tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60679450912667946692024-03-16T11:52:47.650-07:00ViridorariLatin: "To become green"
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-66653039562507476822015-07-14T17:40:00.000-07:002015-07-14T17:40:19.807-07:00Thank You, Climate Hero<i>*This was originally published in The Ithacan on April 26, 2015 </i><br />
<br />
On April 20th, Heather Doyle plead guilty to her actions at
Dominion’s Cove Point LNG export terminal in Lusby, Maryland on Feb. 3,
in which she trespassed onto a construction site and scaled the arm of a
crane to drop a banner that read, “Dominion get out. Don’t frack
Maryland. No gas exports. Save Cove Point.”<br />
<br />
Doyle, 31, did not accept probation and instead chose to go to jail.
Judge John E. Nunn of the Calvert County Court sentenced Doyle 40 days,
which she is now serving. In his statement the judge said he was
sympathetic to the environmental movement, but did not understand why
Doyle and her fellow crane-climber, Carling Sothoron, needed to scale
construction equipment to make their point.<br />
<br />
Writing letters and signing petitions only go so far, and in some
cases, like Seneca Lake and Cove Point, our only remaining option is to
speak with our bodies.<br />
<br />
The following is a letter I wrote to Doyle. I wanted to share it on
my blog to bring attention to her valiant efforts to protect what she
loves, and her self sacrifice for a greater good. I hope sharing this
will also bring attention to Dominion’s ill-fated intentions to
construct the first LNG export facility on the East Coast.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<hr />
<br />
Heather,<br />
<br />
The first time I ever risked arrest was in the summer of 2013 outside
of the State Department in Washington, D.C. It was to protest the
Keystone XL Pipeline. I was the youngest person in the group that staged
a sit-in outside of the building.<br />
<br />
We were not arrested that day, but I could not have been happier. I
met so many amazing people, and our action brought a lot of attention to
the issue. There was a French news station there, which I thought was
pretty cool.<br />
<br />
At one point, I looked out across the crowd of supporters and saw a
young man holding a sign. It read, “Thank You Climate Heroes!”<br />
<br />
I was so touched by that, and I started to cry. I had never
considered my actions to be heroic. I was just doing what I felt I
needed to do to protect my future. I didn’t get to meet that young man
at the time, but a year later when I joined the Great March for Climate
Action walking from L.A. to D.C., I would realize that my fellow Marcher
Lee Stewart was that young man. My opportunity to thank him for that
sign came a year later.<br />
<br />
Heather, I want to thank you for being a climate hero, even though
you and I haven’t formally met yet. I hope I can meet you when I come to
D.C. in May and thank you in person.<br />
<br />
What you did on February 3rd at the Cove Point LNG export facility
was far braver than my attempt to disrupt the State Department back in
2013. You scaled a crane! Your act at “Offsite A” with Carling Sothoron
was truly commendable and inspiring, and when I heard you had been
sentenced 40 days in jail I was very touched. You have made a huge
sacrifice to stand up for something you believe in, and I hope your
actions and commitment will encourage others to step outside of their
comfort zones and take a stand. Fear of stepping away from normal,
structured life holds many back from taking greater action.<br />
<br />
Recently, I interviewed a student activist, and in response to one of
my questions, he talked about me. I’ve never had that happen before,
where someone turned the interview around to me. I wanted to share with
you what he said to me, because when I think back on it now, it makes me
think of you.<br />
<br />
“People, I think, are afraid to step out of normal limits. But I
think that you’re the best example of somebody on campus who has stepped
out of being afraid to do things the normal way, who has stepped out of
the scope of being afraid, in a way. You have decided that you want to
make such a difference. That you’ll go above and beyond what the normal
person is willing to consider. The second that someone says arrest, they
don’t want you to talk about it anymore, they want you to leave. They
believe that that’s somehow going to be a burden on them for the rest of
their lives, and obviously that’s not true.”<br />
<br />
He went on to say that this hesitancy to act is a part of a broader
system that works to suppress people from talking about major issues and
taking direct actions.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Heather, for going against the grain. A revolution can’t
start until someone, or a few someones, turn around and start walking
against the masses. It’s hard at first, and slow-going, when there’s
just a few. But until someone takes that first step, change just cannot
happen. Thank you for being one of those people.<br />
<br />
Things are going to get harder before they get better. According to
Mohandas Gandhi, the progression goes like this: first they ignore you,
then they laugh at you, then they fight you and then you win.<br />
“They” — the industry, the government — have started to fight us, but quietly.<br />
<br />
“The number one domestic terrorism threat is the eco-terrorism,
animal rights movement.” These are the words of FBI official John Lewis,
who specialized in domestic terrorism. We can see this mentality in the
way <a href="https://www.popularresistance.org/meet-the-insurgents-on-the-front-line-of-americas-fracking-war/">Vera Scroggins</a> is being treated by our so-called “justice system” for offering tours of fracking wells in Pennsylvania.<br />
<br />
They are trying to fight us without making it look like they are.
They want the wider population to believe that everything is okay, and
to return to your regularly-scheduled programming. But we can’t go back
to that … our regularly scheduled programming is slowly suffocating us.<br />
<br />
Your decision to go to jail is launching this issue into a broader
sphere in a way that can’t be ignored. Thank you for making a personal
sacrifice for a greater good. I hope my letter is one of many you will
receive that will show how much your actions have impacted others like
me.<br />
<br />
I hope your message is not just heard by the general population, but
also “they” who are fighting us. I hope your actions and the actions of
others, slowly increasing and expanding, will show them this isn’t going
away, and we aren’t backing down.<br />
<br />
It’s our future, and we only have this planet. We do not have the choice to back down.<br />
<br />
You have all of my love and support during your incarceration. I hope
you can use this time for reflection and meaningful growth.<br />
<br />
With love from Seneca Lake,<br />
<br />
Faith Meckley<br />
<br />
<hr />
Read more about Heather Doyle and Carling Sothoron’s actions <a href="https://www.popularresistance.org/catastrophic-threat-motivated-sentenced-cove-point-activists/">here</a>.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-72430064583510531702015-07-14T17:32:00.000-07:002015-07-14T17:33:53.047-07:00An Uncertain Future<i>*This was originally published in The Ithacan on April 18th, 2015. </i><br />
<br />
This blog post is about reproduction, overpopulation and climate
change. All three are topics our society needs to become more
comfortable with talking about. In the spirit of being more comfortable,
I’m going to discuss a personal decision I made, openly, for everyone
to read.<br />
<br />
I grew up an only child, and I remember sporadically wishing out loud
for a little brother. My parents never granted my wish — they ended up
divorcing when I was 12 — but they did an awesome job with raising the
one kid they did have, even after they split up.<br />
<br />
From a young age, the kindness and devotion my parents gave to me
inspired me. Like young girls often do, I planned how many kids I would
have and what I would name them. While my opinion on baby names has
changed over the years, one thing has always remained certain; I want to
pay the love my parents showed me forward to a child.<br />
<br />
My participation in the Great March for Climate Action over the
course of five months changed my thoughts and perceptions on a lot of
things. One thing I didn’t expect it to change was my firmly held plans
about motherhood.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
It happened back in September, on our bus ride from Ohio to New York
City to take part in the massive People’s Climate March. On the bus, we
watched a documentary called “Planet Ocean.” The film showed how humans
have and are dismantling everything nature created, with a focus on the
oceans. There are fishing nets in use that are 25 miles long. Bluefin
tuna are expected to be extinct soon. Jellyfish are taking over the
waters because we have removed their predators. That doesn’t even
scratch the surface.<br />
<br />
Earlier when we were in Indiana, I walked a 25-mile day — the longest
day I ever completed. As I was watching the movie, I traced every mile
of that day’s route through my head. I imagined the route as a single
fishing net, and I could hardly wrap my brain around that image.<br />
<br />
“Planet Ocean” was one of many wake-up calls I had on the Climate
March of how serious our situation was. The oceans, a seemingly infinite
resource, are dying.<br />
<br />
As I sat on a bench outside of a gas station on one of our
rest-stops, a question I had never asked myself before crawled into my
head: Is it a good idea to have children?<br />
<br />
I was so shocked by this thought, so repelled by the idea of <i>not</i>
having children, that I violently shoved it away and promised myself I
would never think of it again. Despite my determination to exterminate
it, this question persisted in my head and became the elephant in my
brain.<br />
<br />
Overpopulation is a sensitive and controversial topic. Choosing to
have children, and how many, is an extremely personal, and often
cultural, decision.<br />
<br />
The issue of overpopulation is not an excuse to take responsibility
off the shoulders of white, affluent people and push it onto poor,
minority populations that tend to experience higher birth rates. In my
Principles and Practices of Sustainability class this semester, I
learned that just two American children have the same carbon footprint
as 337 Bangladeshi children.<br />
<br />
Simply being concerned about having too many people is not enough
— it needs to come hand-in-hand with consumption. There is an
anti-holiday called Earth Overshoot Day. This is the day the human race
has collectively used up the resources the planet can viably provide for
one year. Every day after Earth Overshoot Day until December 31, we are
living off resources borrowed from future generations.<br />
<br />
Earth Overshoot Day happens earlier and earlier each year. Last year,
it fell on August 19. We are eating our planet like locusts.<br />
<br />
That night on the gas station bench somewhere between Ohio and New
York City, my fellow Marcher, 18-year-old Kelsey Juliana, was sitting
next to me and holding our youngest Marcher, a sleeping 3-year-old
Tilly, in her arms. I turned to her and I started to cry. I cried out of
fear. I was, and still am, afraid for the future. I am afraid for
Tilly, who has been born in the midst of this desperate struggle to
stabilize the planet. I grew up never having to think about water. Only
about 15 years later, Tilly was born into a world where places like
California are wringing out their last drops.<br />
<br />
After coming home from the Climate March and wading waist deep into
organizing a resistance around dangerous gas storage on the shores of
Seneca Lake, I read Sandra Steingraber’s “Having Faith,” her book about
having her first child, Faith, who is now 16 years old. While the focus
of Steingraber’s book is on the rampancy of environmental pollution and
how it affects pregnancies and infants, I found myself clinging onto
every beautiful description she wrote about what it was like to be
pregnant.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
“I lean against a log and watch light play
in the unfurled oak leaves. Even with my eyes closed, I can see the
dance of sun and leaf. Which gives me an idea. I pull down my
stretch-panel jeans, roll my shirt up my ribcage, and lie back, belly to
the sky. In the sunlight, the skin over my abdomen feels taught and
tingly. I am a great closed eyelid.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
And that’s when I feel it for the first
time. Like the fluttering of a bird cupped in a hand, only deep inside
and down low. Fetal movement.”</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
— “Having Faith” Page 86</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
At the time I was reading Steingraber’s book, I had already reached a
strong conviction about disabling my ability to have children. I cried
many times while reading her journey through her first pregnancy as I
understood more and more exactly what it was I was giving up. A woman’s
ability to grow another human in her womb is a mind-boggling miracle of
nature, and I would not be partaking.<br />
<br />
My doctor informed me that for ethical reasons, no doctor in his or
her right mind would perform a permanent procedure on someone my age.
