I wish I could share the enviably light-hearted tone of Matt Lancaster’s sensible answer (The Downey Patriot, 9/3/19) to the letters that have expressed misgivings about the tree-planting project under way throughout Downey.

I can understand the libertarian stubbornness of the woman who would rather bake in Edward Scissorhands aridity rather than accept a city measure in which she felt she had no say — though she could have showed up at a city council meeting to speak her mind. And I would invite the contributor who wrote that he’d rather see a streetlamp on his street than a tree, to write again to describe the pleasures of reading, picnicking, or having a good snooze under a streetlamp.

Compared to the major headaches the U.S is facing, an unstable president, unsupportable deficits, massive opioid addiction, life-crippling student loans, a political and media-charged atmosphere pitting each against all — take your pick — a town discussion about trees seems quaint, even a bit silly. The old ‘60s image of the hippy-dippy tree-hugger is still hard to live down. As far as Downey is concerned, this particular issue will work itself out in time.

Or so I thought, until the recent day I when walked to the Furman Park tennis courts, which are still open while a construction barrier surrounds the park as it undergoes renovation, and felt that something was distinctly wrong. It took me a few seconds to realize that the lush, towering tree that anchored the southeast corner of the park, before it was even Furman Park, had been cut down. The tree had been massive. Its trunk and limbs lay horizontally on the ground like a gigantic prehistoric graveyard. Suddenly, looking up, you saw nothing but blank sky. The empty space where the tree had been, seemed wrathful in its pounding heat.

I felt a mix of anger and heartache. That tree was one of the most beautiful features of the park. On countless afternoons after grueling tennis matches, regardless of the outcome, I could look up at its tall comfort and observe its leaves glittering in sunlight, and feel a deep peace at hearing the winds sweep through it in heavy sighs. You could marvel at the fierce beauty of the family of hawks that nested near its top. Below, young couples spread out blankets and rested as their infants lay between them. Working men took afternoon siestas. Children climbed over its lower branches. Young lovers leaned against its protective girth to smooch and embrace.

Now all that life was suddenly gone.

Who did this? I thought. This is a desecration. At first I blamed the philistine construction crew. But of course they were only taking orders to do their jobs. Some of them may have had reservations, but they have to pay bills like the rest of us.

No, it was the city that was derelict. As it did with Centrepointe, that architectural townhouse monstrosity that dominates Paramount Blvd. from 5th to 7thStreets, it approved a construction project without examining the implications of its design and scale, and how it will harmonize with its surrounding environment.

A young woman was leaving Ro Hondo Elementary School, which adjoins Furman Park to the south. She was carrying a case of bottled water, which she loaded into the back of her SUV. I surmised that she was either a teacher or an administrator. I asked her if the knew anything about the construction project, or the fate of the tree.

“No,” she said on both counts. “The city didn’t tell us anything. We just heard the noise one day and sort of knew what was happening. Then we saw that the tree had been cut down. We’re all heartsick over it.

“This reminds me of what happened with the von Troesch mural at Downey High,” she added. “They just knocked it down without consulting anyone.”

She was referring to a 1972 artwork created by Charlotte von Troesch, a widely-known artist of good repute, in conjunction with a group of her students at Downey High. It was bulldozed in 2012 as part of a construction renovation plan at the school’s western end. Art lovers in Downey were irate, and blamed then-mayor Roger Brossmer for his inaction.

Brossmer wasn’t a bad councilman. But what I remember most about the incident is that he was considerably more upset over the public outcry than he was over the loss of the mural, which had gone up nearly forty years before he took office.

Such is Downey, it seems. Our leadership keeps crowing about “Economic Vibrancy,” and most laughably, “Public Engagement.” It doesn’t bother to count its losses because it scarcely conceives of them. There have been surrounding issues that complicate matters in the disappearance of all but one of its cultural institutions. But if the will to build, or preserve, or reclaim is there, then a suitable action will follow and Downey culture, which includes the natural environment and the ambient look of things, will flourish.

I have no doubt that our civic leaders are sincere in their concern for the general welfare and safety of Downey residents—including its homeless.

They may know how a city works, but I do doubt that they know how a society works. In a recent PR release, the city council congratulated itself on its “historic $50 Million capital improvement plan,” but I don’t think they know what they’re talking about when they link it with what they call an enhanced quality of life for the community. How could they, when they’ve so often failed it, and when they so regularly demonstrate their cultural illiteracy?

So we lose a tree. Big deal. But we’ve lost more than that. We’ve destroyed a community root, in more than a literal sense.

What’s the lesson here? What moral can we point to? Maybe this: Ignorance isn’t bliss. It could never make such a claim on sweet innocence. Ignorance is barbarism doing damage.