Latest news with #prepping
CNN
6 days ago
- Politics
- CNN
These preppers have ‘bug-out' bags, guns and a fear of global disaster. They're also left-wing
Hurricanes Storms Climate changeFacebookTweetLink Follow The day after President Donald Trump was elected in 2016, Eric Shonkwiler looked at his hiking bag to figure out what supplies he had. 'I began to look at that as a resource for escape, should that need to happen,' he said. He didn't have the terminology for it at the time, but this backpack was his 'bug-out bag' — essential supplies for short-term survival. It marked the start of his journey into prepping. In his Ohio home, which he shares with his wife and a Pomeranian dog, Rosemary, he now has a six-month supply of food and water, a couple of firearms and a brood of chickens. 'Resources to bridge the gap across a disaster,' he said. Margaret Killjoy's entry point was a bleak warning in 2016 from a scientist friend, who told her climate change was pushing the global food system closer than ever to collapse. Killjoy started collecting food, water and generators. She bought a gun and learned how to use it. She started a prepping podcast, Live Like the World is Dying, and grew a community. Prepping has long been dominated by those on the political right. The classic stereotype, albeit not always accurate, is of the lone wolf with a basement full of Spam, a wall full of guns, and a mind full of conspiracy theories. Shonkwiler and Killjoy belong to a much smaller part of the subculture: They are left-wing preppers. This group is also preparing for a doom-filled future, and many also have guns, but they say their prepping emphasizes community and mutual aid over bunkers and isolationism. In an era of barreling crises — from wars to climate change — some say prepping is becoming increasingly appealing to those on the left. The roots of modern-day prepping in the United States go back to the 1950s, when fears of nuclear war reached a fever pitch. The 1970s saw the emergence of the survivalist movement, which dwindled in the 1990s as it became increasingly associated with an extreme-right subculture steeped in racist ideology. A third wave followed in the early 2000s, when the term 'prepper' began to be adopted more widely, said Michael Mills, a social scientist at Anglia Ruskin University, who specializes in survivalism and doomsday prepping cultures. Numbers swelled following big disasters such as 9/11, Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and the 2008 financial crisis. A watershed moment for right-wing preppers was the election of Barack Obama in 2008, Mills said. For those on the left, it was Trump's 2016 election. Preppers of all political stripes are usually motivated by a 'foggy cloud of fear' rather than a belief in one specific doomsday scenario playing out, Mills said. Broad anxieties tend to swirl around the possibility of economic crises, pandemics, natural disasters, war and terrorism. 'We've hit every one of those' since the start of this century, said Anna Maria Bounds, a sociology professor at Queens College, who has written a book about New York's prepper subculture. These events have solidified many preppers' fears that, in times of crisis, the government would be 'overwhelmed, under-prepared and unwilling to help,' she said. This fear is where Marlon Smith's interest in preparedness began. Growing up in Trinidad, he lived through an attempted coup in 1990 that sparked his concern the government would not be there in times of disaster. This only deepened after he moved to New York City and watched the aftermath of 9/11 and then Hurricane Katrina. 'You see the inability of the government to truly help their citizens,' he said. Smith, who now lives in New Jersey, runs a fashion company by day and spends his weekends teaching survival skills — including how to survive nuclear fallout. 'People find it funny that I work in women's evening wear and yet I do this hardcore prepping and survivalism in the woods,' he said. It's hard to pin down the exact number of preppers in the US. Mills says 5 million is a reasonable estimate; others would say much higher. Chris Ellis, a military officer and academic who researches disaster preparedness, puts the figure at around 20 to 23 million using data from FEMA household surveys. Figuring out the proportion of preppers on the left is perhaps even trickier. Mills, who has surveyed 2,500 preppers over the past decade, has consistently found about 80% identify as conservatives, libertarians or another right-wing ideology. He doesn't see any dramatic upswing in left-wing preppers. Anecdotal evidence, however, points to increased interest from this side of the political spectrum. Several left-wing preppers told CNN about the burgeoning popularity of their newsletters, social media channels and prepping courses. Shonkwiler says subscriber numbers to his newsletter When/If increase exponentially whenever right-wing views make headlines, especially elections. He saw a huge uptick when Trump was reelected. Smith has noticed more liberals among his growing client roster for prepping courses. He has an upcoming session teaching a group in the Hamptons — 'all Democrats,' he said. Smith is at pains to keep politics out of prepping, however, and makes his clients sign a waiver agreeing not to talk about it. 