need to disempower these people who are standing in the way so the rest of us can get things done. That means voting, knowing what your representatives are doing, putting pressure on them to do what they need to do, and keeping white nationalists, climate deniers, out of our politics so we can get shit done because we’re out of time. We are fucking out of time.”

As such, she sees this election as a “framing event,” something so monumental that it shakes people to their core. “These opportunities don’t come that often and you have to be ready for them,” she says. “But if you’re ready for them—and you take advantage of them—you can get lasting change.” After taking four years off from focusing on her career, Sundt is ready to go back to work—hopefully in the Biden/Harris administration, she says.

But no matter what happens on November 3 and beyond, Sundt says she’s not yet ready to retire; there are simply too many ideological fires that need to be fought. And she knows better than anyone that whether you’re dealing with climate change—or questioning your identity—sooner or later the time comes when you have to stop napping, wake up, and jump into the fire.

“It’s never too late to start,” Sundt says. “You can make a difference. Every movement has started with a small group of people and sometimes they take off and sometimes they don’t. But you don’t want to look back on this period and say—if you’re talking to your grandkids or just to yourself—‘I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do what I could have done.’ So do what you can, when you can, and how you can. There’s always something that people can do.”

This is a crucial moment in history; we have a real opportunity to rebuild and restructure our society to be more equal, more just, and more habitable for all. In an attempt to better understand what motivates and inspires fellow activists, I’m profiling people and how they’re trying (in ways both big and small) to make the world a better place. If you know someone I should profile, let me know (maybe it’s you!?). You can see all of the profiles here.

Alexandra 5/15/20 Alexandra 5/15/20

Recent Reads: Climate Crisis

The Future We Choose: Surviving the Climate Crisis, by Christiana Figueres and Tom Rivett-Carnac

I understand that the climate crisis is a huge, dire issue but my biggest critique of some of the books I’ve read are that they are strictly doom and gloom—I like to feel as if there is at least something I (or others) can do to help stave off the worst of it. The Future We Choose was a welcome mix of terrifying facts, yes, but also realistic solutions. Figueres and Rivett-Carnac led negotiations for the United Nations during the Paris Agreement of 2015, so they definitely know what they’re talking about. Even so, this was an easy read, but I highlighted so much of it to read again and again, especially when I get caught in a doom spiral (which happens more and more these days).

Merchants of Doubt: How a Handful of Scientists Obscured the Truth on Issues from Tobacco Smoke to Climate Change, by Naomi Oreskes and Erik M.M. Conway

This book should be required reading for literally everyone. Oreskes and Conway manage to make a pretty dense and complicated story detailing decades of deceit extremely readable. Merchants, which shows how a handful of key players sowed the seeds of doubt in a very strategic (and unfortunately, successful) way—on everything from second-hand smoke to acid rain to climate change—reads like a thriller and I couldn’t put it down.

Democracy in Chains: The Deep History of the Radical Right's Stealth Plan for America, Nancy MacLean

Speaking of terrifying and dense books, Democracy in Chains was a bit too academic at times (I would read entire pages without having a clue what I read), but the overarching message will stick with me forever. If you have asked yourself “How did we get here?” anytime over the last 30—or even 50—years, this is a must-read. There’s nothing optimistic about MacLean’s assessment of the current state of our democracy, but an understanding of just how we got to where we are now (and who was/is behind it) is crucial if we’re to have any hope of turning things around for the better.

Hand to Mouth: Living in Bootstrap America, by Linda Tirado

Tirado’s memoir is an easy and eye-opening read about what it’s actually like to be poor in America. Tirado exposes the pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps myth as just that, a myth, and shows how easy it is to plunge into poverty—and how nearly impossible it can be to get back out. It’s easy to blame people for what may seem like poor choices, but Tirado explains some of her own in a way that is both simple and revelatory. Hard work is a tent pole of the American Dream, but as Tirado shows, some of the hardest workers in America are the most perpetually undervalued.

This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate, by Naomi Klein

There is some overlap between This Changes Everything and Klein’s latest climate book, On Fire, but her message is so important—and her writing infinitely readable—that I would gladly reread both. It’s impossible to address the climate crisis without taking a sledge hammer to the system that created the problem, and there’s no better time to examine that system (i.e. capitalism) than now. As we’re in the midst of another round of historic bailouts and a huge global reset, Klein’s analysis of the 2008 bailouts—and Obama’s failure to hold the companies accountable for their environmental impact—feels eerily prescient.

