The Deluge, page 92
“Yeah, you would. I was never much of a fan myself, but Peter loves him.”
“Does he?”
She lowered her voice, and with a jocular cadence began imitating her husband: “Babe, American literature rewrote itself in the mold of Ernie Hemingway. The Hemster. Hemster Wheel. Wheels Up. Pop-a-wheelie. Wheelie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”
I almost choked on my beverage, I was so surprised at my own laughter.
“Holy shit, I got you! I fucking got you! I think I’ve heard you laugh once our whole lives.”
“Then you know it’s an honest one.”
“Praise Allah, I can’t wait to tell Pete.”
“Seth could make me laugh, but not in an honest way.” I maintained my previous smile. “He would say something idiotic or inappropriate and laugh at his own joke. Then his imbecility would make me laugh.”
We were quiet for a while, nursing the drinks.
Finally, I asked: “Is Peter a good man, Hani?”
She answered with an odd calm, as if she’d anticipated this question as long as I’d wished to ask it: “He has his imperfections. Like we all do. We’ve both been…” She hesitated for so long, picking at the lip of the plastic cup. “We’ve both been unfaithful. Marriage is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Until designing a plan to save the world, of course.” She laughed without humor. “All this has made me wonder who exactly is a good person. If anyone can clear that bar anymore. I’ve thought a lot about complicity, how we’re all compromised. But we have to try to do what’s right and love each other all the same.”
An owl’s hoot breached the silence, and I watched the half-moon through the haze. She had reached into her pocket and was kneading a string of prayer beads, jet-black coral on a red string. They’d been our father’s. I’d only ever seen old men like him and our uncles carry them.
“Not particularly evidence-based, Hani.”
She snorted a laugh. “Shut up, Ash. Misbaha helps. Prayer helps. Unlike you, if I don’t believe there’s some grace to all this, some power guiding us, I think I might lose it.”
“You’re scared.”
“Uh, doy, no shit.” She kept one of the small black beads in her fingers.
“You’re free to do as you want, Hani. Though you surely know how many people in how many failing civilizations across the broad scope of history found themselves praying for deliverance in the face of annihilation, for a deus ex machina that never came.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
I nodded in agreement. Then I shared a confession: “I hope I’ve been a good brother to you. I find it hard sometimes. To communicate how I feel. But you have helped me to carry the weight my whole life. It’s a weight I doubt I could have held on my own. You’ve been an excellent comrade to me in all this.”
Her fingers relaxed on the beads. Then, without warning, Hani tackled me in the driver’s seat, wrapping me in a fierce and painful hug. She never hugged me because she knew how much I hated to be touched. But in this instance, I returned it, patting her back appropriately. She whispered:
“Subhanallah. A laugh and an emotion all in one night, Ash? I just wish Peter could’ve been here.”
We drove back, and I felt an unfamiliar levity that I had not felt since Seth died.
* * *
I awoke to a hard knock at my door. It was a Secret Service agent telling me to pack. The fire had not cooled in the night, and it was now racing south toward the resort. I gathered my clothes and toiletries. Downstairs, the SUVs were waiting and beyond them, the bright orange glow of the mountains burning. The sky was as bright as daylight. Smoke drifted over the valley, a leaden curtain of gray reflecting the flames.
We drove through Ketchum with the lights and sirens on, passing hundreds of cars crammed with whatever possessions people could grab at the last second. Both lanes of the road had been turned over to fleeing traffic, red taillights stretching into the distance. After the wheels lifted and the pilot hooked around to head east, I moved to sit beside Tony. It turned out he’d been at the Friedman Memorial Airport with his bags packed since 5 a.m. He was looking out the window, watching the fire. Admittedly, it was an incredible sight to behold. The furrows and crags of the low mountains were etched with the fire line. From above, this wall of advancing destruction appeared to move at a slow crawl, but of course it was racing, soon to threaten the first homes and structures on the north end of Ketchum. Tony had a dark expression.
I asked: “You knew we’d have to evacuate?”
“You haven’t seen a fire like this before.”
That was all he said on the matter. No one even asked where the plane was taking us.
