Tipping Point

Panic threatened to overwhelm her. A bearded prophet, wearing a sandwich board that proclaimed “The end is nigh!” appeared, then was swept rapidly past and over the edge. Annie waited to die.

  Instead she looked down to see grass scattered with wildflowers. Sweet nectared perfume reached her as a warm white glow began to spread through the landscape. In the distance Annie could see an indistinct figure, hidden by the brightness of the light that shone from it. A sense of peace replaced the fear that had driven her through this nightmare landscape.

  Let it live. Annie was unsure where the thought had come from. But now the sound of birdsong assured her it was time to wake and leave. She looked once more at the incandescent being who had calmed her nightmare and, instead of abruptly falling from her dream, as she so often had, she gently floated.

  As the dream faded, the glowing figure spoke. “What are you doing to save the world?”

  When she finally reached daylight, Annie realised that she had made a decision. She knew that it probably wasn’t sensible; she knew that people would question it. But she didn’t see what else she could do.

  She couldn’t just sit back and wait for the world to die.

  Chapter Six: What will you tell your children?

  As she rattled and swayed in time with the train, Annie found herself smiling. At last she was doing it!

  The bad dreams had stopped once her decision was made; sleep was more restful. And the look on her principal’s face when she had offered her resignation had been priceless.

  “You’re going to do what?” he had exclaimed in confusion. One of his best teachers was about to leave – he didn’t want her to. “I’m sorry Annie,” he continued when he had regained his usual unflappable composure. “I’ve known you for eight years now. I know you don’t always do things by the book, but this sounds borderline insane.”

  Of course, he had refused to accept her resignation. Instead he had persuaded her to take a year’s leave-without-pay on the strict understanding that she could return sooner. He pointed out that she would always be welcome to do some casual replacement teaching, as much as she wanted – after all, she would still need an income.

  As she remembered his eyes, rabbit’s caught in the headlights, she smiled gratefully at how helpful he had been, putting in place a plan that would make her decision sustainable. He was right – she would need income, and two or three days a week substitute teaching would provide enough to keep her household, small as it was, afloat.

  But as the train thundered closer to the city and she was about to put her plan into action, Annie began to feel anxious.

  “Why on Earth am I doing this?” she muttered under her breath as the train rocked through the noisy tunnels under Melbourne. This is crazy!

  She disembarked at Flinders Street Station, along with the crowd that had ridden all the way to the central business district. As they surged onto the platform she smiled again at a stray thought. Open the doors, and look at all the people, she remembered the children’s rhyme and its accompanying gestures. Well . . . there’ll be no shortage of people to talk to!

  Federation Square seemed like a good place to start.

  When she arrived she looked around at the angular shapes of buildings that might have been raised by geological action, shaded triangles jutting from the ground in layers. Cafes punctuated corners of the area.

  Annie chose a seat at the edge of the public space and watched the men and women wandering or marching past. She was not quite sure how to begin. It seemed rude to just walk up to someone and begin talking. Her research beforehand, the gathering of persuasive facts and her serious rehearsals; all this now seemed pointless. She had prepared herself for what she should say, but had not thought about how she would feel faced with this reality.

  An urge to turn tail, get on the train and run back to school, overwhelmed her. The boss would be glad to have her back at work. She would survive the embarrassment of her failure.

  A lone raven flew overhead, “karking” mournfully to the open sky. Annie looked up and remembered an image from the television, precious black parrots falling dead from the sky.

  A sudden sensation passed over her, the chill of someone walking on her grave. She held her hand up for inspection. There was no moisture, despite her impression of a point of concentrated wet and cold that had pressed against her. As she gazed, puzzled, a faint scent wafted to her, musty dog smell, familiar and comforting. And then the moment was past.

  Annie worked on composing herself. She had to try. “I’ll do it for you, Spud,” she whispered to herself.

  Taking a deep breath, she decided to approach a woman who was walking towards her. The woman’s clothes were softly hued, casually elegant and her face seemed kind.

  “Hello. My name’s Annie.” Annie had aimed for her best friendly smile. “Are you concerned about damage to the environment?”

  “No thanks. I’m late for an appointment,” said the woman, brushing past Annie without making eye-contact and walking briskly away.

  “Oh,” said Annie, watching her stride into a building. That’s not how it’s supposed to go, she thought. I guess I’ll have to try again.

  This time she chose a young man in a shop uniform.

  “Excuse me. Would you like more information about how to stop the damage to our environment?”

  “Why should I care about the environment?”

  “We all depend on the environment for our survival. If the climate continues to warm at the current rate it will be catastrophic for life on earth.”

  “You’re one of those bloody greenies, aren’t you? Look,” and here his hands came palm up in the universal gesture of pleading for reason, “it’s all a big hoax, isn’t it? I don’t believe in climate change. It’s just an excuse for you treehuggers to stop the rest of us having fun.”

  “But the overwhelming scientific evidence . . .” Annie began to say in answer to his claim.

