In 1971, the year "The Lorax" was published, scientists were just beginning to sound the alarm about climate change.
If you've somehow managed to successfully compartmentalize and ignore the fact that the earth is literally dying, perhaps this will jolt you out of your slumber: The tree that is believed to have inspired Dr. Seuss's iconic conservation-themed short story, "The Lorax," has fallen.
Image via ABC13
The tree in question was a Monterey Cypress, which grew without incident for 80 to 100 years in a La Jolla, California park until it keeled over suddenly on June 16. Dr. Seuss, whose real name was Theodor Seuss Geisel, could see the tree from the La Jolla apartment where he lived from 1948 until his death in 1991. It is believed that the cypress, with its curved trunk and abundant leaves, inspired the Truffala Trees that the Lorax in the story dedicates himself to defending—until a greedy factory owner cuts them all down, poisons the rivers, and fills the sky with smog. At the end of the story, the Lorax hangs his head and floats off into a tiny gap in the clouds, lamenting the death of his beloved forest and the creatures that called it home.
The Lorax- trailer www.youtube.com
In 1971, the year "The Lorax" was published, scientists were just beginning to sound the alarm about climate change. That year, a coalition of leading scientists reported significant risks from global climate change caused by human activity; by the end of the decade, scientific consensus identified global warming as the largest risk of the 21st century. Still, largely due to misleading reports from companies like Exxon, right-wing denialist think tanks, multi-million dollar denial campaigns, and bribes given to politicians by oil barons and investors such as the Koch Brothers, climate change was delegitimized, relegated to the back burner of public and political consciousness.
Flash forward to 2019, and the consequences of that corruption and ignorance are coming back to bite all of us. Wildfires, hurricanes, tsunamis, and droughts—each of which has catalyzed waves of refugees and deepened wounds of already existent economic disparity—are just a few of the visible consequences of climate change; and the worst is yet to come. Roughly 80,000 acres of forest disappear each day, with another 80,000 experiencing significant degradation. Plusm 1 million species are teetering on the brink of extinction.
If the loss of forests and biodiversity is not enough to chill you to the bone, the effects on humanity have been severe and will become unimaginably extreme if we continue at our current pace of unchecked destruction. Climate change threatens coastal cities with flooding, displaces millions, exacerbates health problems like infectious diseases, triggers asthma attacks, and destroys infrastructure and agriculture. It can cause mental illness and it disadvantages the most vulnerable, threatening communities and nations who lack the resources needed to bounce back from ecological disasters.
And even if you really don't give a shit about poor people, you're still not safe—for climate change will pose significant risks to financial markets, with food costs, insurance markets, and the mortgage industry all at risk. (For proof, just look at the millions of dollars in liability costs and subsequent bankruptcy faced by Pacific Gas and Electric after the 2018 California wildfires).
So in the shadow of all this horrifying information, it doesn't seem so far-fetched that the tree that inspired one of the greatest tales of environmental destruction has fallen. Sure, maybe there was something wrong with its roots, or maybe the excess of poison or smoke from the fires or the gas leaks or the plastic particles in the salt-choked rivers did it in. Or maybe the tree just gave up, realizing that the earth was no longer a place for growing things. Its death feels like the real-world embodiment of the Lorax floating away into the murky skies, looking sadly down on the scorched earth that used to hold thousands of trees.
Image via techwithkids.com
Of course, the Seussian tale doesn't end with the Lorax's departure. It begins when the kid in the story gets the Once-ler to tell him what happened to the Lorax, and it ends when the Once-ler drops him a tiny Truffala tree seed. "UNLESS someone like you cares a whole lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not," says the old storyteller, imploring the kid (and by proxy, all readers) to try and do something, even if it starts with one seed.
In a world where Greta Thunberg—a sixteen-year-old playing hooky—is literally the most powerful voice in ecological activism, Dr. Seuss's message doesn't seem too starry-eyed. Small, improbable leaps of faith might be insignificant in themselves, but they can start waves of action that could be our best chance at launching the worldwide action needed to build a viable (and potentially more equitable) society.
image via weheartit
The children's stories we know and love have deeper political meanings than we ever thought possible.
We don't tend to think of children's stories as especially politically or philosophically meaningful. But many of the narratives we grew up hearing at bedtime actually have deeper messages, ranging from social allegories to existential musings.
Through your nightly bedtime stories, you were absorbing more about the world than you ever thought possible! Here are some nostalgic children's stories that will blow your adult mind.
