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Environmentalism at Harvard has not set the loftiest goals. To be sure, it is encouraging to see reusable travel mugs distributed at the Green Fair, free LEDs offered by the Resource Efficiency Program, and compostable cups at Annenberg. But the real environmental problem is one of consumption, and introducing more products isn’t going to solve it.

The fact is, we consume too much — too much food, too much clothing, too much water, too much energy, too much plastic. Far too much. Everything we buy at the store is the product of outrageous industrial pollution, and it comes wrapped in several ounces of plastic to boot. Five Earths would be needed to support a world population composed of typical Americans. The modern Western lifestyle is wasteful and polluting and materialistic to an almost unimaginable extent.

Why should we (as the beneficiaries of such luxury) care? For one thing, consumerism stems from unhealthy psychology. Billions of advertising dollars are spent every year to make us desire products we don’t need, products that are not good for us, products that make us yet more dissatisfied. Being unconcerned with the psychological manipulation around us leaves our minds and money at the mercy of well-funded corporations.

But even if consumerism itself were healthy, it comes at a devastating cost. The level of habitat destruction and human ecological interference driven by industrial interests has torn apart beautiful and priceless regions of the planet. The American market for palm oil — contained in most of the processed food we eat — has resulted in the decimation and almost inevitable annihilation of the Sumatran rainforests, for example. Our purchases are literally paying for this destruction.

Industrial activity has altered the large-scale chemistry of the planet — scientists observe acidification of the oceans, bleaching of coral reefs, and eutrophication of lakes and rivers. The Western lifestyle is poisoning the world, and reusable water bottles are not going to set things right.

As an institution responsible for feeding and housing thousands of young individuals, Harvard has the potential to make serious and substantial environmental advances. But providing compostable dishware for outdoor meals simply isn’t taking full advantage of this opportunity.

The only real contribution Harvard can make to solving the problem is a sharp and sizable decrease in the number of products and resources that the University uses. Among the policies which Harvard has adopted, most deal with issues peripheral to consumption — making sure much of our exorbitant waste is recycled, for example. These sorts of efforts are plentiful around campus and are important in a limited way, but they distract from the bigger and more serious problem at hand: Harvard students, like most people in America, consume far too much.

There’s a simple reason for the shortage of large-scale impact. Any policy bound to make a serious dent in our consumption would be uncomfortable and wildly unpopular — removing meat from the dining halls, say, or forcing restrictions on water and energy use. Attacking the problem at its source is not an easy thing to do. It would be immensely difficult to garner student support for a policy penalizing food waste, for example. (It must be said, Harvard’s approach to air-conditioning in the dorms is one way in which the University has made a serious impact, intentionally or not. Needless to say, this was not popular during the heat waves accompanying Opening Days.)

Even if this weren’t the case, environmental student groups are often pitted against other groups on campus in their efforts to introduce change. Calls to limit plastic use come alongside advertisements for plans providing plastic water bottles every month, for example.

Almost all of these groups undoubtedly have good intentions, but the lack of consistent environmental messages from Harvard as a whole is damaging. In order to introduce effective change, there ought to be much more of a concerted campus effort.

It would require a massive cultural shift to begin solving these global problems, and — realistically — this is not likely to happen at Harvard anytime soon. But if one thing is clear, we can set higher standards than we have. If we don’t take up the challenge, there is no second chance.

Philip C. LaPorte ’22, a Crimson Editorial comper, lives in Apley Court.