Here, Anthony Donovan, the East Village resident who first alerted us to the situation, shares an update on what happened and offers thanks for the small victories and lessons we must carry forward. All photos courtesy of Donovan.
This was never an organized campaign. There was no name, no funding, no official leadership. It started with one frightened squirrel and a few people who refused to look away and grew into a quiet movement.
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Thank you so much to EV Grieve and to everyone in this community who responded. You were largely responsible for saving what appears to be a significant number of our fellow park inhabitants. Saving even one would have been a reason to be grateful, but together, we did more than that.
From the beginning, this effort wasn't about stopping construction or opposing flood protection; it was about compassion and accountability. We simply asked for a moment of care amid the chaos: to work around the remaining trees long enough to rescue the animals still living there.
Unfortunately, that small ask met with bureaucracy, denial and dismissal.
The city's agencies and construction managers were polite but firm in their priorities — costs, schedules and deliverables. Wildlife didn't appear to be part of the plan. Until concerned citizens got involved, the East Side Coastal Resiliency Project and the Department of Design and Construction had failed to recognize and address the very real suffering of the squirrels trapped in the demolition zone.
As the heavy machinery advanced north, the noise and destruction rolled over what had been a thriving habitat. The last tree, the final refuge, fell on Oct. 2. We don't know how many squirrels died in those weeks, but we know it was too many.
Requests to city agencies went unanswered or were quickly closed. Parks officials assured us that "squirrels are resilient" and would find their way out. In this case, they could not.
Still, the story didn't end there. Behind the scenes, a few individuals on the construction site quietly took it upon themselves to help. With no official directive and no fanfare, they began trapping and relocating squirrels to Corlears Hook Park, where they could at least escape the machines.
Between Sept. 8 and Sept. 29, 29 gray squirrels were caught and released. Later, after citizen pressure and intervention from wildlife advocates, another 21 squirrels were rescued and sent to the Wildlife Freedom Foundation for rehabilitation.
From what I could discern, this removal wasn't done by official wildlife experts, and the process wasn't perfect. But it meant that dozens of animals were spared. For that, I'll always be grateful.
To those workers who risked reprimand to act with compassion — watching the traps, offering food and water, driving the animals to safety — thank you. You proved that even in a system focused on deadlines and dollars, kindness can still find a way.
Determination through unity
This effort also showed the power of persistence and community. Michelle Ashkin of Voices for Urban Wildlife never stopped pushing, writing letters, and contacting officials. Arina Hinzen, director of the Urban Wildlife Alliance, brought professional expertise and insisted the city follow legal requirements for humane relocation. The Wildlife Freedom Foundation offered crucial guidance and, in the end, took in the rescued squirrels for care.
Another thanks goes to reporter Nicole Rosenthal and the New York Post for covering the story when other outlets — aside from EVG — would not. The paper's reporting also helped shine a light on what was happening behind the construction fences.
To the 311 operators who took the time to listen and record formal complaints, to now-former Council Member Carlina Rivera's office for helping open communication with site management, to the Mayor's Office of Animal Welfare for arranging an on-site meeting, and to everyone of you who called, wrote or showed up — you helped make this happen.
And to the one squirrel who first stopped me, who stayed by my side, as if asking for help, you changed everything. I don't know if you survived, but that moment sparked this entire effort. Because of that encounter, dozens of people came together. Professionals, neighbors, animal advocates, and even construction workers united in compassion for a few small lives most people would have overlooked.
As the construction moves onward and the park's landscape changes beyond recognition, I hope those leading the city's future projects remember this story.
Flood protection matters, but so does the life that fills our parks — the squirrels, birds and people who call these places home. The lesson is simple: progress without compassion is not why we are on this planet together. We can, we must do better.
