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ThinkProgress
By Natasha Gieling
Reporter at ThinkProgress. Contact me: [email protected]
Nov 21, 2016
How to stay sane in the face of climate change
Physical consequences aren’t the only danger of the climate crisis.
Greenpeace activists form the word hope. CREDIT: AP Photo/Israel Leal
On an unusually hot morning in Washington, D.C., particularly for early November, sunlight
beamed through the large windows at the American Psychological Association’s headquarters,
framing the long expanse of the National Mall and the Washington Monument off in the
distance. The setting was peaceful, but tensions, like the outside temperature, ran high: the U.S.
presidential election was just five days away, and the media cycle — already whipped into a
frenzy by months of acerbic news — had been punctuated by a barrage of unprecedented FBI
leaks that seemed to threaten the very foundation of the democratic election.
Inside one of the building’s airy conference rooms, Bob Doppelt, executive director of the
Resource Innovation Group, rose to address a group of about 50 people. They were there, he
reminded them, for a first-of-its-kind conference, one that had attracted participants from all
over the world. He lead the group in a brief exercise in meditation — an unorthodox beginning,
perhaps, for some conferences — asking attendees to close their eyes, notice their breath, notice
their thoughts, notice their sensations.
Breathe. Relax. Be present in the moment.
CREDIT: Natasha Geiling
Then, after everyone had taken their last deep breath and opened their eyes and brought
themselves back to the sunny room, Doppelt launched into the subject on everyone’s mind: how
to stay sane in the face of climate change.
“Psychological traumas of more frequent storms, floods, and fires associated with climate
change, as well as toxic stresses — long term heat waves and droughts, food shortages,
involuntary migration, loss of community and breakdown of culture — are eroding personal
protective systems, amplifying preexisting mental health problems and creating new mental
health issues,” Doppelt said, rattling a litany of climate-related stressors in a way that was both
matter-of-fact and chilling.
Climate change has a way of leaving people feeling both helpless and hopeless, he continued.
And if that doesn’t change — if the problem is not addressed, or the mental impacts of the
problem are ignored — humans could be in for more than just droughts and food shortages and
more severe storms.
“If left unaddressed,” Doppelt said, “these harmful human reactions to climate change are likely
to be as bad or worse than the physical impacts.”
The impacts of climate change, from shrinking lakes and glaciers to crop failure. CREDIT: (From left)
USGS via AP; AP Photo/Manuel Valdes; AP Photo/Seth Perlman, File
The physical impacts of climate change are numerous, terrifying, and well-documented.
Warming temperatures will likely drive more extreme precipitation events, raising the potential
for devastating storms and floods. Drought will plague large stretches of the country, and the
world, hitting some of the most agriculturally productive areas the hardest, and potentially
leading to widespread food insecurity. Rapidly melting ice in Antarctica, the Arctic,
and Greenland threaten to drive up sea level, making vast areas of the world’s coasts
uninhabitable. Islands will disappear. Animals will be pushed out of their niche habitats, and
ones that can’t migrate or adapt will go extinct. Rising temperatures will help vectors
of infectious disease thrive in previously inhospitable conditions, leading to public health risks
around the world.
But focusing merely on the physical impacts of climate change fails to take into account the
mental and spiritual toll that living through extreme weather disasters, or even just dealing with
the relentless stream of apocalyptic-seeming climate news, can have on a person. And that toll is
very, very real.
The mental health consequences of climate change, according to U.S. Global Change Research
Program’s Climate and Health Assessment, can range from relatively minor — minimal stress,
fleeting anxiety — to full-on clinical disorders like anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress
disorder. And for people with preexisting mental health conditions, the trauma of extreme
weather disasters can be even more striking: A study looking at veterans in the aftermath of
Hurricane Katrina, for instance, found that those with preexisting PTSD were 11.9 times more
likely to screen for a new mental illness. Another study on the rate of suicide in Miami-Dade
County in the six months following 1992’s Hurricane Andrew, found that the average rate of
suicide doubled throughout the county to two per month in the wake of the hurricane,
compared with one per month before.