So, she instead directed me to a long-term form of birth control;
intrauterine devices, or IUDs. I settled on one called Paragard, which
would prevent me from having children for 10 years. After eight months
of thinking and agonizing and reflecting, I received my Paragard Friday
morning.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oBd9egfyRm9L2oqRa8EI8sWklVJw_4OxPM06GkBlFXwzeMWCLPdhpY2mImv-UCzK7m9qlQmjXkXNYAEyK10RS20lrUs62BwBwIKdu7524LK9CELZ_DP-LmTGeYWoAMM5RSVXhS4g2vvM/s1600/IMG_20150417_113552-300x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oBd9egfyRm9L2oqRa8EI8sWklVJw_4OxPM06GkBlFXwzeMWCLPdhpY2mImv-UCzK7m9qlQmjXkXNYAEyK10RS20lrUs62BwBwIKdu7524LK9CELZ_DP-LmTGeYWoAMM5RSVXhS4g2vvM/s1600/IMG_20150417_113552-300x300.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Paragard device </div>
<br />
I have not given up on motherhood. I am changing my idea of what
motherhood means. Instead of bringing more people into the uncertain
future of an already strained world, I hope to someday adopt. The
children who have been born are already here; there’s no going back. And
each and every one deserves to have food, water, shelter, education and
love.<br />
<br />
Specifically, they deserve the fiercely dedicated and unshakeable
love my parents gave and continue to give to me. And that’s exactly what
I plan to give, regardless to his or her DNA.<br />
<br />
One of the best things we can do to address climate change is to look
at ourselves. We can change our own lives whenever we want. No need to
wait for legislation and “leaders.”<br />
<br />
I’m not talking about changing the light bulbs. It’s time to fully
examine our lives and ask ourselves the hard questions — the questions
we never imagined we would ask. The answers may be life-changing. But
this is exactly what we need in order to sustain a livable future: a
major change in our current way of living.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-23201662848235309022015-07-14T17:23:00.000-07:002015-07-14T17:24:09.270-07:00Syracuse University Divests<i>*This was originally published in The Ithacan on April 4th, 2015.</i><br />
<br />
On the last day of March, Syracuse University announced it will be
divesting — or withdrawing its endowment fund investments — from coal
and other fossil fuel companies. The Orange Nation is joining a growing
list of colleges and universities who are taking this step, in addition
to municipalities, religious institutions, foundations and more.<br />
<br />
The movement to divest has primarily been led by college students and
broadcasted by environmental activist organization 350.org. With
hundreds of active student organizations across the country, sit-ins,
marches and banner drops are becoming more and more common.<br />
<br />
The City of Ithaca is on the list of municipalities who have
divested, and the Park Foundation — an invaluable financial source for
the Park School of Communications and Ithaca College as a whole — is
among the list of divested foundations. The college, however, is nowhere
to be found on 350’s “<a href="http://gofossilfree.org/commitments/" target="_blank">Divestment Commitments</a>” list.<br />
<br />
The college’s student organization aimed at pressuring administration
to take this step, Divest IC, has faltered and become inactive. Without
it, President Tom Rochon and the Board of Trustees are off the hook.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
How did this happen? The biggest reason seems to be that student
leaders struggled to open the doors of discussion with the Board of
Trustees. In a Feb. 2014 <a href="http://theithacan.org/opinion/divest-ic-aims-for-dialogue/" target="_blank">letter to the editor</a>, Rebecca Billings, ’14, said attempts to create dialogue with administration were often ignored.<br />
<br />
“We are often met with roadblocks in this process, as our attempts
for open dialogue with the board and administration have been repeatedly
ignored and cut off,” she said. “We hoped to work alongside the board
and administration to make it a reality, but they continue to ignore our
emails and steps toward collaboration.”<br />
<br />
As an activist myself, I know how difficult a lack of response can
be, and how quickly it can take the momentum out of a movement.<br />
<br />
Students involved in divestment also received criticism that they
didn’t know enough about the process and that their goals were
unrealistic. In <a href="http://archive.theithacan.org/28416" target="_blank">an article in <i>The Ithacan</i></a>
about a student protest at Rochon’s office in 2012, Carl Sgrecci, now
retired vice president of finance and administration, is quoted saying
the college’s investment in fossil fuel companies makes up “half of one
percent” of the endowment investments.<br />
<br />
According to the <a href="http://www.ithaca.edu/giving/reportongiving/numbers/endowmentreport/" target="_blank">college’s website</a>,
the endowment for the fiscal year of 2014 was $268,214,127. If
Sgrecci’s statement still remains true, that means as much as $1.3
million is being invested in the fossil fuel industry. Suddenly “half of
one percent” doesn’t seem so small.<br />
<br />
While that may be a lot of money to the average person, what’s $1.3
million to the fossil fuel industry? Not even a penny. But bankrupting
the industry is not the point of the divestment movement.<br />
<br />
On its website, Exxon Mobil said divestment is “a movement that is
out of step with reality … To not use fossil fuels is tantamount to not
using energy at all, and that’s not feasible.”<br />
<br />
The point of the divestment movement is to fight this sort of
mindset. A clean energy future is possible through a combination of
renewable technologies and a restructuring of our current, energy
intensive way of life. By pulling monetary support, a message is sent
that we are ready to move forward into that next stage.<br />
<br />
In my work as a journalist, activist and student, I have become
familiar with the college’s Climate Action Plan to be carbon neutral by
2050. To achieve neutrality, the plan explores a myriad of possible
actions: installing renewable energy on campus, developing behavior
change programming and purchasing carbon offsets, to name a few.
However, the plan, approved by the Board of Trustees in 2009, makes no
mention of divestment.<br />
<br />
I would find it quite impossible to claim carbon neutrality while still investing money in the fossil fuel industry.<br />
<br />
Among the reasons for becoming carbon neutral stated in the action plan, benefiting others is one.<br />
<br />
“Just as we expect our students to utilize their acquired competence
for the benefit of others, our Climate Action Plan is an exercise for
the benefit of other educational institutions and the world,” the
document says. “Rather than wait for environmental mandates, we act now
out of a sense of shared responsibility.<br />
<br />
Fossil fuel extraction and production does not occur on a different
planet, nor strictly in remote, lifeless places on our own planet. It
happens in the same places where ecosystems thrive and where humans
live. These fuel sources come with a price of life, and that includes
human life. In our daily lives we often don’t see the other side of our
light switches and car ignitions, but after walking across the country
in the Climate March, I saw the other side and the communities suffering
from it. It’s not pretty. It’s not humane.<br />
<br />
One of the best things Ithaca College can do to fulfill its goal of
benefiting others, in specific regards to communities and individuals
affected by industry and climate change, is to remove all ties to fossil
fuels. That includes divesting our endowment.<br />
<br />
This is also one of the best ways the college can show that it cares
about the futures of its students after they leave. The effects of
climate change are something we are going to be dealing with for the
rest of our lives.<br />
<br />
This cannot be done without students demanding it, and it cannot be
done without the college developing a space for students to be heard.
