Unbowed: A Memoir (Vintage)

by Maathai, Wangari

  There was an electric atmosphere as the country anticipated the end of repression and looked forward to the beginning of a new era. This spirit was captured at Uhuru Park—the scene of so many of my struggles—where tens of thousands of citizens celebrated, sang, and danced in jubilation as KANU fell. On December 30, people climbed trees, leaned out of office buildings, and packed the park to watch President Moi handing over the instruments of power to the newly elected President Kibaki. It was a moment for which people had been waiting for decades, and no words can describe how wonderful it felt. It was a moment of great pride for all Kenyans, leaders and citizens alike.

  I stood on the platform only a few yards from the presidents. President Kibaki had been seriously injured in a car crash only a few weeks before, and I could see how his physical pain mixed with joy as he fulfilled his lifelong dream to be president. I was overwhelmed. The day we had fought for over many years had finally arrived. It was as if we had finally crossed the deep and seemingly endless valley and were approaching the summit of the ridge.

  Even as I savored the peaceful exchange of power, in the back of my mind lingered the knowledge of the many challenges that awaited Kenya. The years of misrule, corruption, violence, environmental mismanagement, and oppression had devastated our country. The economy was in ruins and many institutions needed rebuilding. But on that day, the future looked bright—not only for me, but for the whole country. A few weeks later, in January 2003, I was appointed assistant minister in the Ministry for Environment and Natural Resources.

  Democracy does not solve problems. It does not automatically combat poverty or stop deforestation. However, without it, the ability for people to solve problems or become less poor or respect their environment is, I believe, impossible. Government itself is about compromise and consensus and I know that, since those heady days of December 2002, the sometimes slow pace of change has frustrated people. They look at me and see someone who now has a degree of power and they do not understand that that power is bound by the constraints of governance. However, I do feel that it is better to try to bring about some change from the inside than hammer in vain on the doors from the outside. It is a start; only a beginning.

  What I have learned over the years is that we must be patient, persistent, and committed. When we are planting trees sometimes people will say to me, “I don't want to plant this tree, because it will not grow fast enough.” I have to keep reminding them that the trees they are cutting today were not planted by them, but by those who came before. So they must plant the trees that will benefit communities in the future. I remind them that like a seedling, with sun, good soil, and abundant rain, the roots of our future will bury themselves in the ground and a canopy of hope will reach into the sky.

  I am one of the lucky ones who lived to see a new beginning for my country. Others were not so fortunate. But I have always believed that, no matter how dark the cloud, there is always a thin, silver lining, and that is what we must look for. The silver lining will come, if not to us then to the next generation or the generation after that. And maybe with that generation the lining will no longer be thin.

  EPILOGUE

  Canopy of Hope

  On the morning of October 8, 2004, I was on my way from Nairobi to my parliamentary constituency, Tetu, for a meeting when my cell phone rang. I moved closer to the window of the van I was traveling in so I could hear better amid the static and the bumps on the road. It was the Norwegian ambassador, asking me to keep the line clear for a phone call from Oslo. After some time, it came. It was Ole Danbolt Mjos, chair of the Norwegian Nobel Committee. His gentle voice came through clearly, “Is this Wangari Maathai?” he inquired.

  While I receive calls from all over the world, I may not catch the name of the caller or recognize their voice until the reason for the call has been explained. So I paid attention to the caller for the message. “Yes,” I said drawing the phone closer to my ear. He gave me the news. It left me speechless.

  I was not prepared to learn that I had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize; I wonder whether anybody ever is. The news hit me like a thunderbolt. How was I supposed to handle it? How did this happen? How did they find such a person as me? I could hardly believe it.

  It was clear now why the Norwegian ambassador had called. “I am being informed that I have won the Nobel Peace Prize,” I announced to myself and those around me in the car with a smile as I pulled the cell phone away from my ear and reconnected with my fellow passengers. They knew it was not a joke because happiness was written all over my face. But at the same time, tears streamed from my eyes and onto my cheeks as I turned to them. They, too, were by now smiling broadly, some cheering loudly and hugging me as if to both comfort and congratulate me, letting my tears fall on their warm shoulders and hiding my face from some of my staff, whom they felt shouldn't see me cry. But these were tears of great joy at an extraordinary moment!

  I thought of the long journey to this time and place. My mind went back and forth over all the difficult years and great effort when I often felt I was involved in a lonely, futile struggle. I didn't know that so many people were listening and that such a moment would come. Meanwhile, the car rambled on to Nyeri's Outspan Hotel, where I often take a break before continuing to my rural Tetu constituency.

  The news spread so fast that some journalists were already at the hotel waiting to record my arrival and hold interviews. They too were ecstatic and eager to hear my reaction. As I tried to answer their questions, I received what seemed like an endless series of calls from other journalists on my cell phone from all over the world. So numerous were the telephone calls that it became necessary to use every mobile phone at hand to respond to them. There was an instant media frenzy and I was right in the middle of it. I was completely unprepared for such media attention!

