Preamble: The Dilettante Boogie
Recently, a heretofore-climate-skeptic-business-person-that-would-be-leader oft quoted by the media lamented on the changing climate. The human condition, this newly minted environmentalist said, was the cause of energized storms, droughts, the migration of disease, and sea level rise. Worse, the predicament of people not paying attention to the changing climate–and implementing effective action–was also caused by humanity’s quirks. “We are failing,” said the dilettante, “at survival.” Further, “Something, anything, needs to be done to foster awareness lest we are burped off the planet.” Before dancing forward to declare how his companies’ products would help us.
Then, in an odd twist of genuine clarity (it’s all about randomization of the system), he followed with a comment that when his young daughter asks him what he did during The Great War–the war between truth and economics–he will say he did everything he could to stem the tide of destruction. That he was on the side of right, after a prudent evaluation period, and those doomed to historical hell (or was that a media blitz, I forget), were shortsighted, evil–and due a dressing down.
In the name of justice, I present the other side of this historic awakening–in the form of a parable.
To Wit:
Daughter:
“Daddy, look down there in the valley. It looks like the river is going to flood early this year. It’s raining so hard you can hardly see the smoke from the fires. It didn’t used to flood until Christmas. But here it is Thanksgiving. Daddy, it is a nightmare out there. A drought all summer, storms all winter, the wind and the smell of death, the dust and the mud. I just don’t understand. Your generation had it all. You had heat. You were dry when it rained. You got to walk around safely. There was the law. Now our world has turned into hell from human forcing of the climate. Oh, Daddy, I’m not angry with you. People are dying and we live here safely. I’m mad at them for being stupid. What is wrong with them? Why couldn’t they help themselves?”
Father:
“So are you proud of me?”
Daughter:
“Of course, I would never want to be like those people down there–starving to death, freezing to death, dying of dehydration, suffering from all those diseases, and living like animals in the remains of civilization. But I don’t understand what happened. How come we are so comfortable? We can celebrate Thanksgiving with roast dog and they live in such squalor? I bet they don’t even know it’s Thanksgiving. We are so fortunate and I am so thankful for what you have done for us…Please tell me what happened.”
Father:
“Martha, those people out there are in better shape than most. Did you know that? They knew where to live so they would not be wiped off the planet. They are the remains of what was called the middle class; many of them still call themselves environmentalists.”
Daughter:
“Everyone knows environmentalists are idiots. So how could they are better off than the rest of them?”
Father:
“You see, despite how ignorant the environmentalists were about people, they knew a lot about the planet and the changing climate. Sadly, they believed in the truth, but not the reality, and so they knew what was coming, but couldn’t take care of their lot. Of course, many other people believed the media and just decided climate change wasn’t happening. They are the ones who are dying in large numbers.”
Daughter:
“They believed the media because the dumb-bunny-environmentalists couldn’t figure out how to get anyone to listen to them.”
Father:
“That’s right. You do remember what I say. The dumb-bunnies, all of them, refused to believe that the changing climate was a political dilemma, not a scientific event.”
Daughter:
“But we listened didn’t we, Daddy? We were smart. We paid attention and so we are safe, right?”
Father:
“Well, yes and no–the human condition is never so easy to understand. While the enviro-dopes were busy spending their time and money trying to make people aware of anthropogenic forcing of the radiative balance, my friends and I were paying people to say there was no problem.”
Daughter:
“Why, Daddy?”
Father:
“So we can be safe–so we could enhance our position and wealth–resources that Mom and I use to protect you. Back then, we erected walls of misinformation so the environmentalists would focus on fighting us, explaining the climate over and over, and not thinking about acquiring resources to protect their kids. That way we could increase our power–and I could keep you safe.”
Daughter:
“I remember when they burned down our big house. I didn’t feel very safe then.”
Father:
“We’re safe now, dear. Look it’s Mom.”
Daughter:
“They didn’t care about their children? They didn’t love them. So you tricked them because they were evil and stupid?”
Mom:
“Your daddy is an exceptionally smart man. He is dreadfully good at making people see things his way.”
Daughter:
“I know, Mom. Is that dinner in the oven yet?”
Mom:
“Just about, but this year we will need to skip the cranberry sauce. There is none left. Oh, look at Martha’s sore leg. It appears a bit better.”
Daughter:
“Daddy and I were sitting here by the fire talking about the people in the valley. And stop treating me like a child. I know that I have gangrene.”
Mom:
“How do you know? Did Daddy say something?”
Daughter:
“No. Gangrene, is what the doctor called it. I listened to him when you all thought I had gone to sleep. He said it just before he said that there was no penicillin left and there is nothing he can do for me. But, I am not concerned about that. I am worried about you two. Do think the crazies will ever break through the steel door of our cave?”
Father:
“Never, dear, that door is the strongest door made. There is no way those dirty people in the valley will get passed that door. It’s a vault door. We used it to protect money in a bank.”
Daughter:
“That’s a vault door? It was used to protect money? You mean the paper we use in the latrine. Are you serious? They protected paper with that door?”
Mom:
“Your Daddy used to think that paper was more important than anything, or anyone, he and his friends.”
Father:
“Don’t start that again, Aldunza.”
Mom:
“So now I am Aldunza again.”
Daughter:
“Mom, what if you run out of oil for the lamps? Or if the water stops flowing in the back of the cave, or if the mushrooms stop growing, or if the dogs get sick, what will you do then? I won’t be around to help you.”
Mom:
“We will be fine, dear. Daddy has all those guns. I’ll know what to do once you are gone.”
Daughter:
“I feel better now. Let’s eat. Roast dog with mushrooms, yams and dried pineapple, yum. Gee, Daddy we are so lucky. This is a wonderful Thanksgiving. We have so much, and thank you for giving me this wonderful life. I’m so hungry. You know, Mom. I hate the end of the winter, when we have to eat crow.”
Mom:
“Your Daddy feels the same way about eating crow. Quixote, carry your daughter to the dinner table. Make sure to put her in a chair.”
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