Screen Shot 2020-05-14 at 8.50.14 PM.png

Alexandra 5/1/20 Alexandra 5/1/20

Lee Ann Hopkins Does Good

Do Good Soaps and Suds is a gateway to a reduced-waste, sustainable life.

Every morning, as I step into the shower and lather up with my Bonaparte soap bar, I silently thank Washington, D.C.’s Capitol Police. I don’t remember the specific officer who directed me to sit next to Lee Ann Hopkins for the five hours we spent in police custody, but that seemingly random seat assignment continues to pay off in myriad lovely and unexpected ways.

Last November, I went to D.C. on a whim to attend a rally with Fire Drill Fridays, the Jane Fonda-led climate justice movement (now affiliated with Greenpeace). I hadn’t intended to get arrested, but I was so moved by the speakers and energy of the crowd that I found myself in handcuffs for the first time in my life. Capitol Police confiscated my sign urging people to “Destroy the Patriarchy Not the Planet,” but they unintentionally gave me something much more valuable in return: an introduction to the community of activists I had been seeking.

We—30+ women, including Fonda, and a handful of men—sat in police custody without phones or other distractions, and while I don’t recall the specifics, I can be sure that Hopkins introduced herself to me first. Hopkins, who was seated to my left, was born in Kansas and is Midwestern hospitality personified. By the time we were released, I walked out with a freshly-minted police record, a thumb covered in black ink, and a new life-long friend.

After I returned to New York, Hopkins and I reconnected via Instagram, where I discovered that she was the founder of Do Good Soap and Suds, a company committed to providing plastic-free shampoo bars, lotions, soaps, lip balms, and other personal care products. Inspired by her mission to “Use less sh*t. Do more good,” I gifted her soap to everyone I knew for the holidays. When the (repurposed) box arrived, it smelled so good that I was tempted to keep it all for myself.

Recently, Hopkins sent me my very own Bonaparte bar and I was hooked. In addition to looking super cool, the black soap—made with a blend of clove, eucalyptus, lemon, and activated charcoal—smells incredible. According to Hopkins, the Bonaparte “includes the essential oils used by both Napoleon's merchants in the 1800's and those impacted by the plague of the 1400's. The unique combination of essential oils was a lifesaver for those who interacted with the many, many people that died during these times, especially the gravediggers and the grave robbers.” At a time when hand washing is not only a courteous choice but one crucial to our very survival, Hopkins’ eco-conscious soap company feels more relevant than ever.

Hopkins says her path to climate activism was neither immediate nor linear, but rather “a slow and steady process.” She was born in suburban Kansas; when her family moved to a farm, her father taught her the importance of water and soil in cultivating crops and sustaining animals. “Dad instilled in me this sense of land and being proud of the land and working the land, and taking good care of the land,” Hopkins says. “The land was really, really important to me.”

Growing up in the Midwest in the early 1960s, Hopkins says that plastic was nowhere near as prevalent—or, in some circles, as reviled—as it is today. When The Graduate was released in 1967, the popular film featured this eerily prescient exchange between Walter Brooke and Dustin Hoffman:

Mr. McGuire: I want to say one word to you. Just one word.
Benjamin: Yes, sir.
Mr. McGuire: Are you listening?
Benjamin: Yes, I am.
Mr. McGuire: Plastics.
Benjamin: Exactly how do you mean?
Mr. McGuire: There's a great future in plastics. Think about it. Will you think about it?

Unfortunately, people did more than think about it: since 1950, plastic production has grown by 8.6% per year, with more than 9 billion metric tons of plastics spread around the world. It’s estimated that only about “9% of that has been recycled, 12% has been incinerated (polluting the air with toxic gases), and the remaining 79%, remains in the environment.”

Mr. McGuire was right; our future was, and is, in plastics—but not always for the better. According to Greenpeace, “If current production and waste management trends continue, by 2050, there will be 12 billion tons of plastic in natural environments.” Hopkins, who uses a medical device made out of plastic, concedes that “plastic has been an incredible gift to some of us. I would really like it if there was something else beside plastic that could keep me alive—it’s been both a gift and a curse.”

Hopkins at the Capitol on December 27, 2019 with Lily Tomlin.