Determination is needed; discouragement is not an option. As stewards of
the planet and the future, our only option is to win. That is our
shared responsibility.<br />
<br />
As for claims that divesting is too difficult? I find that hard to
buy when it’s being done across the country and the world, including our
Orange neighbors to the north. That claim has gone from being a reason
not to divest to an excuse.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-60179943443721403582015-07-14T17:18:00.001-07:002015-07-14T17:18:21.350-07:00Justice Half Served<i>*This was originally published in The Ithacan on March 25, 2015 </i><br />
<br />
Dwain Wilder, Colleen Boland, Sandra Steingraber, Roland Micklem,
Susan Mead, Judy Leaf, Jimmy Betts, John Dennis, Michael Clark and
Kelsey Erickson. They all have at least two things in common. 1) They
are outstanding and involved citizens in both their regional and global
communities. 2) They went to jail for their efforts to protect Seneca
Lake and expose the problems with Texas-based company Crestwood
Midstream’s plan to store highly-pressurized gas in crumbling salt
caverns.<br />
<br />
Outstanding, involved, passionate and concerned citizens, going to
jail. For a violation trespass — not a criminal trespass. They went to
jail over something equivalent to a parking ticket.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Judge Raymond Berry of the Reading Town Court never enjoyed his job
of sending peaceful protesters away to jail when they refused to cough
up a fine. He admitted to defendant Irene Weiser, Town of Caroline
councilwoman, during one court session that his granddaughter refuses to
speak to him when he sentences someones to jail.<br />
<br />
Berry especially sputtered over me going to jail. I was 19 the first
time I appeared before him, and rather than sentence me he postponed my
case repeatedly. On several occasions with the aforementioned people, he
tried to talk them out of their convictions. To Mead, he said, “You
don’t want to go to jail,” and to Erickson, he asked, “Do your parents
know you’re doing this?”<br />
<br />
Berry’s struggle with sending good people to the slammer exactly
reflects Mohandas Gandhi’s intentions with civil disobedience during the
Indian independence movement. The act of severely punishing citizens
who are standing up for a higher moral purpose, whether it be smashing
them over the head with a billy club or imprisoning them, exposes the
ironies and problems within the so-called justice system.<br />
<br />
In our case the irony comes from people being arrested and going to
jail for something equivalent to parking ticket, and meanwhile,
Crestwood, which has the potential — admitted in it’s own 10K report to
the Securities and Exchange Commission — for incredible disaster at the
cost of human and ecological life, has gone unexamined and unpunished by
our justice system.<br />
<br />
On Wednesday, March 18, my back-and-forth with Judge Berry finally
came to a close. Along with 41 others, my case was dropped in the
“interest of justice” — no jail, no fine, no trial and nothing held
against me. Our team of devoted lawyers and the district attorney, Joe
Fazzary, reached an agreement on this, one that is now being lauded as
historical and potentially precedent-setting. Our dismissals came on the
heels of two other major victories in the world of activism: the
acquittal of lobster boat activists in Maine who blocked a coal ship
after successfully using necessity defense in court, and 10 Flood Wall
Street protesters proven not guilty for a sit-in back in September, with
the judge taking “judicial notice” of the urgency of climate change.<br />
<br />
Here’s the statement we made that night in court, which prompted many
present in the courtroom, including our lawyer, to break down into
joyful tears:<br />
<br />
<em>We only have this planet. We must safeguard it for those who
follow. Would that it not be necessary, but sometimes citizens of good
conscience must engage in non-violent acts of civil disobedience to
protect that sacred trust. As long as Crestwood Midstream Partners, or
any other corporate or public or private entity, continues to threaten
our way of life by the proven dangerous storage of highly compressed gas
in the crumbling caverns at the Salt Point facility, I reserve the
right to act as my conscience dictates in order to protect Seneca Lake,
its citizens, and the surrounding environment. I reserve all rights to
protest further at the Crestwood facility, although it is not my intent
at this time to break the law in doing so.</em><br />
<br />
The statement we made acknowledges the existence and importance of a
higher moral conscious that is not always in alignment with our laws and
justice system, as well as the critical need to take direct action to
safeguard our planet for those yet to come.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-xYNzZErFjMcHhBcTUu0sr1hO_lJbCCY639pVu0O35V367MY2AtVKmYthcRH7lIz6rPWltqthSDRrLXtNNcuR4znXHKrPFtj79py2-EwFATykFswP4bnlce4K2iePB7VxdomdOLq8_q_/s1600/dismissed-1024x510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-xYNzZErFjMcHhBcTUu0sr1hO_lJbCCY639pVu0O35V367MY2AtVKmYthcRH7lIz6rPWltqthSDRrLXtNNcuR4znXHKrPFtj79py2-EwFATykFswP4bnlce4K2iePB7VxdomdOLq8_q_/s400/dismissed-1024x510.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The group on March 18, standing outside the courtroom and reading the
dismissal statement out loud. I am pictured in the middle, standing
beside Martha Ferger, 90, the oldest Seneca Lake Defender.</div>
<br />
I accepted my dismissal in the interest of justice with a sigh of
relief, the worry of going to jail in the middle of a semester and
damaging my grades and schoolwork taken off my shoulders. With my rights
to continue acting as my conscience dictates reserved, this was
something I felt good about.<br />
<br />
And yet, I know this is only one victory in a much larger and more
prolonged battle, and I see our dismissals as one rung in the climb to
justice. Although punishment of peaceful citizens taking action for a
just cause has been dropped, we have yet to see any consequences for
Crestwood, and by extension, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission,
which approved this ill-fated project with little consideration to
potential environmental and community damages.<br />
<br />
Until all of the world’s Crestwoods are held accountable and as a
human race we make the necessary changes to our society and cultures to
create a peaceful and sustainable future, justice has only been
half-served. And I will continue to defend my right to act as my
conscience dictates to make that future a reality.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-8756060065690407752015-03-11T19:07:00.003-07:002015-03-11T19:12:02.044-07:00Travel, Not TransitThis past weekend, I traveled to Selma, Ala. to attend the 50th
anniversary events of the Selma to Montgomery march and do some
independent reporting. To get there and back, I spent a whopping total
of<i> </i>about 64 hours on buses and in bus stations, or about 2.5 days.<br />
<br />
I chose to use buses for two main reasons: they are cheaper than flying, and they have a lower carbon footprint than flying.<br />
<br />
But,
isn’t it worth spending a little extra money to get to the destination
faster, with less hassle? Is sacrificing time and comfort really worth
minimizing abstract environmental impacts? This week-long adventure to
Alabama and back, full of surprises and uncertainty around every corner,
taught me that a positive, open state of mind makes all the difference.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
<b><i>Ron</i>.</b>
After traversing New York State, my bus arrived in Cleveland at around 2
a.m. Here, I would have a two-hour layover before continuing to
Nashville. My stomach growling, I went to the Greyhound “restaurant” and
ordered the only vegan thing on the menu: French fries. I didn’t know
it yet, but for the duration of my time in the South I would be
subsisting mostly off bananas, oranges and fries.<br />
<br />
I found myself a
nice piece of bus station floor and spread out my sleeping bag. I sat
down and ate my fries quickly, hoping to catch a nap before my next bus.
A man with his own basket of fries, smothered in cheese sauce,
approached me.<br />
<br />
“That’s a nice set up you got there, mind if I join you?”<br />
<br />
Despite
my desire for a nap, I patted a spot on the sleeping bag next to me,
and he sat down. His name was Ron. He was clean, funny, well spoken and
one of Cleveland’s many homeless. We talked to each other about our
families. Ron has a daughter named Lyric who lives with her mother,
Sonya, while he does everything he can to scrounge up enough money to
bring them food. He proudly boasted he could make $20 last for a week.
He told me how hard it is to find a job, and how when he has a little
extra money he likes to give back by refilling parking meters that are
about to expire.<br />
<br />
As our conversation came to a close after nearly
an hour, he left me with two bits of intertwined advice: “Be a good
judge of character,” and “Upon, Into and Beyond.” He explained further: <i>Upon</i> meeting someone, you have only first impressions to judge them on. Then, you must look <i>into</i> their situation to better understand them and see what is really happening beneath the surface. Lastly, you look <i>beyond</i> the present moment — what path are they on, and what can you do to have a positive impact on their journey?<br />
<br />
I
sent Ron off with an extra sweatshirt and a water bottle, wishing him
well and telling him to stay warm and hydrated. Shortly after, I learned
the weather was bad in Nashville and my next bus was delayed — until 2
p.m. I found a more secluded area between the phone booths and the
vending machines and crawled into my sleeping bag for a full night’s
sleep. This long delay would give me the opportunity to reunite with and
go to lunch with my fellow Climate Marcher Paul Sherlock, who lives in
Cleveland.<br />
<br />
<b><i>The penny man.</i></b> At one point
in the morning I briefly woke up to see a man dressed in several layers
of ragged clothing shuffling around the vending machines, searching the
floor for change. He found a penny and bent down to pick it up. As he
straightened up again, he noticed me peering at him from my sleeping
bag. He lifted the penny up to show me.<br />
<br />
“Wherever there’s a penny, there’s an angel,” he announced, and went back to searching the floor. He found two more pennies.<br />
<br />
“Lots of angels today,” he laughed, and then shuffled away.<br />
<br />
I
snuggled back into my sleeping bag, hiding from the bright fluorescent
lights. I thought about all the pennies I had found in my life and how
many must be on floors and sidewalks, right now, waiting to be picked
up.<br />
<br />
<i>That </i>is <i>a lot of angels</i>, I thought, and fell back to sleep with a smile.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I’m
writing this post on the last leg of my journey home: a Greyhound bus
to Ithaca after spending the night in the Big Apple with Jane Kendall,
another Climate Marcher. Ron and the penny man were just a couple of
many interesting characters I came across on my way to Selma. I was
lucky to discover just as many wonderful people in my wanderings back to
the Finger Lakes.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
<b><i>Nick</i>.</b> After
an eventful weekend in Alabama, I departed from Montgomery on a Megabus
to Atlanta, Ga., where I would connect with another to Washington, D.C.
Upon arriving in Atlanta, I found myself in an outdoor bus station in a
strange city without a clue of where to go during the four hours
between the next bus. I had cracked my phone screen back in Selma, and
was having a hard time navigating Google maps to find anything.<br />
<br />
There
was someone else fresh off the bus who seemed equally disoriented. Like
me, he had a large hiking backpack on. He seemed to be in his late
twenties, and he had a fluffy red beard and a head of greasy hair,
looking like he was just returning from a few months of wilderness
adventuring. He was squinting at the metro map, trying to figure out
what to do next. I approached him and pretended to look at the map.<br />
<br />
“Are
you backpacking?” He asked after I had stood there for a few moments. I
told him I was traveling back home from Alabama, and wasn’t sure what
to do in my four hour layover. He said it definitely wouldn’t be safe to
sleep outside, and we tried in vain for about 20 minutes to get any
useful information out of my phone. Eventually, he flagged down a cab.