  The news spread quickly throughout the hotel and among the guests. The manager and his senior staff were quick to come out to congratulate me. Then the enterprising manager responded to a request to provide a tree seedling and a shovel so that I could celebrate the best way I know how: by planting a tree.

  A member of the hotel staff quickly dug a hole as a small crowd of onlookers and journalists gathered to witness and record the planting of a Nandi flame tree. Surrounded by the local and international press, the hotel guests, and workers, I prepared to plant this hardy tree seedling along the edge of the green yard, overlooking the imposing Mt. Kenya to the distant north. I kneeled down, put my hands in the red soil, warm from the sun, settled the tree seedling in the ground. They handed me a bucket of clean water and I watered the tree.

  I faced Mt. Kenya, the source of inspiration for me throughout my life, as well as for generations of people before me. I reflected on how appropriate it was that I should be at this place at this time and celebrating the historic news facing this mountain. The mountain is known to be rather shy, the summit often cloaked by a veil of clouds. It was hidden that day. Although around me the sun was bright and strong, the mountain was hiding. As I searched for her with my eyes and heart, I recalled the many times I have worried whether she will survive the harm we are doing to her. As I continued to search for her, I believed that the mountain was celebrating with me: The Nobel Committee had also heard the voice of nature, and in a very special way. As I gazed at her, I felt that the mountain too was probably weeping with joy, and hiding her tears behind a veil of white clouds. At that moment I felt I stood on sacred ground.

  Trees have been an essential part of my life and have provided me with many lessons. Trees are living symbols of peace and hope. A tree has roots in the soil yet reaches to the sky. It tells us that in order to aspire we need to be grounded, and that no matter how high we go it is from our roots that we draw sustenance. It is a reminder to all of us who have had success that we cannot forget where we came from. It signifies that no matter how powerful we become in government or how many awards we receive, our power and strength and our ability to reach our goals depend on the people, those
whose work remains unseen, who are the soil out of which we grow, the shoulders on which we stand.

  The Nobel Peace Prize has presented me with extraordinary opportunities. As I travel, both at home and abroad, the biggest challenge continues to be the capacity to respond to countless requests to visit and see, celebrate, encourage, and empower the huge constituency that felt honored by the prize: the environmental movement, those who work on women's and gender issues, human rights advocates, those advocating for good governance, and peace movements. There continues to be lot of interest among government leaders, academic institutions, development agencies, the corporate sector, and the media.

  This interest was partly due to the connection the Norwegian

  Nobel Committee made between peace, sustainable management of resources, and good governance. This was the first time such a linkage had been forged by the Nobel Committee and it was the first time that the committee had decided to recognize its importance by awarding the Nobel Peace Prize to somebody who had worked in these areas for over three decades. As we had said for many years, humanity needs to rethink peace and security and work toward cultures of peace by governing itself more democratically, respecting the rule of law and human rights, deliberately and consciously promoting justice and equity, and managing resources more responsibly and accountably—not only for the present but also for the future generations.

  In trying to explain this linkage, I was inspired by a traditional African stool that has three legs and a basin to sit on. To me, the three legs represent three critical pillars of just and stable societies. The first leg stands for democratic space, where rights are respected, whether they are human rights, women's rights, children's rights, or environmental rights. The second represents sustainable and equitable management of resources. And the third stands for cultures of peace that are deliberately cultivated within communities and nations. The basin, or seat, represents society and its prospects for development. Unless all three legs are in place, supporting the seat, no society can thrive. Neither can its citizens develop their skills and creativity. When one leg is missing, the seat is unstable; when two legs are missing, it is impossible to keep any state alive; and when no legs are available, the state is as good as a failed state. No development can take place in such a state either. Instead, conflict ensues.

  These issues of good governance, respect for human rights, equity, and peace are of particular concern in Africa—a continent that is so rich in resources and yet has been so ravaged by war. The big question is, Who will access the resources? Who will be excluded? Can the minority have a say, even if the majority have their way?

  Fortunately, new leadership is emerging in Africa and, with it, new opportunities and commitments. Such leadership should be encouraged and challenged to stay on course. This is why I agreed to become a goodwill ambassador for an initiative aimed at protecting the world's second “lung,” the Congo Basin Forest Ecosystem. Thankfully, the nations of central Africa came together to see how we can ensure the survival of this vital resource. I am also the presiding officer of the African Union's Economic, Social and Cultural Council (ECOSOCC), which is working to bring the energy and ideas of civil society organizations throughout the continent to Africa's leaders in a common forum. This would give civil society and the voice of the African people an opportunity to be listened to and advise the African leadership. It is a great vision by the African Union and demonstrates the importance of respecting the voices of the people in whose name leaders govern and chart the future of Africa.

