Slowly spreading like oil on the water, Climate Change denialists are being empowered by a hostile environment.
Contact with the inevitable in whatever form that may be is beginning to reveal itself in a tempest of not only hydro-active events but the long-lasting whip of heatwave and famine.
There used to be an apathy mixed with hopefulness, passively entering the shape of commitment to do all that is necessary to wilt the breadth of climate destruction. Though this movement, drained of its energy, is instead shapeshifting into an oppressive and passive acceptance of what we have come to understand as – the end.
Though climate change doesn’t have a specific crescendo, nor a particular climax, no sudden cut-off date or a black-out of some kind as many would believe; it will be an arduous and enduring hardship inflicted not only upon us but the next generation. Maybe there is a plan by the so-called elite who live from the interest payments of our global ecosystem shutdown, perhaps they have orchestrated a reversal plan and are milking such descent for all it is worth before they’re forced to itinerate to the breaches of a green future. Or maybe they know there is little hope and are ready to pay Elon Musk for a ticket to Planet 2.0, whereby, they too can begin ruining another sphere once more, all over again taking alien generations with them a second time.
In primary school, I remember a small class gathering where our teacher would discuss in assembly fashion a topic of the day. He was formerly an archaeologist, and the pupils fondly nicknamed him ‘Indiana Jones’. We huddled, sitting cross-legged to tales of his archaeological exploits and other musings.
On one particular day, he discussed, in brief, the hole in the ozone layer and the peculiarities of what that meant. The backs of our minds were painted with thoughts of fire and doom, and visions of apocalyptic terrain. I myself thought of a burning world, with people running from the flames with which the Sun had furnished the planet’s landscape. He paused, having seen the terror of a wide-eyed class tilting to one another as if to reassure each other’s fears. He calmly explained that we won’t walk out one day to everything on fire as he continued to gather trust from his audience. Though it wasn’t the ozone we should have feared.
The world came together to ‘patch’ up the ozone limiting one worry the world faced through comradery and allegiance to reducing the threat. Global governments knew what to do, there were no conspiracy theories circulating to slow down progress of repair, nor split dialogue on how we should handle it. There was a decision to be made, and it was committed to the national community.
Fast-forward some years and this same decisiveness is lost. The evidence falls at our feet like the bees that keep this world together. There should be no idle or petulant chit-chat, there should be a swiftness to snowball into effect the remedy of recovery as was before. But what happened? It is as if we are controlled by spores, or rampant pheromones lifting us into a chaotic diversion from threats perceived that are in acquiesce, like the parasitic wasp metaphor.
But who or what is the wasp? What driving force is moving us astray from the permits of human preservation? Whatever is to happen next, it is clear to see that apathy is beating climate activism and the will to change our trajectory.
Stanisland Magazine 