Dear You! To those who came before us!
I don't hate you. That would require a kind of energy I no longer have, because the summers here take most of it. I want you to know that first. I read somewhere that you debated, endlessly, whether the crisis was real. We find that detail extraordinary now, the way you might have found it extraordinary if someone had debated whether fire was hot while standing in one.
You held every vote, every treaty, every dollar, every patent on every clean technology. You were the only people in history who could have changed the outcome. And you were also, somehow, the only generation who did not have to live inside it."
I was born into a bargain I never agreed to. Not a social contract, a social debt. You borrowed against the atmosphere, against the aquifers, against the coral, against the soil. And you did it with the full knowledge that the creditors would not be yourselves. That distinction is not small. It is, I think, the defining moral fact of the era you named "modern."
Yours,
A child of the Anthropocene
Imagine you are a young GenZ/Alpha adult entering the second half of your 20s. If you already are in your 20s, then you shall spare that Energy for the next set of Imagination that will follow aforementioned imagination or reality. Imagine yourself having a child of your own or you adopted one because you felt ‘Hey! there’s too many of us modern apes loitering around’. Now Imagine this child of yours was writing back a letter to you from 2045. Reminds me of the Sci-Fi movie ‘Back to the Future’, but that’s not relevant in our context here. What type of emotion might the child be holding towards us in that letter? Would that be of love? Or would that be of distraut? Of contempt, perhaps?
The representation gap at the bargaining table
The most diabolical aspect of climate change is that it forces us to make decisions that primarily affect individuals who have no voice in the process. In standard bargaining models, cooperation is often sustained through reciprocity, the idea that "if I help you now, you can help or punish me later". However, the intergenerational problem lacks this reciprocity because future victims cannot represent themselves at the table. We have the power to impose immense costs on future generations, but they have no way to reward our restraint or retaliate against our negligence
The moral failure of standard economic tools
Our current theoretical tools often fail to capture the ethical reality of this situation:
Discounting: Standard economic models use a "discount rate" (often around 5%) to determine the present value of future costs and benefits.[1] Gardiner argues this is fraught with difficulty; a 5% rate can essentially reduce the calculated value of the entire global economic output 200 years from now to just a few hundred thousand dollars in today's terms. [1] This mathematically undervalues the lives and well-being of future generations.[1]
Ignore Fairness: Models like the Tragedy of the Commons often focus strictly on future costs and benefits, ignoring the historical responsibility of wealthy nations that built their prosperity on past emissions.[1]
Moral Corruption: Gardiner warns that these theoretical inadequacies lead us into a state of moral corruption.[1] We become susceptible to "weak or deceptive arguments" that justify our own self-interest at the expense of those yet to be born.[1]
Breaking the cycle of inaction
To you! whoever you become ! You don't exist yet. Not fully. You are, right now, more of a decision than a person but a question I ask myself on quiet evenings, about whether it is brave or careless to want you. I have not resolved that question. I'm not sure I'm supposed to.
I'm writing this in 2026, which is a year that will look, from where you're standing, like a year we should have known better. And I want to tell you, we did. That's the part that will be hardest to explain and easiest to condemn. We knew. The data was not hidden. The models were not secret. The scientists were not quiet. We simply lived inside a system so total, so all-surrounding, that knowing and changing felt like two different languages spoken by two different species.
I am not asking you to forgive me. Forgiveness is something you offer when someone makes a mistake. What we did was more complicated than a mistake. It was a thousand small choices, each one defensible in isolation, that accumulated into something none of us individually chose but all of us collectively built.
I drove a car today. I took a flight last year to see your grandparents because life is short and I love them and the ticket was affordable in ways that had nothing to do with what it actually cost the sky. I recycled, because it made me feel like I was doing something, even on the days I understood it was not enough, that the arithmetic of individual virtue was never going to close the gap between what we were doing and what we needed to do. I knew this. I did it anyway.
I voted. I marched, once, maybe twice. I signed things. I felt the grief of it genuinely, in my chest, on certain evenings when the news was particularly clear about what was coming. And then I made dinner, and I went to sleep, and I woke up and I went to work, because that is what living inside an ongoing catastrophe looks like from the inside. It does not look like a catastrophe. It looks like Tuesday. And it’s sunny outside. I may finally take that vacation to Italy that I have been postponing for a year now.