At the beginning of every election cycle, I get a higher level of anxiety than usual. Now, I’ve lived with anxiety for a long time and have been moderately able to manage it, but when the prospect of major change rolls around, I can’t help but get sweaty palms, restless nights of sleep, and just all round concerned about the state of the world. I’ve recently been diagnosed with rosacea – or as I like to call it, old man face – so my reliance on alcohol to help smother anxiety has been greatly reduced.
To be clear, I’m not talking about just Australia’s election cycles, but both the United States and the United Kingdom. I used to be worried about China’s elections too, but then they went and changed that by changing the parameters of how the leader rules the country, so thanks Xi, I appreciate that. As an Australian citizen, the ability for me to do anything about the United States or the United Kingdom is limited to sending out a stern tweet into the digital aether or writing a long Facebook rant which I’ll eventually be embarrassed by and delete. These are things which are out of my hand, but the reality of the results of these elections are no different, having long reaching effects on the rest of the world.
After all, we live on the same planet, we are all distantly connected to Kevin Bacon in some way or another, so logically, the existence of Brexit, or the terrifying occupation of the White House by a man who can’t string a coherent sentence together, will have real world effects on me. Sure, that sounds reductive and selfish, but when you wake up perpetually anxious about the fact that we’ve got twelve years to make genuine change against this climate emergency we are in, and then you realise that the most powerful man on earth denies the existence of climate change, making the notion of any positive action seem like a myth rather than an actual possibility, well, I have no choice but to reduce it to a personal viewpoint.
Everybody who lives with anxiety experiences it differently, but if there’s one constant it’s that one of the core elements of living with anxiety is coming to the realisation that you’re mostly anxious about things that are out of your control, or that will have no direct impact on your life. It’s not uncommon to catastrophise regularly, your mind dragging you unwillingly down a rabbit hole of ‘what if’s’ that leave you sitting there feeling helpless and useless. But for many, the rise of eco-anxiety is not something that can easily be shrugged off.
Eco-anxiety – the anxiety caused by the fear of the effects of climate change – is greatly different than regular anxiety. I didn’t think I’d yearn for the familiarity of being anxious about ‘regular things’, like getting up and going to work, or facing the day and talking to people, or imposter syndrome, but eco-anxiety has made me wish that all I had to worry about was whether or not I’m a good enough writer to be worthwhile reading. Small fry stuff, really. But, for many, eco-anxiety is a real, genuine thing that they live with, and isn’t something that can easily be shrugged off with regular practices that many may use to treat their own anxiety (meditation, grounding techniques, deep breathing).
Twice in the past year, millions of students around the world protested during school hours for direct climate change action. Complete fuckwits on the internet derided these kids for ‘wagging’, telling them that they were better off staying in school to learn, and that if they were going to protest, they should do it on the weekend instead of staying at home and playing Fortnite. For a generation that is supremely voiceless when it comes to politics (they are too young to vote, and too often ignored by the politicians who dictate their future without consultation), a protest en masse during school hours is the best way to show that they are terrified, angry, and want a secure future for themselves. Older generations berate kids for telling them that they have never had it better, so they should shut up and stop being upset and appreciate all the shiny things they have, but that’s the equivalent of telling someone living with depression that they should cheer up. It’s harmful, insulting, and derogatory.
If I’m living with mild eco-anxiety, I have no idea what state of mental health the youth of today are living with. I have no idea what it would be like for them to look at their future and see a realm of darkness, full of bleak prospects and diminishing hope, all the while knowing that there are people in power who could implement positive changes that would benefit the world as a whole. I can only imagine that on top of all the other age based anxieties that they face, they would be having a harder time than most.
I think of what it must have been like growing up as a kid during World War II, wondering whether there was any hope that the suffering that they were living through would end. But, at least during World War II, there was a united world prepared to fight against evil; a united world that must have provided some element of hope. Then I think about what it must be like to be a ten year old in Australia, realising that by the time you’re able to vote in an election and make your voice heard politically, it’ll be too late. That twelve year clock will have already ticked down to the point of no return.
I want to say I’m proud of the schoolkids who protested for action on the climate emergency we live in, but instead I’m depressed by the fact that they have to protest at all. I mean, of course I am proud that thanks to Greta Thunberg, the youth of today were given an opportunity to make the voices heard, but I’m upset that they’re still not being taken seriously. And I’m depressed that this climate emergency isn’t being taken seriously.
We get told how we can reduce our own impact during this climate emergency – reduce plastic use, eat less meat, grow your own fruit and veg, have more ‘doona days’, continue tearing down the establishment one meme at a time –, but no matter how many of us refuse to use straws, or how many reusable coffee cups we have in our cupboard, it won’t ever be enough to reduce the impact of climate change on a grand scale. Yes, there are micro-operations being put in place around the world (for more on that, go and see Damon Gameau’s new documentary, 2040, when it lands in theatres), but there simply isn’t enough to make genuine change. Yet.