The Cat in the Hat...an existentialist philosophy text?Flickr/Daniel X. O'Neil
#1: Dr. Seuss' The Cat in the Hat
Dr. Seuss' playful, illustrated singsong rhymes often contain much more than meets the eye. In The Cat in the Hat, the world of a duo of siblings is turned upside down by an amoral cat. He and his oversized hat tempt the children with all kinds of deliciously not-allowed possibilities. The newly formed trio causes every kind of chaos before the children's mother returns—but first, the cat offers absolution via magical vacuum cleaner. Every piece of evidence of their misbehavior is destroyed before an authority figure can see it.
So is the cat Satan? God? A political revolutionary? Our unconscious selves? Or simply proof that our existences, and our moral underpinnings, are ultimately meaningless? Perhaps there's some evidence of Dr. Seuss' position in the final lines, which turn to the reader to ask them if they'd tell their mother what really happened. The implication seems to be that we create our own meaning, and our own chaos, out of thin air. Our morals, the giant cat and his temptations seem to suggest, are ultimately up to us.
Curious George represented far more than a misadventurous monkey.Flickr/nist6dh
#2: Margret and H.A. Rey's The Complete Adventures of Curious George
A curious monkey, a trip from the African jungle to a "big city," a romping escape from the zoo, and playful adventures with a best friend—The Man in the Yellow Hat—that always end in forgiveness. Not much more to see here, right? Just a straightforward series about an animal and his best friend?
But the backstory behind the beloved Curious George stories is more adventurous and thrilling than any of the monkey's romps through the city. Translated from the original French (and with an original protagonist named Fifi), Curious George is based on the autobiographical experiences of Margret and Hans Rey, a Jewish couple who fled Paris during Nazi rule.
And George's misadventures? They're meant to reflect the Reys' narrow escape from the Nazi regime by bike, armed with only their heavy manuscript about—you guessed it—a playful monkey.
The Wizard of Oz originally had a connection to the 19th century Populist movement.Pixabay/skeeze
#3: L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
Dorothy's harrowing visit to the land of Oz, by way of a yellow brick road straight out of Kansas, was first published by L. Frank Baum in 1900. Its fantasy elements, from a pair of witches both good and bad to a ragtag troupe of friends trying to find courage, wits, and love, appeal to children and teach basic morals about home and the importance of community values.
Some argue, however, that there's more than meets the eye when it comes to Dorothy's quest. Columbia University historian William Littlefield persuasively argued in the 1960s that the characters, places, and events in the pages of Baum's book all represented aspects of the growing populist movement in the late 19th century.
The populist movement, headed by primarily Midwestern "plain people" (such as farmers and ranchers), aimed to decentralize government control of banking. Dorothy represented one such populist, argued Littlefield. The ruby slippers, initially silver in Baum's book, symbolized the push from populists to add silver to the existing gold standard in order to decrease inflation. And, of course, the yellow brick road represented the gold standard itself in this extended allegory.
The Little Engine That Could may very well be an early feminist text.Flickr/Cliff
#4: Watty Piper's The Little Engine That Could
Watty Piper's The Little Engine That Could, the 1930 story of a train filled with gifts and toys for children that breaks down on the way to its destination, has an unexpected feminist twist. In a plot reminiscent of the Good Samaritan parable, the broken-down train's stranded passengers are passed over many times before finally getting help from a little blue train, also a "she."
The stuffed animals and dolls are rebuffed by the arrogant trains, who all say they have better things to do. Though the blue train is small, she reaches her destination, complete with toys and gifts, with the help of a simple chant: "I think I can." Yes, even an anthropomorphic train offered a metaphor for female empowerment in the early stages of the feminist movement.
Paddington Bear has a special connection to the immigrant experience.Pixabay/aitoff
#5: Michael Bond's A Bear Called Paddington
Michael Bond's beloved talking bear, who first came on the scene in 1958, represents much more than a lone orphaned bear left in a train station. Inspired by Bond's memories of child refugees leaving London during World War II with tiny suitcases in hand and nametags circling their necks, Paddington, himself from Peru, represents the experience of immigrants and refugees.
Given a new English name, Paddington is expected to assimilate into his newfound culture, and even experiences discrimination from cab drivers and strangers alike. His loneliness and isolation represent what many immigrants feel in new lands. His arrival at Paddington Station is pointed, too: In the 1950s, many West Indian immigrants arrived in Britain at just that station, with the subsequent racial tensions and polarized climate ultimately ending in the devastating 1958 Notting Hill race riot.