Rex Murphy wrote a National Post article in 2023 The simpleton’s guide to climate alarmist protest.  Excerpts in italics with my bolds and added images.

Glue yourself to a masterpiece or throw paint on a building.
If that doesn’t hold off climate Armageddon, what will?

The quality of truth in an existential cause may be measured by the quality of the intellects of its most committed followers. Allow me to illustrate.

Imagine the fumings of a climate alarmist. Here, a representation of what goes on in the alarmist mind.

The world is in deep imminent threat.

It may end.

Our beautiful, blue, penguin-marching-David Attenborough-marble may be no more.

All life will disappear. Farewell soy milk. Farewell shocking pink hair dye. Farewell all.

What can I do?

Why, I can call out from every hollow my comrade eco-warriors. Come in a black mask, or strip to your unsightly nudity when you get there, will be the summons.

And what is the plan that I and my fellow eco-doomsters have to avert planetary extinction?

We are, above all, strategists and tacticians. We know what earns quality
and never-challenged coverage on NPR and festivals of authentication from CBC.

That is why we organize the type of protests that we do. Direct actions and exhibitionist displays — stripping down at awards shows — that speak to the farmer, the logger, the fisherman, the movie star falling from favour, or the sad professor who does not have Jordan Peterson’s reach and fame.

Our protests are aimed at persuasion, credibility, their appeal to Steven Guilbeault. Before Steven became our environment minister, he once climbed atop then-premier Ralph Klein’s home in Calgary to “install” solar panels. Even though it terrified Klein’s wife, who thought it was a home invasion, it was a great moment in the history of climate protest and an example for us even today. Steven, you are a hero, and you looked so good in those orange overalls. Greenpeace forever!

So when we want to avert the gravest challenge humanity has ever had to face, that is why we select actions that will — in the words of a very great writer — “strike home to every bosom.”

Is there a Monet or a Goya or a Munch or a Botticelli or a van Gogh in your city’s art gallery? Well, off to the hardware store and the supermarket. There is glue to be bought and cans of tomato soup to drop into the backpack.

Glue yourselves to the painting or throw the tomato soup over it. Doesn’t matter which.

When the world, on TV and the internet, sees these brave assaults on western art at its highest, you know everyone, just everyone, will park their cars, turn off the heat, refuse to buy anything with a petroleum base and insist that all the heads of oil companies and plastic manufacturers be put on trial for genocide, and Hollywood liberals will forsake their mansions and move to caves.

One of our very keenest moves happened over the weekend in Ottawa. An eco-warrior threw a bucket of pink paint on the Prime Minister’s Office and padlocked herself to a rail after the ritual half-undressing. A whole bucket of pink paint — if that doesn’t hold off climate Armageddon, what will?

All on camera. So bold.

She did not — it is most necessary to add — honk! End of musing.

We should measure the value of high-order environmental activism — IPCC stuff, Davos effluvia, anything Al Gore or David Suzuki so stridently say — by the quality of the minds and actions of their most intense supporters.

By which I mean the “gluers” on paintings, the neuron-challenged street-blockaders, simpletons who smear soup on masterpieces, and — a great example — the dimwit(s) who think throwing paint on the PM’s office amounts to a persuasive, consciousness-raising tactic.

Instead of what everyone else knows it to be: a display of desperate intellectual incapacity, delusionary arrogance, and the “Hey-I’m-saving-the-world-so-I-can-be-as-stupid-and-supremely-annoying-to-anyone-as-I-f—-ing-well-choose” attitude of such world saviours.

That’s the level of non-thought that supports most energetically and egregiously the high priests and savants of the net-zero fantasy. Measured by the standard of its pathetic protests, environmental alarmism is the religion of children, a sandbox for narcissists — regardless of how old they are.