It seldom seems so at the time, but it’s kind of refreshing to be reminded, occasionally, that the systems we rely on for our energy weren’t always there and don’t always function the way they’re supposed to. Last summer’s vast blackout on parts of the East Coast was an example of this vulnerability; so is the flicker of island lights brought on by faulty generators or failing cables. Much more interesting in terms of human nature, of course, was the very different result brought on by these demonstrations of vulnerability.
Blackouts in New York and Cleveland meant opportunity for politicians; Congressional hearings concerning the unreliability of our transmission system; calls for quick passage of the Bush energy bill, even if it meant damning the environmentalists and drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Things have quieted down since, but lots of points were scored before they did.
A blackout on an island tends to be a bit more low-key. “It’s worth it to live here,” says a longtime resident when asked about the problems her island experiences with its generator. “We’re not connected to the mainland, so we sink or swim on our own,” says another islander, summing up things pretty well. Islands that get their power via undersea cables from the mainland have grown accustomed to outages caused by draggers or abrasion by ice or rocky bottoms. All in all, island electricity can be counted on to remind its users of its interruptible nature, with some regularity.
So when the lights go out, it seems, the reaction is likely to depend on where you live. On the mainland, you call your congressman. On an island, you light a kerosene lamp and go right on with what you were doing, or better yet, you head out to see if you can help fix whatever went wrong.