Dear Ms. Agonia:

May I call you Pat? I have written you in the past with my complaint regarding your companys interference in our valleys ongoing dispute surrounding a glacier mountain resort in southeastern British Columbia. I informed you I would be coming to your head office this winter to protest your companys position.

Pat, my protest signs were made. My vintage polyester Patagonia fleece was prepared for sacrifice. I, myself, was prepared for incarceration if necessary. Countdown to protest was finalized. My completely innocent and anonymous driver readied the vehicle for delivery of myself. I was ready, Pat, for the protest showdown.

But when the final time came, I could not fulfill my intentions.

In the end Pat, I could not bring myself to come down to your area and tell you how bad you are. It is true, your head office and parking lot area used to be pristine coastal chaparral.

And yes, your company has exploited Third World labour. Much of your products are outsourced and your clients leave climbing garbage in pristine areas throughout the world. Your corporate carbon footprint is large. All these things and more, I could wag an accusatory finger at, but I will not. After all, activism itself is shrouded in pious hypocrisy.

At the brink of protest, I decided instead to take my grievances to a local California brew pub.

There I found much sympathy for the simple phrase I believe corporations should live by: Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. John 8

Monroe Hunsicker

Dry Gulch