Gabriela Bulisova and Mark Isaac
Our back to back Fulbright grants took us in 2017-18 to Ukraine and will take us in 2018-19 to Eastern Siberia. While the projects are 5 time zones away from each other, they have much in common. Both are focused on water that has been dramatically affected by climate change.
In Ukraine, we told the story of the Southern Bug River, once the historic territory of Cossacks on the steppe, now reduced in flow so much that the nearby nuclear energy complex proposes to flood a national park to provide more cooling water to its parched Soviet-era reactors. The decision is now in the hands of the Verkhovna Rada, or Ukrainian Parliament, and activists hope to use the film, titled God’s River, to influence the outcome, which remains uncertain. (Stay tuned, the film will have its online debut in the near future.)
In Siberia, we’ll focus on Lake Baikal, the world’s deepest lake, which is revered by the indigenous Buryat people as sacred. In the Buryat origin myth for Lake Baikal, fire exploded from the earth and the people cried, “Bai, Gal,” or “Fire, Stop!” Their prayers were answered and the deepest lake on earth was formed. Our project will connect the fire of this ancient myth with the new fire that now threatens the lake: that of climate change. Lake Baikal, which contains a significant percentage of the world’s fresh water, is one of the places in the world that is most affected by global warming, and its long-term health is now at risk.
As we travel to Siberia, we are pausing for three weeks in the 800-person village of Chl’aba, Slovakia, where Gabriela’s mother lives and where Gabriela spent her childhood summers. This has been a frequent stopping off point for us in our travels, and it is the subject of our longest project to date -- more than a decade of work documenting her “Returns” to her family, the natural beauty of the land at the confluence of the Danube and Ipel Rivers, and the changes the village has seen in the post-Communist era.
The first thing we noticed about Chl’aba upon our latest return was how hot it was. Like a large swath of Europe, it was blasted with intense heat for weeks on end, with no rain. And the results were immediately apparent when we visited the family vineyard, where two-thirds of the grapes were withering, diseased, or gone. Nonetheless, the harvest went on one late August morning, when the weather had mercifully turned milder. With neighbors gathered to assist, the chatter among the natives (in Hungarian, as Chl’aba is a border village that is dominated by Hungarians) turned to the dates of harvests over time. They noted that the grape harvest used to take place in October, then shifted to September, but in recent years has occurred as early as late August.
As we move closer to Lake Baikal, we are experiencing a change of climate. The hot weather of the American and European summer gave way to the first hints of a cooler autumn, foreshadowing the brutal cold of the far East that will be a central feature of our lives in the coming year. And at the same time, our stop in Chl’aba was a forceful reminder that climate change is with us now, in all parts of the globe. The climate is changing, from Washington, to Europe, to the Far East. And unless we can alter the climate for change, our march toward an apocalyptic crisis will be a shorter one than any of us imagined.