The driver gave us directions to a 24-hour Waffle House about a mile
away. We were off.<br />
<br />
His name was Nick, and he was an outdoor
educator, working half the year and disappearing on his own adventures
for the other half. He seemed like a character right out of the textbook
from my Foundations of Outdoor Adventure Pursuits class. After losing
his wallet and cancelling his credit card, he was trying to get home to
North Carolina with just $7 in his pocket. He was in Atlanta to pick up
his car where he had left it, hoping seven bucks would buy just enough
gas. I insisted on buying him breakfast, but he would only accept a
small donation of a glass of Coke. He felt guilty accepting much of
anything from me because his predicament was a result of a drunken night
with friends and his “own stupidity.”<br />
<br />
He was intrigued to hear
about the Climate March, and how it influenced me to change my minor to
Outdoor Adventure Pursuits. He told me how strange it was to see all his
friends getting married and having kids while he bounced from job to
job, earning just enough money for his next adventure. And yet, he was
happy with his situation.<br />
<br />
“My favorite part of working at summer
camps — it’s not the kids with drug problems or who come from abusive
homes,” he explained to me over his soda glass. “It’s the kids who are
just plain sad, and they come to camp and they start eating good food,
they get on a regular sleeping schedule and they get away from the
digital screens, and all of a sudden they’re confident and happy for the
first time.”<br />
<br />
I’m glad Nick and I ran into each other. We
accompanied each other through a strange city in the middle of the
night, and he gave me further assurance that I had made the right choice
in switching minors. Buying him a glass of Coke was not enough of a
repayment. He gave me a couple of Mardi Gras beads to remember him by.<br />
<br />
<b><i>The student</i>.</b>
After arriving at Union Station in D.C., I was in a subway station
waiting for a metro train to the home of Chris Ververis, another Climate
Marcher, where I would stay the night before continuing to NYC. I was also looking forward to meeting up with a second D.C.-based Climate Marcher, Lee Stewart. I had
smiled at the young man sitting on the station bench next to me before sitting
down, but that seemed to be the extent of our interaction. Suddenly, he
turned to me, gestured at my pack and asked, “Are you really a
backpacker?” I laughed and told him that this time, I was just traveling
home, but I had just recently finished a cross-country march.<br />
<br />
We
got on the metro train and sat next to each other, and he bombarded me
with questions about the Climate March, outdoor gear and my camping
experiences. My mouth went dry from answering all his questions.<br />
<br />
He
revealed to me he was going to school in D.C. while working full time,
and he didn’t really know what he wanted to do career-wise. He had
recently bought a bunch of outdoor gear — a backpack, a camp stove,
propane, a hammock, boots and a handful of other things — but had no
idea where to start. In addition, he didn’t know anyone in D.C. who was
also interested in exploring the great outdoors, and felt very alone in
his new interest.<br />
<br />
“It’s no good unless you have someone to share it with,” he said. I agreed wholeheartedly.<br />
<br />
I
gave him the best advice I could. I encouraged him to start a club at
school or seek fellow students out — there may be others in the exact
same predicament. I told him about the “Meet Up” function of
Couchsurfing.com, where you can find people in your area seeking a
companion to go exploring with. And I also encouraged him to do exactly
what he just did with me; use good judgment and reach out to someone who
otherwise would have remained a total stranger, a friend undiscovered.<br />
<br />
The train came to a stop at the Van-Ness Station, and I got up and handed him a business card for my blog with my email.<br />
<br />
“Get in touch with me if you’re ever in New York and want to go hiking.”<br />
<br />
As
I climbed up the stairs to the mezzanine, I looked back down through
the train window and saw him sitting there, staring at my card and
smiling. I hope he finds what he’s looking for.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
When
we’re in transit we don’t talk to each other. We don’t seek out
companionship when we feel rushed to get to the next place on our
itinerary. If I had been in a transit mindset — focused on nothing but
getting to Selma — 80 percent of this trip would have been like nails on
a chalkboard.<br />
<br />
But when we slow down and <i>travel</i>, a whole
new world opens up. When we’re traveling, rather than in transit, I
think it’s easier to find beauty and intrigue in much more than just the
eventual destination. We can lower our impact on the environment and
reconnect with our fellow humans. We can brush up on our storytelling —
the very skill I believe makes us human.<br />
<br />
I was traveling by myself to Selma and back, but I was never really alone.<br />
<br />
I
have decided that plane travel, from now on, will be by necessity only.
Convenience is great, but meaningful human connections and falling in
love with the world around us is even better. If we love the planet and
those we share it with, it will become second nature to take care of it.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAl-5ZSu4165ilvhoZcnT82URoCbeebJPOPLF58mnjmnpk5pqKd5XIyOKf0QlzkXxC-v6j-i0aiJXs_TgdELPi3K86QU3ydbyyVTtPhbPB7rdtePlOhOTQf3KTf8SLrMfu6SsUeCVV38q2/s1600/IMG_0981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAl-5ZSu4165ilvhoZcnT82URoCbeebJPOPLF58mnjmnpk5pqKd5XIyOKf0QlzkXxC-v6j-i0aiJXs_TgdELPi3K86QU3ydbyyVTtPhbPB7rdtePlOhOTQf3KTf8SLrMfu6SsUeCVV38q2/s1600/IMG_0981.JPG" height="223" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I was so busy while in Selma, Ala. that this is the only picture I
managed to get of myself. This is the Edmund Pettus Bridge, where civil
rights activists crossed 50 years ago, facing police brutality for their
efforts to demand equal access to voting polls. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-88710841881110621912015-03-11T18:53:00.001-07:002015-03-11T18:53:15.385-07:00Life After the March*This post was originally published in <a href="http://theithacan.org/blog/one-step-at-a-time/">The Ithacan</a> on March 5<br />
<br />
In my Principles and Practices of Sustainability class on Monday, we
discussed ecological design. Toward the end of her presentation, my
professor showed us pictures of a large factory building in the UK that
had been repurposed into a sustainable community housing project called
"BedZED." The average UK citizen lives a lifestyle that would require 3
earths in order for everyone to live that way. People who live in BedZED
require 1.7 Earths.<br />
<br />
As she flipped through pictures of the
residents working together in a large kitchen, of the community dinners
full of smiling faces and of people playing Frisbee together outside, my
stomach knotted up.<br />
“What do you think?” She asked. “Could you live there?”<br />
<br />
There were little laughs around the room. Students raised their hands and expressed concerns about privacy and personal space.<br />
<br />
“What happens if you don’t like someone? You can’t get away from them.”<br />
<br />
I smiled to myself and thought, <em>you work your problems out, face to face, and you love them anyways, just because they’re human</em>.<br />
<br />
It’s
been over five months since the Climate March arrived in D.C. It’s been
about two months since I came back to college, and I am still
adjusting. Moments of restlessness hit me at least once a day. I never
left the United States, and yet I seem to be experiencing something akin
to culture shock.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<strong>Things I Miss</strong><br />
<br />
1. <em>Community</em>.
When I first got home from the March, I couldn't stand the quiet. There
weren't 30–50 people around me talking and interacting and bustling
around camp. I couldn't hear Sean singing or Jimmy playing the fiddle or
Berenice laughing or Creekwater ranting about how someone hadn't put
away the dishes properly. It was just me, sitting by myself in a giant
house and wondering if it had all been a dream.<br />
<br />
Yes, privacy in a
community setting is minimal, if not nonexistent. But when you become so
close with everyone, and you come to rely on each other to get through
your day, functioning as a machine rather than just individual parts
that collide every once in awhile, privacy becomes almost pointless.<br />
<br />
When I needed time to myself, I told my fellow Marchers and they
respected it, and I did the same for them. But, if you holed up in your
tent for a couple days without telling anyone why, someone would
undoubtedly come looking for you. The support system was unlike anything
I ever experienced. I never had to go through anything alone if I
didn't want to.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Our camp in Elmore, Ohio on Sept. 28, 2014</div>
<br />
Now, at college, the only time my door is closed is if I'm sleeping
or getting changed. The first thing I do when I get home is prop the
door open, even before I turn on the lights. My hall-mates know if they
need cooking supplies or office supplies or anything, really, I will
readily share it. They stop in to chat frequently, and even when they
don't, I can still hear and see them pass by and know they're there.<br />
<br />
2. <em>Balance</em>.
The Climate March, to date, has been the only time in my life where my
mind, body, and spirit were equally important and working together as a
coherent whole. Due to the design of our education system, the scales
have almost always been lopsided toward my mind, with peripheral
attention to my body and near complete neglect to my spirit.<br />
<br />
The
Climate March was the most I have ever exerted myself in all three
sectors, and yet, I had a healthy sleeping schedule, I ate nutritious
meals, I was in the best shape of my life and I was the happiest I'd
ever been. Obesity is a hot topic in our country, and is it any wonder
why? We sit down while we commute, we sit down while we work, we sit
down while we're at home, and then we sleep. When we live inactive
lifestyles, our bodies don't demand healthy eating habits, and it
becomes so easy to lapse into eating worthless junk food. Yet,
amazingly, this is the lifestyle we send our kids to school to learn how
to pursue.<br />
<br />
On the March, I needed 3,000–4,000 calories a day. I
needed quality, fresh food on my plate. I needed a good night's sleep. I
needed to stay hydrated. If I slacked on any of these things, I would
start to break down very quickly. Living an active lifestyle forced me
to take care of myself, and the results were incredible.<br />
<br />
Rock
climbing has become my physical escape at college. When I'm at the wall,
my laptop and cell phone are ignored, and it's just me and my body
working together. It grounds me again after a stressful day. It keeps me
sane, and it keeps me strong.<br />
<br />
3. <em>Being Outside</em>. After
returning home from the Climate March, I continued to sleep outside in
my tent long after the cold settled in. I only gave up and came inside
when I realized my three-season tent wasn't handling the winter very
well.<br />
<br />
Imagine not needing a weather app to figure out how to
prepare for the day. Imagine instead, waking up in the morning, and
after spending about 10 minutes outside, knowing almost exactly what the
weather will be like. It happened to me within two or three weeks after
arriving in New Mexico. By the time my tent was taken down in the
morning, I would know to bring my raincoat or a sweater or an extra
sweat rag.<br />
<br />
How did I know this? I just did. I unconsciously picked
up on little details and pieced them together. We are all capable of
this level of awareness, but when we spend most of our time indoors we
stop noticing these things, and we fall out of practice.<br />
<br />
There
were nights when the weather foiled my tent and everything I owned would
get soaked. One day in Colorado, in the midst of a beautiful sunny day,
a freak storm came in and wrecked our whole camp, and I had to sleep on
a shelf in the gear truck that night. But now that I'm back to spending
most of my time indoors, where we can guarantee being warm, comfortable
and dry no matter what's happening outside, I find I would rather have
that uncertainty and risk than be almost completely disconnected from
the elements.<br />
<br />
There are many other things I desperately miss from
the March, and if you want to know more shut your laptop and come find
me. Chances are the door to my room is open. I'll make you a cup of tea.<br />
Life
changing experiences come in many forms. They can happen in a single
moment, or they can culminate over many years. They can be completely
painless and they can be near-death. But no matter how they manifest,
they change your life, and they change it with a purpose. After it's
happened, you can't go back to "normal." Instead, you evolve into a new
normal, ready or not.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Our camp outside of Wetmore, Colorado</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-16038268729516752662015-02-24T22:57:00.004-08:002015-02-24T22:57:57.577-08:00Cove Point protectors go to trialJimmy and I were standing off to the side of the hall, out of the way
of foot traffic. We each had a shoulder leaned against the wall, and I
had my hand on his arm as we leaned toward each other and talked quietly
between ourselves. There was so much I wanted to say, but out of the
corner of my eye I could see two security officers talking to each other
and looking our way. Our time was short.<br />
<br />
After some deliberation, one of the officers came over and interrupted our conversation.<br />
<br />
“You two done here?"<br />
<br />
It was hard not to respond with anger. I turned to the officer, still holding Jimmy’s arm.<br />
<br />
“I’m about to leave, and I don’t know how long it will be before I see him again. We’re just saying goodbye.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “I was just seeing her out.”<br />
<br />
“Well, the door’s that way,” the officer pointed with one hand and put the other on his hip. He was unmoved.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Jimmy
stepped away, and my hands were suddenly filled with air. As he moved
toward the elevator to go back up to the second floor, the officer
adjusted his stance as if to step between the two of us and guide me
out.<br />
<br />
“Hey, Jimmy,” I said, sidestepping the officer before he
could object. Jimmy stopped and turned back to me, and we wrapped each
other up in a tight hug. The officer stood there and glared at us for
the whole exchange with his arms crossed, and I told Jimmy I loved him
loud enough so the officer would hear. It was a small act of defiance.<br />
<br />
The
officer followed on my heels until I went through the doors and into
the foyer of the Calvert County Courthouse’s main entrance. Before I
walked out into the chilly evening and went to my car to drive back to
Ithaca, I allowed myself a few moments to crumple against the foyer wall
and let go of the tears I had been holding back all day.<br />
<br />
I wasn’t ready to go.<br />
<br />
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
New York’s Finger Lakes Region and Maryland’s Cove Point have
something in common. The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) in
Washington, D.C. has approved gas projects in both places that put the
local community in danger. Along the western shore of Seneca Lake, near
Watkins Glen, the FERC has given a green light for Crestwood Midstream
to expand its capacity for methane gas in unstable salt caverns.<br />
<br />
In
Lusby, Md. the FERC approved Dominion’s liquefied natural gas export
facility on Cove Point; the first of its kind on the East Coast. It is
estimated that this single facility will release more heat trapping
gases than all seven of Maryland’s coal fired plants combined.<br />
<br />
Like
the We Are Seneca Lake movement in New York, Lusby has also developed
its own resistance, dubbed We Are Cove Point. To date, around 20 people
have been arrested for various acts of civil disobedience, including
blockading gates, trespassing onto active construction sites and locking
down to construction equipment and doors.<br />
<br />
On Monday, Feb. 23 many
of them went to trial at the Calvert County Court for their peaceful
resistance actions. These included some of my friends from the Climate
March and folks who were arrested and served jail time at Seneca Lake.
