Business as Usual on our Changing Planet

This is a guest post from Luke Henkel, a new friend who lives in Seattle. When he shared his writing with me last week, it resonated strongly, reminding me of related thoughts I’d been having about the correlation between the virus and climate change. I thought you might enjoy it as well…

It’s safe to say we’re all feeling a little unsafe lately.

Life Care Center at "coronavirus ground zero": Cleaners scan the scene of the epicenter of the Covid-19 outbreak in the United States in Kirkland.

The coronavirus has taken over everything.  It seems like we can’t do anything but watch the statistics grow and wonder wearily what will happen next.  Downtown Seattle, the “epicenter” of the outbreak in the US, is eerily empty. Metro buses have half the ridership, and events are being cancelled one after the other in a weird societal Domino effect.  Most disconcerting of all, Google traffic shows green on I-5 at 5:00PM—in both directions.

All of our routines are a little disrupted.  Some of our kids’ schools are already cancelled for weeks, and major universities are scrambling to try and shift massive numbers of classes and students to online platforms.  Can we go to our normal restaurants, or should we opt for the drive-thru in the safety of our cars? Or, do we simply get delivery? Are the libraries safe? Can we go shopping, even for basics?

It’s also safe to say “business as usual” does not apply right now.  For some, there is no business at all as fear notches higher and higher, like a tireless mountain climber spiking his way into the heights of anxiety.

And it’s so hard.  On Monday, March 9, the stock market opened to its worst day in over ten years.  Airlines are fearing billions in lost profit and planes are flying nearly empty. The economy is grinding and lurching to its slowest numbers in over a decade, and the shocks may reverberate for the rest of the decade.  It’s horrifying.

We’re all saying, let’s just get back to business as usual.

My suggestion?  Be even more horrified about business as usual in the first place.

Now, I want to be very clear about this.  I am in no way suggesting that this coronavirus is good for us.  Absolutely not. I am suggesting there is plenty to learn from our current circumstances, as bizarre and unsettling as they may be—and even more lessons to be gleaned from reflecting on what “business as usual” means to begin with.

We began Lent just a few days prior to the first confirmed fatality right here in King County.  Lent is normally a time for us to slow down. It’s a chance for many of us to take an extra moment or two throughout our day to find God, to grow in our relationships and deepen our sense of the sacred at work all around us.

Did that happen?

Perhaps.  Maybe you’ve been very intentional about taking extra prayer time or adding a few good deeds into your day.

Or maybe not.  Business as usual is such an overwhelmingly powerful force—the inertia of our daily lives is so strong—it’s akin to the spinning of this planet.  We don’t even notice it. We’re hurtling along at thousands of miles an hour, yet we’re not going fast enough! Our momentum feels so often like stillness, so we just rush onwards with ever greater freneticism.

And then along comes something that’s truly beyond us.  It disrupts our inertia like very few other things can, and guess what?  It’s not quite mass panic, but it feels pretty darn close. It’s scary, because so many of us don’t know what will happen next.

But here’s the thing.  Business as usual is much, much scarier.

Jakarta has long been famous for its horrifying traffic and population density, but now a bigger problem is the ground it is losing - in many places of the megalopolis, the ground is sinking 3 to 10 centimeters per year. By 2050, more than one third of the city could be entirely submerged and uninhabitable.

Let me give you some examples.  While all this coronavirus news is raging on, the capital city of Indonesia is moving.  Did you know that? Jakarta, the current capital of over 10 million, is sinking. Groundwater is being extracted too fast, and parts of the mega-city are subsiding by up to 20 centimeters every year.  At the same time, sea levels are rising, so much that plans for a seawall to protect the area from the worst of the flooding couldn’t possibly be executed fast enough. The government is planning to relocate its administration and build an entirely new city on the northern Indonesian island of Borneo.  They are slated to finish the design for this new “smart city” by 2025 and begin relocating later this decade. This new capital will be built following the principles of the jungle, and will be the most advanced city ever constructed.

Now Borneo, mind you, is one of the most biodiverse regions in Southeast Asia and home to the critically endangered Sumatran orangutan as well as dozens of other endemic species like the clouded leopard and the Indonesian pygmy elephant (also at risk of extinction).  It has also lost more than half of its virgin rainforests to oil palm plantations—since 1980. This city would be developed on over 600,000 acres of that rainforest. Relocation could wipe out all but the remaining fifth of the forest.

This is business as usual on our changing planet.

Closer to home, southern resident orca whales are at the critically low population of 76.  Salmon populations are also dropping to alarmingly low rates. This is orcas’ food source of course, but warming and acidifying waters, as well as pollution, are affecting where and when they can find these salmon.  The whales’ normal migratory paths are changing. This would be similar to your route home changing or disappearing altogether, with every single trip you took. On top of it all, increasing noise pollution from both recreational and commercial boat traffic in our busier waterways is interfering with the orcas’ ability to locate these dwindling schools; they are stressed and starving.

This is business as usual.

I could go on and on.  Europe is just ending its warmest winter on record, during which officials carted fake snow up to Moscow for a white Christmas, and the entire German harvest of ice wine failed for the first time because there was no ice.  These winemakers in Germany are now facing fears of another failed crop in 2020 because of—you guessed it—business as usual.

The point is, we are hearing nonstop about the coronavirus, and we’re all scared about its potential destructive swath through our communities.

But what about business as usual?  Are we not feeling a similar wrenching, and equally strong heart palpitations when we think about these increasingly common stories?  Are we not as concerned about returning to the horrific destructiveness of our daily inertia?

Here’s the thing, my friends.  It doesn’t have to be that way.

I’m Catholic, and my social teaching tells me that those in Indonesia having to relocate because of climate change are our brothers and sisters.  In his groundbreaking 2015 encyclical on the environment, Laudato Si’, Pope Francis tells us that these soon-to-be refugees are us.  “Everything is interrelated” (LS 120) and we—in fact all creatures—are connected (LS 42).  Their world is not separate from our world.

Now.  I want to be very clear.  I do not wish harm on anyone from this virus, and I’m as slack-jawed as anyone else at how quickly it’s spreading.  I’d love these fears to go away.

But guess what?  Right now, we all have a glorious opportunity.  The inertia is disrupted, and we have no choice but to slow down.  For the first time since climate change became such a devastating reality, we can stop what we’re doing, and listen.  This is a global stillness that matters.

We have the chance to hear the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor with a bit more clarity, and to respond.  So, let me ask you. How attentively are you heeding the public officials’ notices right now? How quickly are safe measures being enacted to care for our well-being? That’s how sharply we should be listening to the cry of the planet and those who are most vulnerable.  And, that’s how diligently we should be responding.

Luke Henkel serves as the social outreach and advocacy assistant at St James Cathedral in Seattle.  Luke is most active educating others on climate change, integral ecology, ecobricks as a form of reducing plastic pollution, and Catholic social and environmental teachings. He is currently pursuing his MA in theology and ecology through the School of Theology and Ministry at Seattle University. 

Seeking a Shared Vision

Years ago, I set out on a path to coach executives. Along the way, I came up with a goal to interview twenty of them as a way to learn about their pain points. My path has meandered a good bit since then, but in looking back at the draft I wrote of one interview I conducted, I realize his message still rings true and offers something for the rest of us to consider.

For the first fifteen minutes or so, he responded to my question regarding how he came to be who he is: Executive Director of a non-profit working to improve the energy performance of commercial buildings. As I listened to him share, I found myself in awe of his path, and similarly impressed by his ability to collaborate and support his management teams. As someone who has lectured all over the world, and has been involved in green building and facilitation for over twelve years, this guy seemed to have it all figured out, and there was certainly no need for my coaching here. 

With time, and a few follow-up questions, however, this generous gentleman began to share from his heart, specifically addressing some of the challenges he faces in his position as E.D. It's hard to separate out, he told me, what he wants to do vs. what he needs to do. While he may want to spend more time fostering connections with his teams, he finds himself obligated to be out of the office, representing the face of the organization. He also finds it difficult to honor the number of hours he believes we should work in our society. There's pressure to keep up with the competition, which only grows more fierce as more 'for-profit' businesses more closely resemble non-profits with their mission driven strategies. Back in the 80's, there was a promise of leisure, where technology was promised to deliver a way of life that was easier and left more time for relaxing and less time for work. Where is this promise, he wonders?

