It's been
a bit of a tough week. I wanted to write about the book I'm reading
at the moment which is called Navigating the Coming Chaos: a Handbook for Inner Transition and is
written by peak oil writer Carolyn Baker. There's been a bit of talk
about synchronicity recently on other peak oil sites and for me this was
mine because, like others, I am feeling a particularly strong level of
fear lapping around my knees. It's a kind of fear of a greater fear,
if you like, that only a Cassandra could feel. The best quote I saw
this week that could approximate the cause of this came from Noam
Chomsky … here it is:
”The
general population doesn't know what is happening, and it doesn't
even know that it doesn't know.”
So I felt
fortunate indeed when I opened Carolyn Baker's book and began to
read. In it she posits that humankind is about to have a near-death
experience. There's nothing we can do about this, it's as if we are
walking in front of a bus, oblivious because we are listening to our
iPods. We have no comprehension of the three e's: energy, environment
and economics, and the interplay between them that has led us into
our dazed predicament. We are not prepared for it, either materially,
mentally or spiritually. It's as if we are going to be forced to
march into a battle wearing our bathing costumes rather than body
armour. The only thing that can come from this is disaster on a scale
that is scarcely imaginable to the modern mind and we can expect to
see mass social breakdown and suicides as the myth of our
exceptionalism disappears in a puff of smoke.
Anyway,
that's the bad news. The good news, if you could call it that, comes
in the form of inner transition, and that's what she talks about in
the book. She talks about becoming a new kind of human being, and one
that can live with a continuous conscious connection with the living
universe. And cultivating your own inner bunker. There is plenty of
Jungianism in it and I just know that it is going to be one of those
books that opens up new paths for me.
But I
haven't finished the book yet, so I'll wait until I do so before
offering up more.
The second
thing I thought I might right about was a follow on from last week's
post about George Monbiot. Having accused him last week of not really
understanding peak oil it was only 48 hours later that he published a
hot button article claiming that peak oil was irrelevant. Could it be
that GM reads my humble blog? Ha, I doubt it, but still he put the
cat among the pigeons and there was plenty of roiling debate about
whether he has a point or not. The unofficial consensus seems to say
that he had a couple of good points (namely that peak oil won't stop
us being fried by burning fossil fuels – something we knew anyway)
but that overall he was still wrong, primarily because he was basing
his arguments on dubious data supplied by cornucopians.
John
Michael Greer commented to the effect that climate change activists
such as George Monbiot are labouring under delusions of grandeur
because they see mankind as omnipotent whereas peakers recognise the
limits of our power and are therefore somehow more realistic. There
might be something in this but I for one am growing a bit tired of
this dualism – it's like a football match with the
environmentalists (in the green shirts) on the one side and the
peakers on the other (in the black shirts) with the Earth as the
ball. I became an environmentalist as a teenager because my local
forest was cut down to make way for a new housing estate, and because
I couldn't stand seeing whales being harpooned or seals being clubbed to
death: does that sound delusional?
The third
thing I thought I might talk about is how fast things are
unravelling. I read an article yesterday about numerous cities in the
US going bankrupt and how feedback loops effectively bring about fast
collapse scenarios far more rapidly than it took to build up the city
in the first place. It goes something like this: city gets into
financial difficulty because it has borrowed too much based on the
value of its assets (i.e. real estate in most cases); city suddenly
finds it can't pay the debt due to sinking asset prices and a
stalling local economy; city cuts back on essential services and cuts
pensions and welfare payments; crime sky-rockets as a result but
there is not enough money to pay the police so certain areas (usually
the poorer ones) become unpoliced; which causes even more crime which
in turn further lowers house prices which in turn further makes the
gap between asset values and debt wider. People are trapped because
they can't sell up and move somewhere else. The tax base falls and
another step towards third world status is complete.
What I'm
interested to know is what the limiting factors of these negative
feedback loops might be. I can imagine vigilante citizens patrolling
the streets perhaps, and maybe local food coops and trading
arrangements springing up. Whether people are ready for this kind of
sudden shift in lifestyles is the 64 million dollar question.
I was
going to write about all of these things but this week's blog post is
overshadowed by the death of my father in England. Now before anyone
thinks that I'm sobbing into my keyboard I'd better point out that my
father and I had a somewhat strained relationship and I have barely
seen him for the last 18 years. The last seven years he has been
slowly degenerating into a second infancy as dementia ate away at his
brain, and the last year has been particularly bad for him. It was,
as they say, a merciful release.
I'll try
not to make this into a pity party but I would just like to say that
there won't be many people attending his funeral. In life he seemed
to think that people were eggs, because one of his favourite sayings
was 'You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.' He
broke quite a few eggs during his life and prided himself on being
feared by his employees when he was a company director of GEC. He
used to stroll around the train factory where he worked summarily
firing workers for things such as wearing earrings. He boasted about
workers dying from asbestosis and prided himself in never having read
a book in his life.
Born in
Cheadle in 1932, Jack grew up, as he said, as a dirty-kneed urchin in a solidly working class household. As a teenager it seemed he was
destined to be a footballer and played for Manchester City in their
junior team. Furthermore he built up his strength lifting scrap metal
round the back of the factory he worked in, becoming an anatomist's
model in the process. He must have got bored with this because he met
my mother, got married at 21 and hopped on next trans-oceanic
liner to America. Stepping off onto American soil, the first thing he
did was to come down with acute appendicitis. He was rushed to
hospital only to be left in the corridor for hours while my mother,
only 19 and in a state of frenzy, rushed to find a good Samaritan who
would pay a bond for my father to have the operation. If she hadn't
found one such man I wouldn't be writing these words.
