The Last Word On Nothing

I’m generally skeptical of the vast majority of things labeled as “self care” these days. Plenty of people have written about this, about how “self care” has become overrun with basic consumerism and aesthetically engineered Instagram posts rather than, you know, actually stuff that helps you care for yourself. So recently, when the The New York Times published a clever little piece asking journalists in their newsroom how they thought about self care, I prepared to roll my eyes. And a lot of the advice in here is certainly eye-roll worthy. But one piece stuck out to me.

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Evolution, we are often reminded, conducts itself at a glacial pace. It throws its dice and picks its favorites over thousands of generations—plenty of time, we wearily explain, for a functional eye to develop. By the same slow token, this process, life’s old standby for adapting to new environments, will not be fast enough for most to transform themselves and avoid getting trampled by the oncoming stampede of anthropogenic climate change.

Only that’s not strictly true. Most on this earth are not, in fact, slow evolvers. Given enough food, a generation for many might mean only half an hour or so. Bacteria and other contagious pathogens most certainly will adapt in response not only to climate change but to the species loss that precedes and accompanies it.

There’s a principle known as dilution theory that links species loss with increased infection. It’s very likely that in pushing our fellow beings off the extinction cliff we put targets on our own backs in ways we don’t fully understand.  Continue reading →

This post originally appeared Dec. 17, 2017

On Tuesday, I texted my friend Michelle a brief video clip of a polar bear.

The bear is starving, all jutting hips and elbows, its fur sparse except for a thatch along its spine and Clydesdale tufts around its plate-sized paws. As with any bear, there is something disturbingly human about the shape of its body, about its movements and mannerisms. It staggers along on a green mat of tundra, foam dripping from its mouth. Dips its face into a rusty barrel and pulls out what appears to be a hunk of rotten meat. Sprawls on the ground, nose to earth, defeated by the visibly difficult work of breathing.

Watching the bear, I covered my mouth with one hand, suppressing tears. This perfect summary of unchecked climate change was like a knife to the kidney. Without sea ice, polar bears can’t hunt seals. And we are to blame.

“I honestly don’t think I can watch that,” Michelle replied. “I can’t get down with the voyeurism of photography generally.”

Michelle—an artist who’s been thinking a lot about polar bears and the Arctic these days—does not shy from engaging tough topics. What bothered Michelle was the lack of direct agency. The doing nothing in the face of such obvious suffering and then using the suffering to convey a message. Some key step had been skipped. More…