'You leave your politics and your religion at the door. … You come here to learn; I'll teach you,' he said. In some ways, there aren't huge differences in how preppers on the left and right prepare, Mills said. Both focus on long-term supplies of food and water, gathering equipment needed to 'bug in,' when they shelter in their homes, and 'bug out,' when they need to leave in a hurry. Many left-wing preppers also have guns. Killjoy is open about the fact she owns firearms but calls it one of the least important aspects of her prepping. She lives in rural Appalachia and, as a transgender woman, says the way she's treated has changed dramatically since Trump's first election. For those on the left, guns are 'for community and self-defense,' she said. Left-wing preppers consistently say the biggest difference between them and their right-wing peers is the rejection of 'bunker mentality' — the idea of filling a bunker with beans, rice, guns and ammo and expecting to be able to survive the apocalypse alone. Shonkwiler gives an example of a right-wing guy with a rifle on his back, who falls down the stairs and breaks a leg. If he doesn't have medical training and a community to help, 'he's going to die before he gets to enjoy all his freeze-dried food.' 'People are our greatest asset,' Killjoy said. When Hurricane Helene carved a path of destruction through Asheville, North Carolina in 2024, Killjoy, who used to live in the city, loaded her truck with food and generators and drove there to help. Inshirah Overton also subscribes to the idea of community. The attorney, who came to prepping after enduring Hurricane Irene in 2011, owns a half-acre plot of land in New Jersey where she grows food and has beehives. She stores fruit, vegetables and honey but also gives them to friends and neighbors. 'My plan is to create a community of people who have a vested interest in this garden,' she said. At one point, Overton toyed with the idea of buying a 'bug-out' property in Vermont, somewhere to escape to, but desire for community for her and her two daughters stopped her. In Vermont, 'no one knows me and I'm just a random Black lady, and they'll be like: 'Oh, OK, right, sure. You live here? Sure. Here's the barrel of my shotgun. Turn around.'' This focus on community may stem in part from left-wing preppers' growing fears around the climate crisis, predicted to usher in far-reaching ecological, social and economic breakdown. It cannot be escaped by retreating to a bunker for a few weeks. As Trump guts weather agencies, pledges to unwind the Federal Emergency Management Administration and slashes climate funding — all while promising to unleash the fossil fuel industry — climate concerns are only coming into sharper focus. They're top of mind for Brekke Wagoner, the creator and host of the Sustainable Prepping YouTube channel, who lives in North Carolina with her four children. She fears increasingly deadly summer heat and the 'once-in-a-lifetime' storms that keep coming. Climate change 'is just undeniable,' she said. Her prepping journey started during Trump's first term. She was living in California and filled with fear that in the event of a big natural disaster, the federal government would simply not be there. Her house now contains a week's worth of water, long-term food supplies, flashlights, backup batteries and a solar generator. 'My goal is for our family to have all of our needs cared for,' she said, so in an emergency, whatever help is available can go to others. 'You can have a preparedness plan that doesn't involve a bunker and giving up on civilization,' she said. Despite prepping's reputation as a form of doomerism, many left-wing preppers say they are not devoid of hope. Shonkwiler believes there will be an opportunity to create something new in the aftermath of a crisis. 'It begins with preparedness and it ends with a better world,' he said. Some also say there's less tension between left- and right-wing preppers than people might expect. Bounds, the sociology professor, said very conservative preppers she met during her research contacted her during the Covid-19 pandemic to offer help. There is a natural human solidarity that emerges amid disaster, Killjoy said. She recalls a cashier giving her a deep discount on supplies she was buying to take to Asheville post-Helene. 'I have every reason to believe that that man is right-wing, and I do think that there is a transcending of political differences that happens in times of crisis,' she said. As terrifying events pile up, from the wars in Ukraine and the Middle East to deadly extreme weather, it's hard to escape the sense we live in a time of rolling existential crises — often a hair's breadth from global disaster. People are increasingly beginning to wonder whether their views on preppers have been misconceived, Mills said. 'There is a bigger question floating in the air, which is: Are preppers crazy, or is everyone else?' Killjoy has seen a huge change over the last five years in people's openness to prepping. Those who used to make fun of her for her 'go bag' are now asking for advice. It's not necessarily the start of a prepping boom, she said. 'I think it is about more and more people adopting preparedness and prepper things into a normal life.' Evidence already points this way. Americans stockpiled goods in advance of Trump's tariffs and online sales of contraceptives skyrocketed in the wake of his election, amid concerns he would reduce access. Shows like 'The Walking Dead,' meanwhile, have thrust the idea of prepping into popular culture and big box stores now sell prepping equipment and meal kits. People are hungry to learn about preparedness, said Shonkwiler. 'They have the understanding that the world as we knew it, and counted on it, is beginning to cease to be. … What we need to be doing now is figuring out how we can survive in the world that we've created.'