* * *
Secretary Rathbone was most incensed by our new quarters, the Marriott Hotel in downtown Cleveland, Ohio. I was nearby when he saw his new room.
“We can literally take the plane anywhere in the world and they land us in this shithole by a toxic lake?”
We actually did not have many options. The fires had blanketed much of the western states in smoke, and ironically the clear air of Southern California made no difference because so much infrastructure was still damaged from ARkSTORM. Meanwhile, the incredible heat wave responsible for the fires was grounding planes, crippling power grids, and shutting down airports across the Sun Belt. Phoenix and Las Vegas had breached 125 degrees for several days in a row. There was a hurricane gathering strength in the Atlantic, and riots and civil unrest gripped over twenty major cities across the nation. People were firing on law enforcement with the frequency of a low-grade civil war. Unemployment had reached 27 percent. Base-level power in society was realigning as states laid off police, firefighters, and emergency workers. In some regions, militias were the de facto authorities. Cleveland had instituted a curfew and National Guard patrols earlier in the year, and the governor had maintained relative stability in the city. So a generic workspace on the fifth floor of the Marriott it was.
That night, Tony and I dined together, just the two of us, in the overpriced Italian restaurant in the hotel. He did not eat much of his meal. That day during our meetings, he’d erupted into a coughing fit and had to leave the room, returning ten minutes later with hot tea and a pack of cough drops. He looked exhausted.
I said: “You could probably stand to see a doctor.”
“I did. In Sun Valley. He said it’s smoke from the fires aggravating my throat. There’s no fucking running from this.”
“How do you mean?”
“The crisis. It’s everywhere now, in the air, in our banks, crawling through our blood if you’re living near the wrong ticks or mosquitoes. I knew all this was coming, but I always had that thought in the back of my mind, you know? That there would be someplace to escape, someplace safe. But there’s not. There’s just not.”
“You’ve seemed unengaged. What do you think of the direction the legislation is taking?”
He batted a hand as if it didn’t matter to him and set aside his fork for a pasta dish he’d barely touched.
“We’re getting close. Close enough to whatever it is that’s possible. But even if we arrest this iteration of the crisis, there’s another one behind it. And another, and another. And the revolutionaries are all dead. Set themselves on fire or were gunned down by psychos.” He looked around as if seeing our surroundings for the first time. “I need some air. Want to walk a bit?”
It was an exceedingly hot night, and I felt perspiration break out after only a block. We didn’t stray far from the hotel. Police and security contractors lingered on nearly every corner. Incongruently, the casino was open, beckoning with its relentless lights and promise of air-conditioning while a group of teenagers milled in the public square. The sound of fireworks boomed in the distance. I’d only that evening recalled it was the Fourth of July.
I said: “I find myself looking back fondly to when we first met. Donald Trump was out of the White House, people were taking the science seriously, and action seemed to be right around the corner.”
“And around the next corner, and the next corner, and the next corner.”
“The forces of revanchism always appear weaker than they actually are, I suppose.”
Tony huffed: “Shit, Ash, I look back fondly at the days when I was just getting death threats and fake anthrax. Before my own government was locking me up and then asking me to save its ass a few years later. Goddamn, I wish I had a cigarette.”
“I doubt that would be good for your cough.”
“You think? I’ve been on and off since I was in undergrad. Only hobby I’ve ever really enjoyed.”
We passed a man with a bandana around his face standing solemnly on a street corner. The bandana had the grinning teeth of a skull lined up over his mouth, and he had an ugly scar on the side of his head in the shape of a cross. He watched us as we passed.
Tony said: “I have to tell you something. I’m stepping down from the task force. I have some personal issues, and I need to go be with my family.”
This came as quite a surprise. After the loss of Otero, I felt this development intensely in the core part of one’s brain that processes panic.
“May I ask why?”
“Like I said, personal issues. Holly’s wrecked by what happened to the Morris kid. They were very close. She also has the new baby at home, my granddaughter. They both need me.”
“I understand grief is difficult, but Tony, I have to ask you to reconsider.”
