It feels funny. Here I am, supposedly writing a book about the climate catastrophe as my house, street, town, and region are being buffeted by a category 2 cyclone. Cyclone Alfred.
It’s not the first time I’ve experienced the onslaught of extreme weather events while living in the Northern Rivers region of NSW. During 10 years in Mullumbimby, we faced two floods, bush fires, and numerous near misses. It’s been traumatic, life-altering stuff. The worst was having to witness the anguished faces of friends and acquaintances as they scooped out sludge from their inundated homes, or those who had to abandon their homes to avoid advancing fires. Every time it rains in this neck of the woods, peoples’ nerves jangle. They talk about little else. They lose sleep. Drink too much.
But then there’s the post-disaster “recovery” to look forward to which, as it turns out, is bit of a fiction. The emotions stirred up by disaster never quite leave you. After all, there are constant reminders on TV of similar events around the world. Media attention doesn’t last long, though. It soon moves on to other things. Infotainment never rests. Meanwhile, for those in harm’s way, the trauma embeds itself deep within. Depression and anxiety hover around like hungry ghosts. Sometimes they consume you. Many of us don’t even realise we’re traumatised. The grumpiness, unsettledness and agitation become normalised. It’s hard to feel joyful. One’s sense of humour disappears. Sure, some kind souls listen to you for a while, but they soon get bored.
So, you go to a psychologist who talks about the irksome signs of trauma and what to do about them. You change perspective, do meditation, go to yoga, the gym, and breathe deeply. Your library begins to change. Books by Mate, LeVine, van der Kolk, Tolle are soon dog-eared. Something has been taken away and replaced by a troubled auto-zeitgeist. Sure, you still get out. You go to parties, have coffee with friends, go to restaurants. Yet something has shifted, and it’s not settling back any time soon. It sits there. That ominous feeling.
Catherine Ingham’s widely read essay called Facing extinction, referred to the “dark knowledge” of the climate catastrophe. It sure is bleak, and unyielding. How can it be otherwise when you look at emission levels and the antics of governments and corporations? Ingham has since taken her essay down, and chooses now to entertain some fanciful theories about the “climate crisis” which, apparently, is a hoax. It’s a pity some people think that way. My friend Deck Chair says, “all you need to do is stick your head out of the window, that’ll tell you all you need to know”. It might not be that simple but a cursory glance through the credible science data shows that the Holocene of the last 10,000 years is rapidly slipping away. We now live in a hothouse earth, with all the nasty consequences.
So, as I look out of my window, I see trees bending over backwards, horizontal rain, and objects flying by. I just hope my windows hold. I worry about my fledgling trees. But it’s not about me, the eternal solipsist. I witness the dread of my beachside friends; they’ve heard of an enormous 17-metre wave off the coast; they’ve been asked to evacuate. They’re terrified. I also speak to others who’ve fled their homes, taking pets and documents with them. I keep trying to convince myself that what some are telling me is true: that we’ll avoid the worst, which means that some other poor bugger will bear the brunt.
The prime minister, Albo, tells us to obey the authorities, to not do anything silly, and to support each other. But isn’t this the same PM whose government continues to give subsidies to the fossil fuel industry, and which has approved umpteen mining projects? Come to think of it, isn’t Australia still a leading exporter of coal? Are we not among the top greenhouse gas emitters in the world? It could be me, but is this just a tad hypocritical?
I have to be honest here, I’m one of those people who thinks that we’re in the middle of an apocalyptic scenario that’s only going to get worse. I no longer talk about crisis or emergency, because they hint at a way out of this mess. I think, and so do many other so-called doomsters, that its already too late. Some friends deride my outlook. There’s always hope, they say. Of what?” I ask. I’m more persuaded by those who talk about adaptation — assuming that is even possible — and who’re sceptical about the idea of mitigation. Well, global emissions are still rising, are they not? And we not likely to geoengineer our way out of this calamity, are we?’
On the cheerier side though, there’s a French bloke — a leading “collapsologist” — who suggests that we might even have a “happy collapse”. I don’t know what he means by that – maybe a last gasp champagne-fuelled knees-up? Personally, I prefer my collapses to be miserable. But then again, maybe there’s some practical stuff we can do to protect ourselves, at least in the short term. Our damaged spirits and emotions may take a little longer. A close friend says he’s grieving for the loss of a way of life. Others talk about living in the ruins of industrial modernism, while the more Pollyanna among us insist that banishing plastic straws will make a difference. Differences aside, they all agree that the endless growth and consumption thing can’t last. Well, tell that to politicians who talk about nothing else, or to the companies diverting investments away from renewables to fossil fuels, or to that crazy guy in the White House.
The truth is, and I know this because I’m writing a chapter about it, fossil fuel companies, in cahoots with governments, banks and super funds, are pouring fuel on the fire by investing huge amounts in dirty energy. Government ministers, media commentators and others can talk all they like about the clean energy revolution, because the only metric that counts is what’s concentrated in the atmosphere. And it’s not looking good. Read anything by Joelle Gergis.
I’m told Cyclone Alfred is barrelling through tomorrow morning. Nothing I can do about it, so I’ll listen to some reassuring words from Eckhart Tolle. Am I fearful? You bet. No problem, I’ve managed to hoard some wonderfully soft triple-ply toilet paper. Thanks for reading.
PS. The windows are beginning to rattle.
The views expressed are solely those of the author and may or may not reflect those of Pearls and Irritations.
Adjunct Professor, School of Health Sciences and Social Work,
Griffith University (Gold Coast Campus).
Adjunct Professor, Southern Cross University, Faculty of Business, Law and Arts.