6 years ago I pledged to minimise conference travel and, basically, not to fly. This prompted a productive debate at the time but it quickly petered out. I tended to get the occasional raised eyebrow (or, less frequently, a thumbs up) when I declined invitations for in-person participation and asked to join online. Initially, not flying simply meant missing out. It was frustrating, but understandable.
Then, the pandemic happened and everyone was on ‘no-fly’ mode and just too happy to organise online spaces to have some sense of continuity in intellectual life and belonging to a community of peers in such a topsy-turvy world, but things quickly returned to ‘normal’ once frontiers reopened.
The ‘digital pivot’ did not sufficiently stick and we have been in a ‘hybrid’ space for the last three years or so. In this period, not flying has still meant missing out sometimes, but it has mostly been possible for me to participate in quite a few academic activities from my desk (with different levels of interactive possibility).
Other occasions have required long train journeys instead — which tend to be quite expensive and thus require not only the time commitment (mine, and my better half’s, as the kids need taking care of in the meantime!), but for organisers and funders to be willing to support a commitment not to fly (which is not always the case). Those occasions have been quite joyous and the possibility to see again friends and academic collaborators in person, and to meet new people, felt particularly valuable given the effort and cost that went into making it happen.
All in all, and unless I have (conveniently) forgotten something. I think that, over the past six years, I have only flown to an academic conference or similar event (such as a PhD examination, or a training event building on my academic research) on three occasions (all of them involving short-haul flights). I think it is a track record I can be proud of.
It is however true that, once the first exception was made, it has become increasingly tempting to make further exceptions. In the end, there is always a good reason (to be found) for it and, to be frank, once you make exceptions *for someone*, there are others that take declined invitations less positively. It is very hard to explain the guilt trips that some casual conversations about it can trigger.
It is also true that, perhaps inadvertently or gradually, my own experience of flying to conferences has changed and that breaching my pledge makes me feel bad and now detracts from the joy of academic comradery and intellectual stimulation. As I write this — waiting for a flight to return to the UK from Copenhagen — I feel I cheated myself and others, and this casts a long shadow on the valuable ideas, (re)connections and moments of simple fun I carry back with me.
I can see that I am in a bit of a slippery slope, and I can hear an internal voice expressing its discontent, so I thought this would be a good time to take stock and reflect—and recommit to continuing to minimise conference travel and, where I make an exception (which I will have to in coming months because it has been all too easy to make promises I’ll have to keep), to pack enough in the trip to spread the environmental damage as thinly as possible.
So, if you see me in a place that does not seem easily reachable from Bristol, do me a favour. Let’s please talk about it. If I went the long-way, I hope this will rekindle the productive conversation on trying to ‘make academic knowledge exchange more sustainable’. If I didn’t, please do not hesitate to give me a stern look (you may have anyway), and to ask what I else I am doing while there to justify the damage to the planet. I will appreciate it and it will help keep me in check (or at least honest about not sticking to the pledge).