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Propelled by

Water has always been an important commodity, and in recent times, the need to conserve this resource has been of utmost importance. With climate change bringing forth more intense droughts, all of us should re-consider our water usage habits. The onus of saving water is not just on government bodies, but on the citizens too.

Conserving this precious resource has become necessary in all regions, even where water seems to be present in abundance. This is primarily because our water resources are finite and they are diminishing. Not only does water conservation set precedence for others to do the same, but helps save our local water bodies too. The call for conserving water is not new, but on this World Water Day on March 22, every man or woman should vow to begin water conservation from their homes first. The best part is that it isn't as difficult.

While one might consider themselves to be frugal when it comes to using mother earth's natural resources, one might still end up wasting more than they think. Making small habitual changes today can make our tomorrow brighter and better. We can already see the impact of stopping usage of deadly single-use plastic.

Steps like fixing leaking pipes and taps, closing taps while washing hands or brushing teeth to repurposing water that has been used for some other task can certainly add value to one's water habits. Inside a household, people more often than not tend to use more water in their kitchens and for washing utensils. Every time, we turn the tap on, even for washing a few utensils, around nine litres of water is wasted per minute.

That's nine litres of clean water lost just for washing dishes. Add up all the other household chores which require large amounts of water, and the number will be mammoth. Washing a whole load of utensils in a day can take up to 50 or 60 litres of water, however, using a dishwasher reduces the wastage considerably.

To help save water in Indian kitchens, leading German manufacturer, Bosch has come up with a range of dishwashers best suited for Indian households, utensils and lifestyle. While comparing water, electricity and time consumption between dishwashers and washing manually, found some interesting statistics.

Bosch dishwashers only take up 9.5 litres of water and are much more energy efficient when compared to manual washing. For every load, Bosch's dishwashers use up to 0.87 units of electricity. F urther, manual washing of all the utensils can take up to an hour. With Bosch Dishwasher, the total amount of time you spend is just 10 minutes in loading and unloading, while the rest is taken care of by the Bosch Dishwasher.

Bosch dishwasher also takes care of your hygiene concerns as it use s water that is heated up to 70 degrees, which kills up to 99.9% bacteria. In addition, programs installed in the machine takes complete care of the water that is used for washing utensils. The whole process of using dishwashers will end up saving 45 minutes per load, which adds up to 210 hours of free time. With these dishwashers, one can also end up saving around 9,200 litres of water per year.

The term 'water conservation' might sound like jargon to many, but when you essentially break it down, as Bosch shows, it is not that difficult. Certain changes in habits and mindsets are all you need to become a more responsible citizen of the world. Hence, you alone can set precedence for others by making smarter choices as there needs to be a collective effort to save this precious natural resource from depleting.

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23 Years Ago, Iqbal Masih Was Murdered For Fighting Against Child Labour; Know About Him

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Propelled by Water has always been an important commodity, and in recent times, the need to conserve this resource has been of utmost importance. With climate change bringing forth more intense droughts, all of us should re-consider our water usage habits. The onus of saving water is not just on government bodies, but on the citizens too.

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Hundreds of thousands of students joined the pro-gun control March for Our Lives rallies across the US in one of the largest expressions of popular opposition in the modern era.

Events have been taking place at more than 800 locations around the world - including London, Sydney, Tokyo, Mumbai, plus hundreds of places in the US.

In Washington, as the number of young, diverse and impassioned protesters swelled along Pennsylvania Avenue, many carried signs reading "We are the change", "No more silence" and "Keep NRA money out of politics".

Malia Fuller, 15, from Haymarket, Virginia. Photograph: Evelyn Hockstein/The Guardian

Organizers said they hoped their protest would be one of the biggest in the capital since the Vietnam era, and it was clear they had been careful to create a diverse, inclusive group of speakers.

Along with survivors from the attack in Parkland, Florida, who have galvanized the new push for gun reform, speakers included young victims of gun violence from around America. They sang, they chanted, and they challenged their parents' generation to be effective in eliminating gun violence from society.