Since 1940, Kansas has given its electoral votes to a Democrat only once (to Lyndon B. Johnson in 1964), and growing up, Hopkins was the membership chair for the young Republicans. Now, she says, “I’m so far left I’m almost not a Democrat.” She credits storytellers for helping her make the transition to embracing progressive politics. “Just because you grew up with a certain story doesn’t mean you can’t change the story,” Hopkins says. “Change can happen. There is hope.”

In October of 2018, however, Hopkins was anything but hopeful. She was working in D.C. as an attorney near the Trump International Hotel. She would sit outside on her lunch break and look across Pennsylvania Avenue, dreaming of a creative outlet to buck her depression. “I started baking,” Hopkins says. “I started making art, then I made some soap. I’m a DIY person, but I also like to be practical and use whatever I make.”

As she enjoyed the fruits of her labor, she suspected others might too—and sensed an opportunity to also reduce her reliance on single-use plastics. “One day I was in the bathroom looking at my shampoo bottles and thought ‘Do I really need all this shit?’”

The first Do Good products were solid soap and shampoo bars, “because that’s really all we need,” Hopkins says. Her mission to “rid the world of plastic” started in the bathroom but has since taken over every level of the Alexandria, Virginia townhouse she shares with her wife, Andrea, their greyhound Enzo, and their cat, Neige. Hopkins experiments with new recipes in the couple’s kitchen; the products are moved to another level while they cure, and the basement is reserved for storage. Hopkins would love to banish plastic from her home altogether, but acknowledges that it’s not always possible, especially in the midst of a global pandemic.

“My vision for Do Good six months ago was very different than it is now,” Hopkins says. “So many doors have been slammed shut. It’s hard to think about the future when the basics of today are hard to get through, but I still dream of changing the ways people view plastic. I want to help people live a life that isn’t harming the planet, but the pandemic means more plastic in our lives—gloves and face masks—and no farmers markets, pop-ups, or retail spaces. It’s not just about selling my products, it’s about teaching people how they can be zero waste or reduced waste in their own lives.”

Me lurking behind Hopkins and hugging her as she was released from detention (while Fonda looks on).

Before she was an attorney “working for the Man,” Hopkins was enrolled in seminary. Her feminist approach to theology may have seemed radical, but she never strayed far from her roots. “I brought that Kansas girl who loved the Earth, the soil and the water to my theological training,” she says. She was paying attention to the changing climate, but it wasn’t until she saw Al Gore’s 2006 documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, that her beliefs began to gel.

“An Inconvenient Truth turned me upside down.” Hopkins says. “It was at that point that I really started thinking about how I live in the world.” She began to ride her bike more, but it would be several more years before she began to take action. Even then, she started small. “I did small things, I picked up litter, I do Earth Day every year—I’d recommit every year thinking, ‘Oh I’m going to do something big,’ but I didn't, not really.”

She had consistently donated money to environmental organizations, but eventually, the bad news—especially about plastic—became impossible to ignore. “If I had to see one more turtle wrapped around some sort of plastic that was left in the ocean or any other gross thing that was happening to ocean animals, I was going to lose my fucking mind,” Hopkins says.

It was around this time that Hopkins was also becoming disillusioned with her career as an attorney. “I was unhappy,” she says. “I didn’t want to be working for a large law firm but I wondered ‘What can I do?’”

Fonda’s four-month stint in Washington, D.C.—beginning in October of 2019—with Fire Drill Fridays came at the perfect time for Hopkins. She had just left her job at the law firm, a decision that opened the door for her to participate in civil disobedience. “Once I stopped working as an attorney, I knew I could get arrested and so that was the thing for me,” Hopkins says. “I have always done civil disobedience—before I was an attorney—so I was like yeah, let’s go! I wanted to do civil disobedience and who was doing it? Jane Fonda.”

Hopkins felt as transformed by her first arrest with Fire Drill Fridays as I did. She attended every subsequent rally—missing only two because of a birthday trip to Costa Rica—and was arrested a total of three times. “Fire Drill Fridays has a very special place in my heart,” Hopkins says. “It was the community I'd been looking for. Women and the youth are leading this next wave of activism—it was 90% women each time I was arrested—and it’s time for women to take the lead. They’re all my eco-warrior sisters.”

Hopkins acknowledges that the fight for climate justice is far from new, and cites the indigenous and frontline communities that have been advocating these same issues for decades or even longer. But she says that the uptick in activism, especially since 2016, is palpable. “It would be so white of me to think that this started in October of 2019,” Hopkins says. “It didn’t start then—it’s been ongoing for a long, long, long time. But I think in 2019—with Greta Thunberg and the young people and then Jane Fonda—things have ratcheted up quite a bit.”

Help clean up the planet one soap, one lotion, one balm, one bar at a time.

When asked about their motivations, activists often cite their concern for future generations. I made the decision to not have my own children long before I began learning about the dire climate projections, and every new grim report only serves to solidify my decision. But even if I don’t intend to procreate, I still worry about the world I will leave behind—and selfishly, the one I hope to enjoy for as long as possible while I’m still here. During my last arrest with Fire Drill Fridays in January, someone asked Martin Sheen about what motivated his impressive record of civil disobedience arrests. “You have to keep ego out of it,” Sheen said. “You do it for yourself, to know that you’ve done all you can.”

Hopkins, who doesn’t have children of her own, says that of course she’s concerned about the world she will leave for her nieces and nephews, but admits that her activism mostly comes from a “selfish” place.

“The experiences I had as a child in Kansas—the flora, the fauna, the bees—I have a memory of all that richness and what scares me is how much other generations haven’t seen,” she says. “We’re losing so much biodiversity and I am terrified by all this extreme weather. Honestly I'm doing it for me because ten years—that’s all we’ve got. It’s like trying to turn around the Titanic. I’m terrified for myself. I don’t know what life will be like. But that’s why we plant trees, not so much so we can enjoy them—we’re planting them for the future.”

The issues threatening our collective future may be far from new, but the roadblocks to progress are ever-evolving. In the wake of COVID-19, activists are scrambling to maintain momentum while the usual tricks—protests, mass gatherings, civil disobedience, etc.—are increasingly unsafe or prohibited altogether. While we’re (rightly) focused on keeping each other safe and healthy, we do ourselves a disservice if we don’t at least try to seize the opportunities of these overlapping crises—and acknowledge that this pandemic is, in no way, an isolated event. The people involved with the climate change movement have already turned a critical eye toward the future—and what they see is terrifying.

“Climate activists are not necessarily surprised by this,” Hopkins says. “They’re the canary in the coal mine, saying ‘Hey there’s trouble ahead and we gotta do x, y, and z.’”

Hopkins is cautiously optimistic that radical, system-wide change is possible, not in spite of, but perhaps because of this unique moment in history. “These kinds of moments don’t happen that often,” she says. “During WWII we came together to fight a common enemy, but we’re so divided now. There’s so much mistrust, democracy is crumbling all around us, and without that sort of cradle—that foundation—I’m terribly worried. This is the time for great change to happen, but I’m struggling as an activist—is what I’m doing enough?”

For the foreseeable future, Fire Drill Fridays has pivoted from in-person rallies to virtual ones, and Fonda has offered myriad ways for members to stay motivated and productive even while we stay in our homes. Hopkins continues to seek solace and transformation through storytellers and cites novels, nonfiction books, and movies as sources of constant inspiration.

“The first step for anything is always education,” she says. “Education is the springboard. I had to get it in my head first. Then I got in my heart. It’s the longest 12 inches in the world from your head to your heart, but I had to do it in my head first. Once I got it there, it was an easy sell to my heart.”

BOOKS:

Silent Spring, by Rachel Carson
The Uninhabitable Earth: Life After Warming , by David Wallace-Well
The End of Nature, by Bill McKibben
Falter: Has the Human Game Begun to Play Itself Out?, by Bill McKibben
This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. the Climate, by Naomi Klein
On Fire: The Burning Case for a Green New Deal, by Naomi Klein
The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture, by Wendell Berry

MOVIES:

An Inconvenient Truth
An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth to Power
The Lorax
The Story of Stuff

LINKS:
Do Good Soaps and Suds | Fire Drill Fridays | Greenpeace

We may not be able to take to the streets right now, but that doesn’t mean the climate crisis is any less important. This is a crucial moment in history; we have a real opportunity to rebuild and restructure our society to be more equal, more just, and more habitable for all. In an attempt to better understand what motivates and inspires fellow activists, I’m profiling people and how they’re trying (in ways both big and small) to make the world a better place. If you know someone I should profile, let me know (maybe it’s you!?). You can see all of the profiles here.

