Because You Never Asked

 

(12/07)

     Many of the readers may be familiar with the moronic acts of artistic vandalism about to be mentioned. When the Taliban ruled in Afghanistan, they were accused of destroying some huge carvings of Buddha that had been beautifully etched into the mountains thousands of years ago, sculptures that were considered part of the patrimony of all mankind. Back when the Turks ruled Egypt as part of the Ottoman Empire, they would sometimes use the Sphinx as a target for their artillery practice. Some consider the vandalization of the Library of Baghdad and the Iraqi National Museum, at the beginning of the current war in Iraq, as similar acts of monumental insensitivity.

     It is not an exaggeration to include a recent happening in the town where I live in just such a category.

     For those of you who are not familiar with an African Tulip tree, I’ll try to be brief: it is an exotic, tropical tree that blooms large orange flowers resembling a tulip, but perhaps 3 times bigger. Anyone who has seen one in full bloom will no longer forget what an African Tulip tree is.

     When I came to the town where I now live in 1972, there was already a fully mature African Tulip tree reigning regally over the terrain just to the right of the Continental Hotel’s main entrance (I‘m not using the hotel‘s correct name). It looked as if it had been there forever. Maybe it was planted when the hotel was built back in 1913, but other than to say it was an old, healthy tree, its origins are remote and unknown to me.

     There have never been more than a handful of African Tulip trees in my town, and with the hurricane barrage we endured in recent years, who knows how few are left? But the one at the Continental had definitely made it through the storms, which was an extra bonus because it was always the flagship of the local African Tulip fleet. It stood maybe 30 feet high and was anchored by a thick trunk 2 people would have trouble getting their arms around. Being that it stood in front of the grand old hotel, it was not just one tree amongst many, nor was it camouflaged into a tangled web of streets and houses. It stood like a lighthouse whose beacon was clearly visible in a long panorama.

     In 2005, the Continental was heavily damaged by hurricane Wilma. Its new owners, something called the “Blackstone Group” (ominous sounding, isn’t it?), have been renovating it ever since. About 2 weeks ago, I noticed the African Tulip tree was gone.

     I was stunned!

     They had replaced it with 2 coconut trees as part of the “instant landscaping” trucked in from who knows where. It is safe to say we love our coconut trees, which are perhaps the signature plant of the tropics. But they grow like weeds in this environment, and, in case the Blackstone Group hasn’t noticed, there are thousands of them wherever one might look. Replacing a healthy, mature African Tulip tree with a coconut palm is something like replacing the Mona Lisa with one of those velvet tiger pictures.

     When I had recovered my composure, these are some of the questions I began asking myself: Are they retarded? Are they barbarians? Are they insane? Are they stupid? Are they blind? Are they all of the above?

     Believe me, I understand the world envisioned by global economy practitioners like the (uff! I can hardly say it) Blackstone Group. I know it is a pure world that only breathes the rarified air of pecuniary loss or gain, profits, assets and liabilities. But even if they’ve distilled the world down into this narrow concept of good or bad, how could anyone ever come to the conclusion that this magnificent tree was a liability and not an asset? Can anyone imagine a guest coming out of the main entrance, glancing at the flowering tree for the first time, and saying, “oh God, how ugly, why don’t they get rid of it?”

     But the frightening thing is this: I’m sure there is some Blackstone bean counter somewhere who could, from a financial standpoint, translate this magnificent tree’s “execution” into an asset rather than a liability (the roots, the clean up, the space, who knows?). And isn’t that just what is wrong with the world we live in today? Aren’t we compromising everything subtle and not measurable to the tyranny of an omnipotent bottom line? If anyone reading these lines thinks this rant is exaggerated or that I should lighten up here, I say this to you right now: the destruction of this wonderful tree is a perfect microcosm of everything running amuck on this planet. Level a forest, gauge away a mountainside --- and this is supposed to make us happy.

     Sad to say, this story does not end here.

     My paranoia with regard to entities like the Blackstone Group is such (who knows, maybe they represent the latest form of the Gestapo or the Spanish Inquisition?) that I will try to be as vague as possible, not wanting to incriminate third parties. I asked someone with some familiarity of the botanical status at the Continental, “what happened to the African Tulip tree?” This person was away when it was “rubbed out”, but did not know of any problems with it. It seemed in good form, as it did to me in the 2 years since Wilma’s passing. This person then offered an unsolicited comment that blew me away. It seems the hotel management also wanted to “whack” the spectacular Poinciana tree that has always reigned regally over the left side of the main entrance. (For those of you who are not familiar with a Poinciana tree, I’ll simply say it is an even more spectacular form of flowering tree, though they are more plentiful than African Tulips).

     Gasp! Are they retarded? Are they --- etc., etc.

     The Tree Commission (yes, my town has such a thing, though after this incident I can’t see what good they do) would not let them do it, hooray, but I’m not about to let the Tree Commission off the hook. There is a well known pop tune (Harry Chapin?) with the lyrics, “2 out of 3 ain’t bad”. In this case, 1 out of 2 ain’t good, in fact, it is an abomination.

     When I realized the African Tulip tree had been fed to the wood chipper machine, I went over to the Tree Commission offices. I explained why I’d come and the small amount of staff gathered there was polite and sympathetic. The boss was not in, but they gave me her card and urged me to call. Over the course of the next few days, I called 3 times, managing only to get to her answering machine. My messages, which included a brief synopsis as to why I was calling, were never returned.

     The ire and frustration this essay conveys became my only recourse. The people of the world (I was going to say “my town”, but realized how stingy that would be) deserve some kind of explanation for this act of “arboreal terrorism”.