Death of an Optimist

Having spent most of my life as a ‘cup half-full’ gal, it’s taking some adjustment to raise a glass to the end of the world as we know it. My journey from narcissist to nihilist has triggered a sort of cathartic release — and relief — at finally being able to call it as it is: the current planetary situation is a shit-show and everything we’ve been sold, the current Grhetorical* zeitgeist of talking not doing and everything we’ve been conditioned to believe about democracies, religion, government etc. is also a show of fecal proportions.

Bring on the Veuve Clicquot, or, for that matter the Blue Nun because, soon, nothing will really matter.

In the meantime, I’m all for the nominal nod to the prevention of planetary annihilation: compost cardigans, recycled toothpaste, flip-flop roof-tiles but, really? Is that offensive plastic avocado punnet worming its way into the Amazonian pile of cardboard boxes really going to trigger the nuke ‘launch’ button in a Bond villain’s lair? People relax. I’m going to tell you what therapists tell victims of crime all the time: it’s not your fault. The planet is prostrate but it’s not (all) your fault and it’s ok to run yourself a bubble-bath and sip champagne to switch off once in a while because the real criminals are doing the same somewhere (tax) haven-like, offshore (drilling) and under blue-skies (not thinking).

The tragedy is that we are being made to feel like the planet’s demise is the fault of the individual. That’s you. That’s me. Governments unprepared to make unpopular decisions like taxing the heck out of frequent fliers or rolling out the Mexico City model of certain cars only allowed out on certain days etc. are still telling us to separate our tuna cans from our Grazia magazines if we want to save the world. And don’t get me started on the latest distraction, the emperor’s new electrifying attire: electric cars. Devastating lithium mining for the batteries aside, do you know how long it takes and how much water is needed to extinguish an electrical car fire?

But back to the ‘big issue’ of household recycling: to ensure we don’t kill the planet with the outrageous packaging gifted to us by the supermarkets, we are required to undertake a weekly charade of meticulous and (for some Virgos) neurotic litter picking, sorting, categorising and cataloguing. We also need to use our water to rinse said tuna cans or face unceremonious rejection of our kerb-side offerings. This is especially hard for people struggling to keep up with their utility bills. So, saving the world is inclusive: even poor people get to have a go! However, it seems that somehow the rich — and I mean orbitally rich — are exempt.

Surely some obvious questions need to be asked; no we’ve asked them, I mean answered: why are we still not fining Tesco for placing two well-travelled avocados in a plastic tray or sending the CEO of Proctor and Gamble to prison for still manufacturing plastic tampon applicators or sanctioning big Pharma for still using non-biodegradable foil backing on blister packs? These are the real recycling crimes against humanity; these are the Goliaths that stand brazenly over us and scoff as we scamper to remove metal lids from our elderflower presse bottles before placing them lovingly in (plastic) bins while believing we are making a difference. More fool us.

Still, my road to nihilism is a winding one and I haven’t quite reached its final apocalyptic stage; though the apoplectic stage is a well-trodden one at this point. Why have I not thrown myself over the San Andreas Fault of despair? Possibly because I am retaining some notion that humankind isn’t entirely dumb and that we’ll start to force change on the real decision makers.

I know I’m not the only one experiencing the ‘rabbit in headlights’ phase of the countdown to oblivion. I’m sure I’m not the only one for whom it’s enough to get oneself out of bed and cry into a bowl of Shredded Wheat (Nestle are rocking the modern slavery loopholes, btw, so all non-coeliacs, try to wean) before heading off on a highway of diesel fumes (all buy diesel they said) to the proverbial gerbil-wheel in order to keep the capitalist cogs turning.

But help me to not give up entirely, people, let’s look up from our recycling tubs and find a way to encourage our Governments to stop performing fellatio on their profiteering masters and to show some solidarity with the people on the ground — what a notion! Who knows, the politicians and the proletariat could even become friends with benefits; certainly our votes will go some way to woo.

‘Mmm, but how can we reverse the seeming irreversibility of capitalism?’ we ask ourselves and other rabbits in headlights at dinner parties, ‘Surely it’s too far gone and we are all just ants…in pants — well, wearing them, not in the itching sense …’ etc. Cue the South Africa model. Things can change — we just need to reverse the inertia freeze, thaw out, and look to South Africa in the 80s to see just how the world can take a breath and change the very structures of power that kept Mandela in prison for twenty-seven years.

We imposed sanctions, we refused to buy their wine, their fruit, their diamonds, they were ousted from the Olympics, their cricket team was banished. We turned our backs on them and held the line until the sheer weight of global dissent, not to mention economic fist-tightening, sent Apartheid and all its grisly acolytes into the history books. The new regime gave birth to the Truth Commission, another model of humanity at its best, and, despite the challenges faced by the ‘Rainbow Nation’ the wine, for now, flows for many — admittedly not for all.

Speaking of wine, the ultimate wine-swiller, Emperor Nero apparently went ostrich and played the fiddle while Rome burned in the great fire of AD 64 which is where the idiom, ‘fiddling while Rome burns’ originates from. (Forgive my carnal predilections but I thought it meant something entirely less musical.) Anyway, this is the point: until we hold our Governments and our corporates directly responsible for unf****ing the world, actively boycott polluters and stop getting decoyed by the seemingly active but ultimately pin-prick-passive act of trying to save the dolphins by flossing with celery string, Rome — and everywhere else — will burn.

*Grhetorical — rhetorical citing of Greta Thunberg’s cause and seeming to support measures to combat climate change. Fluff but no function.