How could we allowe ourselves to rip apart the wilderness, trees, and soil and replace them with asphalt? To build machines that spews noxious gas into the life-giving air?
The first roads, made of stone or wood, hardly seemed to infringe on the vast wilderness through which they humbly, hesitantly cut. They were only small improvements upon the paths forged by ancient hunters, which were only following the trails of the animals they hunted. And asphalt was just another step. Likewise, the car is the latest modification in the line of vehicles stretching back to the similarly unobtrusive (though cruel) horse and buggy, and before that the cart, or agile legs.
It is only the concatenation of roads and buildings and parking lots, of cars, trucks, buses, trains, planes, that makes an important difference, or so it seems. Every individual is innocent, and only the collective guilty.