As I am writing this, it is mazingira (environment) day in kenya and it  was the inspiration for this piece. When we plant a tree whose shade we may never sit under we are puting our hope  not for ourselves but for others who we may not even know. Across Kenya from the green canopy of Karura Forest to the dry plains of Turkana, we see the tension between survival in the present and the slow, patient work of building the future. Longtermism, as explored in Essays on Longtermism: Present Action for the Distant Future (MacAskill et al.), asks us to widen our circle of moral concern to care not only for the people living today, but for the countless generations yet to come. In Africa, where the urgency of today often overshadows the promise of tomorrow, this philosophy challenges us to think differently to build institutions, technologies, and values that last.
In Kenya, the story of Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement captures the spirit of longtermism before the term even existed. In the 1970s Maathai began mobilizing women to plant trees not because it promised quick rewards, but because she believed future generations deserved clean air, fertile soil, and stable rainfall. Her vision was ecological and moral at once: “You cannot protect the environment unless you empower people” (Maathai). This act of care for both people and planet embodies what Hilary Greaves calls “impartial beneficence” the idea that future lives matter just as much as present ones (Greaves 25). Through her movement, Maathai showed that longterm thinking is not foreign to African philosoph it is deeply woven into our communal ethics of utu humanity.
The challenges of today however, make longtermism difficult to practice. In many African nations, poverty, corruption, and political instability create a sense of short term urgency. Governments often chase five-year development plans rather than century long sustainability goals. Yet the very fragility of our institutions makes longterm thinking more necessary. As Carl Shulman argues, “Our decisions in the coming century may shape civilization’s trajectory for millions of years” (Shulman). If we do not build resilience now in governance, in education, in ecosystems our future will be inherited not by our descendants, but by our mistakes.
Kenya’s new generation of innovators offers hope. In Makueni County, solar-powered irrigation systems now help farmers adapt to drought while reducing dependence on fossil fuels a small but significant investment in climate resilience. Across the continent, Rwandan researchers are developing drone mapping for sustainable land use. These are not just technological shifts; they are moral acts of longtermism, rooted in the conviction that Africa must not repeat the carbon-heavy path of industrial nations. They echo Toby Ord’s argument that “our actions today may determine whether humanity survives the next century” (Ord 42). Climate adaptation in Africa is therefore not charity — it is strategy for human continuity.
But longtermism must also speak to inequality. The future cannot be worth saving if it belongs only to a few. MacAskill’s essay reminds us that global justice is inseparable from longterm ethics: “We should give equal moral weight to all future people, regardless of where or when they live” (MacAskill). This resonates with African traditions of stewardship, where one generation’s role is to safeguard the inheritance of the next. Kenya’s Constitution even talks about this principle declaring sustainable development a national value. Yet implementation remains weak. True longtermism demands not just vision but accountability transparent institutions, civic participation, and education systems that teach foresight rather than reaction.
Longtermism also challenges us to rethink African leadership. Too often, political power is viewed as a prize rather than a trust. What would governance look like if leaders were evaluated not by what they built in five years, but by what still stands fifty years later? Consider the restoration of Karura Forest. Unfortunately this forest was once a dumping ground for crime and corruption but through the efforts of people like Wangari MAAadi and activists around the world it was reclaimed through citizen activism and long term policy reform. Today, it stands as both sanctuary and symbol: a reminder that collective patience can outlast political cycles. If longtermism were taught in public service, our leaders might plan for centuries, not elections.
In the end longtermism is not a foreign import  not an abstract moral theory. It is a reawakening of something Africa has always known that the future is a trust. The proverb says, “Society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.” In that simple act lies the essence of longtermism present action for the distant future. From the grassroots women of the Green Belt Movement to the young engineers designing green cities in Nairobi Africa’s future depends on how we think about time not as a line ending with us but as a circle in which our choices echo endlessly forward. I think that our essays on Longtermism should call for the world to imagine humanity’s distant tomorrow Africa must answer with its own language of continuity, community, and care. For the sake of the unborn we must become guardians of tomorrow today.