In fact, three of them — Jimmy Betts, Kelsey Erickson and Michael Clark —
were arrested alongside me at Crestwood’s gates on Nov. 17 of last
year.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-VNsv0QwEMHoTK-uArVUC6EGwoZZx02T8QrgABgRt4N6EHZwcYe_eRft75D_t2QCQEYI6xSLpVNh_7g-Z0mJ7aX7mSVjWYdDpMhyphenhyphen3GrI-gBLNqqyaIUpABKzIgBDGy2VH0F0HOFtxeg2/s1600/0223151133c-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-VNsv0QwEMHoTK-uArVUC6EGwoZZx02T8QrgABgRt4N6EHZwcYe_eRft75D_t2QCQEYI6xSLpVNh_7g-Z0mJ7aX7mSVjWYdDpMhyphenhyphen3GrI-gBLNqqyaIUpABKzIgBDGy2VH0F0HOFtxeg2/s1600/0223151133c-1.jpg" height="307" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
All of the "Cove Point Protectors" who went to court on Monday. The are wearing red bands in the same fashion as "Seneca Lake Defenders"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I made a last minute decision Saturday night to drive out to Maryland
Sunday morning, stay the night, miss class on Monday to watch the
trials and then make a mad dash back to Ithaca for my 8 a.m. class on
Tuesday. Now, as I write this post, I’m frightfully behind on sleep and
swamped with backed up work, but it was worth it.<br />
<br />
And as it turns
out, my friends needed the extra support. Dominion has given immense
amounts of money to Calvert County police specifically so they could
hire special operations officers, 10 of which are a part of the
“Dominion project” security. These officers were dressed in green
uniforms, giving them the appearance of military. Many of them were in
court that day for the trials; they were called as witnesses to testify
against the defendants, who they had arrested. I was shocked to
discover, as the proceedings went on, that these very same men were also
assisting in managing the courtroom and enforcing Judge Michelle
Saunders’s orders.<br />
<br />
But, don’t take my word for it. Watch this <a data-mce-href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGJf8ce4uDE" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGJf8ce4uDE">Dominion YouTube</a> video where the Calvert County special ops take their new toys courtesy of Dominion for a spin: heavily armed patrol boats.<br />
<br />
In
the video, the narrator says, “If the need ever arose, these vessels
and their highly trained crews are ready to respond to anyone
jeopardizing the security at Dominion Cove Point.”<br />
<br />
Calvert County police are at the beck and call of Dominion, and they’re not even trying to hide it.<br />
Many
of my companions were prepared to go to jail after their trials found
them guilty of trespass, but the judge instead sentenced them a fine
with three years of unsupervised probation. Even when some defendants
stated they would never pay a fine and made strong cases for why jail
was a better option for them, the judge gave them probation anyways. She
sent only one person to jail for a sentence of five days: Steve Norris,
who used a bike lock to lock his neck to the doors of a Dominion
contractor’s office. This decision appeared to be made based on Norris’s
previous record of civil disobedience, and his admittance that in the
past he had only received small slaps on the wrists for his actions.
Even with the jail time, Norris still faces three years of probation.<br />
<br />
After a group trial of eight of the defendants finished, finding them
all guilty of trespass and sentencing them to three years of probation,
the court was called into a short recess and the judge left the room.
The eight of them gathered off to the side of the courtroom to discuss
what had just happened to them, and they decided to start singing a
protest song.<br />
<br />
“We are Cove Point we shall not be moved, we are Cove Point we shall not be moved, like a tree standing by the water — ”<br />
<br />
Before
they could finish the line, a security officer burst out from the back
and ordered them all out of the courtroom. None of them were to be
allowed back in for the rest of the day’s trials. Out of curiosity I
followed the group into the hallway to see what would happen outside
with the officers. Not long after, court was called back into session,
and a security officer informed us that unless we were directly a part
of the case, no one was to be allowed into the courtroom.<br />
<br />
I
engaged the officer, reminding him that I was a member of the public
with sixth amendment rights to observe court proceedings. He refused my
argument and insisted that these were Judge Saunders’s orders.
Thankfully, the judge changed her mind a few minutes later and I was
allowed back in to observe the proceedings.<br />
<br />
Despite having been
permanently kicked out of the courtroom, some of the singers were able
to get back in. This had a lot to do with the fact that the officer who
ejected them from the court couldn’t remember very well who had been
singing and who hadn’t, and who he forced out versus who came out on
their own accord. He did, however, remember Erickson very well. Erickson
attempted to re-enter the court on multiple occasions, and each one was
thwarted. The special ops officers came out in the hallway to keep
watch, and eventually they expelled Erickson from the courthouse
entirely.<br />
<br />
After spending four hours in court, I had to leave just
before 5 p.m. to start my trek back to Ithaca, and the trials were still
not done.<br />
<br />
Many of the people I was with for that brief 24-hour period in
Maryland I had not seen since the conclusion of the Climate March in
November. Many of them were new faces with names I had heard only over
email, and who I was glad to finally meet. It was hard for me to leave
all of them behind in that court with the special ops and the intense
courthouse security officers.<br />
<br />
Security officers who would not even
allow me a few minutes of conversation with Jimmy off to the side of a
hallway before we parted ways once more for an indeterminate amount of
time.<br />
<br />
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I
was already running behind on schedule, but I sat in the court parking
lot and wrote a brief letter to Jimmy, saying all the things I had
wanted to say while we were together in the hallway. I couldn’t leave
with them unsaid. I folded up the piece of paper and tucked it under the
windshield wiper of his car for him to find later.<br />
<br />
As I started
up the car and pulled away from the courthouse, aiming north to New
York, I couldn’t help but think to myself that this whole mess with
Dominion at Cove Point made dealing with Crestwood at Seneca Lake look
like a walk in the park.<br />
<br />
After a few hours of driving, my tears evaporated into renewed resolve.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-dEWPI7kiSPD5AycwPKxRxBAQPteuVWwiHENm-YDJJaBeq0_vxh6suTchjYAPE7ujM06lAX7k4Rzy6kM9OJf5DpS9LJlGMX51sTMvSBSFHetqguv6SpNe6PGnHsqYmHBWo4H_xKQpsft/s1600/0224152155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-dEWPI7kiSPD5AycwPKxRxBAQPteuVWwiHENm-YDJJaBeq0_vxh6suTchjYAPE7ujM06lAX7k4Rzy6kM9OJf5DpS9LJlGMX51sTMvSBSFHetqguv6SpNe6PGnHsqYmHBWo4H_xKQpsft/s1600/0224152155.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A picture of my red solidarity band from Monday's trials</div>
<br />
----<br />
Read more accounts of Monday's trials at the following links:<br />
<br />
<a data-mce-href="https://climatehoward.wordpress.com/2015/02/24/in-court-cove-point-defenders-vow-to-fight-on/" href="https://climatehoward.wordpress.com/2015/02/24/in-court-cove-point-defenders-vow-to-fight-on/">"In court, Cove Point defenders vow to fight on"</a> by Elisabeth Hoffman<br />
<a data-mce-href="http://www.melindatuhus.net/blog" href="http://www.melindatuhus.net/blog">"Going to Jail for Justice"</a> by Melinda Tuhus<br />
<a data-mce-href="http://www.wearecovepoint.org/twenty-cove-point-protectors-move-calvert-county-court/" href="http://www.wearecovepoint.org/twenty-cove-point-protectors-move-calvert-county-court/">"Twenty Cove Point Protectors Move Calvert County Court"</a> by Margaret Flowers<br />
<br />
Sourcing
for "It is estimated that this single facility will release more heat
trapping gases than all seven of Maryland’s coal fired plants combined."