CNN
6 days ago
- Politics
- CNN
These preppers have ‘bug-out' bags, guns and a fear of global disaster. They're also left-wing
Hurricanes Storms Climate changeFacebookTweetLink Follow The day after President Donald Trump was elected in 2016, Eric Shonkwiler looked at his hiking bag to figure out what supplies he had. 'I began to look at that as a resource for escape, should that need to happen,' he said. He didn't have the terminology for it at the time, but this backpack was his 'bug-out bag' — essential supplies for short-term survival. It marked the start of his journey into prepping. In his Ohio home, which he shares with his wife and a Pomeranian dog, Rosemary, he now has a six-month supply of food and water, a couple of firearms and a brood of chickens. 'Resources to bridge the gap across a disaster,' he said. Margaret Killjoy's entry point was a bleak warning in 2016 from a scientist friend, who told her climate change was pushing the global food system closer than ever to collapse. Killjoy started collecting food, water and generators. She bought a gun and learned how to use it. She started a prepping podcast, Live Like the World is Dying, and grew a community. Prepping has long been dominated by those on the political right. The classic stereotype, albeit not always accurate, is of the lone wolf with a basement full of Spam, a wall full of guns, and a mind full of conspiracy theories. Shonkwiler and Killjoy belong to a much smaller part of the subculture: They are left-wing preppers. This group is also preparing for a doom-filled future, and many also have guns, but they say their prepping emphasizes community and mutual aid over bunkers and isolationism. In an era of barreling crises — from wars to climate change — some say prepping is becoming increasingly appealing to those on the left. The roots of modern-day prepping in the United States go back to the 1950s, when fears of nuclear war reached a fever pitch. The 1970s saw the emergence of the survivalist movement, which dwindled in the 1990s as it became increasingly associated with an extreme-right subculture steeped in racist ideology. A third wave followed in the early 2000s, when the term 'prepper' began to be adopted more widely, said Michael Mills, a social scientist at Anglia Ruskin University, who specializes in survivalism and doomsday prepping cultures. Numbers swelled following big disasters such as 9/11, Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and the 2008 financial crisis. A watershed moment for right-wing preppers was the election of Barack Obama in 2008, Mills said. For those on the left, it was Trump's 2016 election. Preppers of all political stripes are usually motivated by a 'foggy cloud of fear' rather than a belief in one specific doomsday scenario playing out, Mills said. Broad anxieties tend to swirl around the possibility of economic crises, pandemics, natural disasters, war and terrorism. 'We've hit every one of those' since the start of this century, said Anna Maria Bounds, a sociology professor at Queens College, who has written a book about New York's prepper subculture. These events have solidified many preppers' fears that, in times of crisis, the government would be 'overwhelmed, under-prepared and unwilling to help,' she said. This fear is where Marlon Smith's interest in preparedness began. Growing up in Trinidad, he lived through an attempted coup in 1990 that sparked his concern the government would not be there in times of disaster. This only deepened after he moved to New York City and watched the aftermath of 9/11 and then Hurricane Katrina. 'You see the inability of the government to truly help their citizens,' he said. Smith, who now lives in New Jersey, runs a fashion company by day and spends his weekends teaching survival skills — including how to survive nuclear fallout. 'People find it funny that I work in women's evening wear and yet I do this hardcore prepping and survivalism in the woods,' he said. It's hard to pin down the exact number of preppers in the US. Mills says 5 million is a reasonable estimate; others would say much higher. Chris Ellis, a military officer and academic who researches disaster preparedness, puts the figure at around 20 to 23 million using data from FEMA household surveys. Figuring out the proportion of preppers on the left is perhaps even trickier. Mills, who has surveyed 2,500 preppers over the past decade, has consistently found about 80% identify as conservatives, libertarians or another right-wing ideology. He doesn't see any dramatic upswing in left-wing preppers. Anecdotal evidence, however, points to increased interest from this side of the political spectrum. Several left-wing preppers told CNN about the burgeoning popularity of their newsletters, social media channels and prepping courses. Shonkwiler says subscriber numbers to his newsletter When/If increase exponentially whenever right-wing views make headlines, especially elections. He saw a huge uptick when Trump was reelected. Smith has noticed more liberals among his growing client roster for prepping courses. He has an upcoming session teaching a group in the Hamptons — 'all Democrats,' he said. Smith is at pains to keep politics out of prepping, however, and makes his clients sign a waiver agreeing not to talk about it. 