  “No. Not interested,” he said as he walked quickly away from Annie.

  She turned and sat on a nearby bench. She had always thought of herself as a realistic person – she had not expected people to magically agree with her. It was a disheartening start to her crusade, however.

  As she sipped at the water she had brought from home, she thought about her first two attempts at changing the world. Perhaps her mistake had been trying to talk to someone who was moving, in transit to a destination? She may have better luck with the people sitting around the edges of the public square.

  On the other side of the stream of pedestrian traffic, an elderly couple sat. Annie could see, but not hear, their animated discussion as they consulted brochures and compared notes. When she walked over to them, she realised that this, also, was probably a poor choice of “target”. She did not recognise the language they were speaking.

  “Hello,” she said anyway. “I’m talking to people about the state of the environment.”

  “Hullo,” the man replied. “We haf little English.” Annie thought the accent was definitely European, but did not want to guess where from. “Do you know Museum?” he asked hopefully.

  The conversation was awkward, but punctuated by smiles and laughter as a map was consulted and reliable directions finally established.

  “Have a lovely day,” said Annie as they parted.

  “Not having much luck, are you?”

  Annie was startled by the tall Goth who was walking back to a group of friends, balancing a tray of drinks from the cafe.

  “Why don’t you come and talk to us?” he offered, then continued his journey.

  What have I got to lose? thought Annie.

  The youngest member of the group appeared to be fourteen or fifteen, while the eldest were a couple who might have been almost Annie’s age. Their clothing was unrelentingly black, although one of the girls had streaks of deep crimson through her hair, matching the colour of an intricate belt that accentuated her slender waist. Eye
s were ringed in black, the young men using kohl as much as the women.

  “Umm, hello,” said Annie. Perhaps it was a mistake to approach this rebelliously dressed group. “My name’s Annie, and I’m talking to people about the environment.”

  “Toldya!” exclaimed a youth whose outfit leaned into punk, topped as it was by a mohawk that had been carefully glued into spikes. “She’s a greenie!”

  “Yes,” said Annie, determined to take a lead in the conversation. “I want to ask people to take stronger action to protect the environment and save the future.”

  “There’s no point, you know,” said a waif-like girl who had been swallowed by a large black coat.

  “What do you mean?” asked Annie.

  “Nobody cares,” was the answer. “There’s so much doom and gloom about, people just can’t take it in any more. We’ve all grown up believing the world will end. We can’t do anything to stop it.”

  “But surely you have to try!”

  “Why bother?” asked the spiky Goth.

  “Because it’s your future!” responded Annie, shocked by the apathy.

  “You know, if you really want people to take notice of you,” commented the tall Goth, changing the tack of the conversation, “you should probably have something really catchy to say when you first speak to them. What’s at the heart of what you’re trying to say?”

  Annie did not have to think for long before she was able to answer with the question that was burned into her soul. “What are you doing to save the world?”

  “Save the world!” exclaimed the spiky one. “There’s nothing worth saving. People are a pox on the planet. The sooner we’re wiped out, the better.”

  Was he serious about what he was saying? Annie was unsure and momentarily lost for words. When she spoke, it was to ask, “Do you really believe that?” There were gestures and noises of agreement from most in the group.

  “Oh, there’ll be life on Earth all right . . . but cockroaches will be the dominant species,” he replied cheerfully.

  “We’re not the people who have power, are we?” explained the tall, young man who had invited Annie over. “The ones who do, politicians, tycoons, greedy capitalists; they just don’t care. All they want is more money and more power. We can’t stop them.”

  “And when the rest of us are dying they’ll probably have hi-tech arks to keep them and their families alive,” added his spiky friend. “They’re not going to let us in.”

  “But they’re the minority,” responded Annie, passionately. “If the majority of people join together in action, they will be powerful. You can change the world.”

  “It’s all the rich bastards’ fault - they’re the one’s who rape the earth just for profit, he continued, his angry gestures causing his spikes to slice the air around him. “Aerosmith was right. We should eat the rich.”

  “Might be better to tax the rich,” the tall Goth suggested gently.

  Annie felt the righteous heat leave her and chuckled. “There’s a whole lot of people who make lots of money making sure the rich don’t pay tax. I don’t think they’ll be happy.”

  The young woman with crimson streaks in her hair looked up from the phone that had occupied her. “Franco says there’s a sale on at Madman. It’s only for an hour.”

  The conversation was ended now, as the members of the group gathered scattered possessions and left, a flock of disparate crows. The tall one hesitated, falling behind the others.

  “You’re right, you know,” he said, “but yours is just one voice in the wilderness. It’s easier for people to listen to the voices that offer comfort rather than truth.” He paused, glancing at the gap between himself and his herd. “Good luck,” he finished, offering his hand in a brief grasp. “Please don’t give up on us.”

  When he moved his long legs in a loping jog, he quickly caught up with his friends. Annie moved into the shade and sat, trying to digest the experiences of her morning. Then she picked herself up and returned to her task.

