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A fossil-fuel company signed the checks that paid Jody MacPherson’s dad’s salary … and then her own. Today, she covers environmental issues as a freelance reporter. Here’s how she made the shift.
From space, you can see the scale of the devastation caused by extracting oil from the bituminous sand near Fort McMurray in northern Alberta, Canada. At ground level, it’s easy to lose sight of the big picture. When thousands of workers began arriving in the 1970s, it seemed like an opportunity for a better future. We didn’t know about climate change back then.
That’s not meant as an excuse, but it may illuminate my father’s reasons for uprooting our family to go and join those workers in northern Alberta, because overnight, we went from a life of barely scraping by to “the sky’s the limit.” I was a pre-teen who believed my parents when they said, “we’ll only be here for a couple of years.” My father ended up working at an oil sands plant for nearly a decade. I grew up, got married, gave birth to my first child at the Fort McMurray Regional Hospital, and then, after a six-month maternity leave, returned to my job in public relations for one of the largest oil sands companies in the area.
Trained in university as a journalist, and still living in Fort McMurray, I had been working as a reporter for the local weekly newspaper, not even making enough to pay the bills. I jumped at the chance to work in public relations at one of the oil sands companies. My husband was still finishing up his university degree. We needed the money. The newspaper publisher teased me about “going over to the dark side.”
Fast forward another decade or so, and I was still working in the fossil fuel sector. Like my parents, I had stayed longer than I’d planned. I had moved to Okotoks, a small town south of Calgary, but I was still working for companies operating in Fort McMurray. I had built a lucrative consulting practice, working mostly from home, and had two school-aged children. On the surface, it seemed like we had it all — we were coaching both kids in soccer, we spent family vacations camping in British Columbia, and we did plenty of socializing with friends. My husband and I were building a new home on an acre of land, custom-designing the house for sustainability.
But all was not well with me. I took a six-month break from consulting to try and write my way out of what was becoming a dark depression. I felt an inexplicable emptiness. My mom commented that I seemed “like a ghost” of myself.
Then, in 2006, I saw the documentary “An Inconvenient Truth.” I sat in the local theatre, spellbound and horrified. I felt like a fraud. I knew I was not living up to my own values. My time in Fort McMurray working for and with fossil fuel companies provided me with firsthand knowledge of what the industry was denying and suppressing. I’d brushed my feelings aside. I couldn’t do that any longer. I resolved to make major changes in my life.
Trained in university as a journalist, I was working my first job as a reporter for the local weekly newspaper, not even making enough to pay the bills. I jumped at the chance to work in public relations at one of the oil sands companies. The newspaper publisher teased me about ‘going over to the dark side.'
Untangling from the industry began with terminating my contract with my biggest client, an oil sands company. I got deeply involved in various local issues, joining a small group of activists working to convince the town council not to reverse course on its sustainability commitments. Our cause grew into an even bigger campaign involving other nearby rural communities. At one point, we filled the town’s hockey arena with people rallying in support of sustainability for the whole region surrounding Calgary to the south and west.
I got involved in local elections, helping one former town councillor, Laurie Hodson, to come out of retirement and win back his seat on the Okotoks town council. One of the area’s original proponents of sustainability, Laurie introduced me to the concept of building better — but not necessarily bigger — communities. Helping his campaign with communications and social media strategy became almost a full-time job. That election year, at least four sustainability-minded candidates were elected. It felt like we were making a real difference.
But my activism took a toll on my marriage. My husband and I found that our priorities and values were at odds. We separated in 2009, and I faced a much different future than I had imagined. To provide some stability, I traded my consulting work for a full-time job as an e-communications manager for the provincial health agency in Calgary.
I thought I could try to change things from the inside. I continued to be active politically, which was a delicate balancing act. I started volunteering with provincial parties and providing social media advice to candidates, even appearing as a social media expert on CBC TV’s election night coverage in 2012.
After my marital separation, I moved to Calgary, where I worked first for the University of Calgary, and then for the city. In 2021, when a newly elected Calgary mayor, Jyoti Gondek, declared a climate emergency, it was a big shock in a province known mostly for its oil and gas industry and conservative voting patterns. The planning and development department was given the responsibility of implementing an ambitious climate plan. I knew they needed help on the web. I was excited for my team to tackle this challenge.
It didn’t take long for my high hopes to run headlong into bureaucratic reality. Too many people — even well-intentioned colleagues — were too afraid of change to let it happen easily, if at all. A few years into the plan, I was nearing retirement, and I had a decision to make: continue working in a local government that was making top-down decisions that inevitably met with resistance, or take another leap into the unknown.
In 2021, I became a grandmother, reminding me why this work is so important. Doing my part to build a better future for my grandson is the least I can do.
I decided on the latter. I’ve learned to listen to my inner voice when it tells me something is no longer right for me. Luckily, I had some retirement savings and had already downsized my living arrangements. I had moved downtown, where I could walk, bike, or take transit anywhere I needed to go.
In late 2024, I returned to the profession where I’d started — journalism.
My freelance reporting focuses on the environment. I’ve had a blog for decades, and recently started a Substack. I support various causes via social media, photography, and by protesting in person. My activism has grown louder, and I highly recommend on-the-ground experience in civil disobedience to stand up for your rights. I believe it is my responsibility as a citizen to show up not only online but also in person to defend the values I believe in. I have a bullhorn at the ready in my coat closet. Really!
My family supports my work and my activism, and in 2021, I became a grandmother, reminding me why this work is so important. Doing my part to build a better future for my grandson is the least I can do.
Over my long career, I’ve both abruptly quit things that didn’t match my values, and also quietly planned a gradual exit when that was more practical. Both are good. You will know when your work conflicts your values. Don't dismiss your concerns or let others dismiss them. There were times when people told me to “just settle” and let things be. But every time I didn't just settle, I always felt much better for it.
