I sat in my back garden with a coffee and felt that autumn had arrived. The season is past due, but has made it to Melbourne, if not to our other cities and states.
I just enjoyed it. The coffee. The softer sun. The birds. The fig tree. The birds demolishing the fig tree. As I am not in the habit of enjoying things, this pleasure was a bit of a shock.
I know. I know that there may be those just born who will not remember a world in which this season is possible. Not possible at any latitude.
I have a marvellously bad memory for the things I’m most eager to forget. For example, my recollections of one particular semester of school are as absent as was my attendance. But, I do remember doing something or other about Freud. I guess a bloke who explored unconscious or semi-conscious thoughts knows how to get in someone’s head. Anyhow, this quote is certainly not accurate, but it will make a point, more-or-less.
I know that there may be those just born who will not remember a world in which this season is possible. Not possible at any latitude.
I think it goes, “I know. But, still.”
I think it describes that tendency many people have to recognise a fear, or a desire, but to simultaneously bury it. I know that I fear some of my memories, for example, and, truly, I know what those memories are. But I can disavow them, too; pretend that they don’t exist. I know. But. Still.
This formulation of Freud’s—which I have likely failed to properly recall—can describe the way many of us feel about climate change. Or, as we used to less graciously call it: global warming.
I know. I know it will occur. I know it is likely to rob nations of the material they need to survive. I know it is likely that I will see fast-paced change in my lifetime. I know it will devastate species; possible my own.
I know. But, still.
I guess—again, I can’t really remember that Freud semester- that the point of some therapy is to say, “I know”, and keep on knowing it. To revisit a fearful memory or to accept an unwanted desire in the self is, perhaps, to be freed. Freed from the paralysis of, “I know. But, still”. Liberated to take action.
What do we do when the paralysis of denial lifts and we know that we must act?
Such moments need not occur on Freud’s couch—although, as a therapy veteran, I do urge you to seek support from someone who knows stuff if you feel trapped inside desire, fear or pain. Such moments can occur in unexpected places.
A while back, I shared three wines with two climate scientists. The things they said after a few standard drinks shook me. I won’t share the predictions and observations of these scholars as they were disclosed in a private setting. I don’t wish to represent climate scientists in a way that may be inimical to their research—I mean, just because some guy tells you over a Pinot that WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE IN URBAN WAR IF NOT IN NEED OF WATER, or similar, you don’t go about presenting the science inappropriately.
The morning after, my faculty for failing to remember unpleasant things just, um, failed. I didn’t forget that conversation in which I was an accidental participant. I’ll never forget it. When I am scratching around in the parched earth looking for remnants of the old and irrigated world, I will remember it.
I know it is likely to rob nations of the material they need to survive. I know it is likely that I will see fast-paced change in my lifetime. I know it will devastate species; possible my own.
And yet. I know. But still.
I did not become a tireless climate activist that morning. I just put on my strides and went to work. I did wonder why climate change was not always the lead story on every media outlet, and I did wonder a bit what I could do to get myself out of the old Freudian paralysis. Of knowing, but refusing to truly know.
Maybe. Maybe I have achieved “I know” this week.
I know. I do not know what to do about the loss of life, peace, water, species and coffee in the autumn son. But today, Dr Freud, I know.
Now, tell me, Doctor. What do we do when the paralysis of denial lifts and we know that we must act?
I should have paid attention that semester.
If you have an autumn this year, please pay very close attention to its gentleness. In the meantime, I’ll go looking for my old school notes.
