Greenpeace origins: the Vancouver voyage that sparked a global environmental movement
- Editorial
- 23 hours ago
- 5 min read
In my mind, Greenpeace does not begin with a polished logo or a headquarters in Amsterdam. It begins with borrowed tables in Vancouver, paper cups of coffee, and an idea that felt both naïve and daring: if governments were going to detonate a nuclear device in a remote corner of the North Pacific, someone had to be there to witness it, and make the world watch.
That instinct mattered. In the early 1970s, the public often learned about nuclear tests, toxic pollution, or wildlife destruction only after decisions were already made. Greenpeace’s founding promise was different: show up in real time, place human bodies and cameras where power preferred silence, and turn distant policy into a moral question people could not ignore.
The story starts in 1970 in Vancouver, British Columbia, with a small group that originally called itself the Don’t Make a Wave Committee. Their purpose was specific: protest a planned United States nuclear test at Amchitka, an island in Alaska’s Aleutians.
Greenpeace’s own historical accounts emphasise that it was not a single heroic founder, but a cluster of people whose convictions aligned. Names repeatedly associated with that founding circle include Dorothy and Irving Stowe, Marie and Jim Bohlen, Ben and Dorothy Metcalfe, and journalist Bob Hunter.
What they had was clarity, not infrastructure. No major donors. No institutional backing. Not even a suitable vessel. What they did have was a strategy that now feels obvious but was still unusual: sail into the story. Go to the test zone, create public attention through peaceful presence, and force the issue onto front pages and television screens.
But ideas require fuel, literally. So the movement’s earliest success was not only political; it was practical. Money had to be raised quickly, locally, and credibly. One of the pivotal moments came on 16 October 1970, when Irving Stowe helped organise a benefit concert at the Pacific Coliseum in Vancouver. The line-up included major artists of the era, a sign that the campaign had cultural momentum as well as moral urgency. The proceeds helped fund what would become the organisation’s defining early action: a voyage towards Amchitka.
That fundraising detail is important because it explains Greenpeace’s DNA. This was not an initiative launched from a boardroom. It was built through community support, public events, and early contributions that paid for essentials, printing, organising, equipment, and, above all, the chance to depart.
In September 1971, the committee chartered a fishing boat, the Phyllis Cormack, and set off from Vancouver. The voyage has since become Greenpeace’s founding legend for a reason: it made the protest visible. It translated an abstract debate about nuclear testing into a simple, dramatic narrative anyone could grasp, a small civilian boat heading towards a powerful state’s military plan.
During that period, the name that would become famous began to harden into identity. “Greenpeace” was more than a label. It was a statement about the world the founders wanted: peace without nuclear escalation, and a “green” future where nature was not treated as collateral damage.
Authorities stopped the boat before it could reach the test site. Critics later condensed the story into a blunt line: they did not physically prevent the test. But that misses what the founders were actually trying to achieve. Greenpeace’s first major act was to transform a distant technical procedure into a public controversy. The voyage created images, headlines, and a sense of moral proximity. It made Amchitka something ordinary citizens could feel involved in, and therefore something governments had to account for.
From there, the early Greenpeace method took shape: non-violent direct action designed to be seen, understood, and repeated. The 1970s brought campaigns that would define the organisation in public memory, against whaling, against nuclear testing in different theatres, and against toxic pollution. These were not quiet lobbying efforts. They were calculated acts of presence: banners, boats, bodies, and cameras. The aim was not simply to protest, but to tell a story powerful enough to move public opinion and, eventually, policy.
The organisation’s structure evolved as its campaigns spread. Greenpeace International was established later in the decade, providing coordination across countries while allowing national and regional offices to operate in local contexts. Today, Greenpeace International is based in Amsterdam, acting as a hub for a global network rather than a traditional top-down command centre.
That global scale makes the Vancouver origins feel almost improbable. A committee formed to stop one nuclear test becomes an international environmental organisation recognised worldwide. Yet the through-line is easy to trace: independence, visibility, and mobilisation.
Funding remains part of that identity. Greenpeace has long argued that it safeguards its autonomy through public donations, resisting ties that could mute criticism of governments or major corporate actors. Whether one sees that stance as idealism or necessary discipline, it mirrors the movement’s earliest reality: the first steps were paid for by ordinary supporters, not institutional patrons.
So who are they today? In plain terms, Greenpeace is an international campaigning organisation known for environmental activism and non-violent direct action. It operates through a network of national and regional offices coordinated globally, and it remains associated with high-visibility interventions on issues such as climate change, biodiversity, oceans, pollution, and nuclear risks.
But if I bring the narrative back to the beginning, Vancouver, 1970, the urgency of Amchitka, the core of Greenpeace is still recognisable. It is the belief that when power acts far from public view, someone must go close enough to make it visible. The tools have changed. The scale has expanded. The world has grown noisier. Yet the founding question remains stubbornly current: when a decision threatens people and the planet, who will risk being present, and who will pay attention once they are?
Greenpeace is also a clear example of what a global society can look like in practice: a cause born in one place, carried by ordinary individuals, and embraced across borders until it becomes a shared public responsibility. At GSN, the platform’s editorial work consistently seeks out and tells the stories of small organisations, often the ones most deserving of attention and support, helping them be seen, understood, and strengthened through public awareness. Yet it also matters to recognise those movements that began just as modestly, sustained by personal effort, sacrifice, and determination, and have since become a reference point for activism worldwide; in that sense, Greenpeace stands as both a case study and a tribute to what committed people can build when they refuse to look away.
Youtube credits: https://www.youtube.com/@SLICE_Earth
