The poly-crisis is the most important issue facing humanity. Not the election, not the Middle East, not inflation. These issues are all intertwined, but the driving forces behind almost all of our current and future problems - war, polarization, wealth disparity, etc. - are biosphere collapse and resource scarcity.
So why don't I talk about it, despite my writing on this website and Twitter? I don't discuss the state of civilization much with friends, family or colleagues - this is precisely why I began writing about it.
There are many like me. Deeply concerned about the future, obsessed with the damage humanity is inflicting on the planet but unwilling or unable to talk about the topic with friends, family or colleagues. I make the occasional remark to test the waters, but never have I had the opening to let it all out.
Many of us carry the weight of this burden, yet keep it to ourselves.
So why are we more comfortable discussing the Ukraine war than the the elephant in the room (which is arguably the cause of the Ukraine war)? While the Ukraine war has a potential end scenario, collapse is unsolvable. To talk about collapse is to acknowledge collapse, and therefore give weight to our potential extinction.
You don't really talk about a terminal cancer that leaves someone with 3 weeks to live. You find ways to comfort them and you let them vent. Importantly, you spend quality time with them. Terminal cancer isn't a problem to 'solve'. In such an example, however, it's not a mutual problem and the listener's role is clear.
When the terminal diagnosis is shared, despair is often silent.
Another reason we don't share our fears is the risk of ostracism. Most of the world serves the very corporate machine that is killing us. Many people's livelihoods depend on maintaining cognitive dissonance about the damage being done to the environment.
Complaining about collapse undermines most individuals' very existence. Nobody wants to hear that not only have they wasted their lives, they've actively contributed to the environmental holocaust. Many unknowingly, but only because they choose not to know.
Broaching the subject of collapse - even with someone you know well - is an opening to conflict. It is seen as an attack on their choices.
Much like other non-mainstream communities, the collapse-aware stick to our corner of the world where we know we're understood and respected. Finding that corner is a challenge.
I created this community - collapse2050.com and my Twitter presence - so we can commiserate and share with others worldwide. Our community is catharsis for those with no other outlet. The online nature provides the opportunity to enter and exit the conversation when mental health demands a break. But it's good to know the community is always there if we (I) need it.
For some, this is not enough. For those who desire verbal interaction and can afford it, working with a collapse-aware therapist might be beneficial. I've worked with a therapist in the past for work-stress and it's a great release to find someone who must listen and engage without arguing. Therapists can also help you cope with intractable problems by providing tools for managing your reaction. We can't control the world around us but we can control how we react to it.
I'd also recommend building physical resilience as a means to mentally cope. Improve your health and strength. Grow food. Fix things. Help others. The combination of physical and mental activity can help provide a purpose and release the bottled stresses. Who knows...maybe it'll also buy you some time.
It's strange to think that we're all stuck on the same sinking boat yet hesitant to talk about what's happening. Was it like this for past civilizations? Like today, I imagine that people in the past openly discussed the observable symptoms of collapse but rarely addressed the systemic issues causing it.
"Another bad harvest."
"The rain washed away my family's home."
"I can't afford to live anymore."
But never the possibility all these things are worsening symptoms of a greater catastrophe.
Historians look back at these past civilizations as if they're mysteries. Meanwhile, we're repeating the same failures today, distracted by acts of redemption and misdirection until civilization dissolves entirely.
Beautifully put.
I think some of us also reach a level of exhaustion with communication in this space. So much of what is written and consumed nowadays consists of rehashed, rebranded, shallow takes on snippets of science or news, all amid a crush of fast and superficial information streaming at us.
Anything genuinely new is forced into that crush, ensuring it never receives any depth of analysis. Its coverage is limited to an endless loop of sound bites. Consider the recent news cycle and what's happened with the Jasper wildfire, a tragedy already sliding from view. Or the Rio Grande do Sul floods. Or the cyclone in Bangladesh and West Bengal. These big, life-threatening and life-changing climate collapse events have been relegated to the superficial information crush. Most are already forgotten.
As communicators in this space, we fall victim to the crush cycle as well. We draw our content from other content, and so we graze over the surface of the unfolding tragedy.
I tried for a while to break the cycle. I had a big, life-threatening and life-changing climate collapse experience. I was a first-hand witness to something huge and terrifying. I wrote a book about it while trying to crawl out of the abyss the event created in my world. Trying to do both at once was maybe foolish, but I am a writer, and that’s what writers do, right? We write to unpack things; to reveal depths and pools. We write in the hope that someone will read, and that over time an informed, nuanced discussion will unfold. That may have been the writer-reader contract years ago. No more. The book came out, and I was flooded with requests for snippets and slogans. No depth. No informed, nuanced discussion. And my big, terrible experience became just another temporary example sliding from relevance.
I think what I am trying to say is communication and perception have changed, and despite having incredible connectivity to each other and information about the world, too few people think deeply anymore. The ship is sinking, but most people have lost the skill to even perceive the fatal tilt as the bow slides below the waterline.
Being collapse aware and focusing on it is an incredibly isolating task. All other "normal" conversation becomes work. I appreciate your writing.