Edna Chavez, 17, from Manual Arts high school in Los Angeles, took the stage with a raised fist and spoke powerfully about her brother, who was killed by gun violence. "I have learned to duck from bullets before I learned to read." She led the crowd to chant his name, "Ricardo! Ricardo!"

Trevon Bosley, a high school student from Chicago whose brother was killed, said: "I'm here to speak for those youth who fear they may be shot while going to the gas station, the movies, the bus stop, to church or even to and from school. I'm here to speak for those Chicago youth who feel their voices have been silenced for far too long."

Yolanda Renee King, granddaughter of Martin Luther King, told the crowd: "I have a dream that enough is enough. And that this should be a gun-free world, period."

She then asked the crowd to repeat back her words: "Spread the word, have you heard? All across the nation. We are going to be a great generation."

She led the chant three times, encouraging the crowd to repeat her words "so the whole world can hear".

Shortly before the end of the event, Parkland shooting survivor Emma Gonzalez - who had been a leading voice immediately after the attack on her school - took to the stage for six minutes and 20 seconds, much of that in silence. She said it was the amount of time it took a school shooter to kill 17 people at her school in Florida last month.

As the students gathered, Donald Trump was whisked by motorcade to his West Palm Beach golf club. Trump later tweeted support for "the victims of the horrible attack in France yesterday" but did not mention the rallies on Twitter. A White House statement read: "We applaud the many courageous young Americans exercising their first amendment rights today. Keeping our children safe is a top priority of the president's, which is why he urged Congress to pass the Fix NICS and STOP School Violence Acts, and signed them into law."

The administration also drew attention to some minor reforms the president has called for, including a move by the justice department on Friday to ban bump stocks, the accessory that allows rifles to mimic the rapid fire of automatic weapons.

The NRA stayed silent on the student gatherings. But outside the FBI headquarters in Washington, about 30 gun-rights supporters staged a counter-demonstration in front of the FBI headquarters, standing quietly with signs such as "Armed victims live longer" and "Stop violating civil rights".

Veteran civil rights leader John Lewis said the protests reminded him of the early days of the civil rights era. "I think it's amazing," Lewis said. "They will be the leaders of the 21st century."

In one of the first speeches, the Marjory Stoneman Douglas senior Delaney Tarr told the crowd of the students' demands, including background checks and a ban on assault weapons. "When you give us an inch, that bump stocks ban, we will take a mile," she said. "We are not here for breadcrumbs, we are here to lead."

Earlier, the Guardian spoke to Cassie Pearce, 17, who had ridden in her school bus for 10 hours from Manchester, Vermont, with dozens of her classmates. Clutching a sign that read "I should be writing my college essay, not my will", Pearce said: "I'm here because enough is enough. We have a right to be heard. We don't want to be killed in school."

In a meeting with lawmakers in the aftermath of Parkland, the president had signalled support for stronger background checks on gun purchases and raising the minimum age for buying high-powered rifles. But the NRA staunchly opposed these measures and Trump appears to have abandoned the proposals.

A group of student journalists from the Stoneman Douglas newspaper, the Eagle Eye, were invited to guest-edit the Guardian's US website this weekend. Eleven students covered the rally in Washington, interviewing other survivors of gun violence from Stoneman Douglas and elsewhere.

Parkland student Jordan Khayyami, 15, said: "I think that legislatures should be aware that the next generation of voters is right in front of them so if they don't want to promote change then we will vote for change."

The scenes of thousands of students on the streets was overwhelming to many of the victims of gun violence who attended the Washington rally. "I did not expect this. I'm still astounded," said Mark Barden, whose seven-year-old son Daniel was one of the 20 children murdered at Sandy Hook in 2012. "To me, it looks like our entire nation is finally on board."

Barden has spent five years pushing for stricter gun control laws, first with the support of Barack Obama's White House, then continuing when gun control again dropped off the national agenda.

Sakeenah Dasti, 16, Amanah Dasti, 11, and Ruqaiyah Dasti, 17, from Gaithersburg, Maryland. Photograph: Evelyn Hockstein/The Guardian

While the day was focused on the youth, Sir Paul McCartney stood in solidarity with marchers in New York's Central Park and referred to John Lennon's fatal shooting outside his apartment building in 1980. "One of my best friends was killed by gun violence right around here, so it's important to me not just to march today but to take action tomorrow and to have these people to have their voices heard," he told CNN.

