On Human Activity (A ponderous post for the pandemic pause)

by Penny Costello

Over the past several weeks two words have been rumbling around my brain. They’re not new words to me. They’ve been part of our cultural and environmental vernacular for much of my lifetime. “Human activity.”

Thirteen letters. Six syllables. Concise and efficient by linguistic standards, but what they represent in terms of cultural perspective, accountability, the impact of our activity encompass vast dimensions, multiple schools of thought, spectrums of emotional response, and blazing bright lines that define the boundaries between political ideologies, economies and value systems. Even the guiding principles of various religions set down acceptable parameters for human activity. Yet we humans are generally so engrossed in our activity that we rarely, if ever stop to ponder the enormity of what resides within those six syllables and thirteen letters, or our personal connection to it. 

Now we’re living in a different time. This age of the coronavirus has focused a giant lens on all aspects of human activity and reflects it back to us through our televisions, media, in online meetings and virtual workplaces in which we’ve reconfigured our work life. It’s reflected back to us in chats at a distance with neighbors as we spend more time in our yards, neighborhoods and parks; in our relative solitude as we primarily stay in our homes and find ourselves with more time and space to reflect. To reflect on our very human activity.

The COVID-19 pandemic is a planetary reboot. The potential of it has been predicted by scientists for decades. We’ve debated, denied, and lamented the impact of human activity on the environment that sustains us, the plants and animals that are our cohabitants.

Scientists have coined a term for the past century since the Industrial Revolution. The Anthropocene. It’s a period in the Earth’s geological and climatological history that is marked by; rising CO2 levels in the atmosphere, rising sea levels, melting glaciers and polar icecaps, environmental and oceanic degradation, and incomprehensible species loss due to consumption and encroachment on wild spaces, aka human activity.

This is but one reflection on the Anthropocene. In another reflection, it is a measure of progress, of expansion and innovation in a culture and economy founded on converting wilderness to industrial production and propelled by endless growth. A culture of “more” that sees “enough” as a lapse into mediocrity. An unacceptable “flattening of the curve.” 

 These contrasting viewpoints are just a slice of the schizophrenic fervor that is uniquely American, and what has made it one of the most prosperous, most revered and most reviled nations in the history of the world. 

I believe that if you were to ask nearly any American, they will tell you they value self-sufficiency, human decency, prosperity, natural beauty, wide-open spaces, and individual freedoms. We have a sense of pride in our history when we hear the star-spangled banner at sporting events, see fireworks exploding in the sky. At some level, we all share that pride and hold tight to the belief that we’re the good guys. 

Generally we can all agree to a point until we dig down to that next layer of identity: conservative; liberal; socialist; environmentalist; capitalist; nationalist. That’s when demonization and obstruction begin. Deafness sets in, hearts and minds close. When we dig even deeper into the needs and world views shaped by race, economic class, age, gender, sexual preference and gender identity, somewhere in there the diversity that made this country amazing morphs into something that renders us excruciatingly paralyzed, wrapped in the self-righteous indignation of the misrepresented and the misunderstood. 

We’ve all wrapped ourselves in at least one of these cloaks at some point in time. And we all put our blinders on when the noise, complexity of the issues, and the enormity of the suffering or injustice becomes too overwhelming. Especially when our personal platefuls of human activity - work, family, and other obligations - demand our focus and attention.

We have to do our part to feed the machine of endless growth and expansion and ensure the future for ourselves and our families. We all want to believe we’re doing our best, and hopefully at the end of the day, some part of our world is better for our activity.

So, when C02 levels started to creep up in the atmosphere in the 70s and 80s, we felt concerned, but we were unsure which scientific statistics to believe. And we were on deadline with that project at work. When the polar regions started to melt and polar bears began to starve, we ached for them and felt guilty because we kind of enjoyed the warmer winter temps. And then we had to pick the kids up from school and get dinner on the table.

When the wildfires started burning in California, Montana, in the Amazon, and in Australia, we donated money to relief efforts for displaced humans and wildlife. But we also had to help our parents transition into assisted living or long-term care. And it all seemed so very far away.

 Then came the coronavirus and COVID-19. It sharpened our focus the way an intruder walking into our house would, or an armed robber at the bank or grocery store. Suddenly, we face a common threat that reminds us we all live on the same planet, inextricably connected by a shared vulnerability. 

There’s an old joke about the guy who was stranded on the roof of his house in a flood. Terrified, he prayed to God for rescue. Neighbors came by in a canoe, a fishing boat, and a helicopter and invited him aboard. He declined all three saying, “No, thanks, God will save me.” As the waters began to cover the rooftop, he burst into tears, lamenting God’s neglect. Then God spoke to him, and said, “I sent you a canoe, a fishing boat, and a helicopter…what more do you need?”

We’re presented with both a supreme challenge and, I believe a great gift. However you identify spiritually, it’s hard to avoid at least a momentary consideration of what forces might be at play here.

We find ourselves confined to our homes, not unlike that guy on his roof. Rising CO2 levels, climate change, ecosystem collapse, mass extinctions, and now a global pandemic. What more do we need? Whatever energetic force, higher power, or deity you pray to, something is compelling us to stop, to cease or greatly curtail our human activity on multiple levels. 

 We’re being forced, or maybe given permission to jump off the treadmill for a minute. Leave the car in the garage. Walk around the neighborhood. Look up at the sky, noticeably bluer than it was two months ago. Listen to the birds, more abundant, their song more prevalent in the ambient soundscape. Was that a fox that just ran down the street? Is that a picture of a muskrat my neighbor just posted on Facebook? Gosh, my dogs are so happy! This working from home thing is definitely working for them. 

Before the urge to burn me up in the comments overtakes you, none of this is to gloss over or diminish the tragedy in losing nearly 80,000 Americans as of this post, to this truly grim fate. Or to be glib about the financial hurdles and uncertainty so many are facing. Or to deny the fact that things will very likely get worse before they get better.

But I believe that in the midst of it all, there are opportunities to stop and think seriously about our contribution to the vortex of human activity. To assess and make concrete, conscious choices to come out of this better or make something better for others. To pass that by in our rush to “return to normal” would blatantly squander an opportunity we are only beginning to see and articulate. And to squander that opportunity would be like spitting on the graves of those who have lost and will lose their lives, and dishonor those who put theirs on the line every day.

We owe them that much, to pay attention, to look up at the stars, to really listen to the birds, and to look every day for something, one small thing we can change for the better.