On Land & Out of Touch

We’re finally back in New Zealand.

The ship pulled into port yesterday morning, and it was a very strange homecoming. I’d seen some of the reports of the localist food movement protests, but for some reason I didn’t expect to see them in person. What I hadn’t heard about yet, however, was the counter-protests. It appeared to be a competition for who had the largest banners and who could bellow longest on their loudhailer.

On one side were the group denouncing the importing of food, and on the other were those proclaiming NZ’s need for food exports to sustain its economy. Being already quite familiar with the arguments of the localists, it was the latter group that most intrigued me. They ascertained that ever since the advent of refrigerated ships the NZ economy had been dependent on meat and dairy exports, and to jeopardize them now would cause the worst economic depression in ten years.

It seems crazy to me that in the current global food and energy crises, a country as far away from everywhere as New Zealand would still be importing and exporting food. I also can’t help wondering just who we’re now exporting food to? Anyone who can get their hands on it, I suppose, while managing to sneak around the negative “carbon footprint” press.

I feel so totally out of touch with this country I lived in for two decades. I think one of my first goals will be to find out what the heck has been going on here. Must remember to do a search for other Kiwis who have joined the Superstruct Project.

Speaking of which, it finally launched to the public two days ago – and already has over 2,000 members who are all sharing their stories, ideas and possible solutions to the current state of things. It’s incredibly exciting, and our whole family sat down and browsed through what the first members were been saying last night.

Oh Yeah – we did finally sit down and chat with Edith and RJ about the GEAS report. Being able to discuss Superstruct alongside it really helped. That survival horizon might not have moved far yet, but we’ve only just begun…

How do you explain…

How do you explain to a five and a seven year old that they may not live beyond thirty?

OVER DINNER

This evening in the dining hall the same answer came to me: I still have absolutely no idea. As I looked across at June, I could see in her eyes that neither did she.

“What’s wrong, Mummy?” asked Edith.

“Mum and Dad just have some things to talk about,” June replied, “That’s why we need you to go to bed the same time as RJ.”

“Can you help us out with that?” I added in quickly, “I know it seems dumb, but we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

She nodded with a pointed roll of her eyes, and we returned to our food. The kids were already in a foul mood about not getting to partake in the ship’s weekly meat dish again. The standard happy-meat and not-happy-meat explanation locked horns with the “but I want some” justification. To be fair, the other dishes on offer were hardly appetizing, but
a) it’s been a while now since anyone could afford to be too picky, and
b) I was very happy just to be holding meals down again.

STORYTIME

After dinner, I take the kids back to the berths to wash up and start the process of getting them to sleep. Once settled down in their beds we had the usual story time. While I read to them however, my mind was elsewhere.

June and I had let it become a “thing”. By hesitating to talk with them about the GEAS results on that first day, it quickly became a task that felt totally insurmountable. Now each time I tried to work out how to approach it, I found myself staring into a void.

Before I knew it, the chapter had come to an end, and I turned off the reader.

“Daddy…” began Jack tentatively, “Are you and Mum going to break up?”

“No,” I replied with a genuine smile, “No RJ, your mum and I are not going to break up.”

“Okay,” he said with a nod, and snuggled down into the blankets. I gave both him and his sister a kiss on the forehead and said goodnight.

THE WAY FORWARD

I found June in the crowded computer room. Passengers and off-duty crew alike were staring intently at their screens, emailing family and friends, or reading the latest reports from those on land. Clearly we had a strong satellite connection for once.

“How is it going?” I asked June.

“Well, they said that concerned citizens and groups should start talking with each other. I’m having a look at what people are saying…”

The guy at the computer next to her got up and offered me the chair. I thanked him and reopened the browser. It was immediately apparent that just about everything seemed to be in reaction to the GEAS findings. Youtube was filled with declarations of the end being nigh, or it all being a hoax, or calls to action. People were talking largely at crossed purposes across blogs, forums, twitter – in a sense answering the call, but not really getting anywhere.

June let out a long sigh and turned to me. “I think we’ve been overthinking this. I reckon we simply tell the kids tomorrow that the world has had a wake up call, and we’re all going to have to work together to survive.”