Survivors waiting to be rescued from the floodwaters of Hurricane Katrina. CREDIT: AP Photo/David J. Phillip,
Pool, File
Other studies have shown that, when faced with a disaster that involves a significant loss — of
home, or property, or life — survivors are often prone to depression and general anxiety. These
are consequences that are likely to increase as global warming continues to drive stronger and
more extreme weather events: A 2015 study published in the Lancet called mental health
disorders associated with climate change some of the most dangerous“indirect” health impacts
of global warming.
These impacts tend to get far less attention than the physical consequences associated with
climate change, but they are no less insidious. And, like the physical destruction caused by
climate change, mental health impacts tend to affect populations that are uniquely vulnerable:
coastal communities, poor communities, the very young, or the very old.
To make matters worse, traditional mental health and trauma support systems aren’t
adequately prepared, in many cases, to deal with the kinds of mental health impacts from
climate change. As Doppelt explained, most mental health systems are prepared only to help
stabilize communities during and in the immediate aftermath of a disaster. But if global carbon
pollution continues to increase, driving more prevalent climate catastrophes, mental health
systems will need to adjust to deal with the persistent mental trauma that comes with living in
the face of climate change.
“The public needs to know the truth in no uncertain terms.”
Merely thinking about the realities of climate change can be really scary. The problem is so vast,
and manifests on such a massive scale, that it can leave a person feeling hopeless and paralyzed.
But instead of building walls of denial to shut out the frightening reality of climate change, Lise
van Susteren, a psychiatrist and environmental activist who has spent years studying the links
between climate change and mental health, says it’s incredibly important to face the fear of
climate change — and channel that fear into action.
“The public needs to know the truth in no uncertain terms,” van Susteren, who presented at the
resilience conference, said in a subsequent interview. Don’t sugarcoat the facts about climate
change — as scary as they might be. Van Susteren explained that she struggles with people who
want to focus solely on the benefits of climate action, like cleaner air or improved health. Those
are important, she said, but avoiding the cause is like a doctor obscuring a patient’s diagnosis
and instead concentrating on the benefits of treatment.
“You have to say in no uncertain terms how bad the situation is. You don’t infantilize people,” she
said.
But before people let their fear turn to hopelessness, van Susteren said, it’s critical to tell them
that there are actionable things they can do, in their everyday life, to make the problem a little
smaller. Breaking the big problem down into manageable steps — measuring your own carbon
footprint, putting solar panels on your own home, or paying for carbon offsets to counteract
your own travel — can help a person take their fear and transfer that energy into positive action.
And that in turn can help mitigate the mental trauma of the reality of climate change.
“You take all the energy of the panic and the fear and you say, here is what we can do,” van
Susteren said. “You have to take that energy, because there is no motivation to change if things
aren’t bad. People are much more averse to what they are losing — and what they are predicted
to lose — than what they stand to gain.”
“You take all the energy of the panic and the fear and you say, here is what we
can do.”
It’s the same phenomenon — the idea of coping with fear by putting that energy into action —
that has driven record numbers of donations to progressive organizations like Planned
Parenthood, the American Civil Liberties Union, and the Sierra Club, in the wake of Donald
Trump’s victory in the presidential election.
But perhaps one of the easiest ways to deal with the mental health trauma associated with
climate change is simply talking about it — with people who understand and accept the scientific
consensus on the issue, and especially with people who don’t.
The idea that most Americans rarely, if ever, talk about climate change with others, is a real
phenomenon borne out by statistics. A study from George Mason University (GMU) and Yale
University found that while two out of three Americans are at least moderately interested in
climate change, 70 percent don’t make it a point of talking about climate change with the people
they know. A quarter of Americans only hear people talk about climate change a few times a
year — and another quarter of Americans never hear anyone mention it.
Climate silence is bad for climate policy, because it gives the appearance that climate change
isn’t as much of a priority for voters as issues that get more vocal attention, like gun rights or
health care or the economy. But climate silence is also dangerous for mental health because it
forces people to cope with the stressors of climate change in a way that is incredibly isolating,
and it prevents people from forming the kinds of community bonds that have been proven to be
the most helpful in rebuilding resilience directly after a climate catastrophe.