They spend
the next 16 or so years living on and off in Canada. My father, a
member of the Communist Party, was finding life in the US too
difficult (so he said). Canada took him in and he made the swift
conversion from Communism to Capitalism, once he had made enough
dough as a property owner there.
Back in
England I arrived in 1971 (my sister is ten years older than me and
grew up with a Canadian accent) and my father climbed the greasy pole
of a manufacturing industry in terminal decline, working his way up
as others slid down. As a ruthless cost cutter who was not afraid of
making omelettes he had found his niche and was rewarded
correspondingly. Thatcherism was on the rise and my father was one of
her acolytes. If anything, she was too soft for his liking, and he
advocated paying lower taxes and instituting the death penalty for
petty offences such as smoking dope. I was packed off to private school and the intention
was to turn me into a mini prodigy which, of course, I never became.
The scene
was set for one conflict after another and, despite my caving in to
his insistence that I study economics at university (I was all set to
study classics) he never really saw me as much more than an expensive
failure. A few attempts at reconciliation proved fruitless and in the
years after my mother died (some 20 years ago) he devoted himself
obsessively to researching ways to avoid paying tax; something which,
in the end, I think contributed to his decline.
Still, it
doesn't do to speak ill of the recently dead, so I'm going to present
another side of my father as well because he had sides that not many
people realised. He was great nature lover and he took us on walks
most weekends around some of the most beautiful parts of the English
countryside. If it wasn't for this early exposure to nature, where I
was allowed to play to my heart's content, I'm not sure how I would
have grown up.
Furthermore,
he abhorred waste of any kind. Every scrap of food had to be eaten,
no matter how bad it tasted, and he would state again and again that
we are spoiled in the west and that people were starving in other
countries. He saw military expenditure as morally wrong too, saying
that for every minute an F1-11 was in the air it could stop a child
dying from malnutrition. Lights left on in the house were punishable
with having my pocket money docked (from the 10p it stood at!) and
nearly all technology, which in those days meant colour televisions
and VCRs was profligacy that would turn your brain to mush.
”People,”
he would say to me time and again ”are really quite stupid and will
do anything and buy anything you tell them to. The trick in life is
to do what you think is right and not be bothered by what others
think of you.” I didn't agree with him at the time (I just wished
my father would be like everyone else's!) - but I now realise that
this was one of the lessons I really took to heart. While all my
friends were going on holiday each year to Florida and on cruises, we
stayed in a leaky caravan in a field in Cornwall, where it normally
rained continuously.
His
toughness extended to central heating, which he was almost
ideologically opposed to. Every winter he would construct his own
storm windows and generally weatherise the house. One room (the
lounge) was kept warm, while the rest of the place was as cold as the
crypt. Sleeping with a thick jumper on was the norm and it was
unusual if you couldn't see your breath indoors between December and
March.
Again,
this is something I now thank him for. I am able to weather a far
greater range of temperatures than most people I know, although it
does mean that I suffer in offices when the thermostat is set way too
high.
Similarly,
my father taught me a lot about tools and gardening. Almost
everything was 'home made' in our house, from the car which he had
salvaged from a scrap heap and put together one cold winter (with me
standing there handing him tools for many a long Saturday when I'd
rather be out with my friends), to the beer which he drank rather too
much of at weekends and many of the clothes I wore. Some of our food
came from the garden too, and every autumn he would take us out into
the 'wild' (i.e. on National Trust land) to pick masses of
elderberries, which he would make into wine with his own printed
labels 'Château Heppenstall'. Unless it was work related he never
went in restaurants, flew on planes or bought furniture.
In his
later years, hit by the grief of losing my mother at the relatively
young age of 58, he softened a lot in his stance on things. With old
age he partially gave in to the insistence of everyone who kept
saying he should 'enjoy his money' and splashed out on a few of the
consumer items that most other people take for granted. He tried to
reconcile with me but couldn't help but get caught up again in his
emotions, with the result that I stayed away from him whenever
possible.
When I
analyse the core cause of the conflict between us I think it can be
boiled down to our world views. I have an innate sense of what I call
optimistic pessimism – all I can remember feeling since I was very
young was that we were destroying the world and that by the time I
was an adult much of it would have been wrecked. My father, like
everyone else of his time who had lived through the Second World War,
was the opposite and took the view that scientific progress was
marvellous and cost-free. Everything from giant dams, to nuclear
power stations and our town's first McDonald's restaurant was
'marvellous' and he claimed his only wish was to be young again so
that he could see these fantastic developments take shape. This
unacknowledged worship of progress was his true religion and was
probably what drove a wedge between us.
In the end he spent the last year of his life at a string of nursing homes and hospitals. He was kicked out of the first one for 'inappropriate behaviour' and ended up under heavy sedation in hospital while doctors experimented on him with different cocktails of drugs. It's a sad
way to end up and he died alone, with even the nurses at the nursing
home (who only spoke Polish and could not even communicate with him)
failing to notice he had died. My sister discovered him in his room
on Tuesday evening, having come down with a cough that morning which
had quickly overwhelmed his immune system. It occurs to me in writing
this that I don't even possess a picture of him.
We are now
arranging a funeral. As a devout atheist he had made it clear that he
didn't want to be anywhere near a church, even in death. So we are
arranging for a burial in a woodland setting, something I think he
would have approved of. We're getting a humanist speaker to conduct a
ceremony and I'm writing a eulogy, which will probably end up being a
more saccharine version of what is above. I realise now deep down
that I loved my dad, despite all of the conflict. I hope that when I
die my children will possess a picture of me. How does that Neil
Young song go … ?
Old man take a look at my life I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes and you can tell that's true.
