Ice Crusades Part 2

And another thing.

These climate crusaders, with their roughly drawn placards, smearing soup—which, in the interest of conservation, could've fed someone—on the life's work of people who lived and died long before the miracles of Tupperware and battery-powered tongue scrubbers, do seem a bit counterintuitive. The five- or six-year-olds being dragged along in Mom and Dad's attempt to spice up their love life with some saucy art history are probably responsible for more pollution than Da Vinci was in his lifetime... at least indirectly.

This brings up a thought. Humans, like any other animal, care for their own. Sure, when the closest are taken care of, then maybe the empathy can trickle downward—but for the most part, it’s us for us. Perhaps that is a step that has gone missing in our righteous march for paradise. Instead of shouting at people because the African swallow now has to dodge a glimmering skyline during its migration to Ecuador—or wherever they go these days—inform them of the gradual doom lingering at their very own toes.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? If history has taught me anything, it’s that humans do not respond well to gradual threats. We thrive on imminence. Answers, now. Results, now. Products, now. War, now. Take the Palestine-Israel situation, for instance: for decades they’ve been trading jabs, all under the watchful eye of—no one, really. Until that first missile fell. Imminence. There’s nothing like an imminent threat to unify the masses.

What does that say about us? That for us, as a species—as a people—to truly stand together, imminent, indifferent doom is the minimum requirement.