  As women and men continue this work of clothing this naked Earth, we are in the company of many others throughout the world who care deeply for this blue planet. We have nowhere else to go. Those of us who witness the degraded state of the environment and the suffering that comes with it cannot afford to be complacent. We continue to be restless. If we really carry the burden, we are driven to action. We cannot tire or give up. We owe it to the present and future generations of all species to rise up and walk

  AFTERWORD TO

  THE ANCHOR BOOKS EDITION

  Since the afternoon in December 2004 when I stood in Oslo's City Hall to receive the Nobel Peace Prize medal and diploma, I've continued to spread the message I believe the Norwegian Nobel Committee gave to the world in awarding me the prize: that there are vital connections among peace, democracy, and good management of the environment. I have been honored to meet so many extraordinary people making great efforts for peace and reconciliation, environmental conservation, and individual empowerment. From the Clinton Global Initiative in New York City to the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, from the World Social Forum in Nairobi to gatherings of government leaders and leaders of civil society in Europe, Japan, Brazil, South Korea, India, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and many other places, I have learned from, listened to, and shared information and aspirations with people of goodwill from all walks of life endeavoring to make the world a better place.

  I've also been deeply touched by the responses of so many people—especially the young—to that message and the story I tell in this book. It has been immensely gratifying to hear how they have been inspired to make a commitment to improve the world around them and to work for the uplift of their communities. For instance, I recently traveled twelve hours by plane to Brunei to speak to teenagers at the International School of Brunei's global issues conference. I decided it was important to address the students because not only did they come from all over the world—although many were Southeast Asian—but they were attending a conference on the “Heart of Borneo,” one of the few large pristine forests left in the world. The island of Borneo is shared by the countries of Brunei, Malaysia, and Indonesia, which are cooperating through the “Heart of Borneo” initiative to protect one third of the island (which is one of the most biologically diverse places on the planet). I was impressed that the students at the conference had decided to plant one million trees to conserve the forest and address climate change. It was wonderful to see this level of commitment from both citizens— particularly youth—and governments.

  Other young people I've met in many universities and colleges are changing their lives in small and big ways. After the many lectures I've given at various institutions these last few years, students have told me, “From now on I'm going to use both sides of the paper and try to use recycled paper” when they write or print documents, as I have suggested. A Kenyan radio station has broadcast a book discussion about Unbowed, and read the book, word for word in Kikuyu, to an attentive audience. This has generated much interest among people and provided a platform for them to ask questions and talk about the issues. In turn, their enthusiasm has encouraged me to seek translations in other local languages, such as Kiswahili and Kamba, so that the messages in the book can be more widely disseminated. A number of young people who've heard the stories on the radio that you've just read have come up to me and told me the events in the book moved them to tears and made them want to commit to doing something meaningful with their own lives. What I think they relate to is my early life. I didn't come from a privileged background, which can propel people to fame and a place of honor. This helps them see that they can be achievers, too. I encourage them; in turn, I am very encouraged that these young people can listen and choose to act on their own behalf to help lift up their communities and improve the world around them.

  Since 2004 and indeed in the course of sharing Unbowed, I've enjoyed meeting old friends once again. In October 2006, we launched the international edition of Unbowed in Nyeri, in the shadow of Mount Kenya. It was wonderful to share that day with my cousin Jono, who as a young boy had shown me how to write and rub, and my aunt Nyakweya, the storyteller of my childhood. I couldn't imagine two better people to help us celebrate the publication of something that required so much writing, rubbing out, and storytelling! In January 2007, I returned to Mount St. Scholastica (now Benedictine College), and was overjoyed to gather with many of my old classmates, including Florence
(Conrad) Salisbury and her mother, who had taken such good care of me in Atchison, Kansas, all those years ago. Just a few weeks later in London, I met up with Doris (Wanjira) Coffey. While writing the book, I couldn't remember the name of “the girl who ate fire.” But upon reading Unbowed, Doris recognized herself and let me know that she was the girl who had been chastised by Sister Christiania when we were students at St. Cecilia's. We laughed and cried tears of joy as we shared our memories of more than half a century ago.

  I've also had the opportunity to travel to Japan a number of times and have had a wonderful interaction with the Japanese people. I and others had the idea of a mottainai campaign for protection of the environment and it has taken off in a big way. The word mottainai in Japanese comes from a Buddhist concept of being grateful for resources and not wasting them. The campaign encourages all members of society to reduce, reuse, and recycle (the three Rs). I'm overjoyed at the enthusiasm with which the Japanese people have embraced the concept and the campaign. As an example of this, I received a letter from a Japanese teenager. She'd taken the trouble to write and tell me about her initiative. When she learned of the mottainai campaign she decided she would no longer throw away her chopsticks, but instead recycle them. It was a small gesture, but it was hers. This was one person, an adolescent, taking action; doing the doable. That, to me, is an inspiration.