A flood as an opportunity

There’s a piece by Eric Holthaus, on Politico, that’s been doing the rounds on Twitter since yesterday. I’ll grant you it’s a powerful piece of writing, such as is necessary to cast Hurricane Harvey in what many would call the right light: as the face of climate change. One paragraph in particular I thought was particularly effective because it quickly but just as effectively explained how Harvey was a storm that’s been many years in the making, and how the intensity of rains it has brought to bear on Houston has been unusual even after accounting for the fact that the city has been battered by three once-in-500-years floods in the last few years.

Harvey is in a class by itself. By the time the storm leaves the region on Wednesday, an estimated 40 to 60 inches of rain will fall on parts of Houston. So much rain has fallen already that the National Weather Service had to add additional colors to its maps to account for the extreme totals. Harvey is infusing new meaning into meteorologists’ favorite superlatives: There are simply no words to describe what has happened in the past few days. In just the first three days since landfall, Harvey has already doubled Houston’s previous record for the wettest month in city history, set during the previous benchmark flood, Tropical Storm Allison in June 2001. For most of the Houston area, in a stable climate, a rainstorm like Harvey is not expected to happen more than once in a millennium.

In fact, Harvey is likely already the worst rainstorm in U.S. history. An initial analysis by John Nielsen-Gammon, the Texas state climatologist, compared Harvey’s rainfall intensity to the worst storms in the most downpour-prone region of the United States, the Gulf Coast. Harvey ranks at the top of the list, with a total rainwater output equivalent to 3.6 times the flow of the Mississippi River. (And this is likely an underestimate, because there’s still two days of rains left.) That much water – 20 trillion gallons over five days – is about one-sixth the volume of Lake Erie. According to a preliminary and informal estimate by disaster economist Kevin Simmons of Austin College, Harvey’s economic toll “will likely exceed Katrina”—the most expensive disaster in U.S. history. Harvey is now the benchmark disaster of record in the United States.

The pronounced “climate change is real” tone to the entire piece is clearly aimed at the Donald Trump government, which has always denied the ‘A’ of AGW and has pushed dangerous policies that many predict will eventually uninstall the US from the forefront of climate change negotiations as well as action. Holthaus’s piece, in this context, succeeds in painting a scary picture of the future by highlighting how much of an exception Harvey appears to be and why its occurrence isn’t one of chance.

Nonetheless, the piece did still make me wonder if the world paid as much attention to the 2015 Tamil Nadu floods as it is paying to Harvey. Sure, Holthaus is writing against the backdrop of an American president who recently said the world’s largest polluter would not abide by the terms of the Paris Agreement, and against the backdrop of a city receiving about 50 inches of rain in less than a week. In contrast, Narendra Modi has been generally accepting of the fact that climate change is real and will require drastic action (although that hasn’t stopped his government from continuing the UPA’s work to weaken institutional environmental protection safeguards or the NITI Aayog from drafting an energy policy that will ensure India remains dependent on fossil fuels until 2040).

Second: unlike Houston, the parts of Tamil Nadu that were wrecked in November-December 2015 were relatively underdeveloped areas rife with illegal constructions and pavements that effectively resulted in those areas being, to use Holthaus’s term, “flood factories”. Thus, 20 inches of rain is likelier to be deadlier in the cities of Tamil Nadu than in Houston.

But this doesn’t make it harder to distinguish between the effects of AGW-driven storms in, say, Chennai and the effects of poor urban infrastructure. Our preparedness for the effects of climate change is both mitigating global avg. surface temperature rise and better planning public spaces and improving the distribution/accessibility of resources. So if Chennai, or any other place, isn’t prepared to handle 20 inches/day of rain, it’s going to get doubly screwed in a world whose surface is (at least) 2º C hotter on average about eight decades from now.

Anyway, the north Indian mainstream media (more widely consumed by far) was mostly apathetic to the plight of Tamil Nadu’s residents during the 2015 floods – just the way the Western media at large has been relatively more apathetic towards Oriental tragedies. I think this resulted in a big opportunity missed by national-level newsrooms to cast the floods as the face of both urban and rural India’s experience with climate change, perhaps even as the face of climate change itself, and use that to underscore the state’s abject underpreparedness – for which successive state governments would have been to blame – and the Narendra Modi government’s two-faced relationship with the demands of climate change. (E.g. accepting them gleefully in some ways – e.g. by the MNRE – but blatantly ignoring them in others – e.g. by the MoEFCC – and which I’d argue is more insidious than claiming outright that climate change is codswallop.)

#ChennaiRains – let’s not forget

Chennai. Poda vennai. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
Chennai. Poda vennai. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

It was a friend’s remark in 2012 that alerted me to something off about the way I’ve looked at natural disasters in India’s urban centres – especially Chennai. At that time – as it is today – long strips of land in many parts of the city were occupied by trucks and machinery involved in building the Metro. At the same time, arbitrary overcharging by auto-rickshaws was rampant and almost all buses were overcrowded during peak hours. Visiting the city for a few days, she tweeted: “Get your act together, Chennai.”