“Yeah,” I replied with a nod. “Yeah, that sounds good to me.” We shared a smile, still daunted, but somewhat less distressed. I pointed to my screen, “…and I dare say this will help.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s that new networking site that Jane emailed me about,” I replied. “It’s not live to the public yet, but they’ve asked for my help once it is. I’ve got the feeling that it could really take off…”

We turned back to the computers, and began to contribute.

The night was dark and stormy…

I’ve been experiencing various levels of seasickness now for days. The morning after my previous blog post, we awoke to torrential rain, winds and massive sea swells – which are only now beginning to subside. I’ve experienced terrible storms on land, but this is something else altogether… I’d have been worried if the crew hadn’t taken it so nonchalantly in their stride.

The first of the rough weather was actually kind of exciting for us all. Edith and RJ found playfighting with the whole cabin rising and falling totally hillarious. It also provided a perfect opportunity for me to introduce them to one of my Grandfather’s favourite pieces of doggrel:

The night was dark and story, and the waves crashed over the ship. The captain said to the cabin boy, “Antonio, tell me a story!” – and the story began like this: The night was dark and stormy, and the waves crashed over the ship. The Captain said to the cabin boy, “Antonio, tell me a story!” – and the story began like this: The night was dark and stormy…

The novelty wore off pretty quick, both for the cabin boy’s story and the weather. I think it was after the third day of nausea that I made a pact with myself: If air travel doesn’t become readily affordable again, I am never leaving New Zealand. Of course, if we’ve only got twenty-three years left to pull ourselves from the brink of extinction, the whole idea of unforced travel seems a bit extravagant.

Speaking of pacts, there’s actually been an unspoken one amongst those of us on the ship. Ever since the day the news broke about the GEAS report, it’s been hardly mentioned by any of us. As if maybe the whole thing was another of those fusions of theater, disinformation and synchronized hacking – that we’ll get back to land to discover it was all a mistake. Truth be told, I’ve been using my volitile stomach as a bit of an excuse to put off discussing it with both June and the kids.

Trouble is, no matter how much I want it to go away, I’m starting to see signs of it everywhere. When I turned to my e-book reader to take my mind of the nausea, I remembered I was in the middle of Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle (looks like the Ice-Nine wasn’t necessary after all, Kurt). Listening to my self-recorded bootleg of Bowie’s latest tour, I was absolutely floored by the sincerity of the rendition of Five Years. He’s always been ahead of the rest of us – I can’t help wondering if somehow the bastard already knew.

So here I am again, almost exactly a week later and my thoughts are no more in order than before. Except for one thing – I’ve just been reading an email from an old friend in San Francisco. Apparently they’re working on some project, “a positive response to the GEAS results”. It’s not up and running yet, but they’re needing help coordinating the community once it is. I’m starting to feel like ANY kind of response would be better than what I’ve currently been offering, and a positive one would be a million times so.

I guess we’ll see what comes of it.

Totally Out at Sea

I spent a long time tonight just staring out at the sea.

It’s now after midnight… the clouds have blotted out the moon and stars, and it’s pitch black out there. The rest of the family are fast asleep, but I’m still wide awake.

Alongside the other passengers, we spent much of the day in this computer room – watching and reading the news, reports and responses. It was a hard combination, learning about the awful reality of what we’re facing at an agonizing download speed. We adults were all but silent, which made my turns playing with the kids a welcome release.

Meanwhile, the crew of the freighter have been going about their work as per normal. Well, I imagine what they’re doing is normal. In the dining area tonight, however, it was pretty clear that the GEAS results had spread throughout the entire ship. I guess the difference is that they can keep their hands and minds busy, but we’re left with nothing to do but dwell.

June and I have been following the Global Extinction Awareness System project for a while. We knew the results were on their way, but to be honest we didn’t think they’d be released until we got back to New Zealand. It’s as if in the two days we’ve been at sea the world just fell apart. Kind of like getting a terminal disease on the on day the doctor informs you of it…

So anyway, here we are. Totally out at sea, and humanity is forecast for extinction within 23 years. We’re due to arrive in Tauranga in 13 days, which hopefully will give us time to work out what to tell the kids. Once we get to the mainland, I expect we’ll miss these quiet couple of weeks.

And now it’s after 1am. Time to post this and get back to bed… with the upload times we’re getting via Satellite Phone, I should be asleep by 2am.

Sigh.