'You leave your politics and your religion at the door. … You come here to learn; I'll teach you,' he said. In some ways, there aren't huge differences in how preppers on the left and right prepare, Mills said. Both focus on long-term supplies of food and water, gathering equipment needed to 'bug in,' when they shelter in their homes, and 'bug out,' when they need to leave in a hurry. Many left-wing preppers also have guns. Killjoy is open about the fact she owns firearms but calls it one of the least important aspects of her prepping. She lives in rural Appalachia and, as a transgender woman, says the way she's treated has changed dramatically since Trump's first election. For those on the left, guns are 'for community and self-defense,' she said. Left-wing preppers consistently say the biggest difference between them and their right-wing peers is the rejection of 'bunker mentality' — the idea of filling a bunker with beans, rice, guns and ammo and expecting to be able to survive the apocalypse alone. Shonkwiler gives an example of a right-wing guy with a rifle on his back, who falls down the stairs and breaks a leg. If he doesn't have medical training and a community to help, 'he's going to die before he gets to enjoy all his freeze-dried food.' 'People are our greatest asset,' Killjoy said. When Hurricane Helene carved a path of destruction through Asheville, North Carolina in 2024, Killjoy, who used to live in the city, loaded her truck with food and generators and drove there to help. Inshirah Overton also subscribes to the idea of community. The attorney, who came to prepping after enduring Hurricane Irene in 2011, owns a half-acre plot of land in New Jersey where she grows food and has beehives. She stores fruit, vegetables and honey but also gives them to friends and neighbors. 'My plan is to create a community of people who have a vested interest in this garden,' she said. At one point, Overton toyed with the idea of buying a 'bug-out' property in Vermont, somewhere to escape to, but desire for community for her and her two daughters stopped her. In Vermont, 'no one knows me and I'm just a random Black lady, and they'll be like: 'Oh, OK, right, sure. You live here? Sure. Here's the barrel of my shotgun. Turn around.'' This focus on community may stem in part from left-wing preppers' growing fears around the climate crisis, predicted to usher in far-reaching ecological, social and economic breakdown. It cannot be escaped by retreating to a bunker for a few weeks. As Trump guts weather agencies, pledges to unwind the Federal Emergency Management Administration and slashes climate funding — all while promising to unleash the fossil fuel industry — climate concerns are only coming into sharper focus. They're top of mind for Brekke Wagoner, the creator and host of the Sustainable Prepping YouTube channel, who lives in North Carolina with her four children. She fears increasingly deadly summer heat and the 'once-in-a-lifetime' storms that keep coming. Climate change 'is just undeniable,' she said. Her prepping journey started during Trump's first term. She was living in California and filled with fear that in the event of a big natural disaster, the federal government would simply not be there. Her house now contains a week's worth of water, long-term food supplies, flashlights, backup batteries and a solar generator. 'My goal is for our family to have all of our needs cared for,' she said, so in an emergency, whatever help is available can go to others. 'You can have a preparedness plan that doesn't involve a bunker and giving up on civilization,' she said. Despite prepping's reputation as a form of doomerism, many left-wing preppers say they are not devoid of hope. Shonkwiler believes there will be an opportunity to create something new in the aftermath of a crisis. 'It begins with preparedness and it ends with a better world,' he said. Some also say there's less tension between left- and right-wing preppers than people might expect. Bounds, the sociology professor, said very conservative preppers she met during her research contacted her during the Covid-19 pandemic to offer help. There is a natural human solidarity that emerges amid disaster, Killjoy said. She recalls a cashier giving her a deep discount on supplies she was buying to take to Asheville post-Helene. 'I have every reason to believe that that man is right-wing, and I do think that there is a transcending of political differences that happens in times of crisis,' she said. As terrifying events pile up, from the wars in Ukraine and the Middle East to deadly extreme weather, it's hard to escape the sense we live in a time of rolling existential crises — often a hair's breadth from global disaster. People are increasingly beginning to wonder whether their views on preppers have been misconceived, Mills said. 'There is a bigger question floating in the air, which is: Are preppers crazy, or is everyone else?' Killjoy has seen a huge change over the last five years in people's openness to prepping. Those who used to make fun of her for her 'go bag' are now asking for advice. It's not necessarily the start of a prepping boom, she said. 'I think it is about more and more people adopting preparedness and prepper things into a normal life.' Evidence already points this way. Americans stockpiled goods in advance of Trump's tariffs and online sales of contraceptives skyrocketed in the wake of his election, amid concerns he would reduce access. Shows like 'The Walking Dead,' meanwhile, have thrust the idea of prepping into popular culture and big box stores now sell prepping equipment and meal kits. People are hungry to learn about preparedness, said Shonkwiler. 'They have the understanding that the world as we knew it, and counted on it, is beginning to cease to be. … What we need to be doing now is figuring out how we can survive in the world that we've created.'
