a great article from the uk

Friday, December 07, 2007 at 05:56am

http://blogs.news.com.au/heraldsun/andrewbolt/index.php/heraldsun/comments/column_welcome_to_my_nightmare/


I can’t remember exactly what I wrote that was so evil. So much to choose from.

Was it that I refused to be freaked by this latest panic attack that global warming was blasting in and . . . Oh, my God, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Or was it that I wouldn’t listen to that frenzy of activists insisting the genetically modified canola oil I use to fry my chops would nuke us all into an explosion of pustulating tumours?

Anyway, one young reader was furious that I’d yet again stood snobbily apart, while his mob ululated warnings of some fresh horror.

“You’d be on your own,” he sneered in an angry email.

True enough, my young critic, I do often feel lonely in this astonishing age when to panic is a sign of virtue and to reason a sign of a cold heart.

But do you know my problem?

It’s not just that I hate mobs, knowing there’s no wisdom in them.

It’s not even that I’m stubborn by nature, and like the answer Albert Einstein gave to One Hundred Authors Against Einstein—that all it took to defeat his Theory of Relativity was not 100 scientists but just one fact.

My real problem is simply that in my 48 years I’ve lived through so many pack-panic attacks over nothing that I won’t fall so easily for the next.

Your parents or grandparents may know what I mean. Go ask if they remember all those plagues we were told would surely smite us if we didn’t sign some cheque, praise some god, or vote for some politician.

Ask if they remember scares like the nuclear winter, DDT, mega-famines, global cooling, acid rain, Repetitive Strain Injury, bird flu, the millennium bug, SARS, toxic PVC, poisonous breast implants, the end of oil, death by fluoride, the Chernobyl doom, the BSE beef that would eat your brains, and other oldies and mouldies.

It’s amazing we’re still alive after all that, let alone richer and healthier.

So, my furious friend, don’t try to panic me now about global warming, GM food, peak oil or ADHD. I’ve seen too many.

You want to know how they’re tricked up? First, you get a possible problem—preferably with some skerrick of truth.

You then get some expert, or maybe an Al Gore, to make wild assumptions or faulty extrapolations. You know the kind: that if a dodgy levee breaks in New Orleans, the whole world is gonna drown.

And then you whistle for the carpetbaggers—journalists keen to sell a sensation, business keen to sell a cure, and politicians keen to sell themselves as the solution.

And bang, you have a mass panic, with more people gaining from the scare than are game to expose it.

I guess you’re shocked by my cynicism. Would it help if I gave some examples of the panics I was once fed?

Here’s the very first I remember. When I was a student, too, my earnest teachers used to tell me the world was running out of food, and show pictures of starving Indians, which made me worry a lot.

They were repeating the hot theories of people like green guru Prof Paul Ehrlich, whose 1968 book The Population Explosion sold in the millions.

“The battle to feed humanity is over,” Ehrlich preached. “In the 1970s and 1980s, hundreds of millions of people will starve to death.”

He was wrong, of course. Better crops, better communications, better transport, better education—and see now. Famines are now virtually unknown outside of war zones.

But such apocalyptic talk was everywhere then. Take the Club of Rome, a top think tank, which in 1972 warned the world’s economy was about to hit a wall. We were running out of oil, gas, silver, tin, uranium, aluminium, copper, lead and zinc, it warned in Limits to Growth, which sold 30 million copies, becoming the best-selling environmental book in history.

Panic spread. “We could use up all the proven reserves of oil in the entire world by the end of the next decade,” warned US president Jimmy Carter.

Except we didn’t. Instead, we’ve now got bigger reserves of all the things the Club of Rome said would soon be used up, except for tin.

But those panics about resources were nothing compared with the full-blown hysteria that was now being whipped up over the environment.

These eco-scares really took off in 1962 after Rachel Carson published her Silent Spring, using now disputed or discredited evidence to claim DDT was such a menace in the food chain we had to ban it to save whole species.

So DDT spraying was largely halted to save birds and fish, even though that meant killing tens of millions of Third World children, who were left with no good protection from the malarial mosquitoes against which the DDT had been used.

Never mind! We were too busy then panicking over a fall (sic) in global temperatures. In April 1975, for instance, Newsweek ran an article, The Cooling World, warning of “ominous signs that the Earth’s weather patterns have begun to change”, exposing us to floods, “catastrophic” famines, “the most devastating outbreak of tornadoes ever recorded” and “drought and desolation”.

The panic attacks were now coming in waves. There was “acid rain”, which the United Nations in 1986 blamed for damaging a quarter of Europe’s trees.

Now, of course, we know “acid rain” is hardly harmful, and Europe’s trees are blooming.

There was then the explosion of the Chernobyl nuclear reactor, also in 1986, that was said to threaten millions of people with death and so terrified women that the International Atomic Energy Agency said as many as 200,000 had abortions. Now we know that the true death toll so far is fewer than 60.

There was the warning by British officials in 1996 that more than 500,000 people faced death by BSE, a brain disease they could catch from infected beef. Now we know—after eight million cattle were slaughtered—that the threat was wildly exaggerated, and the 100 or so victims might not have even got the disease from eating beef.

But don’t stop panicking! So we panicked instead about bird flu, with newspapers running screaming headlines such as: “Pandemic Could Kill 150 Million, UN Warns”.

But now we know the UN was just plucking figures from the air, and there’s still no proof this disease, caught from heavy exposure to sick birds, can leap from human to human.

How many more scares should I describe, each quickly buried in embarrassment, rather than held up as a warning to be slow to panic?

Remember the fear that the world’s computers would crash the second the clocks ticked over to the year 2000? Planes would fall from the sky thanks to this Y2K bug, which the world spent an estimated $300 billion “fixing”. But what happened at midnight? Tick, tick, tick . . . er, tick.

It was in the 1980s that I first declared my personal war against panic, after thousands of Australians suddenly started to complain of what they called Repetitive Strain Injury.

The theory was that typing for hours gave them a crippling wrist pain that would never go away.

So firmly was this believed here that by 1985, RSI was blamed for a third of all claims for compensation for disease, and every federal public servant who put out a sore hand was simply paid off.

What struck me, though, was that all the sufferers I knew seemed to be moaners by nature, or already unhappy. Even odder was that this disease seemed to hit only Australians and only in some workplaces, such as Telecom and the Commonwealth Bank—often heavily unionised or soggy with complaint.

You see, as psychologist Professor Robert Spillane says now, RSI was actually not a medical problem but a social one, suffered largely by unhappy people “who chose to become patients” and who had there-theres murmured to them by compensation lawyers and the new breed of occupational health therapists.

But who gets RSI now? It’s like a magic wind blew it away, overnight.

So that, my young friend, is why I refuse to join your latest panic party.

Sneer at my loneliness all you like, as your howling, screaming, gasping mob gibbers in unison with a fear you seem to catch from each other.

I’ve learned that if I wait long enough, you’ll come to your senses.


http://www.reason.com/news/show/34823.html