if you’ve got hope, tell me how

Katherine's Blog

Previously… Comments on Katherine’s blog confirm things are spiraling elsewhere. Katherine checks in with her neighbour, who implores her to watch over Claudette, another resident on their street. Molly’s going north, leaving Katherine her solar set-up, houseplants, and blueberries.

October 1 2029 - blog post

I can’t remember a time before I knew that as I grew, the world was going to become scarier instead of safer. In all the books I read, even ones about brutal times, there seemed to be an overt or sub-textual assumption that the world could be better. There seemed to be some fount of hope that everyone, authors and characters alike, drank from that gave them the will to wake up morning after morning and make a mark on the day.

I never had that.

In grade school, I learned about the greenhouse effect. It made instant sense to me because my neighbour growing up had a greenhouse. In early spring, I would pull on my rubber boots and grab my gardening gloves, a gift from Ms. Delapaz, my neighbour. It’s her I went to visit, not her daughter Molly. A knock on her door would bring Ms. Delapaz outside, and I’d plead to go into the greenhouse. She’d acquiesce, and we’d tromp through the rotting snow to the glass enclosure in her wild back yard. We’d have to work the door open, because all winter, snow had tumbled off the roof onto the perimeter around the greenhouse, creating a berm that further improved the insulation.

There had been three days of sun in a row. We tugged the door open and stepped within, leaving the chill of the wind and snow outside. Even though the windows were dirty and streaked, the sun had pressed against them, entering the greenhouse with no way to leave.

“It’s warm,” I said, turning my face up to Ms. Delapaz.

“Isn’t it amazing?” she’d said. I got the sense that she found it as miraculous as I had, this treasure box of stored sunlight.

When they taught us about global warming by using the greenhouse analogy, my lungs seemed to freeze so I could only catch shallow breaths. I remember this sensation intimately. We were greenhousing the entire Earth? Making it hotter than it should be? Why? And... what did it mean?

My fate was sealed when we later learned about the planets of our solar system, and Venus, who was described as Earth’s sister. Venus was hot, too hot for life they said – and said its heat was the result of a runaway greenhouse effect. Hothouse Venus.

And Earth, following in her steaming footsteps.

Do you remember when you first learned things were bad and getting worse?

I do think there was a time I thought that surely technology would advance to the point where we could retrace our steps, undo our misdeeds. I learned about billionaires and thought, well if I had billions of dollars, I would make sure the Earth didn’t become unlivable. I wished for the reversal of climate change on every birthday candle, every falling star.

Yet all around me, business as usual was the best option. The worst? The increase of violence, of anger, of greed, of consumption. It was like we’d been told the end was near and instead of gathering together to make sure our unique and precious lives ended with dignity and gentleness, we all pretended we could fight or fake our way through this crisis.

Now we’ve been told all that hope we grew up on, that some of us actually internalized, was for nothing. All our efforts, our Friday lunches standing in front of Town Hall with signs, begging people to care about what their children would have to experience, all our letters to politicians and our social media videos, every desperate hand super-glued to famous works of art, every chain of citizens blocking entry to a new mining operation...

Everything we tried was for nothing.

We might as well have not tried.

And I think that’s what happened with most people. It was too hard, so they gave up early. At least that way, they wouldn’t have wasted their time when the inevitable happened. At least they had fun on their snowmobiles and ATVs and mudding trucks. At least they got to fly to the same all-inclusive twelve times before the fun ended. At least they got some poorly made plastic goody delivered to their doorstep every other day. Better than trying to save the world, which would be so embarrassing when it failed.

I sound bitter. I am. I am so angry. Of course I didn’t try hard enough either. Of course I didn’t challenge every piece of misinformation my coworkers or distant relatives authoritatively pronounced. Almost everything I own was made by someone else, possibly under terrible conditions, journeying half a world to get to me. I know there are rare earth materials in this very laptop, that I’m only able to post this because some water-guzzling server farm exists in some place that was once beautiful.

I’m sorry. I felt so powerless. I felt so small. I thought I was like a spider that survived the harsh winter by slipping under the greenhouse door. I thought maybe I’d be okay, that there’d be something to save me. I thought it would matter that I tried.

Now I can’t stop thinking what a waste. What a fucking waste.

That’s all I can write for today. What about you, hm? If you’re reading this, tell me when you first learned things were bad. And when you learned it was hopeless. Was it just now, with the UN’s declaration of abandoning ship?

If you’re still managing to hold on to hope, will you tell me how?