Covid’s Metamorphoses

Covid’s Metamorphoses

I

Put not your trust in Princes, sociopaths,

and populists! Yup: R is on the up.

We mutter in our coffee cups

or scream “just do the math”

but there’s the rub: they modelled, did their sums;

convened their focus groups

(which feast on spin, and tonics for the troops,

and marching bands, and martial pipes and drums).

“Mere numbers are for crunching! Common sense

– the good old British type –

will see us through”, they blustered (but events

proved otherwise). Such hubris, humbug, hype,

hypocrisy, and cant! Their “fingers crossed”!

Their calculated cynicism glossed!

II

Down Brixton Hill the rain is falling fierce

and fearsome past the prison gates:

a sudden spate

to wash away the layers of grime, the smears

of soot and diesel fumes. No music spills

from the Electric. Empty stand the chairs

in Windrush Square;

forlorn, the shuttered shopfronts. Covid kills

communities discreetly, by degrees,

with segregation, racism and stealth;

a zoonotic freeze

on breath and health.

We tread a bleak and dread-filled path

Between the shadow and its aftermath.

III

Obscured beneath the moral permafrost

of mankind’s ceaseless, cruel,

destructive search for lebensraum, which fuels

environmental holocaust,

a vision forms, in some cool limpid pool

of keener consciousness:

how more might be achieved with less.

We mined, drilled (fracked!) for carbon molecules;

as Ahab scourged the oceans of the world,

as Icarus caressed the Aegean skies,

we hurtled, wings outstretched, and sails unfurled;

chased down electric avenues. All lies!

Together we’ll rewild the biosphere

and weather these coronavirus years.

 

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COVID-19: a darkness at the edge of town?

… I’ll pay the cost,
For wanting things that can only be found
In the darkness on the edge of town

(Bruce Springsteen)

It’s wearisome and dispiriting – but supremely predictable – that the two populist ‘war cabinets’ of the two decadent imperialist Anglo-Saxon democracies of the West are now gliding, in synchronised steps, into that old country waltz whose tune we all know so well. You know the one I mean – it goes like this: “blame the exotic, inscrutable and untrustworthy Orient”.

In this case (albeit only if we would be in so distracted a state as to take seriously the flati of the likes of Messrs Trump, Pompeio, Gove (and Bolsonaro)) the fall guy is supposed to be China; its particular villainy, the COVID-19 pandemic. As always, with all the most effective lies and projections, there is some kind of hook to hang this on: in this case, the ‘wet markets’ of Yuhan where the zoonotic calamity of COVID-19 is understood to have originated. However, once it becomes clear that the particular example is but a manifestation of the general discourse, the details don’t matter so much.

To show you what I’m getting at: at the height of British imperialism, in the days of Lord Palmerston and ‘gunboat diplomacy’, China was also the Oriental villain. On the occasion of the Opium Wars it was demonised for having the immortal rind to put the welfare of its own population (protection from substance dependency) above the principles of Free Trade (drug dealing, as we would now call it) espoused (down the barrels of its cannon) by our Occidental merchant classes (who of course considered it their God-given right to control the terms of engagement). Now, not the least of what it is about the COVID-19 catastrophe that enrages the neocons, on both sides of the Atlantic, is precisely that it causes them to lose control of the terms of trade. They are entirely prepared to see large swathes of their own populations as expendable and sacrificial; but deferring to the Orient on matters of commerce and the sacred principle of free trade (see Johnson’s foam-flecked ‘Superman’ rant on this theme in Greenwich earlier this year) is more than they can bear to swallow (and Amitav Ghosh writes wonderfully about this in his Ibis trilogy).

And here’s another book recommendation for your quarantine reading, while we’re about it. The great founding theorist of post-colonial studies, Edward Wadie Said, wrote beautifully and incisively about the long and toxic tradition of ‘othering’ (“disregarding, essentialising, denuding the humanity of another culture, people or geographical region”) that characterises the West’s historical relations of domination towards and over the ‘East’. This is what’s happening when people mutter about ‘other’ people eating ‘exotic’ animal meat that they wouldn’t fancy, or referring to COVID-19 as the ‘Chinese’ virus; the same way that HIV was once, for a wholly misleading and utterly disastrous while, the ‘gay’ virus.

So: do go have a read of Said! Here, though, I want briefly to pick up a slightly different aspect of the relationship between Empire and the pandemic.

It’s 5500 miles or so from Wuhan to London as the crow social distances. Even in globalised late modernity, that’s a long way. But it’s not just that the distance breeds contempt and that it describes fertile ground upon which the populists may sprinkle their toxic seeds of othering. It’s more precisely that Empire, whether in its economic or its political or its symbolic dimensions – the British Empire, for example, of the second half of the eighteenth century, or the fossil capitalism that fuelled it, or the doctrine of white supremacy and colonial domination that underpinned it – Empire defines itself as a system where the darkness is always at the edge of town, even if that darkness sometimes makes itself felt by means of tendrils slithering inwards towards the centre.

The so-called ‘Winter of Discontent’, 1978-79, in the UK? Must have been those pesky Russkies that fomented it! It can’t have been anything intrinsically problematic about our own system of government. The Bay of Pigs; Checkpoint Charlie; the Vietnam War; Bikini Atoll; the Roswell UFO ‘sightings’: all of them extemporisations over one single repeating riff. “Peace at the center is dependent on the successful maintenance of conflict at the periphery”, writes Jonathan Lear, in his brilliant essay on JM Coetzee’s novel Waiting for the Barbarians. Border skirmishes, in this view, be they minor or major, are not only distractions and exotica – they are necessary, sine qua non; and, to borrow from Bob Dylan, if you lean your heads out far enough from Desolation Row, you’ll always be able to hear their dog whistles.

The Empire must expand, so it must clash with whatever lies immediately beyond its pulpits and parapets – especially if what lies beyond its pulpits and parapets, across a hundred yards of no-man’s-land, are the parapets and pulpits of some other Empire, committed to the exact same doctrine of never-ending expansion, fuelled by the very same fossil fuels that power the delivery trucks and the battle tanks of its rival, and underpinned by a looking-glass replica of those very doctrines of mission and Providence propounded from the pulpits of its rival.

Yes, COVID-19 cuts a lethal lighthouse beam of illumination through the darknesses of wet markets, boundary violations, cynicism (with a small ‘c’), venality and hubris – but it’s not the venality of the feckless Oriental, nor the cynicism of the embattled frontier towns and outriders of Western mercantilism and extractivist imperialism. No: COVID-19 shines its light upon the epicentre of Empire; upon the darknesses we try to expel to the edge of town, that our cosy streets may feel safely lit and peaceful; the peoples and landscapes we give up in sacrifice in order that we may continue tightly to cling to those twin illusions of surplus and sustainability. COVID-19 strips bare, with its laser lens, the hubris of human relations of imperialist and supremacist dominion over the animal ‘kingdom’.

Above all, COVID-19 exposes the illusion at the heart of Empire: the illusion that humankind, or some part or portion of humankind, may in actuality wield dominion over anything at all. This illusion rose up in the ultimately futile campaign to overthrow the knowledge that on some level we all began with: the awareness of belonging as interactive components within a wider Earth system, living in attunement with all other components of that system, ‘animate’ or otherwise.

Much has been mumbled in recent weeks, of COVID-19 as the revenge of Gaia. I am not persuaded – Gaia has no intentionality, pursues no telos, upholds no greater good. Gaia is vast and intricate and we are in it and of it.

COVID-19 simply shows us how small we are.

 

References

Bob Dylan (1965) ‘Desolation Row’, from Highway 61 Revisited. Columbia Records

Amitav Ghosh (2009) Sea of Poppies; (2011) River of Smoke; (2015) Flood of Fire – The Ibis Trilogy. London: John Murray.

Jonathan Lear (2018) Wisdom Won From illness. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

James Lovelock (2007) The Revenge of Gaia. London: Penguin.

Edward Said (1978) Orientalism. London: Penguin Modern Classics.

Edward Said (1994) Culture and Imperialism. London: Vintage.

Bruce Springsteen (1978) ‘Darkness on the edge of town’, from Darkness on the Edge of Town. Columbia Records.