You decide to stick with the original plan, so for the next few days you hang around camp lending a hand any way that you can, but stay away from organizing. You do dishes, dig a new outhouse, and split firewood for the winter. You fall into a natural cycle with the rhythms of the earth. Each morning you rise with the sun, work diligently though the day, and go to bed with achy muscles. At night you sleep soundly and wake feeling rested. It feels good, it feels natural, and causes you to reflect on how disconnected city life can be. When it comes time to go, you wish you could stay longer.
Before you say farewell to everyone, you leave the elders with the contacts of some well known organizers from town.
“These people are well connected and really know how to mobilize. Give them a call if you ever need help.”
Kalanu thanks you and then says something that brings tears to your eyes and sends shivers down your spine.
“I hope this may be the beginning of a journey to restore some of the historical damage suffered by my people.”
You pile into the truck and say your final goodbyes. As you disappear down the dusty road, it occurs to you that you may not ever see these people again. Silently, you make a promise to yourself to return.
***
In the months that follow your cell begins training. You practice manoeuvres, staying up all night and learning to read a map with a compass to stay oriented and navigate in the near total darkness. You learn about engines, their weaknesses, and how to exploit them. You find that the lubrication system for example, is crucial to the function of all motors, and thus highly vulnerable to tampering. By removing the oil cap, which is where you would normally top up the motor oil usually located on the top of the engine, and adding just a handful of cement powder, even the most powerful earth moving machine will grind to a halt. You also learn about the fuel system. All motors need fuel to run, but the fuels they run on are not all the same. Gasoline which has a low flashpoint and burns fast, is good for the high RPMs of light vehicles, but diesel provides more torque, and is better for heavy equipment. If gas is burned in a diesel vehicle it will cause irreparable damage to engine. By looking a schematic diagrams you find that the fuel tanks, or at least the fuel hatches of heavy equipment are located on the exterior of the vehicle, and are often not locked. If the diesel where siphoned out and replaced with a couple of jerry cans of gasoline there would be serious damage to the engine when it started running. But lugging heavy jugs of gas through the woods could be difficult. Another possibility to think about would be water which can often be found on site. A couple of liters of water in the fuel tank is certainly not good for any engine.
Much of this you learn at the university library where you can access highly technical information anonymously so long as you don’t check any material out. You whittle away hours every week in the aisles of the mechanical engineering collection, or tucked away in a corner your nose between the pages of a book on chemistry or industrial lubricants. You keep a notebook of relevant information and make photocopies of useful diagrams so you can prepare summaries of what you’ve learnt for the rest of your group. It’s mentally taxing work deciphering the lexicon of a complicated industry without any formal training in the field, but Dee is a great source of information and to them you are immensely grateful.
When your eyes need a break you take a walk around the campus to clear your mind, grab a coffee, and maybe pick up a paper. From time to time the blockade appears in smear campaigns on the news as the fossil fuel giants ramp up the pressure to have the camp removed. The corporations don’t even have try very hard to feed the commonly held racial prejudices of the status quo against ‘Indians’. It’s shocking how racist the general public is towards indigenous people. Within the established norms of mainstream society most people cling to the fallacy that indigenous people sponge off of copious dollars of government spending while the rest of society picks up the tab. In fact the opposite could not be more true. Dollar for dollar indigenous people receive less funding per capita for education, housing, healthcare, or any other government service than non-native people, with the exception of prisons. Indigenous people have lower income, greater rates of homelessness, higher unemployment, less access to healthcare, higher rates of illiteracy, are over represented in prisons, and at the same time are more likely to be victims of crimes than any other segment of society. The evidence of this is obvious in nearly all indigenous communities, but despite all of this, most people will have you believe that indigenous people live on a never ending tax-free gravy train. All of this ignores the obvious fact that the land-base of this nation state, from which all of society derives its wealth, is stolen native land with a value far greater than all tax revenue combined. Land that was taken by force of arms with deliberate acts of genocide and persecution wherein religious practices were outlawed, people were driven from their homes, while children were separated from their parents and forced to stop speaking their traditional languages. The litany of abuse is not something historic, but contemporary, as most of the survivors are still alive today.