“I’m afraid I’ve made up my mind.”
We stopped in the street and faced each other. I felt the burden of convincing him otherwise.
“Tony, there’s more at stake here than just your family. You may feel a sense of fatalism, and after everything you’ve been through, I completely understand. But we cannot lose you right now.”
“Ash, I’m not necessary anymore. You have all the brains you need in that room.”
“On the contrary, Tony, I would argue you’re the only person we absolutely do need. Did you not see the response to your press conference?” Tony sighed dramatically to demonstrate his irritation. He closed his eyes, and I could see the grim blue veins of his eyelids. I went on: “And you saw what happened in the room today when you were silent. The others erupted in bickering, and the day was squandered. When you speak, people listen. If not, we waste our time digesting the hermeneutics of irrelevant economic texts. When we attempt to sell Congress on this plan, we need you there.” I stepped closer to him, a tactic to communicate urgency, which I’d gleaned from movies in which characters must win their arguments in order to avoid cataclysm. “You are a grandfather now. It is possible that child will live to see the new century. And what you do in these next weeks could be one of the most staggering gifts any progenitor has ever handed down. You hold that power, Tony. I don’t understand how you could live with yourself if you knew there was something more you could have done and yet you chose to walk away.”
I made the calculated move to step back and return his personal space. Tony stared at the hot streets shedding steam. His forehead was shiny with sweat. He said nothing more. He only nodded, avoiding my gaze. We walked back to the hotel in silence while to the north fireworks began to explode in multicolored bursts of light.
* * *
After thirteen more days of vitriolic argument and impassioned debate, we completed our work on the omnibus bill. We were faced with an enormous challenge in drawing up this legislation, to say the least. The scale of the technological transformation required simply dwarfs any engineering achievement human civilization has ever attempted, and we found that the scale of social and political change must rise to meet that ambition.
There is only one way to begin: with a rapid decarbonization of the economy. One might call this the low-hanging fruit since many of these policies and technologies have, frustratingly, been available since the turn of the century. This begins with the “shock collar,” popularized by the late Ms. Morris. By implementing a carbon price tied to emissions reductions and rebating the money to taxpayers with a so-called climate dividend we can begin to quickly reduce emissions and incentivize innovation. The price to burn a ton of carbon will begin at $100 and rise steadily at 2 percent unless emissions targets go unmet, in which case it could rise by as much as 7 percent. The revenue will be returned to taxpayers in quarterly checks, weighted so that households in the bottom 75 percent of the income distribution are receiving the majority of the benefit. A border adjustment tariff will deter leakage or offshoring while raising the cost of products originating in countries without a sufficient greenhouse abatement policy. The goal will be to reach carbon neutrality by 2055. Given the size of the US economy, this will indeed begin to quickly “shock” carbon out of the supply chain.
In addition, the bill will outlaw the sale of vehicles with internal combustion engines next year, fund a buyback program to turn over transportation stock, incentivize the replacement of gas stations with quick-charge infrastructure, and pass a clean fuel standard. A 100 percent zero-carbon portfolio standard for the power sector by 2045 will complement the deployment of renewables and construction of five new nuclear power plants using fourth-generation “breeder” reactors. New building standards will ban the sale of fossil-fuel equipment and a range of rebates and incentives will go toward replacing this equipment with electrified versions. Industry will already be motivated by the shock collar, but the EPA will impose a slew of new requirements, while financial assistance will help industry move to a mix of electrification, carbon capture, and hydrogen via electrolysis to reduce process emissions and create synthetic biofuels. Standards will drive purchasing decisions and incentives will turn over stock, utilizing every tool from industrial boiler standards to tax incentives for switching to hydrogen for creating heat and steam. The end result should be a rapid decarbonization of industrial processes.