The Independent
22-05-2025
- Health
- The Independent
I went from Ozempic to Mounjaro with this unexpected side effect
I know a lot of younger people are interested in prepping their beach body, but at 59 years old, I've recently gotten back into using weight-loss jabs to help with my pitch body. Competing in a veterans' football match on a full-size pitch against a team of 35-year-olds, it somehow felt unfair that our largely over-fifties team was getting whipped by a team who had yet to spend an extra 24 years parenting, drinking, eating and a metabolism hitting the brakes hard. So that was me in March – back on the weight-loss jabs again. But this time, I've been surprised by an unexpected side effect. I first tried Ozempic after seeing a privately registered nurse in 2023 – only stopping when there was a national shortage, but not before I had lost over a stone. This time, though, I noticed weight-loss jabs were being offered at my local chemist – and at half the price. The proximity, lower cost and desire to be fitter for football lured me back in. I started with a consultation with a pharmacist who took my waistline measurement and weight. In mid-January, I was weighing in at 14.8 stone after a Christmas of not caring what I ate, though I could tell I'd already come down a bit since then. At home, I use Renpho digital scales linked to an app on my phone – and frankly, they're brilliant. Unkind, but brilliant. They tell me what each component of my physical make-up weighs – from protein to body water, skeletal mass, fat levels, and even my metabolic age (don't ask). About 20 years ago, I used a set of these for a Men's Health magazine feature, and back then they cost close to a thousand pounds. Now, they're just a tiny fraction of that. If you're serious about losing weight, you need to be honest with yourself – and there's nothing more horrifying than seeing your daily weight to a hundredth of a pound. I get on them once or twice a week, and as the comedian Jason Manford correctly points out, I never accept the first reading without another go – slightly shifting the scales left or right on the bathroom floor. The last time I was serious about losing weight, I used Ozempic alongside jogging and 20-minute high-intensity training routines a few times a week. I lost about a stone and a half then. If I could drop from my Christmas weight to somewhere around 13 stone, I'd be happy. That was the lowest I got to last time, although Renpho recommended I lose another whole stone. I only stopped taking medication 18 months ago because the Ozempic ran out, and then I sprained my meniscus while jogging across London Bridge for a bus. That put most of my normal exercise – like running around the park and amateur football – on hold for half the year. The UCH physios had me doing seated leg-strengthening exercises instead. My legs got bigger – but so did my stomach. This time around, the chemist said she had Mounjaro. It sounds like French sweets or half a mountain, but I was happy to give it a go – and it's been startlingly different from my experience with Ozempic. Mounjaro is the third in a line of weight-loss injections available in the UK. They all work by affecting hunger hormones to reduce appetite; the drugs mimic a hormone called GLP-1, which helps control appetite and keep blood sugar stable. Mounjaro, however, also targets an additional hormone called GIP (gastric inhibitory peptide), enhancing the effects, and helping people eat less. The first month of jabs – administered by my girlfriend on the living room sofa – were negligible. The dose was so low, it barely registered. By the second month, I started to see a difference. I'm now on the third dosage and currently weigh 13.8 stone. But it's not just my body noticing a change – what's going on in my head has really changed too. Ever since I was a kid – when I used to neck Haliborange straight from the bottle – people have made jokes or comments about my hyperactive state. At school, I was disruptive, more focused on making people laugh and distracting the teachers than working. At work, writing about music for NME, I found an environment where this behaviour was normal. The opportunity to constantly discover exciting new music and rave about it week after week was more important to me than sitting still and concentrating. Long, long before ADHD became a buzzword, I was already familiar with the waves of behaviours now often associated with it. For some reason, everyone with ADHD – or who's ever read an article about it – wants to tell everyone else they have it too. I've lived through this with my own mind running interference on itself, and friends (and more recently, my girlfriend) suggesting I get tested has become more frequent each year. But in reality, I'd gotten used to the noise and confusion in my head. I didn't really want to go on any medication for it. And being 27 years clean and sober from drugs and alcohol, I wasn't keen on going near the magic mushroom microdosing that's now all over social media as helping people to focus either. So, this unexpected consequence of a calmed mind while using Mounjaro has come as a very welcome surprise. Since starting the drug, I've had virtually no invasive, interrupting thoughts or ideas. If someone asks me to do something while I'm doing something else, I can actually prioritise properly. I first noticed