It makes you hot with anger to read such ignorant views reported in the media as if they were news. Thankfully, not all the public is susceptible to empty rhetoric. The negative attention on the blockade also serves to make people who are already opposed to the exploitation of the earth aware of the indigenous-led campaign, and to a certain extent helps promote it. You even hear rumours of various environmental and social justice activists from the city moving out to go live up there. You can’t help but be a little envious of them, but you carry on with your studies knowing that the day will come when your skills will be needed to defend the earth. Still, when the day arrives you feel more like a stunned deer than a battle-ready warrior.
***
You come home from your studies one evening and it’s all over the news. A SWAT team descended in the depths of night supported by snipers and two police helicopters. No footage made it out from inside the camp but there are reports from the local hospital of people being treated for gunshot wounds. Videos show the terrified faces of people being dragged away in handcuffs with rifles pointed at them, the barricade dismantled by heavy machinery under guard of police with automatic weapons, and drilling equipment moved in on the backs of flat-bed trucks one after another like so many minions of doom. You watch the same footage over and over as the major networks repeat the breaking story and feel a sense of helplessness knowing that there is nothing you can do to stop it.
Later the head of the police operation appears on the news looking like a hunter standing over a massive trophy.
“The protesters, by refusing a court ruling ordering them off the land, left us with no option but to move in and remove this illegal occupation. Our intelligence alerted us to several dangerous elements active on the site and so, for the safety of our officers and the public, we decided it was necessary to deploy the special weapons team to neutralize the threat. Upon entering the encampment, our officers experienced resistance and were put in a position where the needed to retaliate with force. Given that several firearms were recovered during the raid, I think we made the right decision.”
So the bastards are willing to kill for their oil. That shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise to you given the recent history of your government’s involvement in the Middle East. But the thought of people being gunned down at the hands of the police while they stand selflessly in defence of the earth causes you to spiral into a rage, which would be dangerous if you didn’t have somewhere to funnel it. You go down into the basement and assault the punching bag strung from the ceiling, hot tears streaming down your face. After an hour you’re drenched in sweat, your fingers are swollen and bloody, and your wrist hurts but you feel better. You call up your friends and decide where to meet.
That night, on an abandoned dock far away from cells phones, computers and prying eyes, you meet with your co-conspirators. Phreak is in tears when you arrive and Hobo is trying their best to console them, but really there isn’t much to be grateful for. The rest look as though they’re in shock.
“My best friend was there! I kept calling them but I haven’t heard anything back,” Phreak wails.
“There haven’t been any reported casualties,” says Hobo trying to sound re-assuring. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
“This is what we’re up against,” says Dee throwing their hands in the air. “These fascists will stop at nothing! We’ve got to take them out.”
“It’s time,” you say, nodding in agreement.
“Soon enough,” assures Red, clearheaded as always. “But right now there are too many eyes on that machinery, the forest is crawling with cops. They can’t afford to keep that up for long though. We’ll wait a few days until the heat dies down before we move in”
The days that follow are the longest days of your life. Months of planning are now put into action. You prepare yourself mentally by getting physically ready for the task. The goal is not to make a public display of opposition by being symbolically arrested. Rather the objective is to sabotage critical infrastructure and stop the fracking. You may be arrested in the end, but not before the deed is done. Accordingly, for the past several weeks everyone in the group has been alternating between training and taking turns to monitor the traffic on the logging road leading to the blockade. Phreak had become obsessed with the project, listening around the clock to chatter on a VHF radio that they dubiously acquired. By now, you’re all pretty familiar with the hours when people are likely to be using the road, and most importantly, when they’re not. Now that you know exactly when you’ll be going, the gravity of the situation sets in. Under different circumstances you might say that it’s best to remain vigilant and bide your time until the opportune moment arises. But you can’t lie to yourself. If you wait any longer the damage may have already been done. The time to act is now, before it’s too late.
A few nights later, you load up the gear and make the long drive down the logging road. You all sit in utter silence during the ride speaking only when necessary to review plans. It seems that the weight of history is hanging on you all, you strengthen your resolve as the truck speeds into the night. A few hours later you find yourself crouched in the total darkness of the forest scouting a drilling pad for guards and wishing you had better night vision. You experience a sense of supernatural clarity as you make a wide circle of the pad watching for signs of movement. You have never felt more awake.
Spotting no signs of security you speak softly into the walky-talky. “It’s clear.”
Bobcat, Hobo, and Dee move in carrying tools for monkey-wrenching and set to work on the drilling equipment while you and Garlic keep an eye on the road. Red and Phreak are camped out with the truck a few miles away pretending to be rednecks on a fishing trip. The plan is to meet back at the truck at the end of the night.
