Conscious Clipper #5: COVID-19
An Unlikely Teacher: What COVID-19 has Taught Me About Climate Change
I am a woman of science. I am someone who believes in the brilliant people who dedicate themselves to unraveling the mysteries of the world. Therefore, one would assume I believe them when they say “viruses aren’t alive; they’re just pernicious strands of RNA with no brains to speak of”. However, I have come to believe that this virus, this COVID-19 has evolved a noggin with enough knowledge to rival Einstein and flummox Freud. As it goes about its agenda of mass chaos and destruction, it has taught the world some extremely valuable lessons about appreciation and the fragility of life. Not bad for something without a brain, right? Though we never asked to go through quarantine, this COVID-crash course has the power to benefit our lives and help us fight another great threat to our world today. Don’t believe me? Keep reading.
When pacing the four walls of my house has become unbearable, and another round of monopoly sounds about as appealing as a hot poker in the eye, I have joined many others seeking the solace of nature during this quarantine. Personally, I opt for long runs on the paths through a forest near my home. As I run paths so familiar to my feet, I’m almost surprised to find the forest unchanged; I suppose some part of me expected the chaos of the world to seep into the forest. Instead, I found the trees, river, and paths just as they were three weeks ago. I did a double take when I noticed a spray of spring flowers bravely pushing up through the dirt. There was my favorite oak tree, still standing tall in all its gnarled glory. I guess that trees don’t really care about the economy or the national deficit. The stock market has risen and fallen, and this oak tree didn’t even bat a leafy eyelash. Looking closely at the rough, dark, bark, I imagine that I can see through the crackling exterior to the rings inside the old tree. These rings are a living, breathing record of time gone by. Some bands are thicker than others, representing prosperous years. Others were made thin by lack of nutrients. Yet every year, no matter how thick or thin the band, this tree grew. If only we had such a tangible record of the passage of time. Because we, as humans, are easily forgetful. We lose sight of the hard won victories and the struggles that we have already lived through. Maybe, if we grew rings like trees, we would finally see that no matter how hard a year is, every time the earth circles the sun, our skin becomes thicker and our soul becomes stronger.
Another place in which I’ve sought solace this past few weeks has been the ocean; the ceaseless flow of the tide feels like a reassuring promise. Recently, on a sunny day that hinted at spring, I walked along the shore, noticing (as one inevitably does) an abundance of litter. I passed solo cups and beer bottles, forgotten beach toys and fishing rope, and a plastic bread bag, to which I gave a second life as a receptacle for the litter I found. My first catch of the day was a clump of fraying rope which I promptly deposited into my handy bread bag. That felt good, I thought. As I continued, adding more and more items to my collection, I came to resemble some kind of dollar-store Santa who had fallen on hard times. Despite my unsightly collection that clashed with the elegance of the beach, with every piece of trash I picked up, I felt a little bit lighter. And even though I know that picking up some trash doesn’t reduce the threat of COVID-19, with every action I felt a little bit more in control of my situation. As I biked home from the beach that day, I realized that my experiment as Litter-Claus gave me insight into the role that I play in fighting a different crisis that has not been put on pause for the pandemic: climate change. Similar to coronavirus, climate change often feels too overwhelming for one person to address; the individual develops the sense of a ping-pong ball thrown against the Great Wall of China. But I have come to realize now more than ever that we cannot allow ourselves to be frozen by inaction. I have learned to welcome and appreciate the sense of power that comes with measurable action. Rather than dwelling on the enormity of the task, COVID-19 has taught me to be patient, and when things feel overwhelming, to clean up the beach that is in front of me.
Picking up trash, mind you, is very different than sweeping it under the rugs of state houses and Senate offices. Unfortunately, kicking the can of crisis down the road is nothing more than cowardice disguised as preservation of peace, and has led to disaster throughout American history. For example, when political leaders adopted legislation in 1820 to appease the growing tensions over the fate of slavery in the country, the Missouri Compromise was nothing more than a Band-Aid over an infected wound. In 1929, the warnings of economists fell on the deaf ears of a willfully ignorant country that was spiraling towards a devastating depression. Today, in 2020, few worried about COVID-19 until the vague, offshore threat suddenly became a national crisis that effectively shut down the country. Once again, our pride got in the way of our preparation, and we waited to act until it was nearly too late. During this time, I can’t help but wonder how easily our society could be disrupted by rising sea levels and intensifying storms. The foundation we thought was concrete has proven to be wet sand, and the water is only rising higher. How long before climate change threatens our society that way that COVID-19 has? Could rising levels of pollution keep us trapped indoors the way this virus has? The difference is, there is no vaccine for a destroyed ecosystem; no reset button on our world. I think this crisis is the wake up call that our society needed. Everyday spent in quarantine, we take more seriously the threat that our lives can be so easily disrupted by indiscriminate forces that cannot be staved off by wealth or influence.
The final lesson that COVID-19 has taught me is how much reason we have for hope. While hope today can seem as thin as ever-depleting toilet paper; to me, hope is a steel cable tethering us to tomorrow. I am hopeful because I see companies like L.L. Bean make medical masks out of dog bed material, demonstrating the limitless creativity of the human imagination. I am hopeful because I see professional performers volunteering their time and services to bring joy into our quarantine. I am hopeful because at a time rampant with fear, I have seen so much strength and kindness in spontaneous singalongs and front porch St. Patrick’s Day Celebrations. Finally, I am hopeful because COVID-19 has demonstrated that our society is capable of implementing the changes necessary to protect its citizens. If this kind of drastic action can be taken in response to a crisis, why not in the prevention of one? In the lessons from one crisis, I see a path forward to our dream of a greener, greater future. As activists, educators, and scientists, it is our task to channel the lessons that this ordeal has brought into positive action, whether that means the organization of a march, the cleaning of a beach, or something entirely new. This time, we cannot forget. This time, we must remember. The band that grows around our trunk this year need not be a prophecy for the future; it is, however, a promise of what is to come if we do not act. However, with patience to sustain us and kindness towards one another, person by person and piece by piece, we can pick up the world.
Not a bad lesson plan for something without a brain.
The Conscious Clipper is written by Rose Hansen
