FROM ICE AGE TO INFERNO 🧊

WHY THE APOCALYPSE ALWAYS SELLS

Humanity’s Favourite Hobby – Predicting the End

If there’s one thing humans love more than love itself, it’s predicting our imminent doom. And man, we are so good at it.

Honestly, nothing gets us more excited than the end of the world. Not birthdays. Not weddings. Not tax refunds. But give humanity a whiff of existential collapse and we’ll write books, host conferences, glue ourselves to motorways, cancel plastic straws, and tell children they shouldn’t have children. We’ve been at this for centuries, and the only thing more baffling than our obsessive forecasting of the apocalypse is how consistently wrong we are. Yet, undeterred by a rather embarrassing track record, we continue to shout it from the rooftops: the end is nigh! And every generation gets several of these.

Let’s face it. We are a species with a flair for drama.

Whether it’s a fiery inferno, a biblical flood, an icy grave, or a virus hiding in your salad, we have imagined every way the world might implode. What began as fire-and-brimstone sermons from sweaty preachers now takes the form of government-issued warnings, celebrity Instagram rants, and very stern climate graphs. The costumes have changed, but the theatre remains.

This post is a humble attempt to trace this curious and undying tradition of global doomsaying. Because, believe it or not, the apocalypse has a publicist. And business is booming.

The thesis is simple: apocalyptic narratives are nothing new. In fact, they are perhaps the most reliable form of societal entertainment ever produced. But they are more than just theatre. They are powerful tools. Fear sells. Fear controls. Fear is easy to manufacture and nearly impossible to argue with once it has momentum. And as it turns out, fear — especially existential fear — is a fantastically profitable and politically useful commodity.

And that’s what I want to explore a little. Not climate science. Not theology. Not astrophysics. But the patterns of hysteria. The repetitive marketing of despair. The shiny new packaging of very old fears.

Because while we like to believe we are rational, evolved, fact-loving citizens of the modern age, we are actually not all that different from the villagers in 1348 who thought the plague was divine punishment for dancing on Sundays.

We do wear better shoes now.

But, let’s rewind a little.

Back in the 1970s, the world was supposed to freeze. Global cooling was the big scare. Magazine covers warned of an incoming ice age. Scientists theorized that increased aerosol use and industrial activity might block out the sun. There were graphs. There were experts. There was panic.

Sound familiar?

Of course, the ice age didn’t come. But the idea of it made headlines, influenced policy discussions, and helped usher in a new era of environmental consciousness. And just as the hysteria was cooling (pardon the pun), a new narrative emerged. The ozone layer was vanishing! Skin cancer rates would skyrocket! We’d all go blind by 2010!

Then it was acid rain. Then the melting poles. Then the vanishing bees. Then microplastics. Then Y2K. Then Greta. Then COVID. Then whatever comes next. We live in a society that craves catastrophe so deeply that if the real thing ever arrives, no one will believe it.

This post is not a denial of facts. It is a questioning of focus.

Because in all this shouting and fretting, something has been quietly pushed aside: logic.

Old-fashioned, syllogistic, Aristotle-approved logic. The kind that says, "If A, then B. If not B, then maybe not A." The kind that requires uncomfortable nuance, complexity, and the patience to examine things from multiple angles. Logic isn’t dramatic enough for a TikTok video. It doesn’t panic. It doesn’t hyperventilate. And it definitely doesn’t glue itself to public transport.

But it does something far more powerful.

It questions.

And questioning has become dangerous.

In today’s emotional economy, logic is viewed with suspicion. If you ask for evidence, you must be heartless. If you point out inconsistencies, you must be part of the problem. If you admit uncertainty, you are probably spreading misinformation. The modern world’s idea of virtue is blind allegiance to the most emotionally persuasive narrative — not reasoned consideration of multiple perspectives.

The problem isn’t fear itself. It’s what fear does to us. It dulls our minds, hardens our hearts, and turns us against each other. When we’re afraid, we become less generous, less tolerant, less curious. We want simple answers. We want enemies. We want to know whose fault it is.

And that, dear reader, is where the real apocalypse begins.

Because the world has not ended yet. Not through ice. Not through fire. Not through invisible viruses or vanishing bees. But the erosion of critical thought? The silencing of debate? The global preference for emotional narrative over factual analysis?

That’s the slow burn we ought to be paying attention to.

