The consensus is in: for Victorians, yesterday was the hottest day on record, and that almost on the back of our hottest stretch of days in history. Those questioning the reality of climate change may have faced something of a challenge over the past two weeks, as the state's weather exceeded even the normal scorch of February, and many - myself included - pondered the philosophical (and deeply practical) question of how to keep cool in a responsible way.
Sometimes it was simply a case of biting the bullet. Not believing in air conditioning is certainly put to the test when the mercury passes 40 degrees many days in a row. One of my most idealistic work friends admitted to feeling that she was creating something of a rod for her own back in not having any cooling. But it's a question that we will certainly have to address much more in future Februaries. If our use of power has been irresponsible up to this point, continuing to use cooling as we have done in the past will not be a fair way to combat rising temperatures. The temptation to use more power for cooling purposes will only increase, as will the need not to use it. Days like yesterday may be becoming much more commonplace, as frightening as that sounds.
For those dancing at the Night Cat in Fitzroy last night, it was a time of celebration. We had beat the heat. We were still alive. The front man of the funk band playing there last night announced that the day would go down in history, and that we should be proud to have survived it. But anyone who read the papers or watched/listened to the news today will know that, at the very least, 35 people didn't survive, and the numbers are expected to rise in future hours and days.
Anyone who feels like the world is operating seriously out of kilter would have good reason to do so. Queensland has more rain than it needs right now, while my state is bone dry. Naturally, I'm drawn to the metaphor of it all. T.S. Eliot's poetry in particular offers all manner of neat quotes and images. The title of his famous poem "Ash-Wednesday" has significance for Victorians that has been renewed in the past 24 hours. Yesterday saw our worst bush fires since that infamous day, and the poem speaks of renewal, dryness and death in a way that is fairly meaningful in this time. Other poems - "Little Gidding" among them - speak of water and fire destroying what we have taken for granted, replacing our towns, ridiculing our priorities and sense of security. Yet, much as I love it, poetry has little to offer at a time like this. It can only point out the horror of our situation. It cannot change it.
And, for all our campaigns to stop climate change, we cannot change the illness in the human heart that makes people light fires and delight in them. We cannot change the foolishness of those who went out in their cars to escape the fires, only to be met by them even more fiercely. And it does not reverse the fundamental motion of death and decay that directs everything on this planet, whatever we do.
But there is renewal. There is hope, however it looks - it simply isn't in human hands. Yet it requires our hands nevertheless - to be open to accept it, and then to be ready to turn and share what has been given to us. I for one will be praying that some people can see that in this time. I don't see another way forward.
On a practical note, the Australian Red Cross are opening relief centres for those affected by the fires, and will no doubt be happy to receive donations. My advice would be to go to their website and to select "Where it's needed - Australia" under "Appeals". If anyone knows of a more direct way to donate, please let me know.
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