Extinction On My Mind /9:
The children

I don’t want children to hope for human extinction, I want children to be aware of human extinction

By Randi Hacker

February 13, 2025

So the California wildfires and the enormous amount of anthropogenic toxins they have unleashed remind me that climate change is not the only reason we are headed for extinction.

Ecosystems, both land and marine, have suffered a full-frontal assault, that no amount of fictional faucet-turning or valve-opening could affect. The wide swaths of death and destruction are mind-boggling and, we haven’t yet seen the full extent of what we have wrought.

And make no mistake about it: We have wrought it. That’s what anthropogenic means.

And, with another type of anthropogenic toxin reinstalled in the White House, America’s leadership in the march to extinction is secure.

So, is it time to talk to the children?

My friend, who believes that women and machines will save us recently asked me this: “Do you want children to be taught to hope for human extinction?” And then he went on to say that, based on the thirty years I spent empowering children to save the world, I couldn’t possibly want that.

Do you want children to be taught to hope for human extinction?” And then he went on to say that, based on the thirty years I spent empowering children to save the world, I couldn’t possibly want that.

And he was right: I don’t want children to hope for human extinction.

I want children to be aware of human extinction.

And that’s where it gets tricky.

We don’t want to frighten them too much.

We don’t want to deprive them of their childhood.

We want to protect them.

But protect them from what? Reality?

This doesn’t seem like protection to me; this seems like delusion. And avoidance. And betrayal of trust. Because wouldn’t the best way to protect our children be not to carry on as if a benevolent future were certain but rather to protect them by preparing for a future that is uncertain? What if curriculums offered adaptation classes alongside history and math?

Wouldn’t that be better protection?

Thirty-five years ago, I was one of the publishers of an environmental magazine for children. It was called P3 (that’s Planet Three; that’s Earth, the third planet from the sun). We reported on oil spills and endangered species, the threat to old-growth forests, the ozone layer and the Greenhouse Effect and George Bush’s gas-guzzling cigarette boat. We wrote about the black rain and landfills and the eco-awfulness of plastic toys. Far from being frightened, the children were activated. They wrote letters. Hundreds of them. To presidents, to CEOs, to ministers of the interior in South Asia. Their energy was electric. They were ready to do whatever needed to be done to save our home planet.

‘… wouldn’t the best way to protect our children be not to carry on as if a benevolent future were certain but rather to protect them by preparing for a future that is uncertain? What if curriculums offered adaptation classes alongside history and math?’

For this reason alone, I believe that, if we were to be honest with our children about the uncertain future and tell them that we are all — every single Earthling — navigating and adapting together, they would be all over navigation and adaptation. And they’d be good at it. Soon they’d be teaching us. Possibly in annoying ways.

Let’s also teach them to look around and appreciate our great good fortune to live on a planet where we can watch a bald eagle circling over the school playground, build a fairy palace out of icicles, and smell the bakery before we can even see it.

I don’t think we necessarily have to mention extinction, but if they bring it up, talk about it with them. We might be surprised by their thoughts. In my novella, Ellie talks about extinction with her nine-year-old grandchild.

Today, Ellie is curled up on one side of the sofa. The book on her lap is Merton of the Movies, but she’s not reading it. She’s holding her place with her finger and looking out the porch doors at the darkening sky. There is a tornado watch. The sky is turbulent with layers of shifting greys. Now and then, silent flashes of lightning backlight the clouds.

Rae is curled up on the other side of the sofa reading Mrs. Coverlet’s Magicians. Ellie’s childhood copy, in fact. Fenster perches on Rae’s hip and licks his butt.

Florence Price’s Dances in the Cane Brakes plays on the radio until a weather alert interrupts: the buzzing, the beeps, the odd robot-not-robot voice, which this time, announces that the tornado watch for counties east of the Green Mountains has been upgraded to a tornado warning. Do not drive, says the voice. Winds of up to sixty miles per hour, says the voice. Go to the lowest point in your house, says the voice. Seek shelter now, says the voice. The beeps return and, after them, so does the music.

“Granny?” says Rae.

“Yes, dear?” says Ellie.

“Are we east of the Green Mountains?” says Rae.

“Yes, dear,” says Ellie. Rae flips over to snuggle against Ellie, sending Fenster to the floor. He walks off and flops down under Ellie’s desk.

The rain pelts against the porch doors pointilising the scene beyond. The treetops sway. There is a crack from deep in the woods followed by the leafy swoosh of a tree falling through trees. A small branch flies by followed by a larger branch.

“Granny?” says Rae.

“Yes, dear?” says Ellie.

“What is extinction like?” says Rae.

“Well, I don’t know,” says Ellie. “It’s never happened to me before.”

“Me neither,” says Rae.

They lie quietly, Rae a warm weight on Ellie’s chest.

“Granny,” says Rae.

“Yes, dear,” says Ellie.

“Are you afraid?” says Rae.

“A little,” says Ellie. “Are you?”

“A little,” says Rae.

“What are you afraid of?” asks Ellie.

“I’m afraid it will hurt,” says Rae.

Ellie wraps Rae in her arms. “That’s what I’m afraid of too,” she says into Rae’s hair.

And frankly, that’s what I’m afraid of too.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of WestmountMag.ca or its publishers.

Feature image: Mikhail Nilov – Pexels

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Randi Hacker has been a writer and editor since the 20th century, and she’s been writing about the environment for more than thirty years, mostly to empower young people to take agency in their future. Satirical essays written with a partner appeared in the New York Times Book Review, Punch and Spy, among other publications. Her YA novel, Life As I Knew It, (Simon & Schuster) was named one of the Books for the Teen Age by the NY Public Library, and her TV show, Windy Acres, written with Jay Craven, was nominated for a New England Emmy for Writing. She just retired from her position as the resolutions copy editor for the State of Vermont, a job that has forever damaged her relationship with the comma. randihacker.com