During the summer of 2021, I embarked on a journey to Greece, driven by my desire to delve into the devastating wildfires that had been plaguing the region. My intention was to go beyond the headlines and interview those who had experienced the displacement caused by these environmental disasters. Having close ties to Greece and Cyprus myself, the approaching summers always brought anxiety and concern to my family. However, this particular year, with fires raging in multiple countries while I was three months pregnant, I couldn’t help but wonder about the world my unborn daughter, Evie, would inherit. This curiosity fueled my determination to learn as much as I could about the experiences of those affected.
One of the towns I spent a significant amount of time in was Mati, a small coastal town located less than 20 miles from Athens. It was there that I had the opportunity to engage in conversations with local residents, and their stories deeply touched me. In a café that had miraculously survived the fire, serving as a symbol of safety and community for survivors, I encountered courageous children who now bear the physical and emotional scars of the tragedy. I also met a man whose eyes welled up with tears, rendering him unable to articulate his pain. His inability to speak communicated a profound message that has stayed with me ever since.
The fire that ravaged Mati on July 23, 2018, claimed the lives of dozens of people. Even three years later, fear seemed to linger in the air, as if the residents could never truly feel safe in their homes again. One woman shared with me, “Here, we don’t need to ask about each other’s scars and burns. Everyone knows.”
While I expected to encounter stories of loss, what surprised me was the prevalent need to assign blame. People were desperate to identify a tangible entity – an individual, a group, or even the government – to hold accountable. This reaction was both understandable and justifiable. The allegations of arson and mishandling of the fire needed to be thoroughly investigated and addressed.
However, I was taken aback by the immediate dismissal and taboo surrounding any mention of the larger issue at hand – the climate crisis and global warming. Survivors firmly believed that these matters were irrelevant to their personal suffering, emphasizing the necessity for the actual culprits to face consequences.
Accompanied by a local resident, I explored Mati and its surrounding forest, listening to him describe what the landscape looked like prior to the fires. The once lush and fertile land had transformed into a scorched and barren expanse. The anger felt by the locals resonated within me, fueling my own mix of emotions – anger and sadness. It seemed natural for them to seek someone to blame, as it provided a sense of justice and closure. I understood this inclination.
However, when it comes to the climate crisis, assigning blame to a single person, corporation, or country becomes an exercise in futility. In Mati, the fire raged intensely not because of a spark ignited by someone but because years of global warming had depleted the land, a result of unsustainable practices and collective inaction. Now, two years after I began researching and writing my book, the fires have only intensified.
As I engaged in conversations with various individuals, including climate scientists, a growing gap between scientific knowledge and public awareness became evident. In her book, “Engaging With Climate Change,” psychoanalyst Sally Weintrobe highlights that many individuals who acknowledge the concept of anthropogenic global warming continue to perceive it as a future problem. Astonishingly, this mindset seemed prevalent even among those who had directly experienced the consequences of wildfires. Perhaps the sheer magnitude and pain of the reality are too overwhelming, making it difficult for people to bear the guilt?
As humans, we possess the capacity for both love and destruction – an unsettling truth that is challenging to accept within ourselves. Weintrobe argues that we often disassociate from our destructive tendencies, projecting them onto others. I witnessed this phenomenon unfold, and at times, felt its grip on myself. It is natural for us to fixate on potential acts of arson or mistakes that may have been made, as they are concrete and offer a semblance of resolution. Simultaneously, we turn away from our own contributions to this colossal catastrophe that engulfs our planet.
Listening to the stories of those affected helped anchor me in the present, enabling me to acknowledge the harsh reality and empathize with the human experiences beyond the statistical figures and crisis imagery portrayed in the media. These stories surround us, waiting to be heard. Through my research, I confronted the mirror and truly saw myself, understanding that I have played a part and continue to contribute to the climate emergency.
Chris Rapley, a climate science professor at University College London, advocates for fundamental changes in attitude and behavior, emphasizing the need to incorporate respect and protection for our environmental life-support system into every facet of our lives. The idea of weaving this awareness into our every action intrigues me. Where would it lead us? How would our path unfold if we all wholeheartedly embraced this approach? Call me an optimist, but I genuinely believe we can achieve it. It requires each and every one of us to find solace in a quiet place, open our hearts, and truly absorb the state of our world – our beautiful world – and recognize the impact of our actions. Christy Lefteri, acclaimed author of “The Beekeeper of Aleppo,” invites you to join her on this reflective journey when her upcoming novel, “The Book of Fire,” is released on August 17th.
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