There were, however, a number of counter-protests in some cities. AP reported that in Salt Lake City, Utah, about 500 pro-gun marchers walked to the state capitol building, though they were far outnumbered by an estimated 15,000 gun control marchers there.

While classmates are rallying in Washington, thousands more Stoneman Douglas survivors, their families and supporters were among tens of thousands gathering in Parkland, Florida, the scene of last month's shooting.

More than 20,000 attended to listen to the speeches from the amphitheater at Pine Trails Park before walking the mile south to Stoneman Douglas high school.

"Parkland is a family. And when our family is hurting, we all come together," said Liam Kiernan, a 15-year-old Parkland 10th-grader. "We become stronger because we feel we're all one person."

Max Schachter, the father of Alex, a 14-year-old Stoneman Douglas marching band musician, broke down in tears as he recalled how his son enjoyed playing basketball with his older brother and teaching his little sister "to become a better trombone player". Schachter said that on 13 February he was like any other parent, wanting his children to be happy and get good grades. Then the Valentine's Day shooting happened.

"Since the day that changed my life, I will not stop fighting for change," he said.
Additional reporting by staff of the Eagle Eye, Edward Helmore and Richard Luscombe in Parkland, Florida

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March for Our Lives : thousands join anti-gun protests around the world

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Hundreds of thousands of students joined the pro-gun control March for Our Lives rallies across the US in one of the largest expressions of popular opposition in the modern era. Events have been taking place at more than 800 locations around the world - including London, Sydney, Tokyo, Mumbai, plus hundreds of places in the US.

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Canada: indigenous anti-pipeline protesters call police presence 'act of war'

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Police officers deployed near checkpoint where protesters have gathered to block the construction of a natural gas pipeline

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About a dozen aboriginal-rights advocates staged a protest in front of Sir John A. Macdonald's statue in downtown Hamilton on Sunday, detouring a local society's celebration for the bicentennial birthday of Canada's first prime minister.

The protesters converged at Gore Park around 1 p.m., just before the annual wreath-laying ceremony organized by the Sir John A. Macdonald Society was slated to begin.

Holding signs that read "Native Lives Matter" and "Natives fed you, saved you. Canada starved natives & murder," the protest drew honks from drivers on the adjacent King Street. Some pedestrians also stopped to take photos and chat with the protesters.

Kaweowene of Six Nations said he came to protest what he sees as the starvation of aboriginal people and the mistreatment of Asians while the politician was in power.

He said he also hopes the protest will raise awareness for missing and murdered aboriginal women.

"A lot of the women that were starved became ill, and then they died," he said. "Technically that's murder. So this guy is a murderer. I don't think people should celebrate murders and genocides like that."

Kristen Villebrun, another protester, said the group originally planned to hold the protest at Dundurn Castle, but decided to meet at the statue because of its central location in downtown Hamilton and its exposure to traffic.

"We know the true history, so it's time to let the people of Hamilton know what it really stands for," she said.

Local society seeks compromise

The protesters said they want the statue to come down.

"It represents genocide. We'd like it to come down," Villebrun said.

Hamilton's Sir John A. Macdonald Society, which has been organizing the politician's birthday celebrations for 50 years, skipped its usual wreath-laying ceremony at the statue. The group went straight to a pub a few blocks away for the second part of the commemorative event, where members made remarks and shared cakes and drinks.

Robin McKee, local historian and president of the society, said the society tried to find compromise, because "it's exactly what Macdonald would have done."

"[The protesters] can have theirs. We can have ours. It wasn't territorial," he said. "They have the right."

McKee said he is not aware of the protesters' demand for the statue to come down.

"Why would you put a statue up and then take it down?" he said.

Bicentenary of Macdonald's birth

The protesters left Gore Park some time before 3 p.m., while the celebration continued at the pub. The only remaining sign of the protest was a poster, taped to the base of the statue, that read "Father of Native Genocide."

