If We're the Virus, Where's The Cure

If We’re The Virus, Where’s The Cure?

Written by Matt Knarr

When the “Nature is Healing, We Are The Virus” meme appeared online in late March of 2020, many remarked on its similarities to The Last Of Us. The images of fish in the Venice canals and deer taking over city parks in Japan drew an immediate parallel to the Salt Lake Zoo’s escaped giraffes. The parallels went deeper than just this scene, though, evoking everything from the cordycep fungus’s backstory to the ivy-clad ruins of the environmental design.

There’s a deeper common ideology at place, underpinning both the meme and The Last of Us: climate change is karmic retribution for humanity’s choices. Nature will reclaim its space and flourish without us. Humanity was just a quick flash in the pan, always doomed by its own hubris. This is called “doomerism.”

It’s not an uncommon point of view in 2020. The meme was only popular because people knew someone who spoke that way - an aunt on Facebook, or a colleague making small talk as you wait for others to join a zoom call. It wasn’t designed to mock the idea behind the text itself; its humor was in its familiarity.

It’s strangely comforting, isn’t it? Doomerism lets us hold on to the optimistic notion that the world is fair, and the instant gratification of our everyday actions will only be punished quickly at the end of our lives. It frames our guilt, not as a result of our choices, but as an inevitable byproduct of existing. There’s nothing we can do as individuals to turn the tide in an epic battle between the natural world and mankind.

But, as we’ve all been told by our mothers while throwing a hissy fit, “Life’s not fair.” We know that 100 companies “account for 72% of global industrial GHG emissions,” 8 and that the expenses of climate change “are borne disproportionately by people in poverty.” 9 We’ve seen Flint, Standing Rock, and Hurricane Katrina. We cannot feign ignorance on climate inequality in the age of Twitter.

As well, most indigenous communities still work with the planet’s resources mindfully, providing a model for smaller communities to live sustainably. Beyond living carbon-neutral lives, indigenous activists have also been injured protecting the land they’re on from environmentally exploitative developments. Despite opting out of the modern industrial system, they’re still being “punished”.

The doomerist framing is not benign, either; the assumption that climate change will render humans entirely extinct encourages a specific and dangerous kind of nihilism. Very few events could kill every human at once, and there will be survivors of any single natural disaster. The decision to let the planet die is an easier one to make if there’s no human life on it to suffer because of your mistakes, but that’s not the reality of the situation.

The Last Of Us does a good job of showcasing the danger of this kind of detachment. After Sarah’s death, Joel’s life loses meaning, and he’s largely unable to connect with others. Despite living to see the restructuring of society under FEDRA, he’s still almost entirely anti-social, with the exception of Tess. While Joel does serve as a physical power fantasy and strong masculine archetype, he’s not aspirational. He’s not happy.

Enter: Ellie, prospective savior of the human race, and of Joel’s humanity specifically. Much of the game is her convincing Joel that silly things like toys, comics, and jokebooks have a place in this world, while selling him on the importance of genuine connection as well. It’s a slow process for Joel; from appreciating Ellie’s company, to relying on her, to putting himself in danger for her, to staying with her past Jackson - the first altruistic choice he makes that isn’t just about delivering Ellie to a checkpoint.

Joel’s relationship with Ellie becomes a gateway to further empathy as well. She encourages him to help a wounded hunter, and when they meet Sam and Henry, she de-escalates the conflict between the patriarchs until they’re sitting around a hearty meal and talking motorcycles. By the time they get to Jackson, big alpha male Joel asks his little brother for help because he’s too emotionally involved. What growth!

Because of this, the choice to leave Ellie’s voice out of the game’s climax (having her passed out, not offering any flashbacks, and characters barely mentioning what she would want) removes her agency in an interesting way. Up to this point, The Last of Us has established solid feminist bona fides, with their female characters having complex internal lives, status within the narrative’s world, and agency to affect the plot meaningfully. So when the game ignores Ellie’s perspective from the scene here, we can assume it’s not disinterest. The creators are making a point.