Glynis Ratcliffe writes about eco-anxiety in this informative article here, and to quote from that piece:
Eco-anxiety hasn’t yet been listed in the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (a.k.a. the DSM-5), which is considered the gold standard for mental health assessment. But the American Psychological Association — in collaboration with environmental charity ecoAmerica — produced a 69-page report in 2017 pointing to the impact climate change, in all its manifestations, can have on the human psyche.
Eco-Anxiety Isn’t New, and It’s Time to Deal with It - Glynis Ratcliffe - Asparagus Magazine
If we’re to take mental health seriously, especially given that almost half of Australians will experience a mental illness in their life, then we need to take this climate emergency seriously. It’s already clear what the impact of inaction is, and what effect it will have on generations to come. There is an undeniable link between the two, and to not act on one, is to ignore the other. What use is a future if there is no hope for it to occur?
While I’m not going to delve into the hypocrisy of older generations celebrating and embracing their roles as grandparents, all the while voting for people who actively harm their grandkids future, I do want to touch on one of the biggest taboos in society today: politics. An age ago, the mere notion of discussing sex was a major taboo, and then the sexual revolution gave way to openness about sexuality. It’s not that long ago that pornography was screened in Times Square, with everyone and their dog attending screenings of Deep Throat. Once the taboo of sex was stripped of its hush-hush status, the spectre of death existed as the one topic not to be discussed.
I remember in the early 2000’s (or possibly earlier) an episode of Four Corners or some equivalent show where they explored the way that society talks about death. The episode ended with footage of a person dying in hospice care. They had given permission for their death to be utilised and televised in a bid to help encourage positive discussion about dying. I’ve grown to not fear death – it is inevitable after all, and one of the only constants about life that we can all relate to – and have found the discussion evolve throughout the years to embrace the concept of euthanasia and how valuable the understanding of ‘quality of life’ and ‘end of life care’ is for those living with terminal illnesses. Finally, the shackles of the taboo of death has been shaken free…
…and they’ve been firmly attached to the entity that is politics.
We live in a highly political time, with leaders that wilfully stoke the fire of difference between right and the left. This is not new. What is new is the level of antagonism that is fostered by both sides of politics. In this superb piece in the New York Times from 1998, the concept of discussing politics is compared to torture:
In France, discussing politics has always been the chief instrument of torture used at the dinner table. Unrepentant lefties will excuse a wildcat strike as a ''social movement,'' while average folks may toe the pan-European line and justify government austerity measures.
The World: Taboos, Globally Speaking; Like Politics, All Political Correctness Is Local - Donald G. McNeil Jr. - The New York Times
The most important thing to gleam from this article is how nuanced and varied politics is. It’s regionally varied, with one topic being fair game in America, and the same topic being taboo in Europe. Unlike sex, or death, (both things that we can all relate to as we don’t exist without sex, and we all leave this world via death), politics contains multitudes that aren’t easy to boil down to being ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. No matter how much you try and discuss politics with your family or friends, there will rarely be a middle ground that you can easily steady yourselves on to maintain a civil discussion long enough. With death, or sex, you’re at least able to have the ability to have an open, productive discussion – what do we do when our parents die? Are you using protection when you have sex? Sure, the discussions may still be a little bit awkward, but they’re less likely to turn into an out and out brawl.
Civility is key, but civility is hard to maintain when it comes down to core beliefs and ethics. I don’t want to throw my father under the bus, but a recent off the cuff comment about a certain left leaning Australian party being the equivalent of terrorists had me fuming. But, instead of establishing an argument and gaining nothing in the process, I merely ignored it and moved on. What is the point? I have my beliefs and understandings of society, and he has his. Sure, his vote is the equivalent of mine, and if there are more people who share his view, then that ye olde political anxiety creeps up again under political leadership that I disagree with.
Maybe politics is always going to be a taboo subject? But I sure as shit wish that it wasn’t.
In 1996, Pauline Hanson made her first maiden speech in parliament. In it, Hanson used the horrifying and caustic line: ‘I believe we are in danger of being swamped by Asians’. This caused walkouts from fellow MPs, and brought about condemnation from then Prime Minister John Howard. As a twelve year old kid in primary school, I had little to no concept of what she was talking about. While this is no excuse at all, I was bullied a lot in both primary school and high school, and in turn, found myself retaliating by bullying some of the Asian students. At the time I didn’t think that I was bullying them, and often thought of them as my friends, but looking back I know that is far from the truth.
