Eugene Linden
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THE OZONE CHRONICLES; HISTORY REPEATING AS TRAGEDY

Joe Farnam, the dogged, data-driven discoverer of the ozone hole, died in 2013, three years before publication of findings showing that the ozone layer, which protects life on earth from UV radiation, has finally started to recover. This nascent recovery comes 42 years after atmospheric chemists fir...

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Afterword to the softbound edition.


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THE CRISES THAT DARE NOT SPEAK THEIR NAMES


Thursday May 15, 2014

[I'm going to continue to bang this drum until I get it right! This appeared in The Daily Beast]

In the first quarter of 2014, the economic impact of extreme weather related to climate change, combined with the inherent weakness of an economy suffering through a depression, produced a preliminary estimate of nearly no economic growth. This stark portrayal is a far cry from how the 0.1% GDP growth of the quarter has been presented. Rather, the narrative has gone something like this: Weather-related disruptions weighed upon business investment and consumer spending as the weak recovery continued.

Thus we continue to endure the two most consequential events of the recent decade without acknowledging either for what they are.

In the case of climate change, this timidity is understandable as change comes as weather and there will never be one clear event that signals indisputably that we’ve entered the climate rapids. Fifty years from now, however, odds are that historians will mark the first decade of this new millennium as the point at which global warming became undeniable, particularly in its economic impacts.

Similarly, future economic historians will likely mark the financial crash of 2008 as the beginning of a depression (it would be nice if they would come back in time and told us when it will end). Here too, it is understandable because there is such a high noise-to-signal ratio amid an incessant drumbeat of often conflicting economic data and so many false starts that it is extremely difficult to define a depression except in retrospect.

Part of the problem is that definitions of depression abound (the concept is so nebulous that the National Bureau of Economic Research, which officially calls recessions, demurs on the question of calling depressions). The description of depression that fits the present situation is a sustained period in which economic output falls substantially below an economy’s potential. Now five years into our “recovery” the Congressional Budget Office estimates that the economy this year will still fall short of its potential output by $723 billion (and this gap comes against figures for potential output that have been steadily marked down by the CBO since 2008, essentially lowering the bar).

Recognizing that things have truly changed has always been difficult for those living through inflection points in history. Those deepest inside the U.S. government and the intelligence community in the late 1980s were among the last to acknowledge that the Cold War was really over as the Soviet Union unraveled. “The Great Depression” as a proper noun only came into popular use in the 1950s, long after the event was over. As the economy bounced around in the mid-1930s, there were many premature calls that the crisis had ended, including one by President Roosevelt in 1936, after three years of impressive recovery, but just before a vicious new recession hit, and unemployment rose to new highs.

This blindness is deeply embedded in human nature. Such is our commitment to the world view we forge during our formative years that often we can’t see what is literally staring us in the face. Jerome Brumer, father of gestalt psychology, demonstrated this in a celebrated experiment in which he showed people a deck of cards salted with the wrong colors for different suits such as a red ace of spades. When the cards were turned over, most people saw them as normal. Only when they could linger for long periods would they see that something was amiss, but even then some people could not put their finger on what was wrong.

Does it matter whether and when we put a label on an era? Yes, greatly. Our reticence to state the obvious but unproven may be understandable, and even prudent, but it is not helpful. Recognizing that the changing climate carries with it harsh economic consequences might spur action to limit the harm. The Obama administration just did its part releasing a draft assessment of climate change asserting that it is already hurting Americans. Still, our current posture that global warming is a nebulous, far-off problem largely explains our complacency about a threat that has in the past been a civilization-killer.

Similarly, while economists will argue over whether the present period of near zero growth and stretched household finances is a depression long after the economy really does recover, acknowledging that for all but a tiny group of Americans the economy is in depression would do a world of good. For one thing, there might be less push for deficit reduction and more pressure for programs that might improve the incomes of ordinary Americans. One school of thought holds that FDR’s false belief in 1936 that the depression was over led his administration to tighten credit, pushing the fragile economy back into recession.

So, let’s acknowledge the obvious. The upside is that we might muster the political will to develop policies that match reality. Do we want those yet unborn historians (who are going to be royally annoyed about the world we bequeath them anyway) wondering how it was that we ignored what was staring us in the face?

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Short Take

[Mild spoiler alert: the book is a fictionalized exploration of a girl who falls under the spell of a Manson-like cult. We all know how that story unfolded. In this Short Take I’ll be offering my reactions to the protagonist, Evie Boyd.]

