|
The
word “Minnesota” derives from one of two Dakota words,
either Mni Sóta meaning clear blue water or Mnissota meaning
cloudy water. Just one letter can change the entire meaning. Just one
oil spill could ruin the entire ecosystem.
I
traveled to northern Minnesota with Jane Fonda and Tessa Wick in
March to stand with the Ojibwe who are fighting a massive assault on
their ancestral territory. Line
3
is a pipeline that was built in the 1960s and currently has 900
structural problems according to Enbridge, the Canadian company that
owns it. Under the guise of replacing it, Enbridge is in fact
abandoning the old one and aggressively laying the infrastructure to
expand it into a larger pipeline with greater capacity. The proposed
monstrosity would snake through 200 pristine lakes and rivers in
northern Minnesota including watersheds for the wild rice that is
unique to this part of the world and has been intrinsic to the
Anishinaabeg/Ojibwe way of life for centuries. A spill could
permanently destroy rice beds as well as the fish and wildlife
habitat. Enbridge has had over 800 spills in the last 15 years, most
notably the largest inland oil spill in U.S. history when 1.2 million
gallons leaked into the Kalamazoo River in 2010. A spill is
inevitable.
During
his lame-duck period, Donald Trump approved Line 3, in spite of no
environmental impact study. It is currently under review. Now that
justice has been rendered in the George Floyd case, there is hope
that Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison will turn his attention
to the social and environmental injustice of Line 3. President Biden
should overturn the Army Corps permit to Enbridge as he did with the
Keystone XL pipeline.
Our
first stop was at a compound on the White Earth Reservation. It
houses 8th
Fire Solar,
a facility where tribal members are building thermal solar panels. It
is the headquarters for Honor
the Earth,
an organization founded by Winona LaDuke, with the mission of
creating awareness and support for Native environmental issues.
Winona is a magnetic and fiery leader who has long been a vital force
protecting the earth. In addition to harvesting wild rice (manoomin)
and building solar panels, Winona runs a fledgling hemp business,
taps maple trees, and has ventured into small-batch coffee roasting.
The people on the White Earth Reservation are making every effort to
be self-sufficient through sustainable activities.
We
were served delicious buffalo egg rolls while the women
water protectors
shared stories of getting roughed up by the local police for
protesting the pipeline. They were strip-searched and kept in
overcrowded cells—in the time of COVID-19. The Minnesota Public
Utilities Commission has created
an Enbridge-funded account to pay for policing Enbridge
opponents—meaning they are paid more when they harass and
arrest activists. When we were convoying to a press conference, the
two women driving in front of us were pulled over for not signaling
100 feet before turning. Fortunately, they were both constitutional
lawyers—and white, I might add. After delaying them for 15
minutes, the officer realized what she was up against and backed
down.
On
the banks of the Crow Wing River, against a backdrop of Ojibwe
grandmothers in traditional garb, Jane and Winona shared a panel with
Tara Houska, an Ojibwe, Yale-educated tribal lawyer who hung up her
suit in D.C. to come back and live with other water protectors on a
70-acre resistance camp called the Giniw Collective.
Jane’s
presence had brought out a slew of media. She has become the wise
woman educating and inspiring her vast network of old and new fans.
She spoke knowledgeably on the salient issues surrounding climate
change. She emphasized the importance of good-paying jobs being in
place as we transition from fossil fuels to sustainable energy. She
mentioned a statement Winona made about a moment when we had the
choice to have a carbohydrate history or a hydrocarbon history, and
we chose the wrong one, adding, “It’s time to correct
that.” Tara explained the illegitimacy of Line 3 being built on
public lands. She has joined the charge of young activists fed up
with ineffectual political policy who are using their bodies and
agency to say “no more.” Winona quoted Arundhati Roy,
urging us to see the “pandemic
as portal”:
“We must go through the portal leaving dead ideas behind, ready
to imagine a new world.”
The
crowd was energized; everybody was wearing red. There was a festive
feeling of optimism in the air. At key points, a giant black bear
puppet roared with approval or grunted with displeasure. Indigenous
drummers drummed. River otters played.
Four
years ago, I accompanied Jane on a flyover of the Canadian tar sands
in Fort McMurray, Alberta, source of the dirty oil that Enbridge
exports. From the air, the open-pit mines made me think of cancer
sores with the outgoing vessels bringing disease to the rest of the
body. The jobs pay well. It’s how my sister and her husband
bought their home. Workers go where the money is. But it’s a
dying industry. Justin Trudeau enthusiastically signed on to the
Paris climate accord and vowed to invest in renewable energy sources,
but he has bowed to the corporate powers who are squeezing out every
ounce of filthy lucre from the tar sands before they collapse. Not
only is tar sand extraction the dirtiest and most inefficient
process, but it’s also the most uneconomical. If the government
took the bold step of subsidizing other sectors of the economy such
as renewables, housing and transportation, to the degree they
subsidize the tar sands, it would be far more beneficial to the
economy and people’s lives—in the long run. But they are
shortsighted.
The
fish and wildlife that the Métis First Nations of the
Athabasca region have traditionally subsisted on are riddled with
deformities and tumors. Eighty-seven percent of the community
believes the tar sands are responsible. We sat with Cece, who was a
heavy equipment operator for seven years. At 60 years old, she had
outlived all her coworkers, including her husband, who died of cancer
the year before. She ran for tribal chief on a platform of pushing
for stricter tar sands regulations, but the industry bribed her
opponent with the promise of a senior care facility if he would show
his support. She lost by one vote. Divide and conquer, the age-old
tactic of domination.
With
Line 3, Enbridge does not want to repeat the clashes they encountered
at Standing Rock, so they have pumped money into targeted
communities. The chronic neglect of government on the reservations,
exacerbated by the economic downturn from the pandemic, has served to
Enbridge’s advantage. People need to feed their families, and
Enbridge is there with the jobs. Enbridge created a trust from which
the Fond du Lac tribal government doles out monthly payments to their
members. It’s a terrible dilemma for individuals who fear
reprisal if they express opposition. The project has created deep
divisions within the Indigenous community, but the vast majority are
fervently against it.
With
people coming to work from all over the country, the Enbridge man
camps are potential COVID-19 superspreaders. According to the
Violence
Intervention Project
in Thief River Falls, at least two women have been sexually
assaulted. Numerous women say they have been harassed by pipeline
workers and do not feel safe. Two Enbridge employees based in
Wisconsin were recently arrested
for sex trafficking.
Jane
did a Skyped interview
with Lawrence O’Donnell on MSNBC. In a breathtaking
six-and-a-half-minute uninterrupted spiel, she laid out the micro and
the macro of the entire situation. Later, she worried it might have
come across as manic. No, Tessa and I assured her, it came across as
urgent.
After
a long drive, Tara led us down a narrow, snow-covered dirt road to a
small encampment of tents where they were sugaring the maple trees.
Sap is collected and continuously poured into a gigantic hand-hewn
pot mounted over an open fire, then reduced down for several days.
It’s very labor-intensive—the ratio is 26 gallons of sap
to make one gallon of syrup. They are not selling the syrup; they
want to hold on to it in case there’s a shortage or some other
catastrophe occurs. They’re holding on to their wild rice too.
Everyone is on tenterhooks waiting for a decision from the White
House. Their future hangs in the balance.
This article was produced by Local Peace Economy,
a project of the Independent Media Institute.
|