Alexandra 11/27/19 Alexandra 11/27/19

Gift guide: Eat it, read it, or deplete it

I've been inspired lately by Jane Fonda’s rebuke of consumerism (is this just a Fonda fan blog now? maybe!!) and feeling increasingly overwhelmed with the amount of stuff I’ve managed to accumulate in my 34 years on Earth. I decided that this Christmas I’m going to do things a bit differently (being my friend as I try to figure out my place in this world is still fun I promise! maybe!!). I’m pledging to only give gifts that fall into one of the following categories: something you can eat, something you can read, or something you can deplete (aka an experience, soap in minimal packaging or things that are biodegradable or compostable).

In return, I’m asking my friends and family to do the same (or bet yet, to donate to a cause that’s meaningful to them and/or me). But I still love giving gifts and making gift guides, so here are a few ideas that are lightly eco-conscious, useful, and still-fun-to-give-or-receive if you should feel moved to do the same.

THINGS TO EAT

1. Levain Bakery Cookies // 2. Milk Bar Birthday Truffles // 3. Chocolate human heart // 4. Zapp’s Voodoo Kettle Chips // 5. Milk Bar cookie tin // 6. Chocolate Natterjack Toad // 7. Jeni’s Ice Cream

THINGS TO READ

1. Shut it Down: Stories From a Fierce, Loving Resistance // 2. The Truth Will Set You Free, But First it Will Piss You Off // 3. The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe // 4. Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine // 5. The Dreamers // 6. The Great Alone // 7. Where the Crawdads Sing // 8. My Life So Far

THINGS TO DEPLETE

1. Do Good Soap // 2. Beeswax baby head candle // 3. Spine candle // 4. Trader Joe’s lotion set // 5. Burt’s Bees lip balm // 6. Swedish dish cloths // 7. Lemon print Swedish dish cloths

I’ve tried to include small businesses when I can, but this post does include some Amazon affiliate links. Seriously fuck Jeff Bezos, but any money I make off links goes to buying cat litter on Prime because that shit is heavy.

Alexandra 11/8/19 Alexandra 11/8/19

What I learned from getting arrested with Jane Fonda

Like so many women, I grew up internalizing other people’s perceptions and opinions of what it meant to be me. Whatever the world decided it thought of me quickly became what I thought of myself — Allie is shy, Allie is a bookworm, Allie does what she’s told and doesn’t rock the boat. And for a long time, that seemed true. I’m a textbook introvert and small talk has never come easily. I’m usually much more comfortable observing than I am participating. I don’t like surprises and I’m not impulsive so I move very slowly, preparing for a long time before I act on anything. I viewed these qualities as character flaws and described them as such — I carried around words such as shy, withdrawn, and quiet as burdens; further proof that I didn’t fit in, that I wasn’t trying hard enough, that I was inherently broken.

I spent so much of my life feeling constrained by the world and the persona it had assigned to me. Recently, while watching the documentary Jane Fonda in Five Acts, I was struck by Fonda’s own realization that “anyone can change and become fierce.” I wondered, “Could that possibly be true?” And then I thought, “Why not?”

For me, change happens slowly, germinating for seconds, minutes, days, or years before finally bubbling up to the surface — often when I least expect it. It’s only in looking in the rearview mirror do I see that it’s been there all along; nothing happens all at once. But after 34 years and two months with nary a parking ticket on my record (I was pulled over once because my car’s window tint was too dark and let go with a warning), something small but fierce finally surfaced. Last Friday, I got arrested for the first time — with Jane Fonda.

Fonda, a life-long activist, moved to Washington D.C. recently and pledged to get arrested every Friday while protesting the fossil fuel industry and advocating for the Green New Deal. She founded Fire Drill Fridays to help organize and mobilize others. Every Thursday she joins experts and other celebrities to discuss a topic related to climate change, live-streaming these ‘teach-ins’ on social media. On Fridays, following a rally on the Southeast lawn of the Capitol, Fonda and friends march to a predetermined location and engage in a bit of light civil disobedience (blocking a street, for example), for which Fonda has indeed been arrested — four times so far in as many weeks.

I’ve been fascinated by Fonda’s life recently and it’s not hard for me to see why. I’m 34, just a few years older than Fonda was when she began her very public — and sometimes painful — transformation from Barbarella to boots-on-the-ground activist. I’m not the first person to feel an existential need for meaning creep into my life in my 30s, and I’m certainly not the last. But recognizing the need is just the first step — lately I have begun to ask myself: but what can I actually do?