Like all great cities, Chennai has always sported two identities conflated as one: its public infrastructure and its people. There has been as much to experience about Chennai’s physical framework as its anthropological counterpart. For every dabara of filter coffee you had, visit to the Marina beach you paid on a cloudy evening, stroll around Kapaleeshwarar Temple you took during a festival, you could take a sweaty bus-ride at 12 pm, bargain with an auto-rickshaw driver, and get lost on South Usman road. This conflation has invoked the image of a place retaining its small-townish charm while evolving a big-town bustle. And this impression wouldn’t be far off the mark if it weren’t for one problem.

In the shadow of its wonderful people, Chennai’s public infrastructure has been fraying at the seams.

The ongoing spell of rains in the city have really brought some of these tears to the fore. Large swaths are flooded with upto two feet of water while Saidapet, Kotturpuram, Eekkattuthangal, Tiruvanmiyur and Tambaram areas have been wrecked. A crowdsourced effort has registered over 2,000 roads as being water-logged. Hundreds of volunteers still ply the city providing what help they can – while a similar number of others have opened up their homes – as thousands desperately await it. The airport has been shut for a week, all trains cancelled and major arterial roads blocked off. The Army, Navy and the NDRF have been deployed for rescue efforts but they’re overstretched. Already, the northern, poorer suburbs are witnessing flash protests amidst a building exodus for want of supplies.

Nobody saw these rains coming. For over three decades, the annual northeast monsoons have been just about consistently short of expectations. But this year, the weather has seemed intent on correcting that hefty deficit in the span of a few weeks. For example, December 1-2 alone witnessed over 300 mm of rainfall as opposed to a full month’s historic average of 191 mm.

But as it happens, there’s no credible drainage system. The consequential damage is already an estimated Rs.15,000 crore – which is really just fine because I believe that that number’s smaller than all the bribes that were given and taken by the city’s municipal administrators to let builders build where and how they wished: within once-swamps, in the middle of dried lakebeds, using impervious materials for watertight designs, with little care for surface runoffs and solid waste management, the entire facade constructed to be car- and motorbike-friendly.

What I think is up for change now is that we don’t forget, that we don’t let the government surmount the disaster this time with compensation packages, reconciliatory sops and good ol’ flattery – the last one by saying the people of Chennai have stood tall, have coped well, and move on, just like that. But what made the crisis that required the fortitude in the first place – any more than the fortitude we already display to get on with our lives? It was only drawn out by what has always been a planned but ignored crisis. Even if it’s the sole silver-lining, focusing on it also distracts us from understanding the real damage we’ve taken.

An opinion piece that appeared in The Hindu on December 3 provides a convenient springboard to further explain my views. An excerpt:

Many outsiders who come to the city say it’s hard to make friends here. The people are insular, they say. It’s true, we Chennaites stick to ourselves. There is none of the brash socialising of the Delhiite, the familiar chattiness of the Kolkatan, or the earthy amiability of the Mumbaikar. Your breezy hello will likely get a grunt in return and chirpy conversational overtures will meet austere monosyllables. That’s because we don’t much care for small talk. We can spend entire evenings making few friends and influencing nobody, but give us a crisis and you’ll find that few cities stand up tall the way Chennai does. It is unglamorously practical, calmly efficient, and absolutely rock-solid in its support systems.

Apropos these words: It’s very important to glorify the people who’ve stood up to adversity but when the adversity was brought on by the government (pointing at AIADMK for its construction-heavy reigns and at the DMK for having no sense of urban planning – exemplified by that fucking flyover on South Usman Road), it’s equally important to call it out as well. Sadly, the author of the piece blames the rain god for it! It’s like I push you in front of a speeding truck, you somehow survive a fatal scenario, then I applaud you and you thank me for the applause. I think that when you’re able to celebrate a life-goes-on narrative without talking about what broke, you’re essentially rooting for the status quo.

Moreover, thousands of cities have stood tall the way Chennai has. Kalyan Raman had penned a justifiably provocative essay in 2005 where he argued that India’s biggest metros have largely been made (as opposed to being unmade) by daunting crises. I think it’s important in this context to cheer on rescue efforts but not the physical infrastructure itself (which has a cultural component in having established it), and which is neither “calmly efficient” nor has a rocky quality to it. The infrastructure stinks (a 10-year timeline for building the Metro is another example) and must now earn its own narrative in stories of Chennai instead of piggybacking on the city’s other well-deserved qualities.

In the same vein, I don’t think different cities’ different struggles are even comparable, so it’s offensive to suggest few cities can stand up tall the way Chennai has. Let’s cheer for having survived, not thump our chests. We made the floods happen, and unless we demand better from our government, we won’t get better governance (for starters, in the form of civic infrastructure reform).

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