So let us begin this delightful stroll through history’s greatest flops in doomsday forecasting. We’ll explore the ice ages that didn’t happen, the ozone holes that were healed, the fuel crises that led to disco, and the pandemics that paved the way for QR-code-based surveillance.

We’ll laugh. We’ll cringe. We’ll remember that context matters. That history repeats itself. And that every generation thinks it’s the last.

Spoiler alert: it probably isn’t.

So get your bicycle ready. Put on your best apocalypse outfit. And let’s cycle together down the autobahn of absurdity.

Because the end of the world makes a great headline.
But a terrible reality.

And we’ve been wrong about it. Every. Single. Time.

Let’s see why.

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A Brief History of the End of the World (That Never Came)

If you ever feel like humanity is in a state of constant panic, you're not wrong — and you're certainly not alone. It's because, well, we are. We've been screaming "the sky is falling!" for decades. And while the sky, to date, has remained stubbornly in place, that hasn’t stopped us from investing heavily in each new version of doom.

Here's a small sampling from the Greatest Hits of Apocalypse Predictions — Volume One:

1960s – Population Bomb Hysteria
In 1968, biologist Paul Ehrlich published "The Population Bomb," a bestseller that predicted mass famine, global unrest, and the collapse of civilisation due to overpopulation. His chilling forecast? Hundreds of millions would starve to death in the 1970s and 1980s. Spoiler: They didn’t. Instead, agricultural innovations like the Green Revolution helped feed more people than ever before. Ehrlich, meanwhile, went on to have a long academic career — proving that bad predictions don’t necessarily kill credibility.

1970s – Global Cooling
Yes, really. Time Magazine ran a cover story in 1977 titled "The Big Freeze," warning of a possible new Ice Age. The logic? Industrial pollution and aerosol emissions might block out sunlight and cool the Earth. That hypothesis melted faster than a summer ice cream cone. But it sold magazines, and it gave people something to panic about while disco fever raged on.

1973 – The Oil Crisis
Ah, the oil shock. Suddenly, the world was out of fuel, and Sundays became car-free. In Germany, the autobahns were eerily empty, families cycled down the fast lane, and small children roller-skated through tunnels designed for Porsches. It was both surreal and a little fun — until prices spiked, panic spread, and politicians promised the end of Western civilisation if we didn’t start rationing shampoo.

1980s – Acid Rain Apocalypse
In the '80s, the fear was that sulfur dioxide emissions were turning rain into corrosive soup, killing forests and destroying lakes. The solution? International cooperation and pollution control. It worked. But not before entire school curriculums were updated to include the acid rain crisis — leaving a generation convinced that one rainy afternoon would peel their skin off.

1990s – The Ozone Hole
The ozone layer was vanishing, and UV rays were going to turn us all into walking melanomas. Remember the aerosol can bans? The ozone hole was the hot topic of the ‘90s. Sunscreen sales soared. Hats became morally urgent. And children were told to stay indoors between 11 and 3 or risk spontaneous combustion. Then, quietly, the hole began to heal. By 2019, scientists declared it had shrunk considerably. No parade followed.

2000 – Y2K
The dawn of the new millennium came with an ominous beeping from your dial-up modem. People feared that computers would forget how to count past 1999, causing planes to fall, banks to collapse, and toasters to rebel. Corporations spent billions preparing for the end, which ultimately arrived in the form of a slightly awkward New Year’s party and zero global collapse.

2000s–2010s – Arctic Melt Panic
We were told the polar bears would be extinct by 2020. Ice would vanish. New York would sink. Coastal cities were supposed to disappear faster than teenagers from family dinners. Instead, polar bears are doing relatively fine, and most major cities are still dry. That doesn’t mean climate issues aren’t real — but exaggerated deadlines aren’t helping anyone.

2018 Onward – Greta-Era Climate Doom
And now, we’ve entered the age of climate panic with its poster child: Greta Thunberg. “The world is on fire,” she warns. We’ve got 12 years. Or 11. Or 6. The clock keeps changing. Children are having panic attacks over weather reports. Governments are banning gas stoves while allowing private jets for climate conferences.

Enter the Countdown to Doom™, which seems to reset every time it’s about to hit zero. Like your ex promising, “This is the last time, I swear,” it just keeps coming back — with new graphs.

Let’s be clear: not every fear was unfounded. Some of these issues led to meaningful change, improved awareness, and important environmental victories as well as innovations.

But the real question is: why are we always so certain that this time it’s The End?

Maybe because fear sells faster than nuance.

Maybe because being afraid makes us feel like we’re doing something.

Or maybe — just maybe — we need to admit that humanity has a bit of a fetish for disaster.

But we’re only getting started.

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Why Fear Sells Better Than Facts

If logic were a business model, it would be bankrupt. If facts were a fashion statement, they’d be last season’s socks. But fear? Fear is the little black dress of human emotion. Timeless. Flattering. And guaranteed to turn heads.

Let’s be honest: humans are not wired to calmly assess data, weigh probabilities, and make nuanced decisions. We are wired to run from tigers. Or, in today’s terms, from graphs, headlines, and that guy on TV shouting about the apocalypse. We don’t seek truth — we seek certainty. And nothing feels more certain than panic delivered with authority.

So, why does fear outperform facts in nearly every arena — from politics to parenting, from climate to cuisine? Let’s unpack that.

The Neurology of Doom

Our brains are not neutral processors of information. They are biased toward survival — and survival depends on noticing danger. Enter the amygdala, the brain’s fear center. It lights up like a Christmas tree every time you hear “breaking news,” “unprecedented,” or “climate emergency.”

Fear floods the body with adrenaline. It sharpens focus (on the threat), narrows decision-making (fight, flight, freeze), and makes us highly suggestible. It’s why scary headlines get more clicks, terrifying predictions get more airtime, and mild optimism gets left on read.

Simply put, fear hijacks attention. And attention is the most valuable currency in the world today. And in essence we are still cave people.

The Media’s Favourite Emotion

Let’s do a syllogism, just for fun:

• The media needs revenue.

• Revenue comes from engagement.

• Fear drives engagement.

• Therefore, the media needs fear.

You could practically print that on newsroom walls as a mantra.

It’s not even necessarily malicious — it’s economics. If you run a headline that reads, “Most People Will Probably Be Fine,” it’s not going to trend. But try, “Scientists Warn of Imminent Collapse,” and watch the shares roll in. Add a photo of a crying child and a burning field, and you’ve got virality.

Panic performs. Algorithms love it. And so do politicians. Which leads us to…

Fear as Political Currency

There’s no better way to unite a population than with a common enemy. And if one doesn’t exist, we’ll invent one.

Fear grants permission. It allows governments to implement policies that would be unthinkable under normal circumstances. It shifts the burden of proof. Instead of “prove this is dangerous,” it becomes “prove this isn’t.”

Sound familiar again?

Take COVID, for example. A global health crisis became a global social experiment in fear-based compliance. Curfews. Tracking apps. Business closures. Mask mandates. Vaccine passports. Family gatherings cancelled. Funerals livestreamed. Holidays criminalised. Dissent demonised.

Were all the measures unnecessary? Pretty much. Were they all justified? Not without debate. A debate that, in many places, never happened — because fear drowned out every other voice in the room.

It wasn’t science that ruled. It was the appearance of science, backed by emotional manipulation and enforced by peer pressure. And anyone who asked a question was accused of wanting grandma to die.

Fear made it easy to dismiss nuance. And nuance, in a democracy, is essential.

Guilt-Tripping the Masses

One of fear’s most powerful sidekicks is guilt. Especially when it’s moralised.

“If you don’t recycle this yoghurt lid, a penguin dies.”

“If you question this policy, you hate minorities.”

“If you don’t vote for us, the planet burns.”

It’s a clever twist: fear doesn’t just threaten you — it makes you responsible for the threat. You’re not just in danger; you’re causing the danger.

This is how climate change became the new religion. Complete with saints (Greta), sinners (SUV owners), indulgences (carbon offsets), commandments (“Thou shalt not fly”), and heresies (questioning net-zero goals).

To question is to sin. To doubt is to destroy. To think critically is to endanger the future.

We’ve replaced inquisitors with influencers.

The Herd Instinct

Another psychological quirk: we are social creatures. We want to fit in. And nothing bonds a group like shared anxiety.

If everyone is panicking and you’re not, you start to wonder: Am I the crazy one?

Mob panic is soothing in a twisted way. It gives you something to do. It gives you belonging. And it saves you from being targeted.

Try standing in a crowd and calmly saying, “Actually, I think we might be overreacting.” You’ll be flattened like a heretic at a witch trial.

But What About the Facts?

Ah, the facts. Those pesky, stubborn things.

They require time. They require reading. They require interpretation. They require admitting when you’re wrong.

Fear doesn’t.

That’s why fear will always have the upper hand in public discourse. It’s fast, it’s flashy, and it demands action. Facts ask for reflection. And in the age of swipe, scroll, and share — reflection is extinct.

When Fear Becomes Identity

This is perhaps the most dangerous evolution of all.

When people become their fears, they lose the ability to change their minds. They’re no longer responding to evidence. They’re defending their identity.

If someone is their political belief, their climate panic, their health obsession — then to challenge the belief is to attack them. There’s no room for debate. Only war.

We’ve seen this repeatedly:

• Parents at school board meetings labelled extremists.

• Doctors censored for offering alternative COVID treatments.

• Scientists ostracised for asking questions about climate models.

When fear becomes a badge of honour, logic becomes a threat.

The New Normal

We’re now living in what could best be described as “anxiety theatre.”

It’s not about actual safety. It’s about the performance of safety. It’s not about fixing problems. It’s about being seen to care about the problem. And nothing gets you more points in the social hierarchy than performative panic.

Cue the climate influencer crying on camera. The celebrity telling us to stop flying (from their private jet). The politician banning gas heaters while increasing coal imports.

Fear sells. But it also corrupts.

The Final Irony

In the end, the systems designed to protect us from fear — logic, law, science, journalism — have become infected by it. Facts are bent. Language is tortured. Truth becomes tribal.

And the public? Left confused, exhausted, and increasingly sceptical.

We don’t need less concern. We need better concern. Grounded. Sane. Proportionate.

Fear is not a virtue. It’s a reflex. And like all reflexes, it should be trained — not worshipped.

So the next time someone tells you the world is ending, take a breath.

Ask for evidence. Ask who benefits. Ask what you’re being sold.

Because the apocalypse may not be near.

But the profit margin definitely is.

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The New Climate Religion

We used to dance for rain. Now we manipulate clouds in secret and call it science.

If that sentence feels like satire, that’s because it is. But it’s also very real.

Welcome to the newest global faith — one not rooted in ancient texts, but in modern algorithms and peer-reviewed prophecy. It’s sleek, it’s media-savvy, and it’s armed with QR codes and biodegradable guilt.

Let’s call it what it is: the new climate religion.

This belief system comes with all the hallmarks of a traditional religion — complete with saints, sinners, rituals, taboos, and inquisitions. Only this time, the hellfire is atmospheric, the gods wear lab coats, and the commandments are printed on recycled tote bags.

The High Priests? Climate scientists and select activists who “must not be questioned.”

The Blasphemy? Daring to ask, “Are we sure about this?”

The Rituals? Recycling, ditching meat, biking to work, buying bamboo toothbrushes, and — for the truly devout — gluing yourself to motorways in the name of awareness.

The Sins? Flying. Eating meat. Having children. Using cash.

Yes, cash. Apparently, coins now come with a carbon footprint.

And just like the old religions, this one doesn’t tolerate heretics.

Try it. Say, “I think some of these climate policies are economically destructive” in a public forum. Watch the fire rain down. Say, “Geoengineering might be worth discussing,” and you’ll be tarred and feathered (ethically, of course, with organic feathers).

But let’s be honest. The contradictions in this new religion are, at best, laughable — at worst, dangerous.

We are told to consume less while being bombarded with ads for green alternatives that cost twice as much. We are scolded for flying while climate conferences host thousands of jet-setting delegates in five-star hotels. We are told to trust the science while that same science quietly experiments with planetary-scale weather manipulation — without public debate.

Because here’s the fun part no one’s supposed to mention: geoengineering is real.

Governments are already spraying reflective particles into the sky. Harvard ran a solar geoengineering test. There are proposals to dim the sun, seed clouds, and alter rainfall patterns. But you won’t find this on a protester’s cardboard sign. Why? Because it muddies the narrative. It introduces complexity. And religions, new or old, don’t like complexity.

You want a contradiction? Here you go:

• We are told the planet is warming beyond repair.

• We are told this is our fault.

• We are told to sacrifice everything to stop it.

• And we are not told that some of the most powerful governments and institutions are actively altering the atmosphere.

You’d think that would be a topic worth exploring.

