Honourable senators, I rise today inspired by Senator Manning, who never fails to share something remarkable about his province.

In that same spirit, I offer a story about one of the most bizarre and long-standing detentions in history. Today, I speak about the unjust arrest and detention of an inmate who has neither fled nor resisted, whose record is spotless and whose only known crime is being a tree.

In my home province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in Pakistan, stands a fully grown, century-old banyan tree that has been literally chained since 1898. The story goes that British officer James Squid, in a moment of what we might generously call “impaired judgment,” believed that the tree was advancing toward him. Instead of someone saying, “Sir, trees are famously stationary,” the order to arrest it was carried out. Chains were fastened around the tree, and there they remain to this day.

At first glance, this is undeniably comical. It is not often that one encounters a piece of history that reads like satire: a tree arrested for suspicious movement. One imagines it standing there, decade after decade, contemplating its life choices and wondering which branch gave the wrong impression.

But beneath the humour lies a valuable lesson: The captive tree symbolizes the human tendency to impose restraints on things that pose no real threat — sometimes out of fear, sometimes due to habit and sometimes because of misinterpretation.

The tree, rooted in its place, yet bound by chains, invites us to reflect on the systems, policies and assumptions we have inherited, those that may once have seemed justified but now persist merely because they have never been questioned.

Decades later, when local authorities proposed removing the chain, residents petitioned for it to remain. They wished to preserve the lesson of the captive tree as a living monument of the absurdities that arise when power goes unchecked.

Let this peculiar episode from history serve as a reminder that it is never too late to re-examine our choices, whether they are personal or institutional.

It is also a reminder that, even in the most serious halls of governance, we must occasionally allow ourselves to laugh. After all, if we cannot find humour in the idea of a tree doing life without parole, then parliamentary work has become far too grim.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Thank you.