My favorite books on the breadth of governing disasters in a changing climate

Mr. Ghosh beautifully links the pandemic, a changing climate, immigration, and Black Lives Matter protests.

He opens by telling one history of nutmeg. He tells of colonialism, beginning with fear and murder. He tells of how people lost their home to others’ violence and desire for riches. Murder, colonialism, international markets are all grounded in colonizers’ efforts to dominate the earth. Mr. Ghosh’s heartbreaking book inspired me, encouraging me to believe we must expand what we define as governing a changing climate.

The dominant story of improving changing climate centers on clean energy, our rights to a better environment, and oil companies’ misdeeds. We think disasters are the event itself: the storms, the pandemic, the heat. Really, though, they begin long before and ripple outward.

The 1918 flu killed millions, including 675,000 in the United States. It rapidly killed young people. The president of the United States never spoke of it.

The United States was at war, and officials claimed speaking of the flu would undermine the war effort. Not speaking of the flu fit well with widespread suppression of speech, which officials also justified by pointing to the war. Civil rights and liberties claims linked to that pandemic as it did in COVID-19.

Mr. Barry’s sprawling story includes many actors. Mr. Barry argues that managing a pandemic requires trust. In the COVID-19 pandemic, trust could still be hard to come by, even as medical care, labor, insurance, schooling, and the place of courts had changed over the intervening one hundred years. 

Fires in Australia in 2019 and 2020 killed billions of animals in a climate disaster. The numbers are impossible to comprehend.

In this beautiful, elegiac book, Dr. Celermajer grieves the losses by telling of one of her beloved pigs. She moves outward to reflect on how individual stories allow us to remember enormous losses. She refuses to tell this story of a climate catastrophe by telling of a few wrongdoers.

In one powerful reflection, she concludes that it is essential if almost impossible to say ‘it is I, it is I’ when speaking of who brought these losses. 

People’s stories show disasters’ costs better than accounting for how much money they cost or how many people died, the common metrics used in public policy, including during the pandemic. These measures miss the long histories, with disaster as one event in lives that precede it and continue after.

In her poetic novel, Jesmyn Ward details stories of a family living on the Mississippi Gulf Coast in the days before Hurricane Katrina struck in 2005, and in its immediate aftermath. By the time the storm strikes, everything that has preceded it makes sense of the family’s being left behind with no way to leave, and characters’ determination to swim to safety.

I had to put the book aside at times because the characters and their experiences felt so real. 

Sure, people objected to pandemic mitigation measures in other countries. Only in the United States were objections partisan.

This book elegantly relies on public opinion surveys to demonstrate the costs of partisanship in the pandemic. The authors discuss the economy, immigration, and voting. They document the Trump administration’s efforts to make mitigating the pandemic partisan. Masks are not inherently partisan. Our friends in medicine wear them all the time. In parts of Asia, many have used them to limit viruses’ spread.

Even before the pandemic, in the United States, partisanship had become at least as much about personal identity as policy differences. Every personal decision could signal partisanship. By meticulously capturing the pandemic and partisanship, the authors warn of the ongoing difficulties of managing disasters in a divided country.