"Environmental warriors."
"Minutemen at Concord Bridge." "Green guerrillas."
These phrases referred to Rainforest Action Network, the nonprofit where I was about to speak. Although RAN is famous for saving endangered forests, the articles I read on that flight reminded me of something I had thought about a half decade earlier and then pretty much forgot. They suggested that RAN can serve as a model for something bigger. These articles, in magazines ranging from the corporate bible, Fortune, to Tricycle: The Buddhist
Review, discussed in detail how volunteers practice freedom of speech through civil
disobedience, street theater, and nonviolent protests. RAN's people march outside the headquarters of corporations, wave placards, and even scale buildings to drape them with banners that highlight the companies' most blatant violations. They buy full-page newspaper ads and write letters to editors. However, they are careful never to harm people or property. And they offer to help executives fashion win-win approaches that benefit all parties. Those successes illustrated that "we the people" can motivate corporations to change. RAN proves that we can bend the will of the mightiest of the mighty. Change can serve corporate self- interests, as well as those of the community at large.
Those articles jarred my recollections of RAN's campaign in the mid-1990s to convince members of the Mitsubishi corporate family, at the time considered the world's most destructive logger of tropical forests, to change their policies. When Mitsubishi's managers rejected RAN's initial overtures and instead refused to negotiate, the endeavor took on a personal element. Mitsubishi officials faced off against RAN's founder and executive director. The exchanges were heated and sometimes personal.
In the end, RAN emerged victorious. On November 12, 1997, Mitsubishi Motor Sales of America and Mitsubishi Electric America signed a historic agreement with RAN that committed the companies to "ecological sustainability and social responsibility"; in addition, they pledged to implement fourteen specific steps aimed at fulfilling this commitment.
Several months after this agreement was reached, I attended a conference on the California coast. I had heard that RAN's founder and executive director, Randy Hayes, would be among the conference's three dozen or so participants. I looked forward to meeting this man who had taken on a monumental challenge and was winning. In my opinion, he was a modern hero whose feet filled tracks put down by Tom Paine, Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King Jr., Cesar Chavez, Rachel Carson, and others who aroused us to change the way we view ourselves and behave toward the world.
The conference center was located high in the hills above the Pacific. I had decided to make a tent my home for the extended weekend, rather than accepting one of the rooms reserved for participants. I pitched my tent in a small field on a steep slope just above a clump of fir trees that hugged the top of the cliff overlook ing the ocean. Although I would have to sleep on an incline, I could open the flap and look down on spectacular views of the rugged coast. Since the day was clear and mild, I did not worry too much about fine-tuning. The tent went up quickly and I lay back to watch the sun creep toward the horizon. The scent of fir mingling with that of the ocean was intoxicating ...
Suddenly I sat up and looked at my watch. I had dozed off for nearly half an hour. I roused myself and headed down to the reception cocktail party, my reluctance to leave this idyllic setting offset by an eagerness to meet RAN's executive director.
I had no idea that Randy's archrival, an executive from Mitsubishi, was at that very moment on his way to the same cocktail party.
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I recognized Randy immediately from the press photos. I introduced myself, expressed my appreciation for his work, and congratulated him on his recent victory. We chatted about my experiences in the Amazon. Then he glanced at the door; a look of surprise crossed his face; he excused himself and strolled over to the man who had just entered. They shook hands, exchanged a few words, and then we all were asked to be seated so the conference could officially begin. The woman sitting at my side whispered that the newcomer was a Mitsubishi executive. After that first greeting, he and Randy seemed to avoid each other.
The next day was intense with group meetings. During dinner I invited Randy to join me for a beer at the hot tub where we could continue the discussion begun the day before. We arrived at the top of the cliff above the Pacific Ocean and headed along a narrow trail. As we approached the tub, we noticed that someone was already in it. The Mitsubishi executive seemed equally shocked to see us. But he recovered quickly, smiled up from the bubbles, and raised his own beer can. "Beautiful sunset," he observed. "Please join me."
I felt rather anxious as we stripped down and stepped into the hot water. Here I was, alone on this mountain, the only person between these two men who until recently had been archrivals. We talked about the events of the afternoon, reviewed conference matters, and discussed other participants who were mutual friends. We studiously shunned any reference to the recent conflict.
The sun dropped into the ocean. The sky went from pink to magenta to purple. We opened another round of beers and clicked our cans together. Randy and I sipped from ours, but our companion continued to hold his high. "I have something important to say to you, Randy."
Randy looked directly at him. I sensed that he, like me, had no idea of what to expect. "I need to thank you," the other continued. "I and a number of Mitsubishi managers wanted to change our policies long before RAN came calling. But we didn't dare confront our board. We were afraid we'd get fired. Your protesters and ads forced the issue. It was tough. You made us all pretty uncomfortable. But, ultimately, you brought us together. Someone pointed out that our responsibilities shouldn't stop with today's stockholders; they should include the stockholders' kids, our kids. RAN gave us an opportunity. We convinced ourselves, our company, to do the right thing." He leaned toward Randy; their cans clicked again; mine joined theirs. "Thank you," he said.
Later that night, a storm moved in off the Pacific. I woke up, listening to the rain hammer my tent and thinking about the evening. The Mitsubishi man's words offered hope. Like me during my days as an EHM, he and his fellow executives had understood what needed to be done to make the world better but they felt trapped in a system that demanded they not listen to their conscience.
I recalled how in my heart I had known that many of my actions were wrong, but things conspired to convince me otherwise. Business schools, international organizations, and revered economists taught that building huge infrastructure projects was essential to development, the
solution to poverty. I was praised for following the formula; I was promoted, given raises, larger staffs, power, sex, corporate stock, a partnership, insurance ... all the things that define success in our society. I was invited to lecture at the world's most prestigious colleges and wined and dined by heads of state.
The Mitsubishi executive had experienced something similar— he and all those other men and women who surrounded him. Their careers were devoted to the bottom line: short- term dollar profits. Promotions, benefits, their children's health care depended on the quarterly income statement. They had been trained to see the world through wine-colored boardroom glasses. Then RAN entered the picture .. .
The wind picked up. Howling at my tent, it seemed to proclaim nature's determination to set things right. The words of an Andean shaman returned to me. "The world doesn't need to be saved," she said. "The world is not in danger. We are. We humans. If we don't change our ways, Mother Earth will shake us off like so many fleas." Now the shaking had begun. This night seemed symbolic of the larger shaking expressed through floods, droughts, rampant epidemics, and melting glaciers.
Suddenly, there was a wrenching sound. Water cascaded through the top of my tent. The rainfly flap had torn loose! I cursed myself for not paying more attention to details when I set it up, then quickly gathered my belongings, flicked on my flashlight, and made a mad dash through the torrential rain into the house where our meetings were conducted.
To my relief I found a couch with a blanket and cushion, as though someone had left it there for me. I removed my sopping clothes, settled in, and fell asleep to the sound of the storm battering against the cliffs below.