<a data-mce-href="http://www.wearecovepoint.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Top-Ten-Reasons.pdf" href="http://www.wearecovepoint.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Top-Ten-Reasons.pdf">http://www.wearecovepoint.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Top-Ten-Reasons.pdf</a><div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-4764244299672029222015-02-24T22:50:00.002-08:002015-02-24T22:50:14.381-08:00Postponed ... Again*This post was originally published in <i>The Ithacan</i> on Feb. 21 <br />
<br />
On Dec. 3 of last year, a tall 24-year-old Cornell University graduate
with wild, curly blond hair was called up to the bench of Judge Raymond
Berry in the Town of Reading. Kelsey Erickson was being accused of
committing a violation trespass on Nov. 17 at the main gates of
Crestwood Midstream, a gas storage company looking to store massive
amounts of explosive gas in unstable salt caverns beneath the shores of
Seneca Lake.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7xiwShLZ6BPDjCqTn9Ayo0ZSYAHzez3A9X_m_MWOqynBsn9jkFA3Gu7hFh_ugDYghWCm6hrJjeXqelK-NXRwfGm9jC2dtXpD70320_yofrWKr0ifZo257wUuLG0i7FhivSYhZqJkoyjO/s1600/IMG950198_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7xiwShLZ6BPDjCqTn9Ayo0ZSYAHzez3A9X_m_MWOqynBsn9jkFA3Gu7hFh_ugDYghWCm6hrJjeXqelK-NXRwfGm9jC2dtXpD70320_yofrWKr0ifZo257wUuLG0i7FhivSYhZqJkoyjO/s1600/IMG950198_2.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Left to right: John Abbe, Kelsey Erickson, Michael Clark, Jane Kendall, myself, and Jimmy Betts </div>
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<br />
To this accusation, Erickson pleaded guilty. Judge Berry asked zir*
to pay a fine of $250, and ze refused. He looked up from the papers
sitting on the desk in front of him and stared at zir for a long moment
down his nose over his glasses.<br />
<br />
*<em>Erickson identifies as gender
non-conforming and prefers to be referred to with gender-neutral
pronouns. To accommodate this, I have used ze/zir in this post rather
than the traditional she/her and him/his.</em><br />
<br />
"Do your parents approve of this?"<br />
<br />
From
my seat in the audience, my posture tensed and my energy bristled.
Judge Berry obviously had no idea who Kelsey Erickson was. Kelsey
Erickson, who walked 26 miles with a 50+ pound backpack in the midst of a
Nebraska summer rather than use the March's gas-guzzling U-Haul. Kelsey
Erickson, who sat down in the middle of the road to block traffic in
BP's largest oil refinery in Indiana. Kelsey Erickson, who was arrested
at a sit-in on Wall Street where police used pepper spray and force to
quell protesters. Kelsey Erickson, one of the strongest people I will
ever know.<br />
<br />
"She is a full grown adult!" I blurted, unable to control myself.<br />
<br />
Berry
pulled his gaze away from Erickson and settled it on me, turning his
head slowly and deliberately like an owl. Our eyes locked and for a long
moment we just stared at each other, his expression stern and mine
defiant. I waited for him to scold me for speaking out of turn and
disrespecting court etiquette, but instead, he turned back to Erickson
and announced that ze was sentenced 15 days in jail.<br />
<br />
I remember
clearly the fond, fatherly smile he gave zir, his eyes sparkling behind
his glasses like a proud grandpa watching his grandchild receive an
award, as the police officer guided zir out of the courtroom to the
holding area.<br />
<br />
I know this smile well now, because Judge Berry has
given the same one to me each of the three times I've approached his
bench on Dec. 17, Jan. 21 and Feb. 18. I've made a point each of the
three times not to return it. I need not be treated differently than the
men and the older folks in this movement, but this is exactly what has
happened.<br />
<br />
I was arrested alongside Erickson and four other of my companions
from the Great March for Climate Action on Nov. 17. We were all charged
with a violation trespass. Erickson, Michael Clark and Jimmy Betts all
went to jail for 15 day sentences following their arraignments on Dec.
3.<br />
<br />
At my arraignment on Dec. 17, I followed in their footsteps and
pleaded guilty and refused to pay my fine. But rather than sentencing
me 15 days in jail without hesitation, Judge Berry postponed my
sentencing to Jan. 21, a day after the spring semester started. When I
showed up and refused my fine for a second time, he postponed again to
Feb. 18. And after informing my professors that there was a possibility I
would not be in class the next day and turning in my first major paper
of the semester early, he postponed a third time to March 18. But this
third postponement came with a promise; he would make a final decision
next time.<br />
<br />
In turn, I promised him I would hold him to it and
returned to my seat in the court audience. My professors were all happy
to see me in class on Thursday.<br />
<br />
While the powers of Reading and
Schuyler County have realized that sending the We Are Seneca Lake
protesters to jail is costly and only fuels our movement, many in my
activist cohort believe that Judge Berry's hesitance to sentence me runs
deeper than that. They joke that he sees me as an incarnation of his
own young granddaughter, who, according to Berry, refuses to speak to
him when he sends people to jail.<br />
<br />
As much as his waffling over my
sentencing frustrates me, as much as I wish he would just get it over
with — if he really is having an internal moral struggle over sending a
20-year-old college student to jail for standing up for her community,
planet and future, then I say good. I only wish he had struggled with
all of the other outstanding citizens he has sent to jail so far,
including 83-year-old Roland Micklem who struggles to walk without a
cane and slipped and fell in the court parking lot on his way to the
paddy wagon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MbvJA_mv6_yBw4k9MjFJ3WEBw8KJelEZLPkNbM3hIEVozOIPfKxwuHNX4MLmR-ay1qIprnnif9HEnMGf0NnwjN_Me-5NozpPwV8svHoddNQpf7v2RH0lOwfF7QWJQxRWO8OlI1iD4JwE/s1600/1029141016a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MbvJA_mv6_yBw4k9MjFJ3WEBw8KJelEZLPkNbM3hIEVozOIPfKxwuHNX4MLmR-ay1qIprnnif9HEnMGf0NnwjN_Me-5NozpPwV8svHoddNQpf7v2RH0lOwfF7QWJQxRWO8OlI1iD4JwE/s1600/1029141016a.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A group of Seneca Lake Defenders being arrested, with Roland Micklem pictured in the orange coat</div>
<br />
We 20-somethings should be enjoying our time in college, and those
who are Micklem's age should be enjoying their retirements. Instead we
find ourselves banding together to stare down the insect-spattered
grills of the roaring semi trucks trying to get through Crestwood's
gates.<br />
<br />
Yes, Judge Berry, there is absolutely a moral dilemma going
on here. To date, 167 peaceful folks have been arrested for harmless
violation trespasses and asked to appear in court. However, Crestwood
executives have yet to appear in court to face the consequences of
putting the Finger Lakes at risk — risks they specifically admit to in
their own 10-K report.<br />
<br />
It seems as though our justice system is
broken, and in a time where our world is in dire need of justice, I find
that far scarier than spending a week behind bars and getting a little
behind on my homework.<br />
<br />
By the way, this blog post doubles as an
invitation to attend my sentencing at 5 p.m. on March 18 at the Reading
Town Court. See you there!<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-10088239082121122772015-02-14T17:19:00.000-08:002015-02-15T08:08:03.439-08:00Find the TimeOn Friday, after working seven hours downtown at <i>The Ithaca Voice</i>,
I hiked up South Hill back to campus and walked straight into the
Fitness Center. I removed my jewelry and tossed it into my backpack,
pulled a harness on over my dress pants and got my belay certification
at the rock wall.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ia9TSdAaWeGXjYUnF_YzgFlzUcZ85OA3XuVSqHhpIT6Nk-a-qeNf57CbzfyGasN7j-6VwGH4h_nq-ECGGWWqU1713VJyWcNhTYw2jPjRJUPlFxjK3xCYrMFN9aQyV_jJG5R9pP7UAXKj/s1600/1111142102c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ia9TSdAaWeGXjYUnF_YzgFlzUcZ85OA3XuVSqHhpIT6Nk-a-qeNf57CbzfyGasN7j-6VwGH4h_nq-ECGGWWqU1713VJyWcNhTYw2jPjRJUPlFxjK3xCYrMFN9aQyV_jJG5R9pP7UAXKj/s1600/1111142102c.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A picture of me climbing at the Ithaca College rock wall</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I got back to my room around 6 p.m. — the first time I'd been home
since 8:30 that morning. I changed into some comfy clothes and tossed my
dress pants, now smeared with climbing chalk, into my laundry basket.
