Sixteen months ago, I agreed with the decision to extend March break for two weeks. Because the threat of Covid-19 was not well understood, people were going to travel. Two weeks would ensure that there was little transmission from those trips. I did not believe those who said the children would not be back in person until September. I shook my head at the idea that it would be eighteen months before we got back to any semblance of normalcy. Talk of a pandemic at the beginning of 2020 seemed unreal.

Now that I understand the disease and the way community transmission can overwhelm us, I wonder why I didn't get it at the beginning.

Scrolling through conversations about action to mitigate climate change, I came across the phrase "apocalypse fatigue." Facing another world-shaking challenge can bring a feeling of exhaustion.

I grew up with the threat of nuclear destruction. During the cold war, there were enough nuclear missiles stockpiled to destroy the world several times over. Each time tensions between the super-powers ramped up, it felt like nuclear disaster might be just around the corner.  

Those who told "after the nuclear war" stories helped us see how bad the consequences could be. People protested, pushing governments to find another way. Sanity prevailed. The exchange of nuclear missiles didn't happen.

There was talk of decommissioning all those inter-continental missiles. I know some of that took place, but I wonder how many are still their rusting in their bunkers. We stopped talking about it, as another crisis arrived.

Acid rain was killing maple trees and poisoning our lakes. In the eighties, factories were booming. Chemicals were pumped into the air to be brought back to earth as acid rain. Companies complained that it would cost too much to clean up their emissions, warned consumer prices would sky rocket if they were forced to. Wages would be cut. Scientists pointed to the loss that would occur if they didn't cut back on pollution.

I remember when the company my dad worked for gave in and put scrubbers on the smoke stacks. My dad shifted position and proudly announced that they were even more efficient than expected, removing 98% of pollutants.

I have heard that there are places downwind of factories that are still worried about the ph level in rain, but either things have improved or we got tired of talking about acid rain.

Then there was a hole in the ozone layer. Radiation was hitting places like Australia hard, and if we didn't control the use of freon, the world would be in trouble.

Y2K was going to shut down every computer, every electrical system, everything.

The next year we came to fear that terrorism was going to destroy the world. The image of airplanes hitting skyscrapers is burned into our collective memory. Action was needed to cut off the reach of strong terrorist organizations.

The reaction to 9/11, however, was confused. Iraq was invaded although that country had nothing to do with Al-Qaeda. Security at airports got complicated. Most problematic was the way Islam as a whole was demonized. Muslims are now targeted.

The threat of terrorism, even more than specific acts of violence, has done damage, fracturing our sense of wholeness in the world. We still live with the consequences of that fear.

Now there is the threat of climate chaos with the increasing level of carbon in the atmosphere. The shifts have already increased storm intensity and changed rainfall patterns. Beira, Mozambique has been called the first city destroyed by climate change after cyclone Idai.

Each of those threats was and is real. Except perhaps Y2K. As I look back at the predictions I've lived through, I understand a bit better those who roll their eyes when the threat of climate chaos is brought up. I understand my own reluctance back in March 2020 to accept that we were on the verge of a pandemic that would shut down our lives.

The potential disasters need to be talked about, but we also need to be aware of "apocalypse fatigue" and how hard it is for people to absorb another prediction that our way of life is threatened. Perhaps the story we need to tell is how the potential disasters were averted when the world's attention got focussed and people pressed for change.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway