Streetlights can ruin the total eclipse
On Monday, millions of people will be on the move, chasing the chance to see the solar eclipse. If you’re one of the Houstonians heading to the Hill Country, count yourself lucky: You have a chance not just to see a total eclipse of the sun — the superstar of celestial events — but also to see the stars of our own Milky Way galaxy.
In 2017, the last time the totality of the moon’s shadow swept across the nation, it swept up with it some 215 million viewers, far more than tuned in to the Super Bowl that year.
This next swath of totality will cross into Texas near Eagle Pass, political candidates’ favorite spot for immigration photo ops. And from there, the moon’s shadow — about 300 miles wide — will cut a path of darkness in daytime.
The first time I experienced a total eclipse nearly knocked the wind out of me. The day doesn’t simply become dark. It becomes so dark that, almost instantly, the stars appear in all their glory.
Even those who still have a good view of the night sky, one that isn’t blotted out by electric lights, rarely get that kind of opportunity. As night falls, they see the stars appear one at a time, over a period of hours, the cloak of darkness deepening as the viewer’s spot on Earth rotates away from the sun.
But in a total solar eclipse, all the stars appear with the speed of white paint splashed against a black wall. Nothing prepared me for it.
The moment the stars appeared offered a fleeting window into what humans have witnessed for eons: a night filled with the stars, showing us our place in the cosmic order. When we don’t see the heavens, we forget that we belong to the heavens.
Seeing a sky full of blazing points of light has never made me feel small or insignificant. On the contrary, it has made me feel bigger than I ever have. I have seen Notre Dame and the Vatican, but seeing the stars was more profound. (Maybe because the ceiling was far higher.) I felt connected to eternity, and I no longer feared death.
Unfortunately, not everyone in the eclipse’s path will have that experience. Sadly, due to solar-activated switches, people can expect regular city lights to come on. If the sky is clear, viewers will still be able to see the red flaming circle of light around the moon. But it is tragic that in many places the starlight, which has taken millions of light years to reach our eyes, will be shouted out at the finish line by a streetlight a few feet overhead.
It’s a more intense version of the tragedy we live with every night: Almost four-fifths of North Americans cannot see the Milky Way because of light pollution. Our illuminated coastlines, roadways and metro centers are awash with electricity burning away the darkness of night. It’s profoundly unsettling to look at satellite images of the Earth and realize the unimaginable waste created by light that doesn’t fall on its target but instead goes off into space. That squandered light means wasted energy and wasted money — on a scale that is, quite literally, astronomical.
Could lights be turned off for the eclipse? In 1986 New York City Mayor Ed Koch had lights extinguished at certain locations throughout the city so people could get a better look at Halley’s Comet — a once-in-a-lifetime event.
A total solar eclipse is not as rare as Halley’s Comet, but it still puts the nation in a lather. This is the extremely rare chance for the people of the metropolitan areas, over which the shadow of totality passes, to see all the stars visible to the naked eye on the streets where they live.
In common phraseology, we speak of keeping somebody in the dark, so they don’t know what is going on. Here it is just the opposite: Keeping people in the light will prevent them from seeing the universe and experiencing the awe and reverence that comes with our view of the stars.
Michael Marlin is a TEDx speaker and the author of “Astrotourism: Star Gazers, Eclipse Chasers, and the Dark Sky.” An advocate for the Dark Sky movement, he lectures on light pollution, star tourism and developing astro-economies.