the change while walking through the park with my mate Geoff. I realised I could hear everything he was saying and stay focused on the conversation. I wasn't constantly redirected by other thoughts triggered by something I'd seen. I wasn't thinking about four or five things at once. Even when someone walked toward us, I could register them without losing track of what Geoff was saying. This was revelatory. Normally, any slight distraction is the start of a massive mental detour. The more I've thought about it, the clearer my behavioural change has become. I don't feel the need to stand up the moment I sit down. If I forget why I picked up my phone, I can quickly remember why. Before, I could pick up my phone to do something and end up three hours later scrolling, laughing at videos of people falling over drunk. I find the distance between thought and action is much shorter now. It's literally like there are two people in the room, not 27. When I posted about this on Facebook, quite a few people pointed to evidence that some of these drugs reduce anxiety, addiction, and depression. A quick Google confirmed that numerous medical and scientific bodies have reported this as a clear, if unexpected, trend. Mounjaro is a GLP-1 (glucagon-like peptide-1) receptor agonist. It acts in the gut – where it regulates appetite and digestion – and in the brain's reward centre, the dopamine hub that drives addiction, impulsivity, and compulsive behaviour. While these jabs are known to calm 'food noise,' it feels like all the other noise in my head has now been quietened now too. I haven't had this confirmed by a doctor, and it's important to understand that Mounjaro is not a standard treatment for ADHD. It should not be used as a substitute for conventional ADHD medications without consulting a medical professional. But in my experience, the noticeable improvement in my ability to focus has been more valuable than the weight I've lost.
The Guardian
19-05-2025
- General
- The Guardian
If our destiny is cyber-attacks and empty shelves at the Co-op, here's what we should do next
I have seen the future. It was one morning last week – at the Co-op. Shelves that once groaned now had nothing much on them. Sad signs where the baked beans and tinned tuna once lived reduced to a study in impotence. Following a cyber-attack more than two weeks ago that decimated its supply systems, the supermarket has struggled to recover. We would like to sell you stuff, but our cupboard is empty, the shelves say, as yours must now be. Surveying the emptiness, I turned to the stocky stranger beside me who was reaching into the pastry cupboard with the plastic tongs. 'This is what it will be like when the bomb drops,' I said. He smiled, nodded, and grabbed another croissant. He's smart. If this is what is coming, what a simple cyber-attack can wreak – nothing to do with Enola Gay or the Peaky Blinders bloke as Oppenheimer – two croissants a day will seem an ambitious diet. Are you prepping yet? I haven't been. Things are bleak and the world seems as tinderbox dangerous as it has been in my lifetime, but I have yet to fill the apocalypse preparatory bag, as so many have, and as an increasing number of governments say we should all be doing. The Swedish government wrote to its people last year, warning 'we live in uncertain times', and advising them to keep a minimum of 3 litres of water per person, per day at hand for that break glass moment. (Here, I'd counsel customers of financially knackered Thames Water to do the same.) The Swedes have been pointed towards non-perishable foods, those that can be stored at room temperature and gorged using flints and fingers: dried meat, tinned fare, crispbreads, pesto, cheese in a tube. If there was ever a point to the rounds of Babybel cheese entrenched at the back of your fridge, this is it. They are like an aircraft's black box: virtually indestructible, made for the apocalypse and prepping. The Swedes, like many European countries, have ample geographical motivation to prep. If you pulled back the curtains in the morning and saw Vladimir Putin peering through binoculars at your house from across the street, you'd pack a prep bag too. The Brits are less anxious, but then we are us. Our official 'Get prepared for emergencies' advice is less a megaphone declaration, more a ministerial mumble on a website, that advocates the stashing of water, 'ready-to-eat tinned meat, fruit or vegetables (and a tin opener)'. That's the key wisdom, don't forget the tin opener: apocalyptic fistfights will be fought over tin openers, even the basic ones that don't work. Clearly the need to pack a bag grows urgent and daily their usefulness becomes apparent. Even now, residents traumatised by this year's Los Angeles wildfires testify to the value of having a go bag ready. Popular Science magazine is clear. 'Everyone should be a little bit of a prepper,' it said. 