Only the impossible is possible now

Except this time it won’t just be emaciated young gay men dying along hospital corridors. It’ll be us. Me, writing this—and yes, you, reading it. I’m 58. By the time I’m 75, my generation will be nicely entering the time of their dying as we fly past 2°C and up to 3°C. 

According to the science papers, a billion people will be on the move. The NHS getting even more ‘overstretched’ is a reasonable prediction, don’t you think? Even more bodies in the corridors. Our bodies.

Alternative

Here’s the thing about the climate crisis: it’s going to hurt you. Physically. As someone who’s been on two hunger strikes, I can report that not having food to eat hurts—a lot. Then there’s the nausea.

And then there’s the matter of the fascists getting into power. Less said about that the better. Pass the tea, please.

The difference between Trump and Harris is that Trump takes you over the cliff with joy for making America great again, while Harris takes you over the cliff with joy for reasons she never made clear. Are you surprised people opted for fascism?

Saying that “only the impossible is possible now” wasn’t some clever bit of messaging to get you to read this article. All futures are now, actually, impossible. 

The impossibility of fascism. The impossibility of creating an alternative that isn’t Harris. The impossibility of getting people to do that doorknocking. So, which impossibility is it going to be? What will happen?

Struggles

Shestov’s generation had to deal with liberalism’s sick joke of the First World War: the trenches, the body parts, the doomed youth. All of it. We are about to face our own sick joke of liberalism—and our own sleepless nights.

The forgotten thinkers of the dark valley of the interwar years will come back into fashion. And we’ll find, as that generation did, that only those who face the world as it is will make it through.

Well done, by the way, to those of you who’ve got this far in reading this article. Those who bury their heads in the sands of social media silos won’t see the boot coming when it smashes down on their face. 

That was Orwell’s image in 1984—what happens when you ignore your moral and political responsibilities? When you can’t get off your arse and do your sacred democratic duty on a drizzly Thursday evening and listen to your fellow human beings on their doorsteps.

So, as I say: it’s doorknocking or death. Not old-style doorknocking—a quick transactional pitch to get out the vote at election time. But doorknocking where you listen, and they talk. And a bunch of other things to create the “impossible” world we want rather than the “impossible” world we don’t want.

I’ll go through more details about this in next month’s piece. In the meantime, I humbly suggest you don’t avoid your own dark night of the soul. In the deepest depths of your despair, remember: only when you go through the burning of your entitled ego will you be useful in the struggles to come. And only then will you be of any use to yourself.

This Author

Roger Hallam is a founding member of Extinction Rebellion and Just Stop Oil and an activist with Umbrella. He is currently serving a five year prison sentence for participating in a online call discussing a climate action on the M25.