A photo made the rounds recently, inciting the ire of the internet in the way only a simple photo can. It showed pre-peeled oranges neatly packaged in clear plastic boxes, sitting on a shelf at a Whole Foods store.

I’ll admit I joined in on the mockery, too. I glanced at the picture when it popped up on my feed and I remember rolling my eyes. I remember being momentarily disheartened by our laziness. And typically, this would have been the extent of my interaction – a brief two-second downvote for humanity.

Later on in the day, however, I came across a comment about the photo, buried pages deep. It spoke about how, for disabled people, those suffering from arthritis, or those who don’t have full use of their hands, peeling oranges is completely out of the question. Suddenly, the plastic packaging took on a much different slant.

Whole Foods ended up apologizing, the oranges disappeared, and the world moved on. But I kept thinking about what it takes to belong to the environmental movement.

If only nature would find a way to cover these oranges so we didn't need to waste so much plastic on them. pic.twitter.com/00YECaHB4D — Nathalie Gordon (@awlilnatty) March 3, 2016

Green-minded people can be incredibly judgmental. People active in the community often have their worth and merit judged by the number of faddish initiatives they have taken on or ignored (100-mile diet, zero-impact, zero-waste), the number of solar panels they’ve installed, or the kilometers they’ve cycled.

But what happens when disability or disadvantage render many of the basics of an eco-friendly life inaccessible, or even impossible? Is the environmental movement exclusionary by nature?

The unofficial face of trendy environmentalism is a smiling white woman meandering through a sunny farmers’ market, leafy greens popping up through her reusable shopping bags. It’s a shallow representation of a diverse movement, and one that ignores the faceted contributions and challenges experienced by those outside this narrow representation.

These challenges include disability, but they also extend to geography and, perhaps most importantly, socio-economic status (picture someone trying to locate one of those sunny farmers’ markets in a food desert).

On one hand, some measure of economic disadvantage seems to help eco-friendly causes, at least in the abstract. The world’s richest 10% are responsible for fully 50% of carbon emissions, and the poor are disproportionately likely to use public transportation and avoid driving and long-haul flights. But this isn’t so much choice as it is circumstance, and when it feels like the door’s shutting on your face because you can’t afford organic food, it’s a hard sell to want to identify with a movement.

In a piece examining the role of minorities in environmentalism, writer Ann-Marie Alcantara, herself a millennial Latina, states that “environmentalism is once again in danger of becoming irrelevant if membership to its ranks remains – intentionally or otherwise – exclusive.” Environmentalism can’t afford to exclude, police, and grant participation to the handful of individuals able to live the perfect green life.

When eco-friendly concerns become fractured and some fight for access to healthy food while others protest a vital access to clean water, it’s hard to identify a clear-cut solution. As a result, the answers that do emerge tend to pander to the group with the louder voice. We see the needs of minorities, disabled persons and the poor consistently ignored in favour of trendier issues (such as energy-generating spin studios).

Meanwhile, as a piece on Grist reminds us, “the worst consequences of environmental degradation are visited on the homes, workplaces, families, and bodies of the poor.”

An eco-friendly life shouldn’t be a luxury afforded only to those with lots of time, lots of money, or both. It’s also naive to think that environmental problems such as pollution, water shortages and global warming will affect us equally, and expecting equal participation in the form of a one-size-fits-all prescription for the perfect green life is just as ignorant.

There’s a flip side to environmentalism that doesn’t get nearly as much media play. This bit isn’t about sold-out Tesla cars or solar panels, but decidedly unglamorous, not Instagram-worthy tasks such as washing out compost buckets and owning clothing until it wears out. It supports a radical course of action summed up last week by a Guardian commenter: it’s about doing what is right any time you have any choice at all.

It acknowledges the limitations and systemic roadblocks in the way of making eco- friendly change. Perhaps, then, it also allows for pre-peeled oranges.