'From gun-toting, cabin-living, former military members, to crunchy homesteaders in Vermont, to suburban parents ready to transform their minivans into go-vehicles at the drop of an apocalyptic hat.' And that was before my Coop ran out of anchovies. Of course, what goes in the rucksack will vary. What's a luxury: what's essential? It's arguable that for some it may, on some level, be cultural. I have not searched hard, but I have yet to stumble across jerk chicken in a tin, and I would need that to cope for even a moderate period of time. I have a humorously doom-laden friend who proclaims – in the style of a latter-day Moses – 'One day, my people, the chicken will run out.' In apocalypse go bag terms, he'd struggle too. Though water is a no brainer, how much room would I have for bottles of Supermalt? I'm sure there isn't a saltfish and ackee patty in a tin. No West Indian Saturday soup, that I've seen, with yams and dumplings and vegetables. Is there such a thing as curried goat squeezed from a tube? I don't think so. All of this needs addressing by a prepping industry ready to serve diverse societies. Perhaps it will be: unless a go-ahead Reform government here decrees the only tinned meat should be the squaddie's wartime favourite, bully beef. As days pass, the beleaguered Co-op says things are getting better, but it takes a row of pockmarked shelves on a weekday morning to bring it all home: this is a troubled world, in which the clock can so easily stop on just in time deliveries, where each day Cormac McCarthy looks like a visionary, The Road a documentary. I have seen the future. It's bleak: it's tumbleweed in the aisles and a few squashy croissants – and they're going fast. Be prepared for it. Hugh Muir is a Guardian columnist
The Guardian
15-05-2025
- General
- The Guardian
‘Gallons of water, blankets and romance novels': the preppers who were proven right
The average prepper isn't some end-times fantasist, more of a resourceful planner. They know that having healthy stockpiles of all basic needs pays off in case of natural disasters, electricity outages, or even the more basic reality of precarious employment. From food and water, to blankets, batteries and romance paperbacks – their basements bulge with the just-in-case. As part of our Armageddon complex series on people preparing for end times, here are the stories of three preppers who were grateful they had made provisions. I was raised off-grid. We didn't have a lot of money. When we would travel, we would live out of the car. My mother always had Thermoses of water in the car, and lunchboxes filled with sandwiches. We'd sleep, there, too, on the backseat of a Ford Pinto. If we wanted entertainment, we'd sit up and watch the traffic go by on the side of the road. That's how I first learned about prepping. This upbringing was a useful primer for 2009, when my husband and I were moving into a trailer in Kentucky when a huge ice storm hit. It went all the way from Kansas to Tennessee and West Virginia, but Kentucky was hit the hardest. About 500,000 residences lost power for up to a week. We weren't really moved in yet, so we couldn't stay in our new mobile home and the storm was so bad that all the heavy trees around it were creaking. It didn't feel safe. Plus the natural gas had been cut off, so there was no way to keep it warm. First we tried to stay with a friend. But then we heard that my husband's computer repair business was being vandalized by looters. So we set up in the car and parked out in front of the store, shotgun and all, in case the looters returned. My husband was diabetic so I was very worried about his health. But our 1986 Toyota Camry had plenty of supplies: gallons of water, Mylar emergency blankets I'd gotten from Walmart, and plenty of romance novels for me to read. I put pillows on the floorboards and towels in the front windows for insulation. I had to constantly keep an eye on the temperature with a digital thermometer I'd bought. My husband had neuropathy in his feet, so he could lose them if they got too cold. I used a kitchen timer set to 30-minute intervals to turn the car on to heat us up for a bit. I had to be careful running the engine too much. I had a battery-powered CO monitor. A lot of the people who died in Kentucky in that storm didn't actually die from cold. They died because they were running generators and inhaling too much carbon monoxide. I was an experienced car camper, so I knew that could be a risk. We had food stored in the trunk to keep it refrigerated, and then when we wanted to eat, we'd heat it up on the car's engine. Occasionally we'd go down the street to get a bit more gas, or back to the trailer to feed our cats – they were Maine coons, so they were furry enough to enjoy the cold. We weren't. When we needed to stretch our legs, we'd get out and walk around my husband's store. Word got out that we were there monitoring it, which I think kept the looters away. I made to sure to bring my knitting needles to prevent boredom. I managed to knit a shawl and some slippers to help keep warm. I was working on a pair of socks, but I ran out of yarn. We ended up living in the car for the five days. Just a few supplies and some knowhow allowed us to survive the ice storm. At one point, the police came by the Camry, trying to get us to move to a shelter. But I showed them our blankets and my carbon monoxide monitor and our whole set-up and they let us keep camping in the car. I think they thought we were better off there than in a shelter. Prepping list: emergency blankets, carbon monoxide monitor, romance novels I was living in Sint Maarten, a Dutch territory in the Caribbean, during Hurricane Irma in 2017. It was rated a category five hurricane. That's only because there is no category six. We all knew it was coming. On the island, infrastructure isn't always reliable. If ships