Apocalypse Now

Planning for an end

On Friday night, I had dinner with a group of fascinating people, some of whom are world experts on the economy-energy-materials matrix that is pushing our planet to its breaking point. At one point, we got onto the topic of our plans for navigating inevitable collapse. One person has identified countries with strong militaries and food production and is setting up a base there. Another is looking to the island nations in the Caribbean. I sketched out vague plans in the Pacific, which was met with support by the table’s leading expert: “You need to be on a volcanic island close to the equator. Volcanic islands won’t be submerged by rising sea levels and the closer you are to the equator, the less temperature increase the land will experience.” We all talked about the rich cultural knowledge still strong in these places, far from our homes. Everyone had an exit plan.

It got me thinking about the Western and white consideration of economic collapse as apocalyptic. How, because our cultures have come to dominate the entire planet through colonisation and extraction, the end of our hegemonic system feels like it would be the end of the world. Yet, for those who were devastated by the invasion of outsiders with gunpowder, horses and coal, and their ancestors who continue to exist under the weight of over-extraction, exploitation, debt bondage and slavery in everything but name, apocalypse has been an ongoing reality for generations. So many worlds have already ended with the violent export of power and domination and fuel so powerful a tiny minority could rule the world with an iron grip only the sun can melt away.

Fittingly, it is Europe who will likely crumble first. Europe’s soils are depleted, its natural resources long destroyed, its knowledge geared towards service provision rather than collective utility. Our many languages have been consolidated into grand cultural behemoths, most of which now desperately lack the words to remember how to live well on the land that is now heating up faster than every other continent on the planet. Our proud institutions are revealing their fascistic roots as the ground beneath our feet cracks in the heat of rage. The tectonic plates of European entitlement and violence are grinding against one another causing shockwaves to ripple out amongst our communities and around the world. The rumblings began centuries ago but the Earth absorbed what she could. She can no longer take it. Neither can we.

The violent, far-right, fascist riots across the U.K. this weekend are the material eruptions of a furious fire stoked by media pundits for many years. Businesses owned by people of colour have been targeted, as have individuals on the streets. Mosques and Hindu temples were attacked, and hotels housing refugees burned down. On daytime television, a Muslim Labour MP was shouted over and talked down by a panel of white journalists who scoffed at the notion the vitriolic media played a part in dividing our communities.

What do we think of when we imagine apocalypse? Buildings on fire, gangs roaming the streets, the vulnerable hiding in homes that are no longer safe. Adam McKay’s film Don’t Look Up reminded us that apocalypse is also all of that which goes unsaid: the media class who remain ignorant in the face of reality, broadcasting a world that no longer exists. The reality of our apocalypse is much more terrifying than an asteroid heading for Earth, or a virus that turns people into zombies, or a disease which wipes out the human race. Our apocalypse is the inevitable result of the mechanics of violence which were used to drip gold from high ceilings and pale fingers while subjects starved in rags. Our apocalypse has ravaged the world for centuries; only the planet could create a new world in which the gold decorating fingers and ceilings means nothing.

We all need an apocalypse plan. It looks like ensuring your Muslim neighbours feel safe to walk the streets of Great Britain; lobbying for women’s rights in the United States; marching for Palestine. It looks like growing food and creating bonds and sharing homes. It looks like acknowledging and talking and writing about the tendrils we don’t yet feel but which snake their way towards us anyway. It looks like remembering the apocalypse isn’t tomorrow, but today and yesterday. It looks like making amends with the Earth and one another. It looks like knowing the end is never final and making plans accordingly.

Here’s to deep soil and strong roots that can withstand the vines that seek to choke the hands we hold.