Careful attention to the news over the last few years illustrates that the veneer of civilization has become thin indeed. Attention to infrastructure and long-term planning has waned; we’ve all become extremely lazy, and take for granted exactly what you’re suggesting.
I participate in first-aid and emergency-planning training on a regular basis, and the refrain from professionals has gone from a gentle warning to a steady and insistent drumbeat: Don’t expect official assistance from anyone for days if not weeks. For example, there’s a fire station in my neighborhood that is expected to be knocked entirely out of commission in an earthquake. It’s not that the building will fall down; it’s that the structure will shift just enough that the big doors in front will jam closed, so they can’t get the trucks out. And nobody’s willing to bite the bullet and find the half-million dollars necessary to retrofit the building.
There’s lots of things like this, lurking failures waiting to manifest, at all levels of our rescue and recovery infrastructure. Some of them are unknown, and will be surprises; some of them are known, but there’s no urgency behind or momentum around addressing the issues. (More examples: September 11 showed what happens when responder radios don’t connect to one another, which is a minor issue with major repercussions; and Hurricane Katrina shows what happens when everything fails, top to bottom.)
And as always, the biggest problem is, inertia makes it difficult to push the public into devoting time and resources to fixing the worrisome failures-in-waiting. It’s the “well, it hasn’t hurt us yet” phenomenon. As our world moves faster and faster, and as our attention span gets shorter and shorter, it becomes easier and easier to procrastinate about things; anything that isn’t a crisis staring us right in the face gets put off for later. And that, obviously, is a vicious cycle.
In my hometown, right now, there is an elevated highway that will fall down the first time there’s an earthquake of any significant magnitude (say, 7.0 or larger). Our city is in the middle of a severe earthquake danger zone. Everybody knows this. It’s not a secret. Also, everybody knows the highway will fall down. That’s not a secret either. And yet we’ve been arguing about what to do for as long as I can remember, which is going on thirty years.
Basically, nothing’s going to happen until we actually have the earthquake, and the highway does fall down, at which point the argument will bifurcate: what to do now, and who’s to blame for not doing anything before. That argument, of course, won’t actually rise until weeks or months after the disaster; in the interim, I, sitting in my house, will be expected to survive on my own for quite some time while officialdom has their hands full dealing with the higher priority of the collapsed highway.
Cynical? Absolutely. But accurate? Yes.
So I am ready to take care of myself, and I’ve taken steps to see that my loved ones are able to protect and feed themselves as well.
Does this represent, on some level, a failure of civilization, and a breach of the social contract? I would argue so. The whole point of banding together into societies and forming governments is to share responsibility and look out for one another, and every time we suffer some catastrophe we are taught, painfully, how badly we are managing this obligation. We can do better, and if we’re going to last, we must do better. But for the moment, we aren’t, so when the safety and support systems collapse, even if temporarily, and we are reduced to neighborhood gangs, we need to be ready to deal with the situation.
I don’t know if you in Europe have it any better than we do, but in the U.S., that’s what things look like right now.