by Robert Nanninga
sually, this is the time where we make resolutions regarding
the upcoming year. You know: stop smoking, lose weight, be nice to your
boss, and finish writing The Great American Novel all very pedestrian.
These run-of-the-mill declarations are easy to make and even easier to break;
one needs only to continue as usual. New Year's resolutions turn out to
be little more than lip service and empty promises.
This year, the only resolution I made was not
to make any resolutions, and as you can see, I have already failed. The
problem with most resolutions is that they require some action, something
the American couch potato abhors. Life is suppose to be easy. That was the
promise of Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, and Paul Muller, the Swiss chemist
who won the Nobel Prize in medicine for his discovery of DDT. Ray Kroc of
McDonalds fame promised us convenience above all else. It seems all these
shortcuts to the good life come at the expense of the natural world.
Every step our culture takes toward easy street
is another move towards imbalance and extinction. When I say "extinction,"
I do not mean the entire species of Homo sapiens. I just mean most of us.
I'm sure the aborigines of the Australian outback, the pygmies of Central
Africa, and the Kayapo Indians of Brazil will survive the collapse of the
mother culture. These communities have survived this long without being
swallowed whole by the concrete culture that has numbed the rest of us to
the point of complete inertia.
The majority of Americans demand Big Macs on
a regular basis, yet they have no relationship with the animal they are
consuming. As far as they are concerned, cattle are a gift from God that
is happily slaughtered and prepared by those willing to dirty their hands
with death. Ronald McDonald is more than just a clown he is the patron
saint of senseless gluttony.
Our culture has also become one that requires
constant entertaining. So, we sit in front of a glowing box as the dominant
culture brainwashes us into believing that we can't live without the latest
whatever. Instead of enjoying nature as the wise and wonderful teacher that
it is, we feel the need to subdue it under the roar of Jet Ski's, all terrain
vehicles, dirt bikes and other toys of mass destruction. It seems we are
afraid to be left alone with our own thoughts, probably because we know
the frightened child that hides there, cowering in the vastness of the universe.
At one point our ancestors decided that thriving
in spite of nature was far superior than living in balance with it. Up to
that point, mankind understood it's place in the chaotic order of things.
Granted, they were forced to get by without plastic gadgets. But somehow,
our forefathers managed to survive. The fact that we made it to this point
of arrogance proves that we were doing something right.
I can picture the scene when it all changed.
It was a fine spring day about 100,000 years ago. Some enterprising human
was hanging out in what is now considered Iraq, when all of sudden it hit
him: "Wow! I'm not working hard enough for my food! In fact, I'm not
working at all. I have way to much free time, I am stuck with the burden
of being able to go anywhere I want, whenever I want and eat what's at hand.
This hunting and gathering thing has become way to tedious, it's time for
a change. It's time for agriculture to destroy all that has come before
me, and everything I have yet to comprehend."
If you have been reading my columns for any
length of time you already know my position on over-population, over consumption,
and all the other things I tend to go on about. I know my sermons on the
systematic apathy of human beings is a dead horse (pardon the analogy) that
I continue to beat. Well, I'm sorry, but these issues must be addressed
on a regular basis. Here is a deal I would like to make with humanity in
general: "Get your act to together, stop playing Russian roulette with
the future, and I'll shut the hell up." But since that not going to
happen any time soon, I will keep doing the Chicken Little thing, and when
the sky collapses on our collective head I will have the bitter pleasure
of saying "I told you so."
For a while I thought I was a sole voice in
the cement wilderness. The good news is that I am not alone. Recently, I
have received letters from readers who have had a lot to share. You know
who you are, and I thank you all, not just for the kind words and support,
but for the news clippings, reading suggestions, and column topics. It is
clear to me this is a team effort and I am only the mouthpiece.
To that end, I suggest reading the works of
Daniel Quinn. His two recent books have altered the way I look at the task
before us. Read his novel Ishmael first it is a primer. The lessons
are vital to the healing of the planet, as it requires the reader to ponder
his place in the animal kingdom. I find it impossible to truly represent
the insights this story provides. However this is just the beginning. Read
The Story Of B immediately after reading Ishmael. The Story of B is about
what we never knew we never knew. Again, I can't explain the lessons. I
can lead you to them. This mirror reflects the reader in ways that must
be experienced first hand.
So, this old dog has been given a new stick
to play with, a stick that is forcing me to play at much higher level. I
now realize that, up until now, I have been chasing my tail in a parody
of journalistic prose. Although I will continue to address what I consider
to be the vital issues of our time, what will change is that I am going
to expect more from my readers. I want feedback, people. I want to be part
of a conversation, not an ongoing monologue. Since we are all in this together,
we must all shoulder the responsibility of changing the hearts and minds
of the sloppy, lazy, arrogant, inconsiderate, and greedy fools that share
the planet with us. So roll up your sleeves, we have a lot of unwork to
do.
Robert Nanninga is an independent video producer, actor, vegan, active member of the Green and environmental communities, and a board member of San Diego Earth Day.
