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Carl Smith’s intense analysis of the narrative which formed around the Chicago fire in its aftermath is both fascinating and telling. I think it is, perhaps, an even more revealing analysis than any direct analysis of the fire might be, because the particulars of his investigation expose the thoughts, fears, and culture of Chicago’s narrative-makers.
Clearly, we saw in Cronon’s work that Chicago possessed ample boosters. Yet, boosterism in the face of disaster might still be unexpected; yet, it persisted. To Chicago’s boosters, and indeed many of its citizens, the fire marked Chicago as a great city: “Greater than the catastrophes that consumed Rome, London, and other world capitals, the fire proved that Chicago and America had already surpassed or would soon supersede these other cities in all respects”(130). The logic feels backward, but perhaps it is sound. Indeed, only a significant city could have a disaster on the scale of the Chicago fire of 1871. This is likely true of many disasters; as we have discussed, disasters are the confluence of nature and humanity, with the human element emerging as a decisive division between disasters and events. Today, our public figures are quicker to mourn the losses than to highlight the silver lining of a disaster. Leaders in the Gilded Age, however, seemed to remain relentlessly positive in the face of disaster.
On the other hand, the fire brought to light the fear of social instability. The rhetoric that emerged from disaster posited that the ‘respectable’ elements had banded together, unified and determined to survive. The poor were the most significant losers, altogether. From one perspective, they were the malefactors and miscreants who encouraged and spread the fire, looted, raped vulnerable women, and inconsiderately occupied crowded spaces with the wealthy. From another, they were helpless: “Others among the poor died because they evidently lacked the character and resolve to save themselves, which was also why they were poor in the first place”(150). In this case, Smith is merely explaining the narrative that existed, rather than asserting the above himself. These two narratives seem contradictory: these helpless poor, unable to save themselves, were amply able to terrorize the respectable citizens already traumatized by the approaching flames. Displacing the natural horror of the fire with fears of social unrest likely served to reinforce existing social order, implying that through a control of the ‘less respectable’ citizenry, the elite and middle class might be more able to exert control over such uncontrollable events as fire.
I take a more cynical view of preserved and “natural” spaces, such as National Parks, than does Emily. I think that the preservation of these natural spaces is as much a part of the capitalist culture as anything else. National parks and outdoor spaces have been commodified within the ethos of our consumer culture. People drive to these “natural” spaces, spend a day there, bring their own food or purchase it their. Trips down rivers are often guided. My own extensive time spent canoeing Wisconsin’s beautiful waterways has sent me past as many riverside houses, park ranger stations, and farms as anything else. We consume this preserved nature in small doses, which we can easily control. It certainly has an inherent appeal; however, that does not extricate it from capitalism. Capitalism does not judge the things we consume, but makes them available in the most appetizing portions for our consumption. Natural spaces in America have been packaged and labeled for our consumption, and we suspend our knowledge that they are just as “unnatural” as Manhattan as we consume them.
