Loris Koch

Last week, I sat in the kitchen with my parents, arguing again. My mom was stirring a pot of something that smelled like cheese and garlic, and my dad was looking at me over the rim of his glasses, his face lined with worry. I’ve heard it a thousand times. To them, I'm just a stubborn 19-year-old who thinks he can change the world by blocking traffic.

"You can't keep doing this," my dad said, setting down his newspaper. "It's not a career, it's not a future."

They don't understand why I choose to spend my time this way. They say I'm wasting my life. But for me, it’s not a waste. I’m doing something that feels important, something that might just matter. I’m from Zurich, Switzerland, and every time I walk through these streets, I see a city full of people who refuse to acknowledge what’s happening.

Last month, during one of our road blockades, a man in a suit spat at me. I remember the anger in his eyes as he yelled, “You think this is going to change anything?” His words stung, but his reaction wasn’t surprising. Most drivers are like that—impatient, annoyed, like we’re the ones ruining their day instead of trying to save the planet.

I walked back to my room after the argument with my parents, staring at the posters on my wall—glaciers melting, forests burning. How can they think about university when everything is falling apart?

I know they think I'm ruining my future, but what future are they talking about? One where it's 40 degrees every summer? One where entire species are wiped out? No, I’m not the one who’s blind to the future. It’s everyone else, clinging to their routines, pretending like nothing’s wrong.

We’re at a tipping point, and if my actions can make even a small difference, then it’s worth all the shouting, all the spit. I can’t go to university like nothing is happening. Not when there’s so much at stake.