We’re sitting in the theater. No one knows how much longer this will go on. We’re watching the world premiere of a play by a Chinese director titled “Corona.” A bizarre spectacle unfolds before our eyes. Bats and pangolins dart across the stage. Unsettled, the actors—wearing face masks—improvise, standing 2 meters apart from one another. A mixture of impatience (how much longer will this take?) and curiosity (is there perhaps still such a thing as a partial happy ending?) begins to spread. Let’s use this time to see what we can learn from this crisis.
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Of course, it would be reckless to downplay the dangers and consequences of the coronavirus crisis. This is what led Angela Merkel to describe it as the “greatest crisis since World War II.” But if we also consider political and environmental crises—such as the Cold War or the climate crisis—that statement seems somewhat off the mark. Perhaps right now, it would do us good to take a look at the lessons and eye-opening insights from more tangible crises of the past.
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After World War II, the “invisible” threat of an impending nuclear war—a consequence of the Cold War—loomed over us, our parents, and our grandparents for nearly 40 years. In 1962, the situation came to such a head that it likely would have taken little more than the push of a button for history books to look very different today (if there were any left at all). The conflict continued to smolder. In 1984, the Doomsday Clock[1] stood at three minutes to midnight. And then, surprisingly, perestroika and glasnost (restructuring and transparency) appeared on the scene. We heard the “wind of change” from somewhere and felt the magic of that historic moment[2]. On the day the Berlin Wall fell, it wasn’t just our homeroom teacher who had tears in his eyes as he explained the events to us. The Eastern Bloc is history. In reunified Germany, the words cohesion and solidarity take on a whole new meaning.
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Or let’s jump back to the oil-crisis-ridden 1970s. The book *The Limits to Growth*, published in 1972, proved almost prophetic regarding what first became apparent in the years that followed: that infinite growth does not work, and certainly not when “finite” raw materials such as oil, coal, and gas are involved. As if on cue, the first oil price shock followed promptly in 1973. Politically upset over a conflict in the Middle East, the oil-producing countries cut back production at the time, sending oil prices through the roof. Back then, too, politicians pondered what restrictions would be reasonable for the public to accept in order to defuse the crisis. What was decided back then in the short term is reminiscent of today’s climate debate: an Austria-wide speed limit of 100 km/h, mandatory car-free days, and lowering the room temperature in government offices to 20°C. We also owe the introduction of energy holidays[3] to the oil crisis (even if the energy-saving effect remained an unfulfilled hope).
What did we learn from this? Just how dependent we are on the oil-producing nations. But we didn’t really care. Life on that lifeline was (and still is for many) comfortable. At the time, the question of whether we should continue driving cars or heating our homes with oil was raised only within the fledgling environmental movement. In the end, the oil price shock wasn’t severe enough to trigger a societal shift away from fossil fuels.
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The fact that the COVID-19 crisis is merely the tip of the iceberg, beneath which lie even more powerful crises (such as the climate crisis), shows us that we may not have learned enough from the crises of the past.
The current crisis is opening our eyes more than ever to questionable dependencies we currently face. The fact that we import essential medicines, protective gear, a large portion of our food, and our energy suddenly creates a sense of unease. The same goes for social inequalities: Who is currently losing their jobs? Who is able to participate in online classes? Which countries are being hit particularly hard by the crisis?
We could draw a wealth of forward-looking conclusions from this crisis. We could view it as a “rite of passage” into a new future that is both biodiverse and people-friendly. We could build our economy in the future on the principles of the common good and the circular economy, rather than on profit maximization. We could free ourselves from the burdens of the past and make a fresh start. Nature shows us how.
Sure, the viral posts about the dolphins in Venice and the drunk elephant turned out to be fake news. But we want nature to recover. Prof. Susan Clayton[4] explains this phenomenon as follows: “No matter what we’ve done—people hope that nature is strong enough to rise above it.”
The fact is: when chimneys and cars come to a standstill, and planes stay on the ground, the air clears up within a few days, whether in China or Italy. The water in Venice’s canals is currently crystal clear. Here in Austria, the sky is a record-breaking blue, with no contrails. And the starry sky sparkles more magnificently than ever.
The old linden tree next to my office window could surely tell me many stories about past crises. Perhaps it would add at the end: “Eventually, every crisis comes to an end.”
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About the Author
Dr. Sybille Chiari is a member of the editorial team for “Nachhaltigkeit. Neu denken” and has been engaged in sustainability and climate communication for many years—both through research and writing. She is part of the Scientists for Future movement and chairwoman of the Bele Co-Housing association (a communal housing project featuring organic, regenerative agriculture ; www.belehof.at).
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Source:
[1] A fictional clock that indicates the end of the world. It is reset annually by a group of renowned scientists. It currently stands at 100 seconds to midnight.
[2] A song by the German band Scorpions that celebrated the magical moments surrounding the fall of the Berlin Wall.
[3] A week of school vacation in February
[4] (Professor of Psychology and Environmental Studies, College of Wooster / Ohio)
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