can't come in, you can't get food. And electricity is not always available. So even in day-to-day life you learn to stock up and prepare. I was prepared for no running water, no electricity and supply chain issues. But this was totally different. The military was evacuating people from the island. They had an 'air bridge', where they used big cargo planes to transport residents. The roof of the airport terminal itself had been blown off. There was a triage system. Unfortunately, my wife and I were not eligible to leave, because we still had a roof over our head. If you were honest and said your home was still intact, you weren't going anywhere. The hurricane itself only lasted about 12 hours. But those winds were the strongest I had ever seen. We were living in a house on the side of a mountain, and I remember worrying that the whole building was just going to slide down the mountain. There was a hole in our front door, and water was just pouring through it, like it was coming out of a faucet. And that was three hours before the actual hurricane hit. The roof of our wooden porch ended up under my car. Later, when things settled down, I found a piece of it a few kilometres away. There were many moments during the storm where all I could think was: 'OK, this needs to stop now.' My wife and I spent the bulk of the storm in a little room inside our house with no windows, it was like a bunker. I had stored a bunch of tinned food but, to be honest, I'd been a little lazy about it. It was mostly tins of mixed vegetables and some bread in a freezer. It was not a very diverse menu. I got pretty hungry. I remember seeing a cricket on the ground, and thinking: 'I should eat it.' I had to stop myself. It was almost as if instinct was taking over. The most important tool through all this was my radio. I cannot emphasize enough the importance of a battery powered or hand-cranked radio. The first time I got a station, after about three days, they were just playing I Will Survive on repeat. That was weird. But then I was able to pick up emergency dispatch signals, which gave me some sense of what was going on. I also had a solar charger, which was really important. It allowed me to charge my phone. After the storm settled, I began walking around the island with a big blue notebook, collecting information from people and passing it on. I pretty much became the town herald! Read more from The Armageddon complex series Is the Cybertruck really apocalypse-proof? Lefty preppers are taking a different approach to doomsday The rise of end times fascism In the aftermath, there was no public order. Electricity was still down across the island. Gas stations had been blown away. Supermarkets were closed for two weeks. Around 80% of the police force was homeless. There was a rumour going around that the military police had been attacked and all their automatic weapons had been stolen by gangs. I heard gunshots ringing out. I was hoping that after the storm, everyone in Sint Maarten would feel a greater sense of community. That was not the case. Everyone had a short fuse. People were quick to anger. We'd all been through this traumatic event. The whole country had issues with handling post-traumatic stress. If you've lived through a disaster, you know how easy it is for things to fall apart. Prepping list: a wind-up radio, tinned food, frozen bread I grew up in Japan. My parents always told me you need an extra week's supply of food and water on hand in case of emergencies. I'm not sure if it's actually a law, but it's definitely part of the culture. My wife is from North Queensland, in Australia and it was the same thing there. They'd have cyclones so you have supplies on hand in case the power grid goes down for a week. For both of us, that's always been part of what you do. In 2011, we got hit by Tropical Cyclone Tasha, which led to almost two months of rain, and flooding. They called it a 'once-in-a-century' storm. But these once-in-a-century events keep happening. I think we've had three of them since then. Cyclone Alfred hit us in March of this year. So we've just started restocking our supplies. We probably have about 10 days' worth of food. It's sort of a constant here. We were always prepared. During the last flood, a friend asked: 'Are you guys not panicking?' I said: 'No.' We had everything we need. When these floods happen, other people are out in the shops stripping the shelves. All we've ever had to leave the house for is beer. But there are other benefits to prepping for these sorts of disasters. When my wife and I were both young in Australia, we were casual employees. It's a kind of very precarious employment. You can just get sacked, and not have any recourse. We were getting by on very few work shifts. And we didn't have a lot of money. So when we didn't have any shifts, we always had a lot of food: tinned beans, pasta sauce, microwavable rice. Until you run out of money, you don't appreciate how difficult it is to get food and get by. It's one thing I don't think many people think about when they think about prepping. A lot of the people you encounter online, especially from America, feel like they're prepping for nuclear war or total civilization collapse. More often you're prepping for leaner periods, making sure you can get by without secure employment. Prepping list: pasta sauce, microwavable rice, bottled water
