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This Is Not the End of the World and You Are Not a Prepper This Is Not the End of the World and You Are Not a Prepper
(2 days later)
Some years ago, out of a perverse need to both mediate and exacerbate my own anxieties about the climate catastrophe and the threat it posed to the structures undergirding civilization, I got very into consuming doomsday prepper content online. I can’t tell you how many hours I put in watching YouTube videos of burly American men talking about emergency water filtration techniques and what items to put in your long-term wilderness bug-out bag, but I can tell you that it was far too many.Some years ago, out of a perverse need to both mediate and exacerbate my own anxieties about the climate catastrophe and the threat it posed to the structures undergirding civilization, I got very into consuming doomsday prepper content online. I can’t tell you how many hours I put in watching YouTube videos of burly American men talking about emergency water filtration techniques and what items to put in your long-term wilderness bug-out bag, but I can tell you that it was far too many.
I also spent far too many hours lurking on Reddit forums dedicated to civilizational collapse, reading about the history of millenarian movements, and looking at photos of luxury bunkers for the superrich. My excuse was that it was “research.” At some point I had decided (in retrospect maybe recklessly) that the sensible thing to do with my apocalyptic anxiety was to sublimate it into the writing of a book on the topic, so that in theory all this stuff could be rationalized as work.I also spent far too many hours lurking on Reddit forums dedicated to civilizational collapse, reading about the history of millenarian movements, and looking at photos of luxury bunkers for the superrich. My excuse was that it was “research.” At some point I had decided (in retrospect maybe recklessly) that the sensible thing to do with my apocalyptic anxiety was to sublimate it into the writing of a book on the topic, so that in theory all this stuff could be rationalized as work.
I spent three years traveling to places through which I felt the apocalyptic energies of our time could be most effectively channeled: the Chernobyl exclusion zone, for instance; a remote South Dakota prairie where an apocalyptic entrepreneur was setting up a “survival community”; a New Zealand sheep station that Peter Thiel had purchased as a place to retreat to in the event of a global catastrophe.I spent three years traveling to places through which I felt the apocalyptic energies of our time could be most effectively channeled: the Chernobyl exclusion zone, for instance; a remote South Dakota prairie where an apocalyptic entrepreneur was setting up a “survival community”; a New Zealand sheep station that Peter Thiel had purchased as a place to retreat to in the event of a global catastrophe.
On some level, all these obsessions of mine — the superrich fleeing on private jets to lavish compounds, people stockpiling food and medication and preparing for the breakdown of societal structures, Elon Musk and his strange insistence on colonizing Mars as a “backup” planet for humanity — seemed like extreme metaphors for the deepest fault lines of Western culture, figurations of the more grotesque excesses of capitalist individualism. On some level, it was all a little abstract.On some level, all these obsessions of mine — the superrich fleeing on private jets to lavish compounds, people stockpiling food and medication and preparing for the breakdown of societal structures, Elon Musk and his strange insistence on colonizing Mars as a “backup” planet for humanity — seemed like extreme metaphors for the deepest fault lines of Western culture, figurations of the more grotesque excesses of capitalist individualism. On some level, it was all a little abstract.
But now look what’s gone and happened. These themes have suddenly materialized out of the murk of abstraction, and into the harsh light of what for the sake of convenience we must call reality.But now look what’s gone and happened. These themes have suddenly materialized out of the murk of abstraction, and into the harsh light of what for the sake of convenience we must call reality.
At an early stage of my research into the doomsday prepper scene, I bought a book called “Just in Case: How to Be Self-Sufficient When the Unexpected Happens,” which I left on a shelf and pretty much forgot about. Earlier today, I found myself taking it down and flicking through its index — “handcranked lanterns”; “pandemic”; “panic, avoidance of” — in a manner that felt remarkably different to how I had flicked through it in the past. The themes and motifs of the prepper movement are having a moment in the mainstream.At an early stage of my research into the doomsday prepper scene, I bought a book called “Just in Case: How to Be Self-Sufficient When the Unexpected Happens,” which I left on a shelf and pretty much forgot about. Earlier today, I found myself taking it down and flicking through its index — “handcranked lanterns”; “pandemic”; “panic, avoidance of” — in a manner that felt remarkably different to how I had flicked through it in the past. The themes and motifs of the prepper movement are having a moment in the mainstream.