 

The Girls offers as bleak a view of the amorality of American youth as I have ever encountered. In a review of my first book, I was called “Intolerably apocalyptic,” but I can’t hold a candle to Ms. Cline. The book is a novelistic attempt to try and understand how some of the privileged young women of the late 1960s could commit unspeakable acts while under the sway of a Manson-like psychopath. 

 Thus we meet Evie Boyd, a fourteen year-old growing up amid relative affluence in Petaluma California. She’s directionless, with no apparent passions, self-conscious about her looks, emotionally needy, alienated from her parents (who get divorced), but possessed of a tough inner core and a rebellious streak. She’s enthralled when she encounters Suzanne, a wild, charismatic 19 year-old who seems to be a composite of Patricia Krenwinkel and Leslie Van Houton, and Evie is honored when Suzanne pays her some attention. Events bring her to the cult’s squalid ranch, and for some weeks, Evie maintains a dual life, throwing herself into the life of the cult, while returning home enough not to galvanize her mother, who is pre-occupied with a rebound relationship with Frank, an entrepreneur who comes across as a hustler with a heart of gold.

Evie is so smitten by Suzanne that she doesn’t notice as the cult spirals down from talk of love and freedom to episodes of paranoia, back-biting and revenge. Along the way, Evie has her first sexual adventures, and enters sufficiently into the spirit of the cult that she brings them to the house of the family next door (which they descrate), even though she has known the family all her life and has no score to settle. Later, Evie talks her way into joining Suzanne as she and others set off to inflict mayhem on a Dennis Wilson-like figure, but Suzanne kicks her out of the car before they begin a horrific rampage.

Did Suzanne do this to protect Evie from what she knew was about to happen, or because she felt that Evie wasn’t a murderer and would become a liability? That’s left unanswered, but the bloodbath that Evie missed is so depraved – including the slashing apart of a toddler – that no human with a soul could find that earlier gesture redemptive … except for our Evie, who still feels the tug of Suzanne’s power, even after she learns every gory detail of Suzanne’s actions.

It’s several months between the time of the murders and when the cult is finally caught. During this time, Evie keeps her mouth shut about what happens and meekly allows herself to be shipped off to boarding school to resume her comfortable existence, though as a wreck, not a spirited teenager.

That’s when I decided Evie was a worthless human being. Sure, she was terrified that the cult would come after her, and there’s some honor on not squealing, but Evie had to know that the cult would likely kill again, and that made her an enabler of whatever they did subsequently.

The book interweaves the present and the past and so we learn how these events haunted Evie’s life. But there’s no redemptive moment, no act where she summons the courage to do the right thing, or rises above her own self-absorption. Even in the present, when the psychopath-in-the-making son of a friend and his underage, impressionable girlfriend crash at her digs, she can only summon a half-hearted (and failed) attempt to save the girl from following the path that so grievously sidetracked her own life.

All the men in the book are either pathetic or pigs of various shapes and forms – except for a premed student named Tom, who sees the cult for what it is, but who Evie rejects as a dork. Towards the end of the book, Evie ticks off a long list of subsequent experiences with awful men that could summon in her the hatred to commit horrendous crimes, seeming to imply that with the right mix of events, she too might have become a Suzanne, and, by implication, so could enormous numbers of other young women.

My first reaction was to call “Bullshit!” Were all young women potential Suzannes, we would have seen endless repeats of the Manson horrors in the nearly 50 years since the events. Instead, those murders still stand as a touchstone of horror because nothing since has eclipsed their mindless violence.

The Manson cult was at the far far end of the normal curve during truly abnormal times. In just the two years leading up to the murders, we had the huge escalation of a senseless war, the explosion of the anti-war movement and counter-culture, a breakdown of generational trust, my generation’s first experiences with powerful, mind-altering drugs, and a sexual revolution. In a country of more than 200 million people, that roiling stew of disruptive forces bubbled to the surface about 20 broken souls, deranged by drugs and in the thrall of a false prophet.

On reflection, however, maybe Ms. Clein was making a different point. All we have to think of are the teenage executioners of Pol Pot’s Cambodia or the child soldiers of Africa to recognize that the capacity for evil lies latent in the young. And, while in fiction we want our protagonists to find redemption or transcend their flaws perhaps Evie’s failure to rise to the occasion was making the point that a civilization that keeps our murderous impulses in check is not innate, but something external that has to be actively inculcated and supported. That’s something to keep in mind amid the current insanity of gun violence, and as more dark clouds gather on the horizon.



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