  The man in the suit had chosen a shaded nook and had a whole bench seat to himself. In need of a rest from the sun, Annie walked over.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked, gesturing towards the empty end of the seat.

  “Feel free,” he replied, returning his attention to his lunch.

  Annie reached into her bag and found the salad she had packed for lunch. She had picked the lettuce and parsley while it was still crisp in the morning air. There was even a container of her favourite cherry tomatoes, her own organically grown jewels that would explode with sweetness when bitten.

  Looking over at her companion, Annie held out the tomatoes and offered, “Would you like one? I grew them myself.”

  He prepared to refuse; we all often try to avoid the attentions of strangers.

  “You’d be doing me a favour – there’s more than I can eat still waiting on the bushes. Organically grown,” she added with her most welcoming smile.

  “Thank-you,” he replied as he took one of the tomatoes that was offered. He popped the small red globe into his mouth. Surprise replaced the politely neutral expression on his face.

  “Oh my god, they’re wonderful!” he cried, his face relaxing into a smile of pleasure.

  “Have another,” offered Annie, holding out the container which still held nearly a dozen tomatoes. When he had taken another she placed the container on the seat between them, taking two of the fruits and eating them with great relish, one after the other.

  For a time neither of them spoke, focussed instead on their meals. When his sandwich had been eaten, the man on the bench put his drink aside and turned to Annie.

  “My name’s Adam,” he said. “I’m very pleased to meet the woman who can grow such amazing tomatoes.”

  Annie laughed as she quickly wiped her hands on her jeans then shook the hand that was proffered. “I’m Annie. Pleased to meet you, too.”

  “You know, I saw you talking to those people when I arrived here today. I saw you doing the same thing yesterday, too.”

  “Ah!” responded Annie. “Must have given you a fright when I asked to sit here.”

  He laughed. “I was a bit worried.”

  “You’re safe at the moment. The nutter’s on a lunch break.”

  Adam laughed again, a warm and friendly sound. “I may regret asking this, but what are you talking to people about?”

  Most of Annie’s lunch was eaten now, her hunger and thirst satisfied. She put the lid back on the salad container and placed it on the bench next to her. Someone actually asking her to speak was an event too precious to waste, so she took a deep breath.

  “I’m afraid for the world,” she began, instantly regretting the emotional words. She wanted to speak with the calm voice of reason, but how could she be anything less than honest? She remembered the facts she had memorised and tried to continue with more authority.

  “Evidence is mounting about the damage human activity is doing to our planet. Climate scientists are urging us to take notice and do something before our planet reaches the tipping point – the point past which damage becomes irreversible, beyond our ability to do anything that will prevent catastrophe. They are concerned that warming may be accelerating more quickly than they had predicted.”

  “I saw an article on the news recently,” Adam interrupted, “reporting on a United Nations Climate conference. They were talking about Arctic permafrost melting more rapidly than any-one expected; increases in global temperatures of five or six degrees by the end of the century.”

  “So you’re aware of some of what I’m likely to say, then.”

  “I’ve been keeping track of the debate. There are still people who say it’s a natural event, you know.”

  “Yes, I know that. But you do realise that they are in a small minority, don’t you?”

  “If they’re wrong, why do they put them on the television and in the newspapers?” asked Adam.

  An
nie shrugged. “I believe the news services explain it as “balance”. It’s not ethical, apparently, to only present one side of the debate. Only,” Annie became intense, leaning slightly towards him, “it’s not a debate. It’s not a matter for opinion. It’s a matter of scientific research and evidence. You and I might have an opinion, but the environmental scientists of repute are in agreement that the climate is warming alarmingly, and human actions are a major factor.”

  “So what can we do about it?”

  “There’s the rub,” quoted Annie. “Governments keep setting targets to reduce carbon emissions that are way too low, then they delay implementing them for an extra ten years. Instead of acting we are putting global warming in the too hard basket, right when we urgently need to act.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. The anger and frustration she felt was not as important as making her point.

  “I truly believe that for any action to be effective it must be undertaken by the people as a whole.”

  “What sort of action? Are you trying to start a revolution?” He smiled quizzically, unsure whether his question was a joke.

  Annie smiled in return. “The bottom line is that people have to change the way they live. We have to reduce our consumption of resources, move past the idea that wealth is in accumulated possessions, and develop sustainable communities.”

  “Reduce consumption. In what way?”

  “Use less. Buy less.” Annie tried a different approach, she could feel this man beginning to bristle and become defensive at what she was saying. “Physical obesity is a symptom of the way our society works. Fast food, processed food – we know these things are bad for people, yet we allow companies, not only to sell them, but also to advertise as though their products are so desirable that no harm can come from them.

  “And the principle applies in other areas. You don’t need to have a new mobile phone every six months. The earth certainly doesn’t need it! Yet people believe it’s their right to have every new gadget and then throw away the old one. It’s so wasteful. And it’s all done to line the pockets of a minority.”

  “The whole economy benefits from a strong market,” Adam replied, an edge to his voice.