Environmentalism suffers from the same set of ailments usuallly plaguing activist movements. Which is, of course, a lack of focus. Are we here to promote tricycles, bicycles, and unicycles? Or are we here to deflate the air in car tires and setting up protests at the feet of congested urban areas? Is it about switching our straws from plastic to paper or our underwear from linen to burlap?
The problem with environmentalists is simple: they aren’t always who they say they are. I suppose in a perfect world, hugging trees would be fine. But the practice, which has been a primary plank for centuries, may not survive the #MeToo era. Trees are living things, like your shrieking salad, shrieking at every fork poke. The last thing trees need is for a human being to wrap themselves around them. When has it ever really prevented the impending blade? We all know that hugging is a gateway to other more sordid acts. The casual chiseling of one’s initials or using whole pieces to make a nicer, stronger deck.
If it stopped at hugging, I would imagine few would have a problem with it. But as we all know from other degeneracy, it’s only the beginning. The first step on a long decline. It’s true that over the years trees have had their way of getting back, but such instances rarely end well for the tree. When a trunk splits your house in two, you have a lot of cleaning up to do. It’s no picnic for the tree though, having chosen a loud kamikaze exit.
What do you call a person who gets all starry-eyed at their non-reciprocal, non-consensual relationship with a tree?
A sap.
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