Sunday marks the 200th birthday of the man known as the founding father of Canada.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper commemorated the occasion under tight security in Kingston, Ont. He described Macdonald as "a shining example of modesty, hope and success," but also alluded to his reputation as a drinker.

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Sir John A. Macdonald's birthday protested by aboriginal rights advocates | CBC News

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About a dozen aboriginal-rights advocates staged a protest in front of Sir John A. Macdonald's statue in downtown Hamilton on Sunday, detouring a local society's celebration for the bicentennial birthday of Canada's first prime minister. The protesters converged at Gore Park around 1 p.m., just before the annual wreath-laying ceremony organized by the Sir John A.

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When the Sportsnet broadcaster Jamie Campbell announced on Twitter this week that he would be joining those who are conscientiously objecting to the use of "the name of the Cleveland baseball team" - that is, the Indians - he punctuated his tweet with the hashtag #NotYourMascot.

It turns out that even some of those who've been in the Cleveland Indians organization are offended by the use of their own mascot.

On Thursday, Mark Shapiro, who left his position as president of the Indians last year to become president and chief executive of the Toronto Blue Jays, revealed that, when he was with the Cleveland team, its controversial mascot - a buck-toothed, red-faced grotesquerie known as Chief Wahoo - was "troubling to me personally."
Read more: From Indians to Eskimos: A brief history of controversial team names Opinion - Cleveland Indians: Indigenous mascots are nothing to cheer about
Early in his career, working as a team spokesman, "I distanced myself from the fact that it personally bothered me," he said. Eventually, under his leadership, the team replaced Chief Wahoo - considered by some to be a piece of racist iconography right out of Jim Crow America - with a block letter C as the primary logo. "I'm proud of that," he said, taking care to note that he was just offering his opinion, since he was no longer part of the team. "I think there will be a day, whenever that is, that the people who are making decisions [in Cleveland] decide that Chief Wahoo's no longer fitting. But people in this city, over 90 per cent of them are deeply, deeply passionate about Chief Wahoo and wanted it to be part of their team."

This week, though, those deep passions have run headlong into a movement that, in Canada at least, has quickly jumped from the fringes of social media to the mainstream. And while the Indians, like the Washington Redskins and other sports teams that have come under fire in recent years, are refusing to budge, there is a growing belief that First Nations names and iconography are no longer appropriate for such use in 2016.

The battle pits traditionalists against those promoting increased cultural sensitivity, often with the urgency and viral appeal to emotion of hashtag advocacy. And it comes amid a season in which Toronto is perhaps feeling particularly motivated to address racial sensitivities, after reports of some Blue Jays fans yelling ugly epithets at a Korean and two African-American members of the Baltimore Orioles.

Though the fight has been playing out for decades, the movement for change has gained traction in recent years. Last November, Justice Murray Sinclair, the chair of Canada's Truth and Reconciliation Commission, said it was time for sports teams to recognize the harm that names such as the Redskins have on young indigenous people. This week, the Ontario Human Rights Commissioner Renu Mandhane called on news organizations to abstain from using the Cleveland team's name.

Shame is one tool at the disposal of protesters, but the teams may also find themselves motivated to make changes if they find they can no longer cash in on the intellectual property, such as names and logos. In 2014, the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, acting on a complaint by Native American activists, cancelled six trademarks owned by the Washington Redskins on the grounds that they were disparaging to that minority community. Earlier this month, the U.S. Supreme Court rejected an application by the Redskins to hear an appeal of the decision.

Mr. Campbell is perhaps the highest profile broadcaster to declare a boycott of such team names, in advance of the American League Championship Series pitting Cleveland against Toronto, which begins Friday. His decision was inspired by the long-time Blue Jays radio broadcaster Jerry Howarth, who revealed earlier in the week that he hasn't used the Indians name - or referred to the Atlanta baseball team by their name, the Braves - for more than two decades.

Others quickly followed, including CBC Radio's Scott Regehr, who was inspired in part by his indigenous colleague Jesse Wente noting sharply in an on-air interview that, contrary to the suggestions of some traditionalists, "these symbols don't honour us."

"I've lived in different parts of Canada - Yellowknife, Whitehorse - where there are large First Nations populations," Mr. Regehr said in an interview on Thursday. "I have many, many friends within that group, and I know that if I were to ever use the word 'Indian' in common conversation, I would be told: 'No, we're First Nations, we're aboriginal people. We're not 'Indian.' A number of them find it repugnant. So I'm not interested in using the name any more, in association with the Cleveland baseball team."

He added that, after announcing his decision on Wednesday's broadcast, he had received a heartfelt letter of thanks from a mother from northern Alberta who identified as Métis. "We can never put ourselves in the shoes of a visible minority and know how they're feeling about things," he said.

On Thursday, Ontario Premier Kathleen Wynne tweeted that she was "taking a swing at Cleveland's team name," and thanked Jerry Howarth for "standing up to hurtful, racist names."

Rogers Communications Inc., which also owns the Blue Jays, is backing the decisions of Mr. Howarth, Mr. Campbell and whoever else might choose to join them. (The on-air team at Toronto soft-rock station CHFI-FM, which is owned by Rogers, declared they too would abstain from saying the Cleveland team name.) "Jerry's position is something we support," said Scott Moore, the president of Sportsnet and NHL Properties. "This has been a big discussion point for many years, and we've discussed it with the commentators in the past and have left it to their discretion and their personal decision."

Down in Cleveland, there are few signs of a groundswell for change, even though a small annual protest has been held each opening day of at least the past 25 Indians' seasons. "It's not a front-page issue here," observed Doug Lesmerises, a sports columnist with Cleveland.com.

It was only bubbling up now, he suggested, because the Indians are finally winning. "They haven't been to the World Series since 1997, and in the ensuing two decades I feel like this discussion has advanced - like the discussion of the Redskins name. And I feel the Indians haven't been part of it because they haven't been that relevant, as a team."

"If the Indians make the World Series, would it perhaps be the beginning of the end of Chief Wahoo, and perhaps the name, because all of a sudden them [winning] brings more of a spotlight on this issue?" Mr. Lesmerises mused.

"The city has been having a renaissance, to a degree, having just successfully hosted the Republican National Convention; the Cavs just won their first [NBA] title in 52 years; the Indians are having the best season in two decades. And we're talking about if their name and their logo are affected," he noted. "The discussion is completely legitimate. But is that what you want to be talking about, when your city and your team are succeeding? I would think not."
With a report from Robert MacLeod in Cleveland

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The growing movement to boycott indigenous team mascots

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When the Sportsnet broadcaster Jamie Campbell announced on Twitter this week that he would be joining those who are conscientiously objecting to the use of "the name of the Cleveland baseball team" - that is, the Indians - he punctuated his tweet with the hashtag #NotYourMascot.

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SYDNEY, Australia - The Australian teenager known as "Egg Boy" has spoken publicly to the media for the first time since he cracked an egg on a far-right politician's head, becoming an international symbol against bigotry in the process.

"I understand what I did was not the right thing to do," Will Connolly, 17, said in an interview with Channel 10, an Australian television channel expected to air on Monday evening.

"However, this egg has united people," he said, adding that the incident has been used to raise tens of thousands of dollars for the victims of the March 15 terrorist attack in Christchurch, New Zealand.

That money is from a fund-raising page that was set up for the teenager and meant originally to help cover Mr. Connolly's legal fees and to buy "more eggs." By Monday, it had raised almost 80,000 Australian dollars, about $56,000. A law firm has said it would represent Mr. Connolly pro bono, allowing all funds raised through the page to be donated toward the victims of the Christchurch attacks.

Mr. Connolly's abrupt transformation from anonymous Australian teenager to international sensation began one day after the Christchurch attacks, when Fraser Anning, a far-right Australian senator, who blamed Muslim immigration for the attack, gave a news conference in Melbourne. Mr. Connolly, a resident of the city, crept behind the senator and smashed an egg on his head. Mr. Anning then struck the teenager twice in the head and the teenager was tackled by the senator's supporters.

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Peter Gordon, a lawyer who is representing Will Connolly, speaking to reporters in Melbourne, Australia, last week. Credit James Ross/EPA, via Shutterstock

The egging, captured on video, raced through social media. In the days since, thousands of people around the world have embraced Mr. Connolly's actions, and the teenager has been offered concert tickets for life, captured in street art, and honored by basketball players and talk show hosts.

Mr. Anning has refused to apologize for his comments and said the teenager deserved what he got.

A lawyer for Mr. Connolly, Peter Gordon, said last week there was "no indication" that Mr. Connolly would be charged with a crime, and added that his client had no plans to take legal action against Mr. Anning.

Still, the worldwide reaction to his act has seemed to surprise Mr. Connolly. One woman reached out to him through a friend in Christchurch, he said in the interview. Throughout this period of darkness in her life, he said she told him the egging marked the one time she had smiled since the massacre.

"I'm speechless," he said.

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'This Egg Has United People,' Teenager Says of Protest Against Bigotry

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SYDNEY, Australia - The Australian teenager known as "Egg Boy" has spoken publicly to the media for the first time since he cracked an egg on a far-right politician's head, becoming an international symbol against bigotry in the process.

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reta Thunberg cut a frail and lonely figure when she started a school strike for the climate outside the Swedish parliament building last August. Her parents tried to dissuade her. Classmates declined to join. Passersby expressed pity and bemusement at the sight of the then unknown 15-year-old sitting on the cobblestones with a hand-painted banner.

Eight months on, the picture could not be more different. The pigtailed teenager is feted across the world as a model of determination, inspiration and positive action. National presidents and corporate executives line up to be criticised by her, face to face. Her skolstrejk för klimatet (school strike for climate) banner has been translated into dozens of languages. And, most striking of all, the loner is now anything but alone.

On 15 March, when she returns to the cobblestones (as she has done almost every Friday in rain, sun, ice and snow), it will be as a figurehead for a vast and growing movement. The global climate strike this Friday is gearing up to be one of the biggest environmental protests the world has ever seen. As it approaches, Thunberg is clearly excited.

"It's amazing," she says. "It's more than 71 countries and more than 700 places, and counting. It's increasing very much now, and that's very, very fun."

A year ago, this was unimaginable. Back then, Thunberg was a painfully introverted, slightly built nobody, waking at 6am to prepare for school and heading back home at 3pm. "Nothing really was happening in my life," she recalls. "I have always been that girl in the back who doesn't say anything. I thought I couldn't make a difference because I was too small."

She was never quite like the other kids. Her mother, Malena Ernman, is one of Sweden's most celebrated opera singers. Her father, Svante Thunberg, is an actor and author (named after Svante Arrhenius, the Nobel prize-winning scientist who in 1896 first calculated how carbon dioxide emissions could lead to the greenhouse effect). Greta was exceptionally bright. Four years ago, she was diagnosed with Asperger's.

"I overthink. Some people can just let things go, but I can't, especially if there's something that worries me or makes me sad. I remember when I was younger, and in school, our teachers showed us films of plastic in the ocean, starving polar bears and so on. I cried through all the movies. My classmates were concerned when they watched the film, but when it stopped, they started thinking about other things. I couldn't do that. Those pictures were stuck in my head."

She has come to accept this as part of who she is - and made it a motivating force instead of a source of paralysing depression, which it once was.

At about the age of eight, when she first learned about climate change, she was shocked that adults did not appear to be taking the issue seriously. It was not the only reason she became depressed a few years later, but it was a significant factor.

Thunberg on strike last August. Photograph: Michael Campanella/The Guardian

"I kept thinking about it and I just wondered if I am going to have a future. And I kept that to myself because I'm not very much of a talker, and that wasn't healthy. I became very depressed and stopped going to school. When I was home, my parents took care of me, and we started talking because we had nothing else to do. And then I told them about my worries and concerns about the climate crisis and the environment. And it felt good to just get that off my chest.

"They just told me everything will be all right. That didn't help, of course, but it was good to talk. And then I kept on going, talking about this all the time and showing my parents pictures, graphs and films, articles and reports. And, after a while, they started listening to what I actually said. That's when I kind of realised I could make a difference. And how I got out of that depression was that I thought: it is just a waste of time feeling this way because I can do so much good with my life. I am trying to do that still now."

