While getting out of the dining room this afternoon I briefly greeted a Jesuit companion I had not seen for a few days, and this is the exact dialogue that has taken place between us:

I: How are you, John?
John: Very fine. And you, Carlos?
I: Very fine indeed.
John: That makes two of us.

Would it were all of us.

I was in search of a book, and I went to a large bookshop. I knew only the book’s title, neither the name of the author nor the publisher. I went straight to a shop assistant and asked him: “I’m looking for a book of which I know only the title: Wikinomics”. He bolted on hearing the name, went to the upper floor, run through corridors of books at such a speed that I could hardly follow him, stopped before a shelf, lifted his arm, pushed his hand in, took out the book and placed it before my eyes. All in a few seconds. I looked at the book. I looked at him. I smiled. I put out my hand. I told him: “Allow me to stretch the hand of a good professional.” Now it was his turn to smile. I felt like embracing him, but fought shy of it. I admire a good professional. If every person were a good professional, the world would run better.

Sev (Severn) is the daughter of David Suzuki, the Japanese-Canadian ecologist famous for his TV programmes and his projects in Amazonia. When Sev was only 12, her father asked her to speak in the Earth Summit of Rio de Janeiro 1992. He began to give her ideas, but she stopped him: “Dad, I know what I want to say. Mommy will help me write it all down. Only train me a little how to say it.” Her little speech was the most appreciated in the whole summit. I felt touched when reading it. Here it is:

“Hello. I’m Severn Suzuki, speaking for ECO, the Environmental Children’s Organisation.

We are a group of twelve- and thirteen-year olds trying to make a difference – Vanessa, Morgan, Michelle, and me. We raised all the money to come five thousand miles to tell you adults you must change your ways. Coming up here today I am fighting for my future. Losing a future is not like losing an election or a few points on the stock market. I am here to speak for all generations to come; I am here to speak on behalf of the starving children around the world whose cries go unheard; I am here to speak for the countless animals dying across this planet because they have nowhere left to go.

I am afraid to go out in the sun now because of the holes in the ozone; I am afraid to breathe the air because I don’t know what chemicals are in it; I used to go fishing in Vancouver, my hometown, with my dad, until just a few years ago when we found the fish full of cancers; and now we hear about animals and plants going extinct every day – vanishing for ever.

In my time, I have dreamed of seeing the great herds of wild animals, jungles and rain forests full of birds and butterflies, but now I wonder if they will even exist for my children to see. Did you have to worry about these things when you were my age?

All this is happening before our eyes, and yet we act as if we have all the time we want and all the solutions. I’m only a child and I don’t have all the solutions, but I want you to realise, neither do you – you don’t know how to fix the holes in our ozone layer; you don’t know how to bring the salmon back in a dead stream; you don’t know how to bring back an animal now extinct, and you can’t bring back the forests that once grew where there is now a desert – if you don’t know how to fix it, please stop breaking it!

Here you may be delegates of your governments, businesspeople, organisers, reporters or politicians, but really you are mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, and all of you are somebody’s children. I’m only a child yet I know we are part of a family, 5 billion strong; in fact, 30 million species strong, and borders and governments will never change that.

I’m only a child, yet I know we are all in this together and should act as one single world toward one single goal. In my anger I am not blind, and in my fear I’m not afraid to tell the world how I feel. In my country we make so much waste; we buy and throw away, buy and throw away; and yet northern countries will not share with the needy; even when we have more than enough, we are afraid to lose some of our wealth, afraid to let go. In Canada, we live the privileged life with plenty of food, water and shelter; we have watches, bicycles, computers, and television sets.

Two days ago here in Brazil, we were shocked when we spent time with some children living on the streets, and here is what one child told us: ‘I wish I was rich, and if I were, I would give all the street children food, clothes, medicine, shelter, love, and affection.’ If a child on the street who has nothing is willing to share, why are we who have everything still so greedy? I can’t stop thinking that these are children my own age, that it makes a tremendous difference where you are born. I could be one of those children living in the favelas of Río, I could be a child starving in Somalia, a victim of war in the Middle East, or a beggar in India.

I’m only a child yet I know if all the money spent on war was spent on ending poverty, developing projects, and finding environmental answers, what a wonderful place this Earth would be. At school, even in kindergarten, you teach us how to behave in the world – you teach us not to fight with others; to work things out; to respect others; to clean up our mess; not to hurt other creatures; to share, not be greedy. Then why do you go out and do the things you tell us not to do? Do not forget why you are attending these conferences, who you are doing this for – we are your own children.

You are deciding what kind of a world we will grow up in. Parents should be able to comfort their children by saying, ‘Everything’s going to be all right’, ‘We’re doing the best we can’, and ‘It’s not the end of the world.’ But I don’t think you can say that to us anymore.

Are we even on your list of priorities? My dad always says, ‘You are what you do, not what you say’. Well, what you do makes me cry at night. You grown-ups say you love us, but I challenge you, please make your actions reflect your words.

Thank you.”

When Sev left the stage in the midst of a standing ovation by the whole audience, she went straight to her mother and asked her, “Mommy, could you hear my heart beating?”

(David Suzuki, The Autobiography, Allen & Unwin, Australia 2006, p. 281)

Sev’s father tells this story about his immigration in Canada. “Two Japanese immigrants arrive in Canada on a Sunday and take a stroll together along the street. One of them looks down and spots a twenty-dollar bill, which he bends to pick up. He’s stopped by his friend, who tells him, ‘Leave it there; we’ll start work tomorrow’.”  (p. 4)