Tree Memories

Thirty years ago, children camping in the Rocky Mountains came to know the looming lodgepole pines that rustled in the wind through the day and night, provided hiding places for chipmunks, deer, and capture the flag, and shaded the creeks and trails from the intense sun.

Rarely did those children consider how the roots of the lodgepole kept the soil from running downhill during spring thaw or summer rainstorm, how they fed and sheltered beaver, sand hill cranes, and elk, how they served as a linchpin to a complex ecosystem already fragile due to limited water, thin topsoil, and brutal sun and wind.

Today, however, children camping in many parts of the Rocky Mountain West know the looming trees quite differently, for most of the pine they see are dead, killed by the invasive, persistent Mountain Pine Beetle (see: http://www.fs.fed.us/r2/bark-beetle/index.html).

These once-majestic trees now stand together like skeletons, brown and ominous, many with their needles already dropped. Or they lean up against each other like a pile of pick-up sticks, their roots no longer holding the soil. Or they have already fallen across paths, roads and each other, rotting slowly as nature intended and yet on a scale so massive that it seems eerily unnatural.

In many places, even those pine trees that have survived the Beetles’ onslaught succumb indirectly to their impact. Many trees that once shared the force of the wind with their neighbors now face it alone; they tilt warily, branches ripped off, needles too, precariously clinging to the thin soil. Those that have survived the beetles are destabilized by shifting soil as erosion exposes their roots. And the already ever-present danger of forest fires has been exacerbated by the layers of dry tinder now layering whole mountains. With over 3.5 million acres of forest devastated by the beetle, this is no ordinary infestation, but an event that is profoundly changing the ecosystem for decades to come.

While one could intellectualize the damage with arguments about forest management policies or simplistic allusions to the circle of life, the reality is that change on this scale is intense, unusual, and difficult to accept.

However adventurous we human beings are, we still value a sense of place, of order. We tend to assume that the way it has been is how it will be—forever, that to a certain degree, our children will grow up in a world that reflects that in which we were raised, though not perhaps in terms of technology, which most of us recognize changes quickly and at an ever increasing rate of change, nor in terms of geo-politics: country borders shift in every generation, regimes come and go, and economic systems evolve.

But to imagine the Rockies stripped of much of their pine forests in less than two decades—well, that is change on a scale that can really upset our sense of place, a transformation that highlights yet again how little control we really have over our surroundings. It is one thing for humanity to change humanity’s environment, but quite another for a small beetle to do so, with us unable to do much more than neaten up the carnage.

Is there a meaningful metaphor in all of this? Sure. There are always metaphors that translate across systems, be they environmental, ecumenical, or economic. But for today, perhaps it is enough to simply point out that a way of life is changing, that in a corner of the world that otherwise seems so peaceful and stable, ecosystems and cultures are adjusting quickly to changes they did not expect, invite, or anticipate.

Thirty years from now, the barren, denuded landscape of the Rockies will be a fond memory for those who see it today as children. They will marvel with their own children at the new growth of quaking aspen, fir, spruce, and even pine that will have sprung up where fallen lodgepoles used to be. They will be overjoyed by the changes—and perhaps a bit nostalgic for the world they once new. That is how it works.

We here in Colorado—like so many people all around the globe—will pass to our children a world profoundly different than the one in which we were raised. Some elements of that are wonderful and other elements terrifying. In that, we have much in common with people around the globe, and with those generations who have come before us and those who will come after.

What's Our Context?

In The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, (1776), British historian Edward Gibbon began his tale with Trajan, emperor from 98 to 117 BCE, when Rome was at its geographic zenith. He traced Rome’s descent over 71 chapters of rich and provocative language, astute character sketches, and insightful observations.

Gibbon could have told the same story with less depth and color, emphasizing only those points that best supported his thesis. Instead, he gives readers a context for understanding how dramatic events evolved organically from the events that preceded them. For those hoping to understand Rome’s decline, Gibbon provides a framework for understanding a complex array of issues and events. He provides “context.”

So how about us today, those striving to understand and make decisions in a similarly multifaceted geopolitical environment? Do we possess the context necessary to fully appreciate the implications of the events, issues, and policies with which we are bombarded 24/7? Generally speaking, we think not.

Few people have sufficient time or resources to place today’s news in a relevant historical framework. There is no shared narrative through which we can appreciate or question the significance of the latest hot topic. The frenetic pace of information exchange, media bias, the infotainment approach to news distribution, and a lack of time and attention make it difficult to develop the context necessary for a meaningful interpretation of events and issues.

Consider the European debt crisis, particularly as it relates to Greece. Debate rages over what should be done, who should do it, and what precedents are being set. The popular narrative seems to be that the efficient, hard-working, and budget-conscious Germans are being forced to bail out the lazy, corrupt, and irresponsible Greeks.

But if one steps back 70 years, the story evolves differently. During WWII, Germany sacked Greece with particular brutality. The Germans dismantled Greece’s entire infrastructure, razed nearly every major town, city, and port, and wiped out almost all fields, orchards, and herds for years if not generations. After WWII, the US invested heavily in rebuilding post-war Germany via the Marshall Plan and other channels, but was reluctant to rebuild Greece while a communist government was in power. Thus, while Germany emerged from WWII with a viable economy woven into that of the Western world, Greece did not.

Does this information change the need for Greek austerity measures? Absolutely not. Does it mean that Germany is forever on the hook for Greece’s financial mismanagement? No. But to ignore this history undermines the ability of policy makers to derive a politically viable solution. A lack of context renders the media interpretation of events incomplete, and compels the general public to form a simplistic understanding of complex characters and issues.

One could flesh out similar examples in the apparent demise of the “special relationship” between the US and Great Britain, in the seemingly “sudden” animosity in Turkey toward Israel, in the deep seated emotion around a US military presence on Okinawa, in the current chess game between the US and Russia in Kyrgyzstan, or in countless other issues.

One could argue that the effort, skill and time required to create context doesn’t fit the format or intention of most cable news, talk radio, or print media outlets. However, we are concerned that the lack of context stems from too many people believing that the historical framework does not matter, that a quick spot on CNN or Fox, NPR or Rush is sufficient to form a strong opinion on health care, Islam, Wall Street, foreign policy, or the economy. Clearly, those quick sound bites are not enough to form informed opinions; yet, with so much information to track, sound bites are often the best most can do.

This piece opened with Rome, and then shifted to modern Greece. Taken together, Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece still form the context through which many in the US and Western Europe understand ourselves and the world, even if subconsciously. Given the great debates about our shared identity, about our political philosophies and the nature of our social contracts, steeping ourselves in America’s historical context is essential, yet no less so than immersing ourselves in a rigorous, nuanced, and wide ranging appreciation for the larger global context.

Much ink has been spilled discussing the causes of the global economic crisis. These diagnostic attempts often assume the story started with the repeal of Glass Steagall in 1999, the relatively uncontrolled growth of Fannie Mae, or other recent policy and leadership mistakes. But almost all of these discussions still start in the last decade.

It is common to see the immediate effects of a crisis and think that the cause(s) must be nearby; however, upon further reflection, we all recognize that with almost any crisis, the causes are vaster, more intertwined, and far older than we might think. That reality is not always convenient.

Though he regards emperor Diocletian highly, Gibbon emphasizes his contribution to Rome’s downfall. He notes that Diocletian “deserves the reproach of establishing pernicious precedents, rather than of exercising actual oppression.” Rome did not fall until nearly 170 years after Diocletian’s rule; yet, as Gibbon points out, context matters. There was no surprise in Rome’s fall, just a culmination. That lesson is essential today. We must look back as we move forward.