The news that Titan imploded is tragic—but the instant death involved is a far more humane outcome than being trapped in a submersible for days, slowly suffocating to death while hoping to be rescued. As such, the tragic news comes as a strangely ironic relief after about 4 days of hoping for the miracle of the 5 passengers emerging alive from the submersible but fearing a slow and torturous death for them.
In the midst of the heroic—and well-funded—efforts to find the 5 passengers, some Canadian leaders have suggested that when it comes to human life, no effort should be spared. Joyce Murray, the Minister of Fisheries, Oceans and the Canadian Coast Guard, said that the cost of the search-and-rescue project was “irrelevant” while Defence Minister Anita Anand asserted that “to save lives” was the most important priority:
I agree that while there was hope that the passengers were alive, search efforts should have continued in full force. At the same time, these high-minded references to money being no object should not go unexamined when in almost every arena of life, budgetary considerations are often harshly and sometimes cruelly invoked to put lives under stress.
From precarious work, to under-resourced classrooms to understaffed long-term care facilities and in many other contexts—everywhere we turn, budget constraints present themselves as a solid fact—as objective as a force of nature.
One could argue that there is a fundamental difference between contexts such as precarious work or education on the one hand and urgent matters of life and death on the other hand. But in Canada, there are currently people seeking medical assistance in dying due to disability-induced poverty. The very same country that heroically directed resources to try to rescue wealthy people from the depths of the ocean has not found a way to better fund the lives of disabled Canadians who are living in poverty and who want to carry on living but cannot find a way to do so:
The Titanic, which sank in 1912, became a symbol of class issues. On the Titanic, a first-class ticket bought you elegantly furnished rooms, 88-course meals [exaggeration is mine] and a higher chance of securing a seat on a lifeboat should the “unsinkable” ship in fact sink.
Today, some of us have access to first-class budgets—while others have to live by the rules and restrictions of third-class budgets.
First-class budgets operate by “magical” outcomes by which money can often be found to support the needs and wants of lives that are considered to be of great value—while third-class budgets calculate that the lives of presumably less worthy individuals are precarious—with nothing that can be done. Pierce Morgan, if I remember correctly, has called similar reflections “the politics of envy.” But we can also think about it as looking for cultural symbolism and edifying lessons in riveting stories of great human interest.
The problem was not that every effort was made to look for the possible survivors of Titan; the problem is that those who manage taxpayers’ money are not doing enough to look out for those who are subject to “third-class budgets.”
If the sinking of the Titanic is a symbol of hubris—as well as of the decline of European assumptions about stability and hierarchy that were soon to be be shattered by World War I—what does the implosion of the Titan symbolize?
Taking place shortly before the summer solstice, the implosion took us away from the routines of life and work—and from the simple pleasures of summer above ground—and transfixed our attention on the tragic fate of people whose manner of death was the antithesis of simple routines, obligations and pleasures. The larger-than-life search fixated our minds on the special, the extraordinary and the heroic. It is indeed heroic to save lives, but if you are not a hero, does your life still have equal value?
Around the summer solstice, the peony flower, with its exquisite scent, blooms for a short time. So does life. Perhaps it is toward this beauty and meaning that our attention and curiosity can be more safely directed.
Peonies by Mary Oliver
This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
and they open ---
pools of lace,
white and pink ---
and all day the black ants climb over them,
boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away
to their dark, underground cities—
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,
the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding
all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again—
beauty the brave, the exemplary,
blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,
with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?
Source for poem: http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/mary_oliver/poems/15823