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Ms. O-C, as I shall sometimes for brevity refer to her, is thereby much to be prized. She is the most perfect example ever offered to the public at large of a Greener who says what is on the Green mind, who doesn’t water down the message to avoid scaring off people whose feet occasionally make contact with the ground, one who puts in writing for all to read what it really means if you believe all the stuff about skinny polar bears and deliquescent ice caps, shrinking lobsters and sinking cities, the whole dreary catalogue of infinite earthly degradation about to fall on us all, if “climate change” as the cause of wars, warts, pestilence and famine and whatever else can be put on a bullet-list, is not stopped in its tracks — now!

She out-Suzuki’s Suzuki. She out Naomi’s Klein

She out-Suzuki’s Suzuki. She out Naomi’s Klein. If Al Gore had wed Jane Goodall, and Elizabeth May presided at the ceremony, eventually the world would have cheered the nativity of someone very likely to grow up as Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the Captain Marvel of the Green movement.

I suspect her poster adorns Catherine McKenna’s office wall. Justin Trudeau himself, were he not now preoccupied with a recalcitrant minister and fiddling with disaster on the persnickety principle of the rule of law — and how it intersects with one’s popularity in Quebec — would probably do a bhangra in her honour. So Green she is, he would ask her for a selfie.

Last week, Ms. O-C issued one of the greatest fantasy projections since H.P. Lovecraft was possessed by the anima of Lewis Carroll. Read it and weep America.