Joel has to dehumanize and objectify Ellie (not sexually, literally) to rationalize acting on what he considers “her behalf.” Her body, hanging limp in the player’s arms, reminds us of Joel’s motivations as we mow down enemies just as depersonalized. Joel at no point argues that this would be what she would want, nor does he suggest they wake her up and ask her. All this talk about her uniqueness, her value, has led here, to her inevitable commodification. Joel is, in effect, resource hoarding.

This approach to scarcity and environmental crisis is quite similar to ecofascism, an ideology that centers closed borders, increased state power over resource distribution, and the philosophies behind eugenics. Ecofascism traditionally defines an in-group of deserving survivors - the most “modern” civilization - against an outgroup that can run along lines of race, class, religion, nationality, and more. In modern politics, these racial outgroups are blamed for the climate crisis based on overpopulation, poor safety regulations, or in the case of Jewish people, shadowy cabals that run the world.

This is a fixture of post-pandemic society in The Last of Us. FEDRA uses closed borders, rationing, and violent policing in the name of keeping residents safe. Importantly, it’s also the governing ideology that leads to Sarah’s death at the start of the game. The military using a “shoot first, ask questions later” approach to protect a border in the midst of environmental disaster is a story that exists today, and that’s only going to get more prominent.

Instead of recognizing and resisting this ideology, Joel adopts it as a defence. He internalizes the message of scarcity implied by using ration cards as currency, and the fear of betrayal keeps his dealings with others impersonal and hostile. His mistrust becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and from there, his worldview upholds itself. If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a zombie’s head.

This mindset gets reflected in the gameplay, too. We fight infected and soldiers and cannibals, all as ruthless as the others. While the game works mechanically to make you like Ellie, it’s doing just as much to paint everyone else as an obstacle to your progress-- an “other” stopping necessary progress. This ends up confirming for Joel that violence is the only way to survive in this world.

By the time we get to Salt Lake City, the game has primed us to understand Joel’s outlook. Ellie is an aberration, one of the few lifelines the game throws to us, and she’s become irreplaceable. It’s been “us” (Joel and Ellie) against “the world” for so long that it’s hard not to feel like her death would doom us too.

This is where the two schools of thought, doomerism and ecofascism, come together. Joel’s arc and final decision show how climate doomerism and disdain for humankind can be a stepping stone to ecofascism: believing humanity is irredeemable as a whole gives us an excuse for selfishness, because our kindness wouldn’t do anything. What’s the point in saving everyone else if we’re all just going to kill each other anyway?

The game itself doesn’t endorse Joel’s perspective. He never gets to justify his decision, nor is he rewarded for his choice. Instead, we end on Ellie’s suspicious face, seeing that the two are already getting more distant by the second, as she tries to deny to herself that someone she trusted would doom humanity like that. It’s clear there was no resolution where Ellie could still fully trust Joel, because he’s made it clear that her life doesn’t have inherent value to him - it’s conditional on him feeling a kinship with her.

The most important part of the game’s commentary, to me, is the optimism of Jackson. The community thrives both because people are inherently collaborative, but also because it’s run by Tommy. When they’re reunited, Tommy tells Joel that he still has nightmares about their time together pre-Jackson, and goes as far to say that what they did to survive “wasn’t worth it.”

This admission points to what makes Tommy and Joel different: Tommy can admit that his choices were selfish, and not natural or earned. In opening Jackson to outsiders who need help, he’s acknowledging that antisocial behavior and self-interest aren’t inherent to “humanity,” they’re just a response to scarcity and fear. Eliminate that scarcity, protect one another, and everyone can benefit together. Society is not a zero-sum game.

By foregrounding Ellie’s perspective as they return to Jackson in the final moments of The Last Of Us, the game makes us face the same questions she’s left with. What do we do with a life given to us unethically? If death is a meaningless sacrifice, and protecting our lives at any cost will just continue this pain vicariously, how do we find meaning and morality moving forward?

The answer comes in the same place we found the question: Ellie. Trust others. Open up. Enjoy and spread the small joys. Search for community. Sacrifice what you can. Remember, even if humanity begot the virus, humanity will also beget the immunization.

MATT KNARR is a writer and media professional from Toronto, Canada. He has a BFA in Image Arts from Ryerson University, and produces Rainbow Road: a Gay Gaming Podcast with his boyfriend Travis. Twitter: @RainbowRoadPod