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Stages of Powerlessness
BY RICHARD JAEGGI
The Swiss psychiatrist Elizabeth
Rubler-Koss is well known for her work in delineating the
stages of death and dying, but few people know about her other
work describing the Six Stages of Suburban Powerlessness.
Those of us who survived Montgomery's "Storm of
the Century" have emerged from the rubble battered and
confused and just plain unsure who we should blame. In her
work Rubler-Koss offers beleaguered suburbanites shelter from
the turbulent emotions that we all suffer as victims of post
tropical depression.
Stage 1: Waiting in Line
One of the great milestones of western civilization has been
the advent of the television weatherman. Armed with animated
electronic charts and satellite photos the modern weatherman
can track a hurricane weeks before it ever hits the land.
Of course the meteorologists have no idea where the storm
will actually make landfall and so this lack of certainty
coupled with the long warning results in a maximum of anxiety,
which itself results in half the population of the East Coast
rushing to the nearest grocery store in search of batteries,
water and toilet paper. Naturally, the remaining half soon
learns of the run on survival basics and rushes off to join
the long lines that have now begin to rival those at the Department
of Motor Vehicles.
As unpleasant as these lines seem, they are actually part
of a socialization process that helps suburbanites cope with
impending disaster. After waiting in line for long periods
of time soccer moms and karate dads typically grow so bored
that they actually begin to talk to perfect strangers. The
weather provides the common pretext for communication and
there ensues a hierarchical restructuring in which those who
have the most complete survival list rise to positions of
social dominance while those with incomplete lists are forced
to choose between losing there place in line or surviving
a hurricane without toilet paper. Scientists are unable to
explain what it is about hurricanes that cause people to use
an inordinate amount of toilet paper.
Stage 2: Hurricane Mania
In this stage the suburbanite watches the hurricane with
a degree of intentionality and excitement that approaches
his plans for Super Bowl Sunday.
Different people will choose to watch the hurricane in different
ways, depending on their tolerance for risk; but everyone,
because of the extended warning period, has plenty of time
to plan just how they want to experience the storm and choose
just who they want to experience it with. The faint of heart
will watch the hurricane on their big screen TVs; braver souls
will set their couch in front of a picture window; the foolhardy
will watch it from ponchos on the back deck and the utterly
mad will head for the beach for the best body surfing of their
foreshortened lives. In the shadow of danger most storm victims
experience a manic rush that causes them to forget all thoughts
of overdue video rentals, dentist appointments, and the nattering
nabobs of neo-conservativism. In extreme cases suburban storm
victims even forget that they are victims.
Stage 3: Assessment and Cleanup
In this stage, following the passing of the storm, the suburbanites
emerge from their habitat to survey the damage and began the
process of putting life back in order. As a rule, women do
very well in this stage, but for men it is a different story.
Still deranged by their manic brush with death, suburban men
typically succumb to delusions of handiness. Sometimes this
results in harmless activities like attempting to repair a
fence or installing a sump pump.
But all too often it results in men whose previous experience
with wood cutting devices involved the use of a pencil sharpener,
unexpectedly morphing into post-tropical depression lumberjacks.
Brandishing their howling chain saws, they set out with fierce
determination to attack the fallen trees as if they were alien
invaders fallen from a strange planet. On the day after the
storm the roar of the suburban chainsaws is almost deafening.
Stage 4: Powerlessness
to the People
This stage is a prolonged one in which the suburbanite, having
lost the manic high that comes from surviving death, slowly
comes to the painful realization that life in the suburbs
depends entirely on being connected to the electric grid.
The garage door will not open, the computer will not reveal
that carefully organized address book, and the mobile cell
phone slowly dies of electric starvation.
If absolute power corrupts absolutely then surely absolute
powerlessness must buy the residents of the most powerful
city in the most powerful country in the world at least a
moment of good karma.
Stage 5: I'm Pissed
The first day of no power is kind of fun, like camping. The
suburbanite enjoys the magic glow of candles in the dark.
She has no television, no computer, no Playstation: her familiy
may even start to talk with each other. Neighbors chat with
neighbors and families may even eat dinner together even
if only to share peanut butter sandwiches.
But by the second or third day the typical suburbanite's
patience has run out. With no prospect of a hot shower, a
warm meal or a cold beer the thin veneer of civilization begins
to peel. "I don't care if it was an act of God,
this powerlessness is intolerable and somebody needs to be
held accountable for it. My right to power has been violated."
The psychological affects that powerful people experience
in moments of prolonged powerlessness are so profound that
normally sane men can be driven to extreme absurdity. A case
in point is the County Executive's recent letter to the
Governor stating his frustration with PEPCO's slow pace
of clean up and calling for an investigation to "get
to the bottom of this." Of course Doug Duncan and all
the council members know perfectly well that at the "bottom
of all this" is the unpleasant fact that they have been
deliberately and dramatically under funding the street tree
maintenance program for years. It doesn't take a tree
surgeon to know that if mature street trees are not regularly
maintained there is going to be a lot of dead wood falling
on the electric lines every time the wind blows. Can anybody
in Rockville hum "Idiot Wind"?
Stage 6: What Hurricane?
On the other hand it's not really a big a deal. After
all the politicians are just giving us what we asked for and
hurricane season is almost over, anyway, and what are the
odds that I will even be around the next time a hurricane
hits Maryland.
I wonder what's on TV?
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