You stand watch, scanning the night with your nerves on edge. The sound of footsteps on gravel makes you jump as Bobcat comes jogging up behind you. “We’re done, let’s go.” You grab some of the gear and haul ass over to the next site. Again you scout around the pad hoping to god that you don’t run in to any trouble. But the coast is clear, and the rest of the crew descend on the machinery like a pack of mischievous elves. Everything is going well when you spot headlights on the road.
“We’ve got company!” you shout into the darkness.
There’s a mad scramble as everybody books it for the treeline. In the pitch black you have no idea where your friends are. All you can think of is the ground passing beneath your feet and the daunting proximity of the night patrol as they speed down the dirt road, closing in on you.
Your heart is pounding in your chest as you reach the bushes. Turning around, you see the entire clearing illuminated by the front headlights of a truck as it pulls off the logging road, catching Garlic in mid-flight. The doors swing open and out jump three private security guards in hot pursuit. You think back to the scenarios you rehearsed in training: confront security with overwhelming firepower, force them to surrender, nobody gets hurt. You un-sling your rifle, pull back the bolt, and fire three rounds into the air. The guards freeze in their tracks.
What happens next comes to you in two disjointed fragments. You hear the sounds and see the actions unfold as if they were separate events. A fourth shot cuts through the night as the guard in front reaches for a handgun and fires directly at Garlic. You stand still as a statue, your mind refusing to comprehend what your eyes are seeing as Garlic stops running and raises their hands to the sky in a gesture of surrender. Mercifully, they were not hit.
The guard approaches from behind clutching the pistol firmly with both hands.
“Try that again and your friend gets it in the head!” they shout.
For a moment you’re paralysed with fear and indecision until Hobo pulls you out of it. You can hear them yelling over your shoulder.
“Keep running! They’ve got dogs!”
Without knowing how, your feet begin to move. You can hear the savage barking of the hounds behind you as you crash through the thick underbrush. You can’t count the amount of times you trip and fall but you force yourself up again and keep going. Near the brink of exhaustion you stop to assess the situation. You’re not sure where you are and you’ve lost all track of your friends. Straining your ears for clues you hear nothing but the stillness of the night and the rush of blood through your veins. Resisting the urge to panic, you turn on your flashlight and take a look around. Not far off you spot a clearing and decide to head towards it, feeling trapped by the oppressive darkness of the forest canopy. As you near the edge of the clearing you realize that you’ve found the road and cautiously approach the gravel surface. You allow your heart rate to return to normal as you orient yourself with the North Star, and walk back in the direction you think the truck is parked.
By the time you make it back, your mind is numb and your body shakes. Red approaches you wearing a look of concern on their face and you collapse into their arms.
“Is everyone else back?” you ask.
“You’re the last one.”
“They got Garlic.”
“I know. We have to get out of here. They’ll be looking for us.”
On the drive back to town the mood in the truck is grim. Everyone is thinking the same thing but no one wants to voice it. A terrible combination of guilt, grief, fear, and sorrow grips you as your mind grapples with the full implications of Garlic’s capture. You try not to think what might be happening to them but your mind keeps going to dark places.
Later, at home, you feel so incredibly alone. It was decided that you should all refrain from contacting each other for a while, given the possibility that any one of you could come under surveillance and may lead authorities to the rest of the group. You want nothing more than to call up a friend and talk about it but you know you can’t. You feel like you’re being torn apart from the inside. Rationally you know that you couldn’t have helped Garlic by staying, that you had no choice but to run like you did. Garlic knew the risks and made their own choice. Emotionally however you’re taunted by guilt. You keep replaying the events in your mind, imagining a different outcome. What if they had been killed? Would you have been at fault? Would you be able to live with yourself? What if you were the one who was caught? Would you feel abandoned by the rest of the group? Would you feel betrayed? Beneath the guilt, a new feeling begins to surface. What if they snitch? What if they spill the beans on the rest of the group? You’re sure they’re being pressured. Will they break? You feel ashamed to be having these thoughts while Garlic sits in jail or worse, and you’re at home with nothing but your own mind to chain you, but the paranoia sets in. At first you’re afraid to leave the house or even look out the window lest someone read the guilt all over your face. You sit at home with all electronic devices unplugged and the curtains drawn, until suddenly you feel trapped by the walls of your own home. You can’t stay here! This is where they’d look first if they came to get you.