Her parents were the guinea pigs. She discovered she had remarkable powers of persuasion, and her mother gave up flying, which had a severe impact on her career. Her father became a vegetarian. As well as feeling relieved by the transformation of their formerly quiet and morose daughter, they say they were persuaded by her reasoning. "Over the years, I ran out of arguments," says her father. "She kept showing us documentaries, and we read books together. Before that, I really didn't have a clue. I thought we had the climate issue sorted," he says. "She changed us and now she is changing a great many other people. There was no hint of this in her childhood. It's unbelievable. If this can happen, anything can happen."

The climate strike was inspired by students from the Parkland school in Florida, who walked out of classes in protest against the US gun laws that enabled the massacre on their campus. Greta was part of a group that wanted to do something similar to raise awareness about climate change, but they couldn't agree what. Last summer, after a record heatwave in northern Europe and forest fires that ravaged swathes of Swedish land up to the Arctic, Thunberg decided to go it alone. Day one was 20 August 2018.

"I painted the sign on a piece of wood and, for the flyers, wrote down some facts I thought everyone should know. And then I took my bike to the parliament and just sat there," she recalls. "The first day, I sat alone from about 8.30am to 3pm - the regular schoolday. And then on the second day, people started joining me. After that, there were people there all the time."

She kept her promise to strike every day until the Swedish national elections. Afterwards, she agreed to make a speech in front of thousands of people at a People's Climate March rally. Her parents were reluctant. Knowing Thunberg had been so reticent that she had previously been diagnosed with selective mutism, they tried to talk her out of it. But the teenager was determined. "In some cases where I am really passionate, I will not change my mind," she says. Despite her family's concerns, she delivered the address in nearly flawless English, and invited the crowd to film her on their mobile phones and spread the message through social media. "I cried," says her proud dad.

Thunberg ... 'They are still not doing anything.' Photograph: Michael Campanella/The Guardian

People with selective mutism have a tendency to worry more than others. Thunberg has since weaponised this in meetings with political leaders, and with billionaire entrepreneurs in Davos. "I don't want you to be hopeful. I want you to panic. I want you to feel the fear I feel every day. And then I want you to act," she told them.

Such tongue-lashings have gone down well. Many politicians laud her candidness. In return, she listens to their claims that stronger climate policies are unrealistic unless the public make the issue more of a priority. She is unconvinced. "They are still not doing anything. So I don't know really why they are supporting us because we are criticising them. It's kind of weird." She has also been withering about leaders in the US, UK and Australia who either ignore the strikers or admonish them for skipping classes. "They are desperately trying to change the subject whenever the school strikes come up. They know they can't win this fight because they haven't done anything."

Such blunt talk has found a broad audience among people jaded by empty promises and eager to find a climate leader willing to ramp up ambition. Thunberg's rise coincides with growing scientific concern. A slew of recent reports has warned oceans are heating and the poles melting faster than expected. Last year's UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change spelled out the dangers of surpassing 1.5C of global warming. To have any chance of avoiding that outcome, it said, emissions must fall rapidly by 2030. That will require far more pressure on politicians - and nobody has proved more effective at that over the past eight months than Thunberg.

The girl who once slipped into despair is now a beacon of hope. One after another, veteran campaigners and grizzled scientists have described her as the best news for the climate movement in decades. She has been lauded at the UN, met the French president, Emmanuel Macron, shared a podium with the European commission president Jean-Claude Juncker and has been endorsed by the German chancellor, Angela Merkel.

No, I am not more hopeful than when I started. The emissions are increasing

You may think this would put the weight of the world on the 16-year-old's shoulders, but she claims to feel no pressure. If "people are so desperate for hope", she says, that is not her or the other strikers' responsibility.

"I don't care if what I'm doing - what we're doing - is hopeful. We need to do it anyway. Even if there's no hope left and everything is hopeless, we must do what we can."

