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Published April 16, 2025
Davide's experience is a reminder that the idea of the ordeal has always held a certain fascination for human beings. This is why for many migrants their journeys become the defining moments of their lives. This is, in a way, the strangest aspect of their plight: in Europe they are confronted with the political rationality of a certain kind of liberalism that confers its sympathy only on victims. So in dealing with the state, and when talking to activists, they learn to present themselves as victims, as objects without agency, propelled solely by external forces. Yet in their own eyes, as in the eyes of their families back home, they are heroes who have taken their destinies into their hands and endured terrible ordeals. No wonder then that many of them say that the worst part of their journeys consists not of their time on the road or at sea, but rather the months and years they spend languishing in European migrant camps.
It is in much the same spirit that the inhabitants of cities like New Delhi and Lahore endure toxic levels of pollution, despite knowing that the air they breathe will shorten their lives by several years. The damage to their health and well-being is seen as a sacrifice that is necessary, on the one hand, to enjoy a certain standard of living and, on the other, to advance a wider collective aspiration to a better place in the international order. It is by this route that coping with environmental hazards comes to be blended with some of notions of sacrifice and suffering that underlie nationalism. By the same token, attempts to impose limitations on the carbon emissions of poor countries are widely seen as a covert means of preserving the economic and geopolitical disparities of the last 200 years, since on a per capita basis the carbon emissions of the Global South are still a fraction of those of affluent countries.
England is the teacher. The love of country that England has always taught, that same love of country whose virtues are sung by all civilised nations - that is what all this bloodshed is for. Grabbing someone else's country - that's 'patriotism'. Patriotism - that's what builds kingdoms and empires. To display the love of country, love of race, by seizing a piece of territory, at the cost of thousands and thousands of lives, this is what the English have taught.
Now the youth of our country have started to emulate these vile ways of loving one's nation. As a result, all kinds of horrifying things have started to happen; people are dead and bombs have been thrown at a blameless Viceroy. I spit in the face of patriotism. As long as this narrow-mindedness is not wiped off the face of the earth there will be no end to the bloodshed in the name of patriotism. Whether one man throws a bomb from a rooftop or fifty men hurl shells from a cannon - this bloodshed, this madness, all spring from the same cause.
It is strange to think that the fall of the Berlin Wall is still widely read as a vindication of 'capitalism'. The truth is that the world's experience over these last fifteen [now thirty-six] years could more accurately be read as proof that untrammeled capitalism leads inevitably to imperial wars and the expansion of empires. If that were not the case, then surely the most uncontested reign of a single system would prove to be an epoch, if not of universal peace, then certainly one in which there would be broad agreement on the means of ensuring peace? Yet what we see is exactly the opposite. We find ourselves in a period of extraordinary instability and fear, faced with the prospect of an endless proliferation of thinly veiled colonial wars. In fact, there is less agreement on the means of ensuring peace today than there was at the time of the founding of the United Nations.
Empires always profess, and sometimes even believe in, noble ideals: the problem lies with their methods, which are invariably such as to subvert their stated aims and ends. This is because the processes of conquest, occupation, and domination create realities that become alibis for the permanent deferral of the professed ideals.
These sciences direct a gaze of concentrated, interpretive scrutiny towards the curtain of signs that is called 'data'. Natural history is in this sense the indispensable science of interpretation that allows the environment to speak back to us. Although 'natural science' is by no means the only knowledge system to apply interpretive methods to the natural world, it is certainly the only one that is capable of universal application. Yet science cannot be the final arbiter in the matter of our relationship with nature for the very good reason that its procedures and methods cannot acknowledge or address questions of meaning, intention, and lived history. The seriousness of this limitation does not become obvious until we consider the field of public policy.
In light of these realities it is undeniable that the last section of The Great Derangement is 'forced'. The only excuse I can offer is that I felt it necessary to look, as does nearly everyone who writes about climate change, for some rays of hope. Very few of us can claim to possess the clarity of vision that allowed Martin Heidigger to say, as he did half a century ago: 'Only a god can save us'.