In the agricultural sector, an end to subsidies for ruminant animals, the shock collar, and a simple tax levied on any creature raised for meat or milk will curb consumption and emissions while a tradable permit system similar to fisheries will cap the number of cattle. Anaerobic digesters will be required for manure, dietary regulations for animal feed, and a border adjustment tariff will ensure that imported meat faces similar costs. Some of these funds will be used to compensate ranchers and livestock owners. Strict regulations on nitrogen fertilizers will be complemented by incentives for farmers to switch to carbon-sequestering agricultural practices such as no-till farming and agroforestry. Subsidies for aquaponics and seaweed farming will produce a bountiful and nutritious food source while also sequestering carbon, reducing ocean acidification, and creating ecosystems in which fish, scallops, and other edible aquatic species will thrive.
The government will issue climate bonds better than the current market rate, allowing us to borrow at 2 percent to help finance the transformation of the economy. The newly created National Green Infrastructure Bank (NGIB), to be capitalized by the government, will finance everything from smart-grid transmission lines to greenhouses while coordinating with state and local governments to promote zero-carbon energy, biodiversity conservation, and financing for carbon dioxide removal (CDR). This last point is key. Getting to a zero-emissions economy is no longer sufficient. We must begin to remove as much CO2 as is technologically feasible, and the NGIB can play an active role in financing this.
Carbon utilization may be even more vital. For instance, a mandate for cement clinker substitution will institutionalize the method of drawing down CO2 from the atmosphere to create synthetic limestone in our primary building material. CO2 is a fascinating and useful molecule that can produce fertilizer, minerals, chemicals, polymers, and fuels, effectively eliminating industry’s need for a fossil feedstock. Though I loathe this buzzword, such a system would be the keystone of a truly “sustainable” economy. The technology for widespread carbon sequestration and utilization has existed for some time, but the market has remained anemic. Again, standards, investment, and incentives can begin to drive a widespread revolution in these processes.
Concurrently, the federal government will help finance construction of direct air carbon capture plants, carbon mineralization on the ocean floor, wetlands restoration, mangrove forests, and sequoia groves, directly training and employing up to two million people in the Civilian Climate Corps (CCC), modeled on the Civilian Conservation Corps of the 1930s. Young and low-skilled workers will receive competitive wages, health care, and training, while many new production factories and tax incentives will target disadvantaged regions, particularly where concentrated urban and rural poverty has proved intractable. However, the CCC’s mission will begin on our eroding coasts, and what our task force has dubbed “the Great Transition.”
For decades, our government has been buying time on the coasts with expensive maladaptations. The reckoning has arrived, and it will require a comprehensive, politically fraught restructuring of our shorelines. Through the Coastal Resilience and Defense Authority (CORDA), the federal government will offer pre-crisis fair market value to homeowners living within the “hazard line” of the US coast, established as those areas within nine feet of sea level. For property within three feet, owners will, after two years, lose the opportunity for a buyout or federal flood insurance, and eminent domain may be invoked depending on the property’s viability, the goal being to restore as much of this area from paved-over development to wetlands as quickly as possible while also embarking on a federal works project to plant mangrove forests on the Southeast and Gulf coasts to protect against storm surge and sequester significant amounts of carbon. There will, however, be a hard cap of $5 million for single-family homes, $3 million for second homes and investment properties, and $25 million for businesses, forcing the wealthy to eat the cost of the retreat. For instance, Facebook’s campus in Menlo Park, California, built for over $1 billion and only 1.6 feet above sea level, will face a staggering loss with this program. A reformation of the National Flood Insurance Program will create the National Fire and Flood Insurance Program (NFFIP) using updated FEMA maps to calculate climate risk. Nonprofit disaster insurance backed by public dollars is still an absolute necessity, but it must not incentivize risky building behavior as the NFIP did for so long. Households will be zoned according to risk and certain properties that flood or burn will only get money to move, not rebuild. Community grants to states can help towns merge services and soften the blow of degrowth for communities that must unincorporate. PRIRA strengthened the welfare state for the privileged, and we must end maladaptive practices like beach sand replenishment in luxury neighborhoods (and not just because the global supply of sand will effectively be gone in twenty years). Wealthy enclaves like Nantucket, the Hamptons, and Cape Cod will likely expend vast resources to delay the reckoning, but soon the agony of wet carpets and sewage on the lawn will overwhelm nostalgia.