Inspired by Fonda’s refusal to live out her remaining years in the comfortable cocoon of celebrity (she will turn 82 in December, by the way), I booked a train ticket to D.C. for October 31. I had considered dressing up as “Jane Fonda getting arrested” for Halloween, but quickly realized that actually getting arrested with Jane Fonda would be a more constructive use of my time and resources. The focus of the November 1 Fire Drill Friday was “women,” a group that is poised to unfairly bear the brunt of climate-related catastrophes, so it was an easy choice. I recruited a friend to join me, and spent an afternoon painting my very first protest sign (this wasn’t my first protest, but I preferred to have my hands free in the past so I could take photos). On one side I wrote, “Destroy the patriarchy, not the planet,” and the other said “Respect your mother,” with a (poorly drawn) image of the Earth standing in for the ‘O’.

Before I left, my mom said to me, “Don’t get arrested!”

Although getting arrested is central to Fonda’s participation in Fire Drill Fridays, I arrived in D.C. with no clear idea of my own intentions. I figured I’d go to the rally and see how I felt. I’m a meticulous planner by nature, so the fact that I had left our itinerary on Friday completely open may have been the first clue that I was ready to do something out of character — for once in my highly-controlled life, I adopted an open-ended, come-what-may attitude, and it felt perfectly natural.

The rally, which began at 11 a.m., started small, but grew to a sizeable crowd. Fonda — looking resplendent and fierce in her now-iconic sweeping red coat — introduced the speakers, which included Eve Ensler, Rosanna Arquette, Catherine Keener, and Emira Woods. I was moved by Woods’s grace and Ensler’s emotional plea (a hard act to follow, Keener nailed it when it was her turn to speak and she looked back at Ensler and said, “Aw man, I was going to say the same thing”). I had come to D.C. to see Fonda, but in the end, it was the powerful words of two poets — Asali DeVan Ecclesiastes and Sunni Patterson — that shook me to my core.

I decided in the middle of Ecclesiastes’s stirring speech that I had no choice. I had to get arrested.

Around noon, a large crowd marched to the lobby of the nearby Hart Senate Building. While we waited in a long line to go through security, a man in a MAGA hat yelled “Hanoi Jane!” and I marveled at Fonda’s courage. It’s been nearly fifty years since Fonda was photographed on an anti-aircraft gun on a trip through North Vietnam — a momentary lapse of judgment that she says she will forever regret — and in spite of the backlash that followed, she’s still here. A lot of people would have retreated from the public eye, but while Mr. MAGA was yelling his outdated (and woefully) ignorant insults, Fonda was already inside giving an impromptu press conference. She was explaining once again exactly why she had moved to D.C., and revealed that her coat — which by now, belongs in the Smithsonian — was not only the last coat that she had pledged to buy (ever!), but the last piece of clothing, period.

We moved as a group to the building’s atrium and sat on the ground around two banners, one of which read, “Women demand no new fossil fuels.” The Capitol police wasted no time in issuing us warnings, and it wasn’t long before the women (and a few men) were arrested one by one. Because of my sign (seen as an instigating influence), I was arrested fairly early. A policeman leaned down and issued me a final warning: “Would you like to move?” he asked. “Otherwise, just so you know, you’ll be arrested.”

“I’m good,” I replied.

My hands were bound behind my back in plastic cuffs (I didn’t know that you can site a physical impairment and request to have them tied in front) and I was led into a plant-filled entryway. I was searched and all of my personal belongings were placed into a plastic bag labeled with my last name. I was photographed with my arresting officer — certain corners of the internet have been clamoring for an updated mugshot from Fonda (her 1970 one is so iconic that it also belongs in the Smithsonian), but I’m not sure where these photos end up. The only tangible proof of my arrest is an 8.5” x 11” arrest report, that plastic bag, and a temporarily black thumb.

We waited while the others were similarly processed; Catherine Keener and Rosanna Arquette asked my name and we chatted like old friends. Keener, a first-time arrestee who knew enough to request that her hands be tied in front, obliged when my friend asked her to scratch an eyebrow itch. We discussed the need for catchier protest chants (let’s be honest, some of them are duds), and then we were led outside into awaiting paddy wagons. Not much scares me, but I’m extremely claustrophobic and I wasn’t too thrilled to be shut into the back of a divided van. Luckily my seat mates were two incredibly kind women who chatted with me and encouraged me to breathe.