There is no more powerful fire than fear itself, and when the flames of fear are stoked and encouraged – as they were, and have been with Pauline Hanson and her ilk with alarming regularity in media – they cause spot fires in places that are unexpected. In 1996, that was me, someone who (I want to say, even though it feels like more of an excuse than anything else) didn’t know better. I recall saying that I agreed with Pauline Hanson, and when I had my first opportunity to vote in 2004, I voted for John Howard. Sure, in reflection it was the lesser of two evils (with Howard’s opponent being Mark Latham, a man who has now shown himself to be a bed fellow to Pauline Hanson), but the politically savvy me of the now is still disturbed that I would ever have done such a thing. And, I’m even more disturbed by what I said back in the years of Hanson’s first round in parliament. I hope I’ve been able to distance myself from these remarks, leading a life that works against every element of what makes Pauline Hanson, Pauline Hanson.
But this could have been avoided through better societal awareness of what amplifying someone like Pauline Hanson does to society. 1996 was a greatly different time than 2019. After all, most of us spent our time asking what the fuck Izzywas. The media amplification Pauline Hanson’s speech worked hand in hand with her aims. Yes, a lot of the reaction was negative, with widespread damnation for what she had said, but the aggressive nature of her words outgrew the condemnation, fostering a life of their own. If I had someone to explain what her words meant, why she was saying them, and most importantly, why they were wrong, then maybe I wouldn’t have had that horribly racist part of my life. I look back and I see how easily I could have fallen down the path of right-to-far right leaning beliefs, and I shudder.
Then, I look at Pauline Hanson’s 2016 Senate speech, where she one upped herself and doubled down on the racist, far right rhetoric, throwing in a greatly unwelcome heaping of Islamophobia into the mix with the line: ‘Now we are in danger of being swamped by Muslims, who bear a culture and ideology that is incompatible with our own.’ There’s a clear correlation with Hanson’s speech here, and the one time One Nation party member and genuine Nazi, Fraser Anning, who utilised the term ‘final solution’ in his speech in the Senate. And in turn, there is a clear correlation between Hanson, Anning, and the horrific terrorist attack in Christchurch.
When people are losing their lives because of being partially influenced by the words of politicians, it’s clear that we are in desperate times. This is not an isolated situation, with the words of Donald Trump being utilised to further stoke bullying against minority groups. In this powerful article on Teen Vogue, Asma Uddin talks about the effects of bullying from Donald Trump and his followers:
One Muslim mother of a bullied 7-year-old boy told Teen Voguethat last year the bullying was so bad her son said he no longer wanted to live. She said one student challenged others to make him cry, and said another student took up the challenge and stabbed her son with a pencil. “When he cried, they would all laugh. They would cut his lunch line telling him he doesn’t need to eat since he is fat. … He was threatened by a girl that she would break his pinky finger if he tattled about them.”
It's Time We Talk About the "Trump Effect" On Kids - Asma Uddin - Teen Vogue
This is terrifying. I keep searching for a different word other than terrifying to use in this piece, but terrifying is the most apt. I’m shaken by what is happening politically around the world. There is a realm of politicians around the world who witness the value in fear mongering, recognising that the fear of ‘the other’ is a vote getter, and that alone is horrifying to witness play out on a grand scale. If only the fear of no planet was enough to replace the xenophobic mania driving politics today.
As with eco-anxiety, political anxiety is on the rise. Every vote is sacred, and every vote feels like a fight for the rights of many. When evidence already exists showing that the actions of different politicians can cause devastating, harmful effects on different groups around the world (the rampant removal of reproductive rights for women in America being one of the most harmful and, you guessed it, terrifying), it becomes clear that every election cycle is to be treated like a battle. If you weren’t already engaged with international politics, then you really should be. It doesn’t take much to realise how the actions of Donald Trump and co. can affect the world at large, but to help colour your picture for you, take a dive into this article about how Trump’s abortion policies are changing the world of women internationally. It’s sobering stuff.
I made a decision a long time ago that children were not in my future. It’s as much an ecological decision as it is an ethical decision. Under the current political regime in the world, I cannot ethically bring a child into this world. If I struggle with my own mental illness, and grapple with the idea of how to move forward ethically and safely in the world on a daily basis, then I would struggle even more in trying to raise a child in this world. I have no idea what this world will look like in five years, let alone ten years. I live with eco-anxiety and political anxiety daily, on top of plain old vanilla anxiety. I can only imagine how the youth of today are dealing with the same anxieties. The right to vote is not theirs yet, and yet the future they will inherit is eternally in flux.
I don’t know how to move forward in this world. I don’t know how to break the taboo of talking about politics. I don’t know how assuage my own fears, let alone the fears that other people have about the state of the world. And, most importantly, I don’t know how this planet will combat this climate emergency as a united force. I want to rely on hope, I want to have the reliance that ‘something positive will happen’, but the truth is:
I’m terrified.