JOANNA COLWELL

Have you heard of the Thin Veneer Theory? This is the idea that underneath a thin layer of civility, inside we are all selfish brutes. Veneer Theory holds that in times of crisis, such as a natural disaster, people will be violent and harmful in order to get what they need.

But people who study the aftermath of disasters report that actually the opposite is true. When the chips are down, we show up for each other and look for ways to help our neighbors. Vermonters have experienced this for ourselves, after the historic flooding of Hurricane Irene, as well as the floods of 2023 and 2024. People showed up with buckets and shovels, mucked out countless basements, set up emergency kitchens and food shelves, found ways to get medications to their neighbors, and rescued one another’s pets and livestock. 

I was thinking about Veneer Theory the other day, while remembering the news coverage that followed Hurricane Katrina, one of the worst disasters to hit a major U.S. city. Many journalists were shockingly racist in the ways they described how New Orleans residents were navigating their flooded city. Black people were described as “looters” while white residents were “seeking food.” Everyone was just trying to survive.

Looking at photos of the devastation in North Carolina after Hurricane Helene, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. The town of Marshall, near the mountain farm of our family friends, was literally washed away. People were using mules to bring supplies to steep areas whose roads were completely gone.

When I look at video footage of raging rivers taking out roads that seemed stable and solid, minutes before, I think I see what the real Thin Veneer is. The thin veneer is the pavement and asphalt on which our transportation infrastructure depends. Everything we humans have ever built, every bridge, road, and building, is fragile and vulnerable compared to the vast power of wind and rain.

We are living through what more and more leaders are calling the Polycrisis, a complex situation where multiple terrible, interconnected problems converge and amplify each other. What we need, more than anything, is to recognize the humanity in each other, and look for ways to protect and uplift our fellow humans. 

Even more vulnerable than an asphalt road is our tender human body. Our soft skin and breakable bones protect our vital organs. We can survive without air for only the briefest of moments. Why are we building bombs that destroy people in distant lands?

I am typing this on my phone while my husband is driving us home from a memorial service. In the church parish hall, after the service, I saw a friend holding the baby of his dear friend. The baby belongs to a third cousin of my husband. The friend is Palestinian, the baby slept sweetly on his shoulder. Was he thinking of the thousands of babies killed in his homeland? What is it like to be safe here, in the United States, and learning about your family members who are suffering, missing, dead?

We are all so vulnerable here on our one precious planet. And the earth herself is so very vulnerable too. The thin atmosphere protects us like our skin protects our organs. We don’t lack knowledge or technical skill. We need to see one another for who we are. We are all cousins, all dependent on a thin layer of topsoil, drinkable water, and breathable air. Could we begin to see the truth of our vulnerability and protect each other instead of trying to hurt each other?

Joanna Colwell is the director of Otter Creek Yoga in Middlebury, although in the time of COVID-19, you can find her teaching yoga via Zoom from the comfort of her own dining room. She lives with her husband and daughter in East Middlebury, and was one of the founders of the Middlebury chapter of Showing Up for Racial Justice.