And thus, until this promise is upheld, he finds himself needing more restorative time. There's a lack of time for family, for vacation, for quality time with his wife. 50-60 hour work weeks are the norm, with many weeks being in the high 80s. "I don't know if this is apropos to this conversation," he told me, "but I recently read an article in the New York Times entitled, Why You Hate Work.  That article is me to a tee." I was ecstatic inside. Here he was quoting the article that had been sent to me by my 'first executive', speaking to the exact challenges that had me wanting to do this work in the first place: he struggles to prioritize, and is eager to be more effective in less time. He's losing sleep, sleeping an average of only 5 hours a night, and finds himself often at a loss for words, unable to think clearly. It's hard to say 'no' without feeling guilty, not wanting to miss out on available opportunities. Who wouldn't want to be able to do it all?

As I sat across from this man, getting a glimpse into the workings of his executive world, I realized how fortunate I was to have this opportunity. Here was this executive, and father of two young children, offering me, a complete stranger, his precious time. There are certainly a multitude of other things he could have been doing, or not doing, in the hour we were together, and he chose to pay it forward. I was relieved to hear, I must say, that the process had helped him as well, that he'd appreciated the opportunity to articulate his thinking. 

As we began to wrap things up, I asked him what advice he might want to send with me on my way. "We're lacking a shared vision of a sustainable future," he told me, concerned. While there are so many groups working on this issue, all the groups are completely 'siloed', acting out of the proprietary nature of business. Each believes strongly in their own way, in their own product or method, and does little to collaborate with others in a manner that works towards this vision. Thus, what we need, he told me, is vision and leadership, and if you can work towards that, you'll be making a difference.

This interview was 6 years ago. I find myself wondering if anything has changed. Are we still lacking a shared vision?

I hear this concern a great deal, including from a favorite uncle who is eager to engage but feels overwhelmed by the divisions. If we are so split, can we really make the impact that we need to have on this changing planet?

I think the answer falls into the both/and category - yes, we need to work in solidarity, in community, from a place of collaboration and togetherness that can allow us the impetus and synergy to move forward effectively. And, at the same time, there are as many perspectives as there are human needs, wants and personalities.

Photo by Gábor Kárpáti from Pexels

While I think there are solutions and approaches that are more effective than others and would be beneficial for us to rally around, I liken climate mitigation to a bike wheel:

The hub is clearly the focus and the goal - without it, the wheel wouldn’t spin or function as designed.

The various approaches are like the spokes, which, when trued, allow even more effective rotation of the wheel.

Not everyone is going to gather around one idea, but if we can get more people working on the wheel, moving us towards the middle of mitigation, we’ll have a lot more success overall.

Join us in the movement towards the middle?

Where's My Wilderness, Abbey?

I remember sitting in my Prelude, March 2001, listening to the radio, hearing the commercials, the news, the banter, the constant noise, and wondering how people did it. After two years of living in the high desert of Idaho, leading wilderness trips with at-risk youth, my culture shock was huge. The city was too much. So many people. So many things to consider. So many worries.

Insurance. Roommates. Bills. Neighbors. 

In the desert, life was simple. We hiked, cooked our food, dug our latrines, made our shelters, and did our best to teach a few lessons to the kids in our groups. Sometimes, there was the random chase when one of them tried to run. But all in all, life was simple. Definitely not easy, but simpler than what I was facing in my new life.  

It's been many years since my life in basalt canyons, and while I'm pretty good at planning plenty of camping trips with my little family, I'm beginning to feel the wear. 

On those trips, with those kids in wilderness therapy, we walked. We hiked, and hiked some more, and then found dead and down sage to build our fires and cook our food. For three weeks, it was just us and the sage, wandering the willow brooks for water, teaching the basics of responsibility. 

This past weekend, racing along the shores of Detroit Lake on a friend's ski boat, I found myself yearning for what I felt in the desert, the same connection to nature I found on backpack and canoe trips in Wisconsin. I scanned the treeline, the rocky shores, hoping and searching for those feelings. 

But they weren't there. 

Edward Abbey nailed it when he said that "wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread." This is exactly the lack that I feel. I get out, yes. But it's just for a weekend. In a campground. Or on a speed boat. Or in a cabin. With a bunch of people. 

“A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle," Abbey says, "will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles.” Yes, Abbey, that is true. The boat was beautiful, the friends were fun, the lake was luxurious.

But the motor drowned out the life.
And the speed kept me disconnected.

Abbey says that "to be everywhere at once is to be nowhere forever." 
Perhaps that's the feeling: nowhereness.

Whatever it is, it's clearly time to reconnect. To fill my soul with what the earth has the capacity to do, and has done (and NEEDS to continue to do) for millions of years.