Survive- The Economic Collapse

by Piero San Giorgio

  Where will such people go first? Supermarkets, convenience stores, gas stations—which will create a wave of panic. Then these hordes of normal people turned criminals will loot the most conspicuous apartments and villas of wealthy neighborhoods: The Upper East Side in New York City, Knightsbridge and Belgravia in London, Vaucluse and Bellevue hill in Sydney, Barrio Salamanca in Madrid, Neuilly in Paris, Uccle in Brussels, Cologny in Geneva, the Goldkuste in Zürich, Beacon Hill in Boston, the Gold Coast of Chicago, Beverly Hills in Los Angeles, etc., moving gradually to the less wealthy neighborhoods. Then they will leave the cities to loot suburban housing estates, and finally end up in the countryside where the food is. A large fraction of the population will want to flee the violence and will try to get out of the cities any way they can. Public transport will quickly become saturated and then unable to function. Highways will turn into giant traffic jams where violence will break out. A vast number of famished and exasperated people arriving in the same place at the same time: it’s a recipe for a disaster! This will be like an exodus, probably larger and more dramatic than that of 1940 in France, or that of 1945 in East Prussia. Vacation spots like Megève, Gstaad, Deauville, Saint Tropez, Aspen, the Hamptons, etc., known for their wealthy residents, will quickly become prized destinations for the hordes of looters, who will soon come up with the idea of organizing in gangs for greater efficiency. Recruits of all sorts will join these bands, ready to obey any order in exchange for the promise of a daily meal. There will be famine, violence, destruction, rapes, deaths, illnesses. Anarchy, even temporary, will lead to confusion and disorientation. Gangs, mafias, bands of thieves, private militias will violently and rapidly fill the vacuum left by the state’s powerlessness.

  If you are reading this book, you belong, in all likelihood, to a social group of a certain material level that will make you, your family, your house or apartment targets for these people. It will be those who have nothing vs. those who don’t have much. If you possess something of value (water, food, gasoline, gold...), others are going to want to take it from you. Your life and those of your family members will be worth very little to a mob of hungry, thirsty people (already selfish and rude under normal conditions). Even a simple light on at night could mean you have something more than others. Sooner or later, as in one of those bad zombie movies, they will arrive at your door— famished and ready for anything.

  The Sanitation Crisis

  Such a social crisis will also provoke a rapid collapse of public electrical networks, for, under the conditions described, who is going to work to keep the central stations operating or to repair broken lines? If electricity goes off for more than a week, we will quickly be confronted with serious problems, because an electrical network is very complex and hard to get started again. Most cities are going to lack drinking water, because the pumps will stop working quickly without electric power. Communication will quickly break down, because the telephone stations can only continue for a week or two on their generators. No more Internet, no more alarms, no more security cameras. Most heating will no longer work, because natural gas requires pressurization, which is provided by electrical systems. It will no longer be possible to call the police or the fire department—assuming they still exist. The population will be left to its own devices, and will have to face crime, storms and fires.

  Without electricity, hospitals and clinics—already saturated by the number of wounded, the lack of care personnel, theft of materials and medicines—will no longer be able to provide intensive care or anything that requires machines. Many patients will die after a few weeks. Without water, hygiene in the cities will rapidly collapse: toilets will no longer flush, garbage will pile up, people will drink dirty water (contaminated by organic waste and the accumulating masses of solid waste), the corpses of those who have died, whether naturally or violently, will no longer be evacuated, cholera will start to rage again.

  The Nuclear Crisis

  In the case of a serious social crisis and economic collapse, who is going to turn off the nuclear power stations? The engineers and security personnel are trained to manage accidents, acts of terrorism, armed attacks, etc., but not the simple fact that no one is showing up for work any longer! What are the procedures if personnel is lacking, or in the case of an extended crisis? How will combustible substances and radioactive materials be isolated in the case of long-term emergency closures? If there is one thing you can actually do right now, it is write to your representative (mayor, congressman, president, king, CEO, etc.) or local media and ask that an inquiry determine the risks in case of a major crisis and precisely what measures will be taken. After all, these guys are people, too, with families who will be contaminated just as any other person if an accident occurs. In your letter, mention Fukushima and Chernobyl a lot! We cannot let hundreds of abandoned nuclear reactors melt down one after another, expelling deadly radiation into the air and rivers!

  When Will These Crises Happen?

  Listening to political debates, no one in power seems to take such scenarios seriously; if they are spoken of at all, it is only in the most generalized of terms; and politicians always arrive at the same conclusion—more growth will solve all problems (yippee!). It may not be only a question of ignorance or blindness. Sometimes, announcing a crisis amounts to provoking it, precipitating the events one wishes to avoid. After all, it was by seeking to reform the Soviet Union that Mikhail Gorbachev hastened its demise.

  When I address conferences or talk to people who ask me for advice, the question that inevitably comes up is when?

  When are these crises going to arrive? How much time do we have left to prepare? Certain financial, economic, social, and political crises have already begun, and their effects can be felt, and not just in Greece and Cyprus. Other crises, like those of energy or logistics, have not yet begun as the English-language edition of this book was being prepared in 2013. Still others, such as the climatic and environmental crises, have such long-term effects and are so hard to foresee that it is impossible to say when we will feel the first effects.

  It is possible that technological discoveries will hold back the inevitable for a few years, a few decades, perhaps even long enough to pass the problem along to our grandchildren. . . But I doubt it. All these problems are exacerbated by population growth, by unforeseen climate changes, and by the collapse of ecological niches. Any of these major crises will have repercussions on the others, which then, in turn, damage the global system, which becomes more fragile, more unstable, more unpredictable, until any event, however seemingly small or insignificant, can trigger the collapse of the whole rotten structure. Just because an event has not happened, does not mean that it will not ever happen.

  I’ll stick my neck out—the crisis will occur between now and 2020. We don’t have much time left.

  *

  Michael’s business has closed.

  It’s impossible to manufacture anything with the transportation crisis. The *coup de grace* was that war in Asia, which killed all hope of his parts arriving. He doesn’t know what he is going to do to pay off his mortgage, but this week he has more pressing problems. The news on television said there will be a lack of foodstuffs in the stores, but there is no need to panic because the army will assure provisioning. (Obviously, everyone panicked.) The shops were empty in a few hours. It seems there were more than a few dust-ups, and even some serious injuries. People are stupid; we just have to wait for the state to do its job, and there will be rice, pasta, bread, and water again. Right?

  Michael opens the cupboard. There isn’t much ... some cans of tuna, a package of pasta, some sweets ... enough to hold out a few days but not more. What’s this? The electricity’s off! This is getting more frequent. Last night the news reported on the unrest in the United States: Detroit, Chicago, Atlanta, New Orleans ... the people panicked after noticing the supermarkets were empty. There were images of looting and of police firing on the looters. It made quite an impression. On the Web, videos are showing Am
erican citizens firing on their neighbors to protect their property. It looks like the President is going to declare a state of emergency, but with a large part of the armed forces bogged down in conflicts just about everywhere, he’s going to have a hard time maintaining order. Michael says that tomorrow he is going to pack up the family and go to his mother’s place in the country.

  When he wakes up, there is no more water. No coffee. No shower. The bags are packed. Michael’s family gets in the car. The neighborhood gas station is closed—no more gas. They only have half a tank. That will have to get them 180 miles. But it looks like Michael was not the only one to think of leaving the city. A gigantic traffic jam awaits—it takes them two hours to drive six miles! People are getting hot under the collar. Some fights break out on the side of the highway. Finally, they start moving a bit ... but, halfway there, the tank runs out. After spending a day waiting for a supply of gas that never came, Michael and his family decide to continue on foot.

  *

  Maurice is pacing like a lion in a cage.

  Now at home, he’s depressed since he (and 90 percent of the personnel of his company) were let go without indemnity, in spite of his 15-years seniority. His lawyer tells him he is going to hit the jackpot in court, so badly was the law flouted. He can’t stop dwelling on his having done nothing wrong, that he has always been a model employee, motivated, devoted, working late at night, always ready to leave on business trips over the weekend so as not to waste productive time. Perhaps he could have given more, sold more, should have been more productive? He can’t understand it. Everything was going so well.

  His wife is encouraging him to move about, to go out more, get involved in athletics, look for a new job. A new job with 25 percent official unemployment figures? Impossible! Or should he become a street sweeper? Anyway, he hasn’t noticed any street sweepers about in a while. Ugh! Still, she convinces him to go out a bit. Since the price of bread has doubled, he’s in need of cash, and none of the ATMs seem to be working. He goes to the bank where at least two hundred people are lined up to get to the teller. It appears that maximum withdrawals have been set at 50 euros per person per day. That’s annoying, but not as much as the stock market: his savings have lost 60 percent of their value in just a few days! Maurice tells himself it will go up again; after all, he has invested very conservatively, in transportation, food, distribution... People will always be hungry, and they will always need supermarkets and someone to produce yogurt, coffee, and chocolate for them. That the supermarket by the highway was burned down last night, like the school the day before, did not bother him too much; the worst that can happen is that the state will end up taking care of us.

  *

  Max is in good hands.

  He’s been recruited by a private militia led by “The General,” an old Foreign Legion officer or mercenary in Africa or something. Anyway, Max gets hot meals and is respected—feared would be a better word—by the whole neighborhood. He only carries a baseball bat, not like the “officers” who have bullet-proof vests, pistols, and assault rifles. These seem to be The General’s buddies, guys he worked with in the Middle East, Iraq, Libya. Max is not exactly sure where those countries are, but they must be somewhere near Algeria. Muhammad, his squad leader must know; he’s Algerian, a Kabyle, in fact. It’s all the same to Max—he doesn’t know the difference anyway. Max’s job is auto mechanic, not geographer. Things are heating up at the moment. It looks like a Comorian gang wants to take over one of the neighborhood parks. Max’s gang has planted potatoes there, which have to be guarded against thieves. Anyway, it’s all a lot of fun.

  *

  Mike can’t find any more diesel for his machines.

  He tried to get some on the black market, but even at the exorbitant price at which he found it, there was not enough. A combine-harvester is a gas guzzler! Too bad: his harvest is going to rot on the spot. This year, there will be nothing. And all those town people coming to the country, dirty, exhausted, soaked with perspiration—they look like refugees! But what the hell is the government doing? What is this business about civil unrest? All they have to do is send in the army! Besides, the army has fuel. Why don’t they give him some so he can bring in the harvest? Anyway, if he sees one of those city folks approaching his garden, he’s going to get out the rifle.

  *

  Kenza has become friends with the girlfriend of the local gang leader who controls the neighborhood.

  That allows her to leave her apartment without trouble—sometimes they even open the door for her, or help her with her heavy suitcases. In the next neighborhood over, controlled by Sheik Abdel-Khader (formerly Jean-Pierre), she only has to put on a veil and, with the few words of Arabic she knows, she can get around without trouble. She can also go about (by paying a little bribe) in The General’s territory—a tough bastard, but fair and predictable.

  With her trade—mostly meat, alcohol, and cigarettes, payable only in gold, silver, or jewels—Kenza is starting to get good at the game. Her husband, Mikael, has lost one of his two jobs, but the other, with a security company, is really good for him since it is paid in foodstuffs—especially potatoes and vegetables—which allows his family to eat, and to sell whatever is left over. If only tap water came back and their children could go to school, things would almost be alright.

  *

  Matthew convinced the police that the murder of his parents wasn’t his doing.

  He had a rock-solid alibi. The sister of one of his video-game buddies said that he was with her. Anyway, the police didn’t ask too many questions. A burglary gone wrong, that’s so common these days. Matthew still hasn’t got his parents’ money; it seems their accounts are blocked or something like that. But with the cash he has on hand, he’s going to buy the coolest video game ever, _Road Warrior Infinite_, which just came out.

  But is the department store over there still open? All these people in the street. What a mess! And what a racket! It’s the dead of winter, and it’s freezing outside. As far as food goes, he’s alright; his parents had plenty of pasta and canned food, but what he’s missing is soft drinks, and there’s none left at the supermarket. He’s spotted the old woman from across the stairs who always has soft drinks in her shopping basket. Maybe she’ll give him some. He can buy one from her ... or he can just take it. After all, he’s tired, he wants his soda, and what he wants he must get right away.

  *

  It’s been a month that the supermarkets have been empty.

  The food is only available on the black market at exorbitant prices. Elodie’s husband has not found work and, with the state having stopped all welfare payments, he has spent everything on alcohol. For Elodie, it’s clear: she can no longer put up with her children’s cries of hunger. She has sold off everything of any value, but the money only lasted a week. She has tried in vain to find a job, but there are none anymore. The first time a man offered her food for an hour’s pleasure, she had refused. Outraged. Now she doesn’t even feel disgusted anymore.

  *

  James Bockingstock III doesn’t give a damn what’s happening.

  He took his private jet just before the troubles started and left for Argentina. He made the right decision buying that farm in the pampas. A fine mansion, 15 gauchos and their families working for him and 2,000 head of cattle. No suburban punks causing trouble there. He shipped his gold bars, the family jewels, and the artworks there as well. The rest? Well, it’s just a cost of doing business. Too bad about his Jaguar XJ13, though—he was fond of it. Too bad about his posh apartment—if the building doesn’t burn, he’ll recover it again someday. Too bad about his house by the sea and his stock-market investments... Anyway, he has gotten so rich and lived so well during these last 25 years that spending some time playing gentleman farmer in the pampas suits him just fine. And if his country, now left behind, burns down, well, that’s just too bad.

  *

  Paul feels like a winner.

  A stock trader before the war, he loves his
new job operating a M1A2 Abrams tank: action, teamwork, the satisfying hands-on aspect of the work, the visual side, the satisfaction of work well done, no pushing paper . . .

  *

  François is a brilliant fund manager.

  He saw the crisis coming and short-sold everything for the past three years. He’s loaded. But now everything has blown up... He was able to flee to the countryside, but he knows it would have been better to buy a property farther away from the highway. Still, François hasn’t done so badly so far. He’s spent the last week of chaos in this house, admiring his artworks and drinking one bottle of wine after the other. He has found some great vintages that he had forgotten about while buying more fashionable wines. On the other hand, he will soon have finished the little bit of food he had put aside. This evening, he wrote a letter to his children who are both at the University of Boston, and from whom he has had no news since the beginning of the crisis and the closure of the airports. His ex-wife, on the other hand—he doesn’t give a damn where she is, although she left a message on his answering machine saying she was near the border and was going to try to get across in spite of all the refugees.

  The house next door is burning. There are cries and gunshots. He watches from his window as the dirty, dilapidated bunch, armed with baseball bats and crowbars, enter his garden. The sound of a window breaking, furniture being pushed aside. Shall he use his .38 revolver to defend himself? There are too many of them! He doesn’t want to suffer. He finishes his glass. Slowly, but without hesitation, he raises the barrel to his temple.

  The World of Tomorrow

  <