The ride was short, and when we arrived at the holding facility — more warehouse than prison — our plastic cuffs were replaced by black zip tie cuffs (everyone’s hands were tied in front and we were told the cuffs are reusable). We were again sorted by arresting officer and told to remain in our assigned seats. Fonda, one of the last to be arrested, was seated two rows and about ten feet away from me. Keener and my friend ended up right behind me.

My first experience with the criminal justice system was eye-opening in a lot of ways, and I’m embarrassed to admit how little I knew (and still don’t know) about my own rights as an American citizen. Getting arrested once by no means makes me an expert, but everyone needs to start somewhere. I was the second-youngest person in the group (the youngest was 30).

The biggest mistake I made was not having the required $50 in cash to pay my bail. Because it was my first offense, I was eligible for what is called a “post and forfeit.” After answering a few questions and paying $50, I would be free to go without any further charges. I had $20 and was assured by several women that it wouldn’t be difficult to crowdsource the remaining $30, but I was mortified. My friend told me later that Keener, who had $100 in cash, had offered to help — “Catherine Keener paid my bail” would have been a good headline — but before I could accept her offer, Codepink’s Jodie Evans generously offered to make up the difference. I vowed to pay it forward as soon as I could and felt embarrassed at both my ignorance and privilege.

Very seldom does one have the choice to be arrested in this country; I thought I knew what I was getting into and yet still didn’t have the requisite cash — what hope was there for the people less fortunate than I, less prepared, less, well, white? 45 people got arrested alongside me and I know that most of them (generous, caring, socially-conscious, middle-class women) would have gladly loaned me the remaining $30. I’m embarrassed and uncomfortable with the knowledge that I have a safety net that so many go through life without, but the first step to changing a mind — or a society — is admitting that there’s a problem. And the existence of cash bail is a huge problem. It’s not just a minor inconvenience — it’s inconceivably inhumane, and disproportionately affects the most vulnerable segments of our population.

This was Fonda’s fourth arrest in a month and she had been warned that she may have to spend the night in custody. She was processed and confirmed this was true by clasping her hands together and tilting her head, miming “sleep.” When it appeared as though she was being escorted out, we began to cheer. “Calm down, I’m just going to take a leak!” she said, laughing.

Fonda did, indeed, end up spending the night in a D.C. holding cell (among the cockroaches, eating a baloney-and-cheese sandwich for dinner and using her coat as a mattress), so she remained seated stoically as the other protestors — including her daughters Vanessa Vadim and Mary “Lulu” Williams — were all processed and released.

“I love you mom! Be good tonight!” Vadim yelled as she walked out the door.

Throughout the entire process, I was consistently surprised at how gently and respectfully we were treated — but I am also acutely aware that’s not always the case. Getting arrested on purpose might seem extreme, but it was an easy decision once it became obvious just how little risk was involved with an 81-year-old, white, celebrity at the helm. I may not be a celebrity or elderly, but I am very, very white and in America especially, that makes all the difference. I risk almost nothing putting my body on the line and with that realization came the urgent need to do just that — for our planet, for the people who cannot (for various reasons) do the same. What’s the point of privilege if you don’t at least try to use it for something constructive? The scales will never balance if those of us with weight — be it wealth, education, race, etc. — don’t actively try to redistribute our good fortune.

Fonda has been accused of “performative activism,” but she knows exactly what she’s doing. She can’t change the fact that she was born to a famous father, but she can (and does) use that fame to call attention to the injustices and inequalities from which she benefits. We may not all be rich or famous, but every single person that has any advantage also has choice. In fact, choice in itself is a privilege and going forward, I choose to at least try — and use whatever privilege I have going forward to amplify the voices of those who are not as fortunate.

The reasons that compelled me to buy that ticket to D.C. no longer matter. What matters is that I decided that only I have the authority to write my narrative. It is up to me from now on how I define myself and what I choose to do with the time and resources I have. Fonda said she realized that if she could change, anyone could and I now know that to be true. There’s nothing more powerful than choosing to be fierce, to stand up for those who can’t, to put your body on the line in whatever way you can. And if you think you might get arrested, don’t forget your bail money.