Climate, Consumerism, and Immigration

Wow, look at all those refugee....Oh, never mind, it's Black Friday© CNN.com

It has been an eventful Thanksgiving week, but you might not be in the loop if you were properly focused on family, food, and travel. We can be grateful for our American privilege of indulgence in those loves and pursuits, but for how much longer? A government report acknowledging climate change, a scathing indictment of mindless consumerism by a journalist, and the virtual disappearance of the immigrant "caravan" should give us pause.

Released at 4 PM on Black Friday, when the masses were distracted by shopping, comes the Fourth National Climate Assessment, volume II, outlining what we can expect if we stay our present course in, well, pretty much our everyday habits as consumers, producers, drivers....Will the fourth report (time) be the charm, the one that finally elicits action? Don't hold your breath.

The first alarm bells began ringing around a 1965 report issued by President Lyndon Johnson's Science Advisory Committee, its findings echoed in a speech by Frank Ikard, then President of the American Petroleum Institute. Ikard's analysis was published in the journal Nature. Good luck accessing that government report from 1965, despite it being public record. Attempts by Texas Pollinator Powwow, a Facebook group, to provide links in its posts have resulted in not one, but five broken links. Cover-up, much?

The hyperlink above goes on to reveal that physicists and other scientists had their suspicions, and were conducting atmospheric research, back in the mid-1950s to create projections of rising carbon dioxide levels and the implications thereof.

Appropriately for "Black Friday," journalist George Monbiot dropped a bomb of an editorial on what he calls "Pathological Consumerism", condemning the largely American habit of gift-giving for the sake of gift-giving, with little or no thought to the greater ramifications. He argues convincingly that production of many products, including novelty items, consumes so many resources, and takes so much energy, that it is nearly equal to the impact of driving internal combustion engine vehicles in terms of contributing to climate change. Plastics are derived largely from petroleum, electronics depend on the mining of rare metals, etc, etc.

Ok, fine, but what about that parade of immigrants threatening our southern border? Largely dismissed as a political stunt for the midterm election cycle, the deployment of troops to the Lower Rio Grande Valley in Texas seems to have evaporated in its urgency. There are larger than average numbers of asylum-seekers at the California border checkpoints, we are told, but that does not seem to have triggered any alarm or military response.

Here is something to consider: if you think "normal" streams of immigrants are an issue, just wait until catastrophic climate change kicks in. As more of the planet becomes uninhabitable, where do you think those displaced people are going to go? You want to do something about the immigration problem? Then do something to mitigate climate change. Call on our government officials to mandate industry controls, but also think twice about your daily habits, including whether you really need to drive to the store, or if it can wait until you have a greater necessity, or can find a carpool buddy.

I call on my followers to set an example of responsible consumerism, activism, and compassion for all species. No, we are not going to be perfect, and we have to learn to forgive ourselves for that and not let it prevent us from acting anyway. We have to be stern to those in power, and gentle to those struggling to change for the better. We can do this, but we have to start now, no pessimism allowed.

Stormy Weather

I was not prepared for what this spring has brought in terms of weather. Last year we were spoiled by essentially having no winter. This year is the winter that will not leave. Compounding the unseasonably cold temperatures and blustery winds is the fact that we are still getting precious little precipitation here in Colorado Springs. While the drought continues, it is the impact on my psyche that has been hardest to deal with.

You would think that I, having spent the first twenty-seven years of my life in Portland, Oregon, where seeing the sun is a near miraculous event, that I would be hardened to overcast, dreary days. Apparently not. Indeed, I have most recently spent a decade in climates of “extreme sun” counting Tucson, Arizona and here on the Front Range in Colorado. I think I have been trying to make up for those 27 years of drizzle.

It occurred to me while riding the bus on a particularly ugly day in Cincinnati what I find intolerable about “gray” days: The sky has no contour. You look up and it is like you are under a great silver dome. It feels like you are still indoors. This, to me, is the overriding feature that must be at the root of SAD (“Seasonal Affective Disorder”).

At least here in Colorado you can’t usually say the clouds themselves are depressing. Eerie, yes, and sometimes menacing, but not depressing. This is the only place I’ve been where the clouds remind me of being in a coffee mug and God is stirring cream into it. Short of a tornado, this is the closest one can come to the feeling that the sky really is falling.

Lately, however, the days have been far too reminiscent of Oregon. The worst is when the mountains disappear. The foothills and Pikes Peak are near constants in the landscape here, and when you cannot see them it becomes both disorienting and claustrophobic. The world literally seems to be closing in around you.

Lastly, the duration of cold, and periodic light snow, has taken its toll on me mentally. I guess you would call it “cabin fever,” but whatever the name it robs your mood of the highs that normally come at this time of year with blooming flowers, singing birds, the hum of bees. I find myself disturbingly unmotivated, disinterested, and even angry when I have no reason to be.

Weather cannot alone be blamed for our own personal miseries (excepting tornados, hurricanes, and floods I suppose), but no longer will I readily dismiss anyone who says that rainy days and gray skies get them down. We all have a hard time with things we cannot control. Rising above the austerity of climate at this time of year is challenging to be sure.

Monsoon

Yesterday we had what was probably the last big storm of the “monsoon” season here in southern Arizona. I haven’t quite gotten used to the idea that we have monsoons. This isn’t Bangladesh. I have to take the television meteorologist’s word that the summer weather pattern qualifies as such.

During May and June, the Sonoran Desert heats up to an almost intolerable degree. Literally! Temperatures regularly exceed 100 degrees Fahrenheit. One year in recent memory we had a string of 39 straight days that were over 100 F. This simmering pattern sets the stage for what is to come. The winds change toward the end of June as low pressure replaces the fading high pressure, and moisture is drawn up from the Sea of Cortez. Rains usually follow.

Still, the definition of our Arizona monsoon seems to depend upon who you ask. Some say that when the dew point reaches 54 degrees Fahrenheit, it more or less marks the onset of the summer rainy season. The dew point is the temperature at which air becomes saturated with water vapor and that vapor begins to condense. Others simply assert that the average beginning of the monsoon falls on about July 7.

That is not to say that every monsoon is “average.” Far from it. Last year there was almost no rain at all, and this year has not been a great improvement. My immediate neighborhood has seen maybe three good storms with heavy rains. An average year would be more than double that.

The thunderstorms associated with the monsoons can be terribly violent. The storm yesterday included hail as well as rain, plus very gusty winds. A storm a few weeks ago spawned lightning that lit a tree on fire in a nearby park. Some streets here in Tucson are sacrificed to drainage during storms, and I jokingly tell people that I live on the North Fork of Magnolia during the monsoons.

Most destructive of the monsoon phenomena are “microbursts.” These are straight-line winds that can wreak just as much havoc as a weak tornado. Microbursts are essentially “wind bombs” that happen when cold air in the top of a thunderhead suddenly drops to the ground, sending the equivalent of a shock wave of wind in all directions. The winds generated can exceed 70 miles per hour, and the phenomenon can last from five to fifteen minutes. The area impacted is small, however, generally restricted to less than 2.5 miles in any given direction.

The intensity of the monsoon season varies considerably, and La Niña and El Niño events can exert quite an influence, but the rains are vital to preserving the diversity of flora and fauna in the Sonoran Desert.