Parables of Earthis a recurring column fromNPQ’s Climate Justice desk exploring the connections between climate and art. Inspired in part by Octavia E. Butler, this column expands our lens on climate justice and taps into our deeply human inclination for creative expression—for joy, for strength, and for imagining new worlds.
The pictures on social media show a concrete spillway with a large swath of graffiti painted across it. As the nearby river flooded, the water swallowed the graffiti on the spillway, letter by letter.
These photos bring me right back to the experience of living by the river, under its constant threat of flooding.
The series of photos was an effective and moving way to measure the rapid rise of the river—the Hocking River—in my former home, Athens County, Ohio. Athens, like much of southeastern Ohio, and parts of Kentucky and Tennessee, was only the latest place to experience deadly floods this year.
On the morning of April 6, record high water followed heavy rain: an echo of the floods that struck some of the same places only weeks before. The Hocking River—which in February was declared unfit for humans to swim or wade in, due to high levels of E. coli—crested at 20.77 feet above flood level but not as high as feared and predicted.
I moved from southeastern Ohio several years ago, and for me, these photos bring me right back to the experience of living by the river, under its constant threat of flooding: staying up all night, the car packed and ready just in case we had to flee. I would fill up the bathtub with tap water, make sure important boxes were off the floor of in the basement, which might flood with dirty river silt. The school might close; sometimes we would be trapped at home for days, away from supplies.
Perhaps worse of all were the after-impacts of flooding: our water would be unsafe to drink, and the town would be under an indefinite boil order.
To be persuaded, we need to feel we are there. We need to hear from people who were or are still there.
Disappearing Places
In the last few years, the floods at home have only increased in severity and occurrence. It’s the same story all over the world of the havoc wrecked by the climate crisis. Weather is happening more often and more intensely. Those photos, and many others shared by my friends and local news media, let me know how it’s getting worse. They help me not only to see it but feel it.
Eyewitness accounts—photos, video, and writing—have always been an effective way to help other people believe. To be persuaded, we need to feel we are there. We need to hear from people who were or are still there. Some of the most meaningful changes, when it comes to sounding the alarm about the climate crisis, has arisen from art based on personal experiences, from the seminal documentary An Inconvenient Truth to books by Rachel Carson and Greta Thunberg.
Crucially, these firsthand accounts include tactile details: what floods smelled like, how embers flew through the sky during wildfires. Specific details are even more urgent now when parts of the world are literally being destroyed by climate disasters, whole neighborhoods in LA consumed by fire, islands being swallowed by rising seas.
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The more specific a story is, the more universal its retelling becomes, the more other people can see themselves in a situation or place and feel moved to action.
Combating Erasure
It’s more important than ever to have firsthand accounts of climate disaster. We live in a time of denial and erasure, an age of history being disappeared, expunged by a presidential administration that seeks to erase the contributions of women, disabled people, people of color, scientists, scholars, heroes, historymakers—and history itself.
We need you, and we need you to testify to the truth you are experiencing and the times you are living through.
Science has been targeted for erasure. Grants have been rescinded and researchers fired, their crucial data in limbo. The expulsion of science has impacted not only information but language, the Trump administration scrubbing words like “climate change,” “clean energy,” and “resilience” from federal websites. How can we make sure people remember? We can bear witness ourselves. We can record and write it down.
NPQ is committed to providing a safe space for nonprofit and federal workers, leaders, students, university administrators, teachers, and others to tell their stories. To this regard, we are open, now more than ever, to anonymous sources and to protecting the identity of writers who wish to write for us, to tell their story. You may write to any of our desks or to [emailprotected] with your story, pitch, or questions.
We need you, and we need you to testify to the truth you are experiencing and the times you are living through. Take pictures of the crisis, in all its forms. Record. Share your evidence with the world and share your story with us.
For More on This Topic:
Fire, Community, and Mutual Aid: A Personal Account from the LA Frontlines
What Happens When Your Insurance Rate Spikes Due to Climate Change?
We Are Ready: What’s Next for Climate Justice?
