Today is cold again, so while I sit (stand, it’s too wet to sit) at my spot, I am the only one pausing with the pond among the students rushing to the warm library or bus. I try to ignore the sound of their feet passing by, and it turns into a background murmur. I close my eyes to tune into the natural sounds and senses of the water I sit in front of. I keep having to open my eyes, however, as the main sounds I hear are those of the playful calling, flapping, splashing, and playing of the ducks and other small birds and I am compelled to watch and partake in their joy. Their playfulness reminds me of being a child and seeing the world as my playground, and I reflect on how this pond is their playground, more so on days like today when there are fewer people on its banks. I feel as though I am invited in to see what cozy and homey can look like to the birds we share the campus with when we are not taking up all the space. I watch them move through their patterns, taking moments to rest between lightheartedly attacking each other, landing gracefully on the surface of the water before taking flight to do it again and leave a new stream of ripples behind. I feel that I get to see this world of theirs, this energy that comes out when all the students are hidden away and they are alive. They are boisterous, and their spirit invigorates me and offers me a new perspective on this weather and time of year.
I recently learned a horrifying story about Irish natural and political history: Ireland used to have about 80% treecover and has since gone down to 1%, making it the least forested country in Europe. This is of course attributable to many factors, natural and unnatural, but the main reason is exploitation and aggressive colonization of the land by the British. When Britain occupied more of the country, the crown was often pressed for money, so they saw Ireland’s forested land as a way to refund their efforts. They also saw it as an opportunity to stop depleting British wood and start felling and distributing Irish wood instead. Once this process started, they realized the power they could gain against the Irish by destroying tree cover and therefore, the advantage of being familiar with and able to survive in Ireland’s natural environment. Through commercial deforestation, colonization, destruction, and some reforestation with non-native trees, Ireland reached the point it is now at, with only one percent of the country covered in native trees. The country is still known as the emerald isle, having kept its intensely green grassland coverage, but the folklore, culture, history, tradition, memory, and identity wrapped up in the forests has been largely ravaged.
That the British Empire saw the connection the Irish had with their land and decided to exploit it in their occupation and erasure of the culture is tragic and horrific. There is, of course, still a deep heartline running through the land and its people, expressed in a myriad of beautiful, community-centric ways, and that has been so lovely to witness and partake in. It is also so wonderful to see how Ireland’s history with occupation and the external destruction of nature has shaped its response to social justice efforts around the world. The Irish people offer a fantastic blueprint for how to use generational trauma and cultural erasure as fuel in the fight towards freedom for other oppressed peoples, as well as as glue to tie the people here together even in the face of attempts to divide and turn subdivided groups on each other. That a passionate sense of environmental protectiveness is at the core of this fight just makes me appreciate, honor, and look up to it that much more.
Some campus trees I’m fond of:
