A message to the Greenies out there: you are not alone.

I know that your self-appointed burden can be sometimes hard for you to bear. Not enough people seem to care about what you care about, and you wonder whether you’re just shouting to the same people over and over again. That’s the sort of thinking that leads to solitary drinking in cheap apartments at 3 AM; but if you’re doing that, well, stop. It’s just not true.

Why, you are part of a whole world community of environmental lunatics whose own politicians routinely kick them in the face.

Let’s go to Australia, where Tim Blair is idly flicking acid onto the open wounds of his enemies, and giggling:

“I never thought that I’d say this,” wrote Matt Hayden during a joy-packed afternoon, “but the PM and his Climate Change Minister have made my day. Their proposed 5 per cent cut to greenhouse gas emissions is wonderful.”

Well, to be clear, it wasn’t the cut itself that was so wonderful. It was the response from Australia’s green faithful. I didn’t expect them to be so furious; then again, those Danish cartoonists probably didn’t expect death threats. Religion is a powerful force. Rudd’s former fans were devastated. “We could be an inspiration to the world,” wailed Brian Walters. “Now we are its pariah.” Hey, Brian. Even better than that. We’re its murderer

The reason why this was such a big deal for the Australian Greenies is because PM Rudd was originally talking around 25% to 40% cuts last year. Mind you, this was before the economic meltdown; a lot of fundamentalist Gaiaist behaviors have gotten distinctly less kawaii since then.


Luckily for us sarcastic mockers, they haven’t gotten the memo yet. Some amusing video of a heckler answering blather for blather; more here and here. I’m including the photo mostly because it looks for all the world like a snapshot of a particularly boring and pretentious piece of performance art. You know the kind that I’m talking about; one featuring three or four people moving and talking aimlessly about while atonal, yet annoying, stringed instruments play in the background. You’re there because your S.O.’s friend is involved with the production, and you have been promised that the party afterward will not be dull – so you spend the time trying to decipher the program, which reads like it was translated from German to English via Academic Marxist, with a quick stopover at Martian. You suspect that it has gained in the translation; meanwhile, up on the stage someone has just waved a broomstick at a man wearing a cow suit, which apparently has something to do with the Falkland Islands War.

It is about that time that you grimly conclude that the party afterward will be dull.

So go read Tim Blair instead: he’s having a lot more fun, and he’s hoping for some Giant Puppet Heads. Ah, those were the days…

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