I am bemused by the reaction to the climate salvation protests, which include some journalists suggesting motorists assault protesters when they glue themselves to the road. (Their obvious intentions are littered with lawyerly caveats, which is offensive. Euphemisms are for the cowardly and lost).
The bemusement extends to myself. I was so upset by the throwing of soup over the Van Gogh in the National Gallery I screamed and muttered to myself: don’t even think about coming for the Rembrandts. But why did I scream when Van Gogh’s sunflowers, as perfect a representation of natural bounty that exists on canvas, were threatened by soup? (In fact, they were fine, being glassed in. The real mango fields of India, and the olive fields of Spain, aren’t). I analysed it, and thought: it’s all denial, which comes when you know someone is speaking the truth, and it is too painful to bear. We are furious because, whether we can admit it or not, we know they are right.
