The Unstoppable Rise

The Queensland Floods

My wife and I went to the movies on the weekend. We opted for some fairly mindless entertainment, settling on the film, Unstopppable, which if you're unfamiliar with its premise, focuses on the attempt to bring to a halt a massive and rapidly travelling unmanned train. I really enjoyed it, for what it was - a popcorn movie. Between then and now, large areas of Queensland have been overwhelmed by surging torrents of water of unimaginable ferocity. Ten people have been confirmed dead, and tragically, that number is almost certain to rise. I now find myself reflecting on the differences between fiction and non-fiction. I don't mean to seem callous or detached; but I can't help but wonder how I was able to experience the disaster of the film so easily, and yet sit in horrified disbelief as I watch fellow human beings, fellow Australians, look on helplessly as their lives and towns are destroyed. I can't help but wonder about the rather puzzling relationship between disaster movies and actual disaster. The simple answer is that one is real, the other is not. Whilst this is undoubtedly important, I think that it's worth trying to dig a little deeper. We have a strange ability, almost a need, I think - to fabricate stories out of notional tragedy. It's not a case that we want to film suffering, or vicariously experience it, I don't think, but nor is the desire completely noble, either. I think we seek the overwhelming connection to humanity that such films offer, because that is precisely what disasters like the unfolding floods of Queensland compel those affected to embrace within themselves and their experiences. It's why we watch tv shows like Law & Order; not to see crime - although there is an undeniably ghoulish aspect that cannot be ignored - but to root for justice, and to see the world through the eyes of those battling to see it realised. Ultimately, it is when we are truly tested that the greatest truths and beauty of humanity emerge for all to see; and this last point is particularly important, more so perhaps than it should be. For in reality, it ought not take a flood of biblical proportions for our instinctive empathy to activate, and for our admiration for those struggling and persevering in the face of extreme adversity to rise to the surface of things. After all, only a fool could believe that before the flood, all was roses for all the folk now flood-affected. I remember thinking that Unstoppable needed a more coherent narrative conceit; that the train ought to have been readily accessible as a broad metaphor for an unstoppably changing world, or some such. A real disaster needs no such structuring; in fact, there is no way of imposing a structure. That's what makes it a disaster; some force, some immutable power has swept aside the familiar order of things, and turned the lives of thousands of people upside down. It's impossible to say what people will draw from this tragedy, in terms of how various folk will eventually begin to move forward. All I know is that I wish to God there was a way for people to care as much about each other's wellbeing as they so readily do when property, livelihood and lives are threatened. I know there will be looters, and failings, but a disaster cannot eradicate humanity's failings; it can only give as rise to set them aside as best we can. I'm not so reductive or simplistic to assign any kind of providence to such disasters, for to do so is profoundly insulting to those affected; but I will offer the thought that we have, whether we like it or not, been given countless opportunities to cohere as people. And cohere we do, until we forget; until life (for most) returns to normal. One day, it is my hope that we will find a better kind of normal. Until then, my thoughts and prayers are with the all the affected citizens of Queensland. And if you're reading this, I you urge to make a donation. Whoever first coined the phrase "every little bit helps" was not kidding; it really can. More than you can imagine.