It’s getting closer to home now: easy to ignore unliveable wet bulb temperatures in the Indus Valley, perhaps, but when whole towns are decimated just down the road in Germany, even the ears of the deaf start to prick up. Still want your pipeline now, Angela?
Meanwhile, across the Channel, the new Health Secretary has Covid. Now Boris will have to self-isolate or break his own rules, just like his previous Health Secretary who broke his own rules in order to grope his aide.
Joking apart, it looks like this shit’s getting serious. Weep at the world? I’m too busy laughing at its hypocrisy. No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.
There may not be oysters to eat for too much longer, but bear in mind that knives have other uses…
Written for dVerse
Tonight, Lisa is hosting Prosery, and has asked us to include the following line:
‘No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.’
–Zora Neale Hurston, from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow (1928)
Zora Hurston (b.1891-d.1960) was a world-renowned writer and anthropologist. Hurston’s
novels, short stories, and plays often depicted African American life in the South. Her work in
anthropology examined black folklore. Hurston influenced many writers, forever cementing
her place in history as one of the foremost female writers of the 20th century.
You can find out more about her in Lisa’s post.
I took the line as a springboard to examine current affairs. In the ultimate irony, the German floods hit on the same day as Merkel and Biden were discussing an 11-billion dollar gas pipeline deal, their only concern seemingly the possible Russian misuse of the pipeline. No mention of the problems of releasing still more fossil fuel emissions into an already carbon-saturated atmosphere.
And here’s a quote from a report of the flooding:
‘RWE, Germany’s largest power producer, said on Saturday its opencast mine in Inden and the Weisweiler coal-fired power plant were affected, adding that the plant was running at lower capacity after the situation stabilised. The utility expects damages will to cost millions to repair.’
Should we be repairing such damaged and damage-causing systems? And why are these questions not being asked, when it is already too late for so many?
The title of this piece comes from Bob Dylan, in a song which is not strictly related to the writing, but has to do with social injustice, which we are sure to see more of as the worst effects of the climate crisis take hold. What sentence will be handed out to the major polluters, and the politicians who are in their pockets? Will this be the time for our tears?
