The noise was a cause for concern. We were on the interstate in a car that had just come back from repairs, and the sound drowned out the speakers. My car is a 2011 model, so mechanical failure was imminent. The sound got louder and quieter as I sped down I-70. It wasn't until I pulled over at an exit that I was able to investigate the cause. It wasn't my car, it was a bug.
I grew up in the Midwest, so I'm used to cicadas, but the buzzing of these little insects was like a battering ram breaking through the glass, the road noise, the air conditioning, and the voice of announcer Bill Curtis shouting, “Wait, wait… don't say it!” I imagined the nearby trees full of beady-eyed, chatty insects, each vying for attention by screaming into the void.
It felt like an election year.
If anything brings to mind the term “super broad,” it's the 2024 election. Used to describe a swarm of chirping cicadas, “broad” is a word that epitomizes the zeitgeist of discontented America. “Super” is a prefix meaning “beyond, beyond,” and it carries a sense of foreboding that matches our dour psyche. The stakes feel out of our paychecks, the issues beyond our reach, and the outcomes beyond our control.
The swarms of cicadas recall the Biblical story of the locust plague, confirming the prejudice of some that this is surely the end times. Their shrill cry coincides with the collective cry of a nation wrestling with the weight of responsibility to solve its own and the world's problems by pinching its nose, crossing its fingers and inee-me-mini-mooing the right old man. It's no surprise that the culmination of wars, trials, scandals and extreme ideologies will bring things to an unbearable decibel level that invades our personal space.
Plus, these damn bugs seem to be partisan. The swarms are roughly split across state lines, with one swarm popping up mostly in reliably blue states (Illinois and parts of Wisconsin) and the other lurking in red areas (Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, Alabama). Their eyes are also either red or blue. Coincidence? I don't think so.
As with this presidential election (and the one before that, and the one before that), there's a lot of misinformation floating around about the cicada outbreak. Social media is circulating exaggerated videos of the bug-eyed creatures appearing en masse, as if there was a “cicada outbreak” or a “cicadica apocalypse.” Headlines like “Billions of insects poised to emerge in two-generation invasion” (or even “trillions”!) make it seem as if insect forces are uniting to wipe out humanity. It's much more boring (and accurate) to say “A tale of two generations: 13th and 19th generations of periodical cicadas emerging in 2024.”
After a few seconds of marveling at the sound of the cicadas, I closed the window. It was set to “loud.” The Great Southern Broads' song reaches up to 75 decibels, about the same as a hair dryer. The podcast I was listening to couldn't drown out the cicadas' chirp. Maybe I needed to try harder to drown out the noise?
The thing we should remember about cicadas and our own hyper-parenting is this: their noise may be loud, but every re-emergence, whether of insects or politics, represents a healthy ecosystem. The two cicadas even have the power to “rewire” the forest’s food web. Similarly, elections (and the hyper-parenting that comes with them) give us an opportunity to debate our future and, if necessary, reset our priorities.
Even the commotion of millions of people symbolizes the freedom of speech, thought and expression that we hold sacred. In a time when anti-democratic forces at home and abroad threaten these freedoms, it is essential that we celebrate these virtues. As long as the cicada frenzy and elections continue to take place as scheduled, we can be confident that we are on the right path. Any threats to that should be taken seriously.
I will admit that I was a little overwhelmed by the cicadas' powerful chorus while driving down the highway. But what surprised me most was the sheer power of their sound. It's really amazing that these little insects can make such a powerful and admirable song together. It's really impressive that our country has been doing the same thing for 236 years.
We may marvel, shake our heads, and sometimes even close the window in disgust, but above all, we should learn to live with the noise and ultimately work to protect our fragile ecosystems. Any super-larvae that emerge on time and in all their messy, noisy splendor are a good thing.
