Rooting Hope

There was no dramatic turning point that made Wang care about the environment. 

It started quietly. 

Growing up in a small village in Jilin, the freezing breeze of the north filled her childhood with warmth and joy: jumping into snow piles, slipping across ice sheets on frozen rivers, hiding in snow caves. Back then, environmental protection was hardly a topic of discussion. Nature was intertwined with everyday life. 

As she grew up, leaving for work in Shanghai, nature also slipped out of her daily life. Before she realized it, nature had become something that was remembered rather than something lived.

She said: “People often feel that environmental problems are too big for an individual to change.”

Yet her own understanding of climate change changed precisely because it stopped feeling distant. 

As a student, abstract words like “global warming” appeared in her textbooks, along with melting glaciers and the ozone hole. It wasn’t until the devastating Zhengzhou floods, droughts that shrank the Poyang Lake, and increasingly extreme weather across China that climate change no longer felt distant - it felt personal. 

“Those weren’t stories happening somewhere else anymore,” she said. “They were happening in places I’d been.”

For her, the biggest strike came when the thick snow that dressed northeastern China in white each winter had gradually begun to disappear. The snow caves she used to dig and the frozen rivers where children played are becoming increasingly rare. 

“The winters aren’t as cold anymore,” she recalls with pity and sorrow. 

That is when she found herself increasingly drawn to environmental issues. She became an active user of Alipay’s Ant Forest, planting virtual trees that support real-world reforestation projects. 

She came to know about Roots and Shoots activities because of Jane Goodall. 

“I’ve been paying attention to these things for years,” she said.

When she came to Inner Mongolia for volunteering, passion became action. 

Wang volunteering in the forests

“I wanted to know what these projects were really like.”

Her interest was not merely just plants and forests. What fascinated her was everything behind it. 

“Passion is important,” she explained. “But passion alone can’t keep something going. What really matters is having a running system that allows the work to continue.”

Environmental restoration, she believes, isn’t measured in days or even years. A forest planted today may take decades to reveal its full impact. The people who plant it might never enjoy its shade, but someone eventually will. 

Before arriving in Inner Mongolia, she imagined deserts to be low shrubs like saxaul trees, scattered across endless sand. Instead, she found something entirely different. 

“I didn’t expect the trees to be so big.”

Rows of mature trees - some 15 to 20 meters tall - stretched across the landscape. The trees stood like soldiers, in such an orderly, almost architectural form. What surprised her was not simply that large trees existed here, but that the desert could look so beautiful and lively. 

“I thought the sand would always stay the same,” she admitted. “I didn't think it could gradually become stable soil.”

Standing among solid forests that had once been shifting dunes, she no longer felt like environmental restoration was an abstract policy in reports. It became something visible. 

She was aware that as an individual volunteer, she could not transform sand into forests. 

“A single person’s actions probably won’t make an obvious difference.”

She paused before continuing. 

“But if enough people keep doing small things for a long time, then it absolutely will.”

For her, the value of this volunteering extends beyond the plants and trees. 

She found herself sharing the experience with colleagues. Some have become interested in joining. Others have considered bringing their children. 

“I may not have the ability to change the system,” she said, “but maybe I can influence the people around me.”

“ ‘Only if we understand can we care. Only if we care will we help. Only if we help shall all be saved,’  is my favourite quote from Jane Goodall,” she said.  

When asked why so many people are aware of climate change but struggle to act, her answer was simple. 

“The benefits are hard to see.”

Environmental action rarely produces direct benefits for the individual. The payoff may not come for years, perhaps not even within one’s lifetime. 

Our conversation ended abruptly when we arrived at the edge of the forest, where the leaves hummed a deep, assuring rhythm. She looked at the towering trees, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She came to the desert expecting to count plants. Instead, she discovered that environmental change begins with something less visible: the belief that change is possible.