Then, I gathered up an armful of food and cookware and disappeared into
the kitchen to make a pasta dinner. With a 7-meals-per-week meal plan, I
cook almost all of my own food. This helps me better manage my
portions, have more control over what's going in my body and select
ingredients I trust to be local, ethical and vegan.<br />
<br />
Last year, as I
became increasingly frustrated with the quality of vegetarian and vegan
food in the dining halls, I thought about dropping my meal plan, but I
figured it would take too much time to prepare my own meals. At the
start of this semester, I decided I would take the jump. I would find
the time. It's one of the best decisions I've ever made.<br />
<br />
Since
becoming a central organizer in the We Are Seneca Lake civil
disobedience movement last October, I've been asked a million times why
I'm one of the only college students involved.<br />
Whenever I talk
about the protests to friends I think would be interested, I usually
hear something like, "I don't know where I'll find the time."<br />
<br />
College
is extremely stressful. It leads us to binge eat junk food, drink
spastic amounts of coffee, pull all-nighters and spend countless hours
in front of computer screens without exercise. And many of us, myself
included, feel our future careers hinge on the quality of our
performance in these four years. Talk about pressure.<br />
<br />
It's easy to
get pulled in, to put the blinders on and forget there's a world
outside of campus, outside of Ithaca. My time on the Climate March
taught me that while higher education is important, it shouldn't be
allowed to consume my life. Our society defines college as a necessary
step to success, but in reality, the definition of success is unique to each person.<br />
<br />
We have to start asking ourselves; how is what I'm
doing here relevant in a broader global context? What is my work here
at IC leading to? Is my lifestyle individualistic or community focused?<br />
<br />
Our
world is in crisis, and we can't afford to get trapped in our own
individual tunnels. The best way we can avoid getting boxed in is to
pursue our passions. When we are immersed in the activities we truly and
thoroughly enjoy, it has a tendency to put smiles on our faces that
can't help but spread to the faces of others. It is those thrilling,
fulfilling moments we tend to remember, while the hours we spend
laboring and fretting over an essay are recalled as an unintelligible
blur.<br />
<br />
Am I telling you to blow off your education? No. But what I
am trying to say is that a balance needs to be found between the serious
and the lighthearted, the work and the leisure, the planned and the
spontaneous, the expectations and the passions.<br />
<br />
I spent this past
Christmas in Vermont with friends from the Climate March. One night,
long after every one else had fallen asleep, I was awake staring at the
ceiling. I was consumed with thoughts of the spring semester, wondering
how I was possibly going to transition back into college after spending
five months in a nomadic and communal lifestyle. I started to fall into
an uneasy sleep, my stomach tied up in anxious knots.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
A group picture of the Marchers at our campsite in South Bend, Indiana</div>
<br />
When I was just about to drift off, I suddenly bolted upright and reached for my computer. I had an idea.<br />
<br />
After
perusing through the recreation and leisure studies department on the
college website, I decided I was going to change my international
politics minor to outdoor adventure pursuits. I fired off an email to my
academic adviser, shut my computer, settled back down and fell into a
peaceful sleep almost immediately. It was decided, just like that.<br />
<br />
Did
I like my politics minor? Absolutely. Was it a good supplement to my
journalism major? Of course! But after dreaming of Colorado mountains
and New Mexico sunsets and all the State Parks we had visited along the
March nearly every night, I knew deep down I needed an outdoor
education. My new minor will help me guide my journalism career down the
path I really want to follow: environmental and outdoor reporting.<br />
<br />
With only seventy years or so (if we're lucky) to be alive, what we <i>really</i>
don't have time for is following the life we think we're supposed to
live instead of the one we want to. Make the changes you need to and <i>find the time</i>.<br />
<br />
But
don't take my word for it. My friend Brendan Davis, who runs a company
solely focused on encouraging people to pursue their passions, put
together this awesome interview mash-up with some older folks. Their
message? There's no time like the present: <a data-mce-href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiLjgzEow2Q" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiLjgzEow2Q">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiLjgzEow2Q </a><br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
I'll
leave you with a quote my Marcher friend Jimmy Betts wrote while
he was in jail for blockading Crestwood's gates on Seneca Lake:<br />
<br />
"Once you've awakened to a larger truth, returning to sleep is a spiritual death sentence."<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPkmXDbuTljX0wfe3VxKLxj5iFW1PUVQVqSuwURVx6jySzeNuCmAw-opymYelKpxk7zUvKuw1P6ojNKu6X14yKc9dndaWG5vRTM40YzWt8W4ye_BFv2aU5nUj6nAJk79HUrXFiUbNhj-Z/s1600/0209152124a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPkmXDbuTljX0wfe3VxKLxj5iFW1PUVQVqSuwURVx6jySzeNuCmAw-opymYelKpxk7zUvKuw1P6ojNKu6X14yKc9dndaWG5vRTM40YzWt8W4ye_BFv2aU5nUj6nAJk79HUrXFiUbNhj-Z/s1600/0209152124a.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A student staff member pulls herself over the incline at the Ithaca College rock wall in the home stretch of a climbing route.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-12142458744287998822015-02-13T20:22:00.000-08:002015-02-13T20:24:41.076-08:00Oil workers on strikeWalking across the country is a great way to see some amazing and
unforgettable scenery. But depending on the route you take, you may come
across some horrifying sights.<br />
<br />
My five-month journey on foot from
New Mexico to Pennsylvania last year wasn't all New Mexico red rock and
Colorado mountains and rolling Iowa hills. It also included <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/a-vow-of-silence/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/a-vow-of-silence/">walking alongside cattle feedlots</a>, touring industrial parks and passing through oil refineries.<br />
<br />
On
September 9, 2014, the March left southeast Chicago and crossed from
Illinois into Indiana at the very unceremonious "State Line Avenue" road
sign. Almost instantly, it seemed, we emerged into the industrial belly
that is Whiting, Ind. Barbed wire fences, large tankers with obscure
contents, towering smokestacks billowing smog and a Super Wal-Mart to
put the cherry on top.<br />
<br />
Soon, we were walking through Whiting's BP
oil refinery, BP's largest refinery and the sixth largest refinery in
the United States. In 2012, BP agreed to pay $8 million for Clean Air
Act violations at this refinery, <a data-mce-href="http://www.oilandgasonline.com/doc/bp-agrees-to-add-more-than-m-in-pollution-controls-at-indiana-refinery-and-pay-m-clean-air-act-penalty-0001" href="http://www.oilandgasonline.com/doc/bp-agrees-to-add-more-than-m-in-pollution-controls-at-indiana-refinery-and-pay-m-clean-air-act-penalty-0001">according to Oil and Gas Online</a>.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
The last time we had walked through a refinery — <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/america-the-beautiful/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/america-the-beautiful/">Suncor outside of Denver, Colo.</a>
— a small platoon of security vehicles stalked us closely. Tall privacy
fences rose up on either side of the road, making it nearly impossible
to see what was going on just beyond the fence. When I found a hole in
one of fence panels and stuck my GoPro camera through it, a menacing
voice came over a megaphone:<br />
<br />
"Step away from the fence. Step <i>away</i> from the fence."<br />
<br />
The
oil refinery in Whiting was more open than Suncor, and we got a close
look at the operations. We also had more interactions with the workers —
and, surprisingly, most were positive. Employees driving by waved to
us, and many came up to the chain link fences to get a better look and
even say hello.<br />
<br />
The founder of the Climate March, Ed Fallon,
approached a worker who was operating a large machine with a long tube
sucking something up from a hole in the ground. They had a brief
conversation and Ed reported back to us that the worker was vacuuming a
waste spill leaking out of the plant. He explained to Ed that they used
to only vacuum on occasion; now, sucking up the leakage is an everyday
job.<br />
<br />
For a time, a small handful of the Marchers sat down in the road,
blocking traffic from entering the facility. None of the workers blared
their horns or even seemed to get angry. They just waited, watching in
silence, until the police came and rerouted traffic, rendering the
demonstration useless.<br />
On Feb. 1, for the first time 35 years, about 3,800 oil workers from
across the country walked off the job and began striking. The strikers
are a part of the United Steelworkers Union, and they are seeking better
health care benefits and are protesting excessive use of contractors
and being overworked and understaffed.<br />
<br />
Just yesterday, about 1,400
workers from two more oil refineries — BP's Whiting and Toledo, Ohio
operations — joined the strike, now 11 refineries strong. The Climate
March walked through both of these refineries. I imagine some of the
very same workers we spoke to in Whiting are now risking their
livelihood to demand better working conditions.<br />
<br />
This massive strike dramatically highlights the intersection of the
environmental and worker's rights movements. Often, operations that are
dangerous for the environment are also dangerous for the people who work
there. The Whiting refinery supplies ample amounts of polluted air and
toxic substances that workers are subjected to every workday.<br />
<br />
While
in Nebraska, we passed a massive industrial slaughterhouse and spent
time at an intersection watching cattle car after cattle car enter the
facility in a constant stream. One of the Marchers had an opportunity to
speak with a worker at this facility. As if the treatment of the cattle
wasn't horrible enough, this worker had lost one of his fingers while
on the job.<br />
<br />
While the circumstances driving them to do it sadden
me, I was ecstatic to hear about the strike. Risking your livelihood is a
bold step to take, and I commend these workers for demanding better
treatment. The oil and gas industry is now facing pressure on many sides
— from activists to strict regulations to renewable energy growth to
its own workers.<br />
<br />
The only reason these poisonous industries exist
is because there is demand for their products. It's time to retire oil
and gas, and we each need to play our part in phasing fossil fuels out
of our lives.<br />
<br />
----<br />
Information sources for oil worker strike:<br />
<a data-mce-href="http://money.cnn.com/2015/02/08/news/companies/oil-refinery-strike/index.html" href="http://money.cnn.com/2015/02/08/news/companies/oil-refinery-strike/index.html">http://money.cnn.com/2015/02/08/news/companies/oil-refinery-strike/index.html</a><br />
<a data-mce-href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/post-tribune/news/chi-bp-oil-refinery-strikes-20150208-story.html" href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/post-tribune/news/chi-bp-oil-refinery-strikes-20150208-story.html">http://www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/post-tribune/news/chi-bp-oil-refinery-strikes-20150208-story.html</a><br />
<br />
*This blog post was originally published in <i>The Ithacan</i> Feb. 9. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-76423592232622973492015-01-23T12:13:00.000-08:002015-01-23T12:13:00.975-08:00Do humans cause climate change? Let's vote.Our country is currently being shaken to its core with ongoing social
rights issues, like racial profiling and police brutality, unequal
treatment of women, gay marriage and immigration. Can you imagine what
would happen if our representatives sat down to vote on whether
homosexuals are born with their sexuality or if they choose it? Or what
if there was a vote deciding that, despite hard numbers clearly
demonstrating women are paid less than men for the same work, this was
not actually the case?<br />
<br />
The idea is absurd. Votes are supposed to
be taken when deciding on a course of action, not on choosing reality... right?<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Wrong. Just yesterday, Jan. 21, the <a data-mce-href="http://www.cbsnews.com/news/senate-votes-that-climate-change-is-real-but-is-it-caused-by-humans/" href="http://www.cbsnews.com/news/senate-votes-that-climate-change-is-real-but-is-it-caused-by-humans/">U.S. senate voted</a>
climate change is indeed real (98-1), but with the caveat that it is
not caused by humans. The scientific community is largely in agreement
that while our planet does have natural cycles, the current trend of
warming is happening much faster than in the past, and that quickening
of pace is caused by our nasty habit of releasing exorbitant amounts of
heat trapping gases into our atmosphere. However, our government
officials now apparently have the power to dismiss that with a vote
based on political beliefs.<br />
<br />
"Well, I'm not a scientist...", a
famous line from climate skeptics and deniers used to dodge factual
evidence, makes this whole situation even more ridiculous. These same
folks who claim not to be experts on the evidence can apparently get
together and vote to discredit that same evidence.<br />
<br />
I'm excited to see what other pressing issues of our time will be resolved with a simple vote!<br />
<br />
What
can we learn from this circus show in the senate? We can't rely on the
people who have been designated as the decision-makers of our country.