Olivia Loesner, 16, hugs her uncle, Little Ferry Deputy Fire Chief John Ruff, after she was brought from her flooded
home in a boat in Little Ferry, N.J., Tuesday, Oct. 30, 2012, in the wake of superstorm Sandy. CREDIT: AP
Photo/Craig Ruttle
“Suffering alone is much more grievous to our psyche than connecting with others,” van Susteren
said. “Being in a community of people who share your concerns is the first step. It helps to know
you’re not alone.”
But talking about climate change — about the fears and stress that come with the understanding
that mankind is, perhaps irreversibly, altering the planet — does more than help people feel less
alone. It also helps create stronger bonds to community, which is something that studies have
shown can help people bounce back quicker when a devastating climate event, like a major
flood or a crippling drought, takes place.
The idea that strong community ties could be related to climate resilience came to Daniel
Aldrich, co-director of the Security and Resilience Studies Program at Northeastern University,
out of a personal trauma. He and his family lived in New Orleans when Hurricane Katrina hit;
after the hurricane, they left and moved to Boston. But Aldrich wanted to know what it was that
brought people back to places that had been hit with catastrophe — why did some communities
stay intact after disasters while others dissipated?
Refugees, including 53 who were saved from a retirement home during the tsunami, take shelter inside a school
gym in the leveled city of Kesennuma, northeastern Japan, after the 2011 earthquake. CREDIT: AP Photo/David
Guttenfelder
In 2007, Aldrich moved to Japan to study how communities rebuilt after disasters, studying
earthquakes that had taken place in 1995 and 1923. In 2012, he went to Japan for a second time,
to study how communities dealt with the 2011 earthquake and subsequent tsunami that killed
16,000 people and caused the meltdown of the Fukushima nuclear reactor. What he found was
that the more tight-knit the community before the disaster, the better chance it had of
successfully rebuilding after the disaster. Moreover, communities with close ties had higher
survival rates for at-risk populations, like the sick and the elderly, because in those communities,
people already knew who needed help — they were able to act quickly, and had the trust
necessary to help their neighbors in a time of crisis.
“What can you do? Get to know your neighbors!” Aldrich told the audience during the resilience
conference. “Can you name 10 neighbors’ last names?”
“The first line of responders are often our neighbors,” he added. “Our job should be to get to
know them.”
In the wake of the 2016 presidential election, a few common reactions have emerged: handwringing over the idea that so many along the coasts don’t understand the worries of those who
populate the country’s heartland; anxiety from entire communities — women, people of color,
people with disabilities, basically anyone who isn’t white, straight, or male — that the new
president’s policies will endanger their civil liberties and everyday safety; a low-lying, constant
stress that this election could signal some kind of major fissure in our country’s most
fundamental democratic structures.
“The first line of responders are often our neighbors. Our job should be to get to
know them.”
It’s not dissimilar, in many ways, to the issues that were discussed in that bright room on that
unseasonably warm November day, when the stress of the election loomed in the background.
Towards the end of the conference’s first day, the election even became a distinct topic of
conversation. A panelist described an interaction she had with her cab driver, who was from
Afghanistan, on her way to the event. One candidate’s rhetoric, he had told her, was making him
feel particularly unsafe — and that constant stress was starting to take its toll on his health.
As the conference began to wrap up, an audience member rose for the day’s final question. It
had been a long day of discussions about chronic traumas, underlying stressors, and harsh
realities about the climate crisis. But the audience member didn’t seem stressed. The day, she
said, had actually been of help to her because talking about it made her feel less isolated, less
alone.
“I didn’t feel terrible, I didn’t feel awful,” she said. “Thank goodness we are talking about this. I
am so much less lonely in this room than I am in most of my life.”
Climate change, like a lot of things, is scary. But if mental health professionals a tip for coping, it
seems to be this: Talk about it. Share your feelings. And remember that we are all in this
together.