Tsunami Week - Second Installment

EVENT

CHAPTER TWO: Pachyderms and the Tsunami

Necessary Context:

US and the ELEPHANTS · vs. · the TSUNAMI
Elephants Saved Tourists from Tsunami

US vs. ELEPHANTS and the TSUNAMI
Survives Tsunami, but trampled to death by elephant

* * * * *

I've never been in a war or a catastrophe, so I cannot absolutely vouch that they establish and encourage thematic consistency. Still, reading All's Quiet on the Western Front by Remarque, or The Diary of Anne Frank, or Les Misèrables or even The Lord of the Rings, or seeing Porgy and Bess, the stories and anecdotes of catastrophe that command respect all seem to ring with a sort of Relevant Coincidence.

Style isn't a point here. In Apocalypse Now bizarre crosses begin dotting the Cambodian countryside, while on the very different M*A*S*H, Henry Blake's helicopter crashed on the very flight that transports him from Korea. Contrast the hurricane in Their Eyes were Watching God with that the collision of fatalities in the Iliad. Am I right in sensing that in such dramatic narratives these coincidences take on an extra weight? Am I right to suppose that most of us are not even entirely comfortable calling them coincidences?

Perhaps my own experience adds something to the mix after all. I think it's fair to call the devolution of Flint something of a social disaster, and while my own view and experience has been rather rosy and peril-free, I still have a vantage to observe the same relationships.

A well-known essayist once speculated that the most important institution in any community tends to be represented by its tallest buildings. In Flint, these have rarely been churches or factories, but high-rise business buildings... similarly Flint's fate has been determined not so much in the factories as in the boardrooms.

Is it a coincidence, then, that our skyline was dominated for many decades by the Mott Foundation Building, a beautiful (if stoic) structure still occupied today, but was surpassed in the late sixties by a dilapidated concrete block that is vacant, cracked and crumbling less than thirty years after its construction?
That this "new" and "better" building rose at the same time that the Old Guard retired from GM leadership?
That the tallest building in my failing city is empty, even if it's flanked by some of the community's most persistent and energetic institutions?

I don't want this to be a post about Flint: I don't. But I trying to bring a point to bear from many different angles, and I'm using all of the resources at my disposal.

* * * * *

I spent most of a morning confirming the elephant stories. They're carried on the BBC, in Reuters, by numerous Indian and Thai sources, and by National Geographic. Occasionally, details very, but after consulting a dozen sources and spot checking against Snopes.com, both of these events appear to have actually happened.

And if you read the accounts, despite the exercise of "good, objective (independent) media," the writers are almost unabashed about the moral:

In one, nature is a source of vast and destructive powers that overwhelm and destroy us. Nature is also a source of intuition, perception, understanding, and even intimacy. And sometimes, these traits are inexplicably protective. But you'll notice that the tourists, the elephant trainers, are all on the outside. They don't understand. While elephants can sense the tremors from miles away, incredulous humans not only are unaware, but fail to follow the better judgment of those attuned to rhythms.

The flaw here is this: We aren't independent. We have our own tools for survival, and they come into play in our own environment. It is to our advantage that we can understand why elephants would survive a tsunami better than humans more aptly than an elephant could describe why humans know how to cross a street without being hit.

In the other story, arms are flung up. This was a faithful man. His identity is almost unestablished, but the context of a gay nineties melodrama is flush between the lines. This man loved his family. He was devastated when he lost them. As a faithful man, he went to the temple, and there, presumably drunk to take an edge of his pain, he was destroyed by what was meant to be the vehicle of his comfort.

And the flaw here is that the reader and writer assume too much. The obvious, and supportable, conclusion is that there is a cause-and-effect to actions and that most of the world is oblivious to our own, human, standards of behavior. A tsunami didn't occur to destroy unworthy children, but because an earthquake rent the seabed apart. Similarly, the elephant did not trample a man to punish him for impudence or reunite him with his family, but because it perceived an immediate threat, and was agitated.

I'm playing a game with you myself, by the way.

Could you tell?

This post is more than a little redactive, because I don't really believe these flaws are flaws. Rather, these are news stories. They are simply stories that run closer to parable than statistic.

In both cases, news is being told as a story.

And there it is: The only reason these events are newsworthy is because they're stories. The behavior of animals certainly belongs in scientific journals, and in Japan there is an active exploration of animals as warning systems. But these articles were published in all kinds of magazines and newspapers.

We hunger for the moral.

We hunger for what inspires the moral: a sense of Relevant Coincidence.

A demonstration of Order.

A proof of the relevance of our own actions.

Look again at the guts of the first story. Read it theologically (as a Hindu, a Muslim, a Christian, a Jew, a Pagan, a Buddhist, it doesn't really matter): a wiser, more preceptive rescued the innocents from a doom they couldn't comprehend.

Look again at the guts of the second. A suffering man was annihilated with the same overwhelming force, the same overwhelming weight that brought about the end of his family, even in the midst of his mourning.

These stories affirm our relevance. They say that humans are important. They say that we are special and merit attention. And moreover, by giving us relevance and playing out events that suggest a measured response to our special status, they imply order.

* * * * *

When a loved one dies,
when there's war,
when your city falls apart,
when your friends disappear,
when your place, nation, world seems beseiged by that which will surely destroy you,

you want order.

We all want order.

Sometimes, it is our only comfort.

* * * * *

Among the thousands upon thousands of Hindu Gods, Ganesh is probably the most popular. He is called upon at the beginning of most ceremonies and rituals. He is an image of success, of victory, of prosperity. He is knowns as the Remover of Obstacles.

Ganesh is depicted as a human with the head of an elephant.

A relevant coincidence, don't you think?

~ Connor