Portocristo beach

I've often heard outcasts say they love each other much more than a lightning bolt destroying their roof than a gale setting a hundred-year-old tree that has been part of their lives ablaze. What has been built, with more or less money, with greater or lesser effort, is rebuilt. The same doesn't happen with what is natural or part of the environment. To give an example of an image we published this week, Portocristo beach is no longer there. The growth and paving of the historic center, the construction of the promenade and the Great Hammer, in addition to the consequences of global warming, seem to be the main reasons for its disappearance. It won't be the only one swallowed up by all of this.

The fires that have raged these weeks are pretty much the same. True or not—it remains to be verified—it is said that behind the fires there could be an interest in converting burned fields into solar parks. At that point, saying we are corrosive falls short and too obvious. But now that the world is in the hands of investment funds, it is necessary to ask to what extent and how this corrosive action will increase when those carrying it out have no name, face, or eyes.

Given this panorama, it seems incredible that the environment is not sacred. On the contrary, we make it easy for predators: the countryside is neglected, and nothing is done to make it profitable (not exploited, much less for urbanization); and proportionally to the importance of the public administration that manages agriculture, the environment and the territory are the least endowed. When the environment is not sacred, everything that sustains us becomes a commodity.