
A WEEK into our family holiday in Greece, the thing we feared the most happened: a fire broke out on the hillside next to our house. Through the smoke, we could see trees and brush going up in flames. When an outhouse on the neighbouring property caught fire, we grabbed passports, wallets and phones, piled into the car and fled.
There was nothing for it but to go to a beach and wait. A few hours later, we returned. The fire was out, the house and village intact. We were relieved and grateful, but shaken, and edgy for the rest of the holiday. Having briefly feared the loss of a rented holiday home and a longed-for family break, I can only imagine what it feels like to lose an actual home to a natural disaster, or to live in fear of it. Yet this is the experience of increasing numbers of people around the world as fires, floods, storms and melting ice invade our safest spaces.
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Such climate-fuelled natural disasters are obviously a danger to life, limb and property. But what is often overlooked is that they also take a psychological toll. According to the UK’s Royal College of Psychiatrists, , because our psychological well-being is entwined with the natural world.
For now, the people on the front line of this crisis are Indigenous communities who have a profound connection to the land, and who are being psychologically obliterated by the destruction they see being wrought upon it.
One vivid example comes from Tikigâksuagusik, a coastal Inuit community in Labrador, Canada. There is no road in or out of the town, and its 300 or so inhabitants still live largely as their ancestors did. According to , a researcher at the Labrador Institute who has worked with the community for 12 years, the people of Tikigâksuagusik are deeply connected to their environment. They use the land and sea to hunt, trap, fish and forage, and derive a sense of belonging from being in the wild. Above all, she says, they identify as “people of the sea ice”.
“Over 45 per cent of 16 to 25 year olds say their worries about climate change are negatively affecting their daily lives”
Yet that sea ice is disappearing. Labrador is the fastest-warming region of Canada. It has long exceeded a 1.5°C average rise in temperature and is heading for much more. The sea ice season has shrunk from eight months to just five, and the ice that forms is thin and weak. The weather has also become snowier and foggier, limiting opportunities to hunt and forage on land. Last winter was the warmest on record, with the average temperature 4 to 6°C above normal and no days at all with an average temperature of below -20°C, compared with at least 20 such days in a normal year.
The result, says Cunsolo, is disconnect from the environment, a profound sense of loss and an epidemic of emotional problems. People in Tikigâksuagusik report feeling sadness, stress, anger, frustration and hopelessness. Rates of depression, anxiety and substance abuse are rising, as are suicide ideation and attempts.
There is an emerging name for such responses: . It can be broken down into three components. The first is a direct sense of loss when treasured species and ecosystems disappear. The second is grief at the loss of traditional knowledge and personal identity. The third is anxiety about future losses and those endured by other people.
For now, the first kind of grief is largely confined to traditional communities around the world that are experiencing the losses directly, says Cunsolo. But the second is being seen in groups such as farmers, fishers and foresters, and the third is increasingly being detected among people everywhere, especially the young.
Last week, for instance, a . More than half felt sad, anxious, angry, guilty, powerless or helpless, and over 45 per cent said their worries about climate change were negatively affecting their daily lives.
There is evidence that even in Western societies, extreme climate-related events are starting to gnaw at psychological health. In the UK, for example, , depression and post-traumatic stress disorder than the general population. In terms of healthy life years lost, “the mental health effects of flooding are much more important than the physical effects”, says .
Climate anxiety and ecological grief will get worse before they can get better. But, paradoxically, despair breeds hope. Cunsolo points out that grief is a and could be harnessed in our response to the crisis. “I actually think that there’s a really powerful moment that’s happening here as more and more people are coming together in grief,” she says. The world is on fire, but we may yet conjure a phoenix to rise from the flames.
Graham’s week
What I’m reading
How to Be a Liberal: The story of freedom and the fight for its survival by Ian Dunt.
What I’m watching
Vigil, the BBC’s submarine-based murder mystery/political thriller.
What I’m working on
I’m on a deep dive into the mind-bogglingly huge mineral requirements for the clean energy revolution.
- This column appears monthly. Up next week: Annalee Newitz