Instead, we get slogans.

Slogans that shame. Slogans that guilt. Slogans that create ideological purity tests for everything from your travel habits to your grocery list.

So here we are. A world of carbon confessions, ritualistic self-denial, and eco-flavoured moral superiority — all in the service of a movement that increasingly resembles the very dogma it once claimed to oppose.

This isn’t science anymore. It really is just theatre.

And while the planet absolutely deserves respect, stewardship, and thoughtful care — it does not benefit from the hysteria of a fanatical priesthood whose answer to every question is “shut up and obey.”

Religion isn’t bad. But it’s dangerous when disguised as science.

And the irony of modern climate religion is that it punishes doubt — the very engine of science itself.

So next time someone tells you that questioning is denial, that logic is cruelty, or that cash is killing the planet… smile, sip your espresso, and ask them one simple thing:

“Would you like to see my carbon-neutral umbrella? It’s big enough for cognitive dissonance too.”

Because if we can’t laugh at this — we’re truly doomed.

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Germany’s Fear Culture – A Case Study

Let’s take a brief detour from the global to the local — Germany. My homeland. A country that has, in recent decades, become something of a global poster child for climate virtue-signalling and guilt-driven policymaking. And while other nations panic in bursts, Germany does so with industrial precision and emotional sincerity.

Let’s rewind to the 1970s.

The oil crisis hits. Suddenly, every household is told to panic responsibly. Enter: the car-free Sundays. I remember it vividly — the streets empty, silent, and strangely exhilarating. As a child, it was magical. You could roller-skate down the autobahn, ride your bike where trucks used to thunder. But underneath the novelty was a very adult anxiety: We are running out of oil, the world might stop turning, and it’s your car’s fault.

Fast-forward a few decades, and Germany has truly mastered the art of panic. No longer just roller-skating on highways — now we’re somersaulting through a maze of contradictory climate legislation.

Take, for instance, the country’s aggressive push toward Net Zero. Sounds noble, right? Clean energy, sustainable living, less dependence on fossil fuels. But who ends up footing the bill? The middle class. The families trying to heat their homes, drive to work, and maybe—just maybe—afford a holiday that doesn’t involve pitching a tent on their balcony.

Here’s a logical loop for you:

• Gas heating is bad. Ban it.

• People switch to electric systems.

• Electricity becomes more expensive and less reliable.

• Meanwhile, coal imports from overseas increase to meet energy demands.

Yes, coal. The villain of yesterday’s eco-panic is now silently welcomed through the back door because the lights must stay on — especially in winter.

Kafka would be proud. If he designed climate policy, he’d move to Berlin just for the inspiration.

There’s something uniquely German about this flavour of contradiction. A country that prides itself on engineering efficiency somehow ties itself into ideological knots so complex, even the knot doesn’t know what it’s holding together anymore. In in the course of even setting Net Zero in stone by implementing it into the constitution, the death penalty for Germany’s industry has been announced.

Let’s not forget:

• We ban plastic straws while importing avocados from across the globe.

• We guilt people into downsizing their lives while subsidising inefficient wind farms that require more land and raw material than common sense.

• We tell citizens to ‘save the planet’ while punishing them for using cash, as though digital banking hasn’t already created its own massive carbon footprint.

And behind it all? Fear. Not just fear of climate collapse — but fear of being wrong. Fear of being seen as apathetic. Fear of not doing enough. It’s a national performance of virtue — and everyone’s afraid to forget their lines.

This isn’t to say environmental concern is unimportant. Far from it. But when fear becomes the engine of policy, and shame the primary tool of enforcement, logic quietly exits stage left. And when that happens — when people feel betrayed by contradictory regulations and punished for asking questions — trust erodes. Fast.

Germany has always had a complicated relationship with authority, guilt, and redemption. The current climate crusade is just the latest chapter — and like all good German operas, it’s heavy on drama, light on resolution.

The goal, supposedly, is sustainability. But sustainability cannot exist without coherence. And coherence cannot exist without logic.

And at this rate, we’ll have a Net Zero brain before we have a Net Zero planet.

So here’s to the country that can engineer the world’s finest machines — and simultaneously design policies that would make a Rube Goldberg device blush.

Roller-skating down the autobahn was fun.
But building policy while blindfolded?

Not so much.

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What’s the Real Cost of Manufactured Fear?

Let’s say it plainly: fear works.
Not because it’s rational, not because it’s right — but because it’s fast. It bypasses logic, skips dialogue, and marches straight into the nervous system. And in today’s world, that shortcut has become the primary tool for shaping culture, policy, and behaviour. But what’s the price of this shortcut? What happens when fear isn’t just a natural response — but a manufactured, distributed product?

It costs us everything that makes a society worth living in.

The first and most obvious casualty of fear-based culture is personal agency.

In a society governed by fear, people don’t make choices — they follow instructions. They don’t weigh risks — they defer to “experts.” And they certainly don’t question — they comply. Not because they understand the rules, but because they’re terrified of what might happen if they don’t.

This is how you get:

• Parents masking toddlers at playgrounds.

• Teenagers apologising for drinking from a plastic bottle.

• Adults defending policies they can’t explain, because “it’s the right thing to do.”

Fear doesn’t ask for understanding. It demands submission. And nothing undermines free will faster than the illusion that safety can be bought with silence.

It’s like trading your brain in for a helmet — and then forgetting you were ever supposed to think in the first place.

The Rise of the Technocrats: Experts Without Accountability

Enter the age of the unelected expert — the bureaucratic class who knows what’s best for you, even when they’ve never met you. These are the technocrats who appear at podiums, in press conferences, in neatly edited explainer videos telling you what you must accept “for the greater good.”

They’re not elected.
They’re rarely questioned.
And they operate behind the veil of data, charts, and “science says.”

Now, science is a method. But in the hands of power, it becomes a shield. If you challenge a policy, you’re no longer engaging in debate — you’re committing heresy.

In a fear-based society, these technocrats don’t just influence government — they become government.
The roles flip: the public serves policy instead of policy serving the public.

No one asked you whether you wanted a cashless society or digital IDs or restrictions tied to your carbon footprint. You were just told: This is what progress looks like. Don’t be a dinosaur.

And if you question it?
You’re dismissed, deplatformed, or diagnosed with something inconvenient — like “climate denialism” or “antisocial tendencies.”

The Shrinking Circle of What’s Sayable

When fear rules, free speech doesn’t just shrink — it calcifies.
It hardens into orthodoxy. And once that happens, you don’t even need censorship — people begin to self-censor.

They stop asking:

• “Does this make sense?”

• “Is there another explanation?”

• “What’s the actual evidence?”

Instead, they ask:

• “Will I get in trouble for saying this?”

• “Will I lose my job?”

• “Will my friends turn on me?”

It’s not logic that silences dissent — it’s fear of social exile.
That’s how public discourse transforms into performative consensus. Everyone nods, not because they agree, but because they’re afraid to be seen as the wrong kind of person.

Logic dies in whispers, not shouts.

Conformity Masquerading as Compassion

You’ve seen it:

• “If you don’t recycle that yogurt lid, you hate the planet.”

• “If you question lockdowns, you want people to die.”

• “If you use cash, you’re holding us all back from progress.”

This isn’t reasoned debate — it’s moral blackmail.

Fear weaponises compassion. It creates a binary world:
Agree = good person. Disagree = danger to society.

This isn’t new. Cults do it. Totalitarian regimes do it. High school cliques do it.
But when entire governments and media ecosystems do it?

You don’t get unity. You get obedience masquerading as virtue.

You can’t build a rational, diverse society when everyone’s afraid to deviate even slightly from the narrative.
And let’s be honest — most of those narratives are written by PR firms, who are advised by psychologists, and then they are approved by polling data.

The Digital Cage: Cashless Societies and Climate Credit Scores

Here’s where it gets really chilling.

Fear not only reshapes minds — it reshapes infrastructure.
It builds systems of control that people think they voted for, but didn’t.

Take the push to eliminate cash. On paper, it’s all convenience and hygiene.
In reality?

It’s the perfect compliance mechanism.

• Digital money can be tracked.

• It can be limited by location or category.

• It can be shut off.

Add to that:

• Smart meters.

• Geo-fencing.

• AI-based surveillance.

• Behaviour-based “nudges” built into digital systems.

You get a society where one “wrong” choice — too many meat purchases, flying too often, attending the wrong protest — can limit your access, restrict your mobility, or mark your profile.

And all of it can be justified in the name of the climate.

It’s not a conspiracy theory.
It’s a business model for control.
The more afraid people are, the easier it is to sell them “protection” — even if that protection comes in the form of a digital leash.

