It begins as a flicker, a quiet, persistent unease ignited by news of wildfires, floods, and melting glaciers. For some, this unease grows into a blazing anger, an emotion that psychologists are increasingly identifying as a central response to the climate crisis. This anger has a name, a term coined by Australian researcher Glenn A.Albrecht, terrafurie, to describe the intense anger people feel when they recognize humanity’s role in destroying nature and are left to grapple with the irreversible consequences.
Anger is an uncomfortable, even unfashionable emotion in many circles, often dismissed as irrational or unproductive. However, when it comes to the climate crisis, anger might be exactly what we need. It’s a visceral acknowledgment that something precious is being lost, not just for future generations but in real time, today. Forests that have stood for centuries are reduced to ash. Oceans teem with plastic. Species vanish forever. Terrafurie is a sibling of grief, but where grief can paralyze, anger demands action.
This emotion is not confined to environmental activists or scientists. Increasingly, terrafurie touches ordinary people as they witness record-breaking heat waves, rising seas, and unbreathable air. It’s found in the anger of parents worrying about the world their children will inherit, farmers watching drought shrivel their crops, and coastal communities seeing their homes engulfed by the sea. Unlike passive despair, this anger burns intensely, and the hope is, it will compel people to act, to march, petition, and hold the right people accountable.
Anger also has its complications. Directed inward, it can spiral into guilt, a gnawing sense of complicity in a system of overconsumption and fossil fuel dependence. “How could we let it get this bad?” becomes the tormenting refrain. Directed outward, it risks consuming the relationships and institutions we need to build solutions. The lingering question remains, how do you channel terrafurie when confronted with climate denial, a force as infuriating as the crisis itself?
The anger toward climate denial is particularly potent because it represents a willful refusal to acknowledge the truth. Deniers often downplay evidence, distort facts, or sow doubt, even as hurricanes batter coastlines and ice caps vanish. It’s a deflection of responsibility that feels both morally bankrupt and deeply personal. Terrafurie, in this context, can feel like shouting into the void, a justified but exhausting battle against a wall of indifference.
Yet anger, when harnessed correctly, can be a catalyst. History shows us that righteous anger has driven change, from civil rights movements to labor strikes. The key is to channel terrafurie into collective action rather than allowing it to fester into nihilism or burnout. This might mean joining local environmental groups, lobbying for systemic change, or even creating art that captures the urgency of the moment. Anger, like all other strong emotions, is energy. It is up to us to decide where to direct it.
Terrafurie is a reminder that anger is not weakness but a reflection of care, a fierce, unyielding love for the planet we call home. And in a world teetering on the brink, that love might be our greatest source of strength.