If the citizenry wants change, we citizens will have to pull our pants
up and do it ourselves.<br />
<br />
While I'm glad Ithaca College student
protests regarding social injustices are being noticed by the larger
community — as they should — criticisms of the use lawbreaking as a vessel for needed change have arisen, such as when the streets of Ithaca were blocked.<br />
<br />
Our
current system of governance allows for senators to vote on accepting
or denying fact; for police officers who violate the law even to the
point of murder to escape punishment; and for companies like Transcanada
and Crestwood Midstream to put human life and environmental health at
stake in the name of profit. <br />
<br />
Trying to create change under the guidelines of a system that works to prevent it is a difficult task indeed.<br />
<br />
In
this past election cycle I voted for Howie Hawkins, who had a strong
platform for addressing environmental and social injustices.<br />
<br />
In
addition, before the civil disobedience movement to save Seneca Lake
from dangerous gas storage began, concerned citizens like myself
attempted to address their concerns using legal avenues. We voted, we
educated ourselves and others, we communicated with our elected
officials, we made ourselves heard in the papers and we challenged the
proposed project in court and continue to do so.<br />
<br />
But at the end of
the day, none of that could stop the Federal Energy Regulatory
Commission from continuing its precedence of rubber-stamping everything
and from receiving a majority of its funding from permit approvals.
Depsite massive public outcry and citizen action, the FERC approved
Crestwood's proposed methane expansion in unstable salt caverns.<br />
<br />
What
then is a good law-abiding citizen to do? Just as it would be
ridiculous to throw up our hands and say, "Hey, we don't have to change
our ways because the senate voted that we're not doing any damage," it
would also be ridiculous to expect the citizens of the Finger Lakes to
step down and accept the FERC's decision.<br />
<br />
We Are Seneca Lake has
made the statement many times: civil disobedience is a last recourse
when all other methods have failed. I'm not willing to wait around until
our planet is unsafe to live on to figure out if my vote made a
difference in the United States' energy and climate policy. I'm not
willing to wait and see if more people of color will be gunned down or
strangled to death. The issues our country is now facing are bigger than
a vote.<br />
<br />
Last night I made a second appearance at the Reading
Court to receive my sentencing for blockading Crestwood's main gates
with my body. The judge again asked me to pay a fine, and I repeated to
him that I would not pay the fine, now or ever. In the statement I gave
on Dec. 17 at my first appearance, I said I would not contribute money
to a broken system that punishes concerned citizens for standing up to a
corporation putting them in danger. The alternative punishment is going
to jail or receiving a judgment — a way of forcing someone to pay a
fine. I suggested to Judge Berry that I could serve my sentence on
weekends when I don't have classes. He postponed my sentencing for a
second time into February so he could consider this option.<br />
<br />
In regards to the climate change vote, <em>The Guardian</em> quoted Republican James Inhofe of Oklahoma defending the position that climate change is not caused by man.<br />
<br />
“Climate
is changing and climate has always changed and always will," Inhofe
said. "The hoax is that there are some people who are so arrogant to
think they are so powerful they can change climate. Man can’t change
climate.”<br />
<br />
I think the real arrogance can be found in the attitude
that we can continue to lead wasteful and consumptive lifestyles without
bothering ourselves to consider the damage it causes for all life on
Earth in the present and the future.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-5942177706275836212015-01-13T19:48:00.001-08:002015-01-13T19:48:13.374-08:0053 miles to IthacaI remember my <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/bringers-of-the-rain/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/bringers-of-the-rain/">first day on the Climate March</a>
like it was yesterday. I was dropped off at the Taos visitor's center
where I was to meet up with the Marchers, who were arriving into the
city from their day's walk. Hail was falling from an angry grey sky and
the cold wind bit right through my clothes. I went inside the visitor
center to take shelter while I waited.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
In groups of two to five,
the Marchers arrived, gathering inside out of the weather. As the inside
of the center grew crowded, I found myself face to face with people I
had only seen pictures of online, with people who I had been having
email exchanges with for months. One by one they came up to me and
introduced themselves.<br />
<br />
"Hi! You must be Faith!"<br />
<br />
"Nice to finally meet you, Faith!"<br />
<br />
"Faith, it's good to see you, I've heard so much."<br />
<br />
I
found myself in shock at the warm welcome. Every single one of them
knew exactly who I was, and expressed how delighted they were that I was
finally on the March. When we eventually left the center and continued
marching in the freezing rain to our rally destination in Taos, I was
too caught up in getting to know my new family to care much about the
weather.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNbbxXJlpxGYn-BRrUIxPksdmN0y7t98VcBetaYViwKNYcn3q5IMroEswC9SQPaoFxmCoicyCjh27BAmMVHneeV68GD0Ewf3bPr8HijGgQPNYevzcAPTBSoy4KFMbF3vpqLiGgzInNIcb/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNbbxXJlpxGYn-BRrUIxPksdmN0y7t98VcBetaYViwKNYcn3q5IMroEswC9SQPaoFxmCoicyCjh27BAmMVHneeV68GD0Ewf3bPr8HijGgQPNYevzcAPTBSoy4KFMbF3vpqLiGgzInNIcb/s1600/photo+5.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A picture of me on my first day in Taos, New Mexico</div>
<br />
On that day, nearly 2,000 miles away from our <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/obama-did-you-hear-us-knocking/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/obama-did-you-hear-us-knocking/">finish line in Washington, D.C.</a>
returning to Ithaca College in the Spring felt like some far off dream,
years down the road. And certainly on that day I never dreamed that
just a few months later I would become a leader in a <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/then-they-fight-and-then-we-win/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/then-they-fight-and-then-we-win/">civil disobedience movement</a> in the Finger Lakes.<br />
<br />
But here I am, nine months, 2,000 miles and <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/when-all-else-fails/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/when-all-else-fails/">180 Seneca</a>
Lake arrests later. Tonight I have filled the hiking backpack I got for
Christmas to the brim with all the supplies and equipment I will need
for a five day, 53 mile journey from my home in Geneva to my second home
in Ithaca. After I finish this blog post I will go to bed and try to
get a full night's rest, because tomorrow, for the first time in a
while, I will be rising with the sun to walk.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qKBjBrG1kv7bKhOZPXUaaduaDASgw0J2g4NDzwmHq_zlY0yV1DmeTIA1CiYYplcX_MS1gQU7djYoB5kwfIWo0D-X6E0ix5XrG8xwUU45COgmFlDAeqE3XRN-48qcU2_W4wB0OHsbQSwM/s1600/IMG_0561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qKBjBrG1kv7bKhOZPXUaaduaDASgw0J2g4NDzwmHq_zlY0yV1DmeTIA1CiYYplcX_MS1gQU7djYoB5kwfIWo0D-X6E0ix5XrG8xwUU45COgmFlDAeqE3XRN-48qcU2_W4wB0OHsbQSwM/s1600/IMG_0561.JPG" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My backpack</div>
<br />
After spending 5 months walking from New Mexico to Pennsylvania, a 5
day trip to Ithaca doesn't seem like much at first. But I expect my
53-mile endeavor will be every bit as challenging as when I was fresh on
the March with two feet covered in blisters and a body being whipped
into shape. On the March, there were always other people and support.
Someone went ahead and by the time we arrived after a long day of
walking, camp was set up. But, starting tomorrow, I'm going to be on my
own, and I'll be carrying everything on my back. No gear truck, no <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/pushing-my-weight/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/pushing-my-weight/">push cart</a>.<br />
<br />
Oh, and it's January in New York. The exact opposite of July's 100 degree days in <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/the-fruits-of-our-labor/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/the-fruits-of-our-labor/">Nebraska</a>. I'll be sleeping outside each night in my tent in the bitter cold with all my layers on.<br />
<br />
My
dad informed me this isn't the best idea I've ever had, and I'm pretty
sure my grandma thinks I'm crazy. But one of the biggest lessons I
learned from walking across the country is: you're capable of more than
you think. Again and again I watched my fellow Marchers overcome immense
physical challenges, and it was often when I was <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/pushing-it-to-the-limits/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/pushing-it-to-the-limits/">just about to give up</a> that a second wind would fill my sails.<br />
<br />
We
are all capable of more than we think, and we're going to need our full
capabilities, as individuals and as a human team, to overcome the
immense injustices our world is now facing: climate change, poverty,
social injustice, unequal food distribution, war, <a data-mce-href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/a-vow-of-silence/" href="http://theithacan.org/blogs/a-vow-of-silence/">animal cruelty</a>, government corruption, extinction...<br />
<br />
I
am looking forward to my solitary adventure along the shores Seneca and Cayuga Lakes as a time to reflect on all
I have experienced since the Spring 2014 semester ended, and as a time
to look ahead with clear thoughts and fresh perspective. I have many
accomplishments to congratulate myself for and many fears to face. And
with each step I take on that 53 mile path I hope I will be able to
better understand the path ahead of me.<br />
<br />
Follow me on Twitter for daily updates from my walk: @Viridorari<br />
<br />
I've made a map of my route from Geneva to Ithaca, which you can view <a data-mce-href="https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=z9rMK18aaRV8.kCkAgjtzh-_w" href="https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=z9rMK18aaRV8.kCkAgjtzh-_w">here</a>.<br />
<br />
You'll
notice I still haven't confirmed three of my four campsites, so if you
know anyone who is open to letting a traveler pitch a tent in their yard
for a night, drop me a line...<br />
<br />
As we said on the March, "Have a good road!"<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-46905344412541828112015-01-13T18:10:00.000-08:002015-01-13T18:10:34.579-08:00...Then they fight, and then we win*Originally published in <i>The Ