A Prophecy of Doom.
© MMXXI A.N.E.
*static* … just hope those brats have no idea how to operate a tape recorder. If you’re listening to this, I‘m probably already dead, torn to pieces by this raging pack of juvenile rats. Where has culture gone? What happened to the glorious civilization our foremothers and -fathers fought for in two world wars? What is the crime me and my peers are being hunted to death for? It‘s a rhetorical question of course. It‘s almost our own fault. It all goes boom.
But let me tell you how it all began…
It really took off in 2018. Aside from some nerds and scientist — or youth for that sake who were taught about all of this in school, virtually nobody was aware of climate disaster.
Kyoto and the Paris agreement before just sounded too nice. As if climate change was the same as the CFC Problem that could be solved with Montreal. And we‘re still not over the hump, ozone depletion wise. 1987.
I mean, my generation, we had been terribly mislead by corporations and politicians, advertisement and whitewashing issues of all sorts. We, the boomers.
But 2018 was when the switch was turned. A report of international climate scientists on the dire situation that, despite the fact that it had still been painting a rather bright future because delegates from all countries of the world had to approve of the final text, made it into public focus. Especially because of a young Scottish Girl named Moira Thunder. She was the focal point of a whole Generation. Like Che Guevara for us, or Charles Manson for generation X. You know. People need idols.
Soon it became the lastest thing amongst the youth to worry about their future. Well. All of everybody’s future, to be honest. I don’t mean to downplay anything, right. But when I was young, right, Overkill was the latest shit. We were told to hide under our desks when the A-bombs drop. Literally. And I never managed to fathom what my parents went through, when they were young. It probably makes sense to assume every generation has their fair share of a bleak future. Something to think about before falling asleep. Finally.
They were protesting, first every Thursday — they‘d call those The-Thunder-Thursdays (or TTT as you might recall), skipping school, making a lot of noise. Soon everybody, be it pupils, students, teachers, parents or grandparents, we, I guess had only one thing on our minds: The future.
Democracy is being kept alive by compromise. That is its very nature. At times, it‘s also its weakest link.
All the fuss that happened, all the fear for extinction, the gross pictures that had been painted, they seemed to lead somewhere substantial. To change, at last.
I mean I have always been some kind of a cynic, haven’t I. I have always been a pessimist. I don’t have children, I never wanted any. Those four billion fellow humans had been three billion to much for my liking back then. What ever. I had such a good laugh when the ‘Resistance to Obliteration‘ first came up. Their Symbol, oh those symbols — my father always warned me about the power of symbols, „symbols can make a herd of cows devour a pack of wolves“ he‘d say, their symbol was an hourglass. I was making jokes about the obvious idiocy of their notion to fight the imminent extinction to be able to breed on for the goal of the ultimate, inevitable oblivion. Stupid breeders, you know. They freak out too easily if you tell them their brood is in danger.
So, yeah. It looked promising, right. Compromise doing its thing. Slowly, steadily. We’d go vegetarian or even vegan once a week. We took the train to Vladivostok instead of a jet. And we’d only use coal for BBQs.
Then, the pandemic hit. Again, everything changed, now even more quickly. This time, my generation and elder seemed to be hit especially hard. Morally.
In retrospective it was just a perverse harbinger of what humanity can achieve in a short period of time if they’re more or less unequivocally united against a common enemy.
*static … click*
*static*…, Anyways. It’s Thursday (of all possible days), Halloween 2030, my Omega watch with countless complications says. I’m hiding in a mansard owned by a young couple that’s in the Resistance. They’ve been really nice. Outside I can hear the b(rats) in the streets, agitating. I’ve turned 80 this year. No idea how I made it that old. I’ve got no family of my own, of course. They’re all dead. I feel my end is nigh, too.
It’s somewhat strange. When I became a retiree fifteen years ago I was sure I’d grow at least a hundred years old. Now I’m absolutely sure that I wouldn’t want to even if I could.
Okay, but let’s stop lamenting: the pandemic ended. In 2025 that spell was a historic event. Things were about to return to normal. Normal. That sounds stupid, nowadays.
Climate Change, Environmental Havocs, the 6th Mass Extinction, Overpopulation and limitless economical growth, Social Injustice — especially inter generational injustice, War, it all went on. It started gliding towards a point of culmination.
I know that we shouldn’t have ignored the youth for as long as we did. It was too easy, because we, the boomers, were the majority. Besides it has been a cultural consensus for aeons that the young obey. And that’s one of the flaws of democracy. We could outvote them. And we did. Hell, we’d even try to vote against the very laws of physics — although we had been warned not to.
When, for a rather short period, the millennials were still in power, it seemed that we all might get off the hook. But..., the millennials… you see: they were a lost generation. Parties, Drugs, Gaming, lifestyle bullshit. Reality was never their occupation. And we grew older and older, weaker. We were too many, they too few, the task too great, the problems too many so failure was looming.
It had become terribly obvious that we had been postponing the really big questions for too long. The youth radicalized. What once was the ‘Resistance to Obliteration’ has turned into the International Socialist Party. Their Green Banners are everywhere. Moira Thunder, once the idol of a whole Generation, their shining light — was soon accused of ‘blah, blah, blah’ herself. When she was 25 she was already too old, frustrated and disillusioned to be taken seriously by her followers. Too moderate.
“Because who’s the enemy, huh?”, the evolving eco-fascists asked, “Who got us into all of this?”
It was only two years ago, when the post-Identitarian Movement and other international right wing loonies took over the once progressive leftist eco-movement in an international social-media propaganda blitzkrieg.
“The Angle — opening up the future, righteousness, The Inter!”, their motto was yelled, “The Hammer — for the creation, the verdict, The Nation!; The Hoe — for Nature, the Culture, the Sowing of a Green Future! And the Scythe — for the Harvest, Thanksgiving. The PARTY!”. Those were their words. A swastika of tools over a white circle on a green flag.
The prosecution began. All the “Delayers”, the “Babblers”, “The Boomers”: to the gallows. And that was in practice everybody about thirty to forty and older. Only the most eloquent and opportunistic elderly Prophets of Doom were considered exempt from punishment. The bloodshed was, and still is, inconceivable.
I heard New Zealand is still safe. A billionaire‘s sanctuary built on the backs of its native population. But for how long can money buy a denial of reality?
I remember ISIL. Like, I knew it has always been possible. But I would never have thought I’d witness any of this myself. It’s a global phenomenon. We’re becoming fewer and fewer. We’re hiding wherever we may before the wrath of our children. We’re communicating by citizens band radio, bootleg letters and tapes — stuff the brats barely know from museums. We hide in the dark.
But you know what leaves a smile on my lips in the darkness of my mansard, when listening to the chanting children in the streets?
One day, in all their ignorance, they’ll start breeding and they‘ll be held responsible by their offspring…
*static … click*