In a near total state of panic you leave the house and don’t come back for days, sleeping in drop-in shelters and surreptitiously reading the news for any word on your friends. Eventually you realize you’re being crazy and return home; but when you get back you can’t shake the feeling that someone else has been there in your absence. The days that follow are no better. Plagued by fear your life begins to fall apart. You’ve lost all interest in social activities. You think that there’s no way your old friends could possibly understand what you’re going through. You lose sleep, stop cleaning yourself and walk the streets at night looking half deranged as you surely are.
You’re on the verge of losing it altogether when one day you see Garlic’s face staring back at you from the news as they make their first appearance in court. They look changed. The mocking, sarcastic smirk that you’re accustomed to is gone, replaced with the stone cold face of a soldier. Looking at their unflinching features as they appear above their real name, you realize that they know that you’re watching them and wondering if they’ve kept their mouth shut or not. Despite everything they’ve been through, their expression reads a cool demeanour of unbreakable determination and righteous defiance. All of a sudden you feel overwhelmed with emotion, tears fill your eyes, and you begin to weep. How could you be worried for yourself while they were the ones in the clutches of the law, facing jail time? You want to reach through the screen and touch them, hug them, and tell them that you’re proud of them and ashamed of yourself, and that everything will be alright. But of course you can’t, and of course it won’t. The reporter tells you that the prosecution is recommending charges of terrorism be laid for the destruction of vital infrastructure, that the sentencing for such a charge could range as high as life in prison, and that the charges will most likely succeed.
As they leave the court house, instead of hiding their face they stare directly into the cameras with their stoic expression framed perfectly by the television and say.
“No compromise in defence of the earth!”
Seeing Garlics unwavering determination on the news forces you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your act together. You feel as though you owe it to them and all the brave people at the blockade.
The next time that Garlic appears in court you decide, against your better judgement, to attend the trial as a member of the public. You don’t need to say anything to them, you just want to see them, and let them see you. The morning of the trial you walk into the court room and sit quietly next to the small group of spectators and members of the press. Your friend is brought in wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, accompanied by two court marshals and seated with their back to the spectator gallery. You all stand as the judge enters the room, and are seated just before the prosecution begins to read out a long list of formal charges. It’s already been decided that they will not be released on bail. You can’t see their expression during the accusations, but from their body language you assume that they don’t react at all to any of the allegations. The proceedings are over a lot sooner than you expected, less than an hour in all. Just as Garlic is about to be escorted back to prison they turn and see you for the first time. Your eyes connect for a fraction of a second before they quickly turn away, looking anywhere else in the room but the bench where you’re seated. A middle aged couple sitting in the gallery, who you realize must be Garlics parents, notice the brief exchange and are now staring at you. It was foolish to come here you realize. You will not return; but your friend saw you, and that’s enough.
It’s time to get back to work. Despite the risk of drawing attention to yourself, you decide to become active again and start organizing. You join with others who are calling for an end to hydraulic fracturing. The raid has angered people across the country and compelled them to take action. Many have promised to bring the country to its knees through a campaign of economic disruption if the government does not put an immediate end to exploratory drilling. It is an exciting movement to be a part of because of its over-all strategic perspective. Building on the momentum of all the campaigns since the G20, the movement uses an anti-capitalist analysis to create connections between different communities, and emphasizes that seemingly disparate problems all stem from the same type of economic exploitation.
Instead of isolated struggles which end unsatisfactorily, with little changed, each consecutive action is not an end to itself but part of a larger strategy that works towards a revolutionary paradigm shift one step at a time, each action building on the successes and failures of the past. This long term approach allows for reflection and adaptation each step along the way and encourages a diversity of tactics.
Together you march, you manifest, you demonstrate, you make speeches to crowds and to the media, you occupy government offices and shut down the arteries of commerce, while all across the nation others are engaging in similar actions. It is mass movements that change the course of history, you realize, not the singular actions of individuals but the combined will of the people. While superior firepower will defeat the most determined group of revolutionaries, military might is impotent against the power of a popular uprising. The ability to organize and mobilize is where the true power lays. To touch people in such a way as to inspire them to want to reach out to their comrades and dare to dream of a better world together, to inspire in people the courage and audacity to make that dream a reality, this is the true meaning of solidarity.
Original photo by: Joshua Doubek