In this regard, her family see her Asperger's as a blessing. She is someone who strips away social distractions and focuses with black-and-white clarity on the issues. "It's nothing that I want to change about me," she says. "It's just who I am. If I had been just like everyone else and been social, then I would have just tried to start an organisation. But I couldn't do that. I'm not very good with people, so I did something myself instead."

While she has little time for chit-chat, she gets satisfaction from speaking to a big audience about climate change. Regardless of the size of the crowd, she says she does not feel the least bit nervous.

She seems incapable of the cognitive dissonance that allows other people to lament what is happening to the climate one minute, then tuck into a steak, buy a car or fly off for a weekend break the next. Although Thunberg believes political action far outweighs individual changes to consumer habits, she lives her values. She is a vegan, and only travels abroad by train.

At its best, this sharpness can slice through the Gordian knot of the climate debate. It can also sting. There are no comfortable reassurances in her speech, just a steady frankness. Asked whether she has become more optimistic because the climate issue has risen up the political agenda and politicians in the US and Europe are considering green New Deals that would ramp up the transition to renewable energy, her reply is brutally honest. "No, I am not more hopeful than when I started. The emissions are increasing and that is the only thing that matters. I think that needs to be our focus. We cannot talk about anything else."

Some people consider this a threat. A handful of fossil fuel lobbyists, politicians and journalists have argued Thunberg is not what she seems; that she was propelled into prominence by environmental groups and sustainable business interests. They say the entrepreneur who first tweeted about the climate strike, Ingmar Rentzhog, used Thunberg's name to raise investment for his company, but her father says the connection was overblown. Greta, he says, initiated the strike before anyone in the family had heard of Rentzhog. As soon as she found he had used her name without her permission, she cut all links with the company, and has since vowed never to be associated with commercial interests. Her family says she has never been paid for her activities. In a recent interview, Rentzhog defended his actions, denied exploiting Greta and said that climate change, not profit, was his motive.

On social media, there have been other crude attacks on Thunberg's reputation and appearance. Already familiar with bullying from school, she appears unfazed. "I expected when I started that if this is going to become big, then there will be a lot of hate," she says. "It's a positive sign. I think that must be because they see us as a threat. That means that something has changed in the debate, and we are making a difference."

She intends to strike outside parliament every Friday until the Swedish government's policies are in line with the Paris climate agreement. This has led to what she calls "strange contrasts": balancing her maths homework with her fight to save the planet; listening attentively to teachers and decrying the immaturity of world leaders; weighing up the existential threat of climate change alongside the agonising choice of what subjects to study in high school.

It can be gruelling. She still gets up at 6am to get ready for school. Interviews and writing speeches can leave her working 12- to 15-hour days. "Of course, it takes a lot of energy. I don't have much spare time. But I just keep reminding myself why I am doing this, and then I just try to do as much as I can." So far, this does not appear to have affected her academic performance. She keeps up with homework and is in the top five in her class, according to her father.

And now that she is active on climate, she is no longer lonely, no longer silent, no longer so depressed. She is too busy trying to make a difference. And enjoying herself.

This Friday, when she takes her usual spot outside the Swedish parliament, she will be joined by classmates and students from other schools. "It's going to be very, very big internationally, with hundreds of thousands of children going to strike from school to say that we aren't going to accept this any more," she says. "I think we are only seeing the beginning. I think that change is on the horizon and the people will stand up for their future."

And then the activist slips back into being a teenager. "I'm looking forward to it and to see all the pictures the day afterwards. It's going to be fun."

This article was amended on 11 March 2019 to revise an explanation of mutism. An earlier version of the piece said: "People with selective mutism typically do not suffer from an inability to talk; rather, they choose not to engage in conversations they do not consider worthwhile." This is not the accepted definition. The National Health Service, for example, notes: "Selective mutism is a severe anxiety disorder where a person is unable to speak in certain social situations , such as with classmates at school or to relatives they don't see very often ... A child or adult with selective mutism doesn't refuse or choose not to speak, they're literally unable to speak."

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Greta Thunberg, schoolgirl climate change warrior: 'Some people can let things go. I can't'

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One day last summer, aged 15, she skipped school, sat down outside the Swedish parliament - and inadvertently kicked off a global movement