Like everyone else, I am finding these new days painful and uncanny. I feel as though I am dreaming a weird and sad dream from which I can’t seem to awaken, a dream in which a mysterious force has hollowed out the substance of human life, where people must keep their distance from each other at all costs. The world feels empty, and strange, and wrong. No matter how much it may seem that way, though, it is not the end of the world. This is just the sort of thing that has always happened to humans. Perhaps the more painful thought is not that we are witness to the end times, but that we are just on the business end of history’s business-as-usual — that we are in no way special.Like everyone else, I am finding these new days painful and uncanny. I feel as though I am dreaming a weird and sad dream from which I can’t seem to awaken, a dream in which a mysterious force has hollowed out the substance of human life, where people must keep their distance from each other at all costs. The world feels empty, and strange, and wrong. No matter how much it may seem that way, though, it is not the end of the world. This is just the sort of thing that has always happened to humans. Perhaps the more painful thought is not that we are witness to the end times, but that we are just on the business end of history’s business-as-usual — that we are in no way special.
In the original Greek, the word apocalypse means simply a revelation, an uncovering. And so there is one sense in which these days are truly, literally, apocalyptic. The world itself is being revealed with a startling and surreal clarity. Much of what is being revealed is ugly: the rot of inequality in the bones of our societies, the lethal inefficiency of free-market capitalism, the bewildering cruelty and stupidity of many of the people in positions of apparent leadership. But there are beautiful things, too, being revealed with great clarity and force. Of these, the one that gives me the most hope in this sad and frightening time is that despite the damage done by the presiding ideology of individualism, there remains a determination to act out of a sense of shared purpose.In the original Greek, the word apocalypse means simply a revelation, an uncovering. And so there is one sense in which these days are truly, literally, apocalyptic. The world itself is being revealed with a startling and surreal clarity. Much of what is being revealed is ugly: the rot of inequality in the bones of our societies, the lethal inefficiency of free-market capitalism, the bewildering cruelty and stupidity of many of the people in positions of apparent leadership. But there are beautiful things, too, being revealed with great clarity and force. Of these, the one that gives me the most hope in this sad and frightening time is that despite the damage done by the presiding ideology of individualism, there remains a determination to act out of a sense of shared purpose.
The doomsday prepper vision of the world is unapologetically bleak: society as a fragile edifice, a thin veneer of behavioral norms over the abyss of greed and violence that is human nature. Among preppers, one of the preferred ways of reacting to a severe crisis is to batten down the hatches and retreat to one’s home, which is lavishly stocked with food and supplies and, in many cases, weapons. This is referred to as “bugging in,” a measure taken to protect oneself and one’s family. There’s an obvious way in which this is precisely what many of us are doing now. But there is also a crucial difference, one that is ethical and deeply political.The doomsday prepper vision of the world is unapologetically bleak: society as a fragile edifice, a thin veneer of behavioral norms over the abyss of greed and violence that is human nature. Among preppers, one of the preferred ways of reacting to a severe crisis is to batten down the hatches and retreat to one’s home, which is lavishly stocked with food and supplies and, in many cases, weapons. This is referred to as “bugging in,” a measure taken to protect oneself and one’s family. There’s an obvious way in which this is precisely what many of us are doing now. But there is also a crucial difference, one that is ethical and deeply political.
Preppers, like the superrich with their plans to fly to secure and remote locations in their private jets, are isolating themselves out of pure self-protection, out of a sense that other people are fundamentally threatening. But this paradigm is completely inverted under the conditions created by the coronavirus pandemic. Those of us who are bugging in, who are keeping a wary distance from each other, are doing so not because we see other people as a threat to be avoided, but because we understand that our fates are inseparable from those of other people.Preppers, like the superrich with their plans to fly to secure and remote locations in their private jets, are isolating themselves out of pure self-protection, out of a sense that other people are fundamentally threatening. But this paradigm is completely inverted under the conditions created by the coronavirus pandemic. Those of us who are bugging in, who are keeping a wary distance from each other, are doing so not because we see other people as a threat to be avoided, but because we understand that our fates are inseparable from those of other people.
If and when we get through this, it will be because we came together for the collective good by staying away from each other. Because if there is one thing a viral pandemic reveals, it is that it’s not in our nature to be separate.If and when we get through this, it will be because we came together for the collective good by staying away from each other. Because if there is one thing a viral pandemic reveals, it is that it’s not in our nature to be separate.
Mark O’Connell (@mrkocnnll) is the author of the forthcoming “Notes From an Apocalypse. Mark O’Connell (@mrkocnnll) is the author of the forthcoming “Notes From an Apocalypse.”
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