We used to say: “Better safe than sorry.”
Now it’s: “Better tracked than dangerous.”

Culture Rot: Logic Becomes Suspicious

We’ve reached a point where being rational is often treated as a red flag.

• Asking for data? You’re undermining the cause.

• Questioning the effectiveness of policies? You’re “problematic.”

• Citing historical precedent? You’re “living in the past.”

Logic — once the foundation of civil society — is now painted as rigid, outdated, or even dangerous.

And when that happens, the people who shout, shame, and moralise are rewarded — while those who calmly reason are ignored or silenced.

That’s not just cultural decay.
That’s intellectual arson.

And the worst part?

It’s not even clever.
It’s predictable.
We’ve done it before — during wars, pandemics, revolutions.
Every time fear becomes the social currency, truth gets devalued.
Until we’re all broke.

Fear sells. But it also steals. It takes your voice, your judgement, your capacity to think — and replaces them with slogans and symptoms.

You don't have to be a philosopher to see it. Just someone who remembers that logic was once the baseline for discussion — not a threat to the mood of the room.

When fear is manufactured and sold wholesale, the real price is freedom.

And if you're not even allowed to talk about the cost?

You're already paying it.

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Predicting the End is Big Business — But Logic Is Better

And so, here we are. Still alive. Still worrying. Still updating the Doomsday clock like it’s a snooze button — always ringing, never quite landing.

If this post has made one thing clear, let it be this: predicting the end of the world is less about saving humanity and more about selling it something. Guilt. Control. Compliance. “Green” products. Political agendas. It’s all part of the same marketing cycle — wrapped in urgency, spiced with righteousness, and served with a side of selective science.

The real problem isn’t that people care about the planet. It’s that caring has been hijacked by profit, performance, and panic. We’ve traded reasoned stewardship for theatrical alarmism. And in the process, we’ve forgotten how to think clearly.

We’ve replaced logic with loyalty. Curiosity with compliance. Dialogue with dogma.

And worst of all? We’ve rewarded fear over fact.

Here’s what I propose instead — nothing fancy, nothing extreme:

• Ask questions.

• Follow logic.

• Trust your instincts, not just the influencer with the reusable straw.

• Remember that being critical is not being cruel — it’s being awake.

Because yes, the world may end someday. But it probably won’t be next Tuesday, and certainly not because you didn’t compost your avocado pit.

Let’s stop living like the apocalypse is on hourly refresh. Let’s reintroduce nuance. Let’s reward reason. Let’s stop confusing compliance with virtue.

And if we must worry — let it be with a clear head, not a trembling heart.

“The world will end eventually. But probably not on the schedule of your local activist.”

As for me? I’ll keep holding on to logic.

I love it — that beautiful, stubborn thing. It’s not perfect. It’s not always popular. But it has saved more lives than fear ever has. Logic, paired with empathy, freedom, and a good dash of healthy skepticism, is still the best compass we’ve got.

Oh, and a decent weather forecast wouldn’t hurt either.

Just not the kind curated by someone who glues themselves to the pavement every time it’s sunny.

Here’s to thinking. Here’s to questioning. Here’s to not panicking when the next “12 years to extinction” headline hits.

Because if there’s one thing we should all fear by now — it’s the death of logic.

And I have no intention of going down without a fight.

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🎶My Song for you

Tom Ellis’ version of “All Along the Watchtower” — originally by Bob Dylan, famously covered by Hendrix. I chose this version simply because I love the piano…

For more good music, go to this Spotify playlist where you can find all the songs from the Change & Evolve Letters!

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📚My Poem for you

Is by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919)

The Winds Of Fate

One ship drives east and another drives west
With the selfsame winds that blow.
Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales
Which tells us the way to go.
Like the winds of the seas are the ways of fate,
As we voyage along through the life:
Tis the set of a soul
That decides its goal,
And not the calm or the strife.

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👀Impression

Yep, Mr. Spock couldn’t care less about climate change…

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Do you still trust your gut… or have you outsourced it to the algorithm?

Let me know your thoughts in the comments, leave a ❤️ or send me a message. I always love hearing from you.

Wishing you a happy weekend wherever you are.

Yours

Tanja 🤗

PS. You can now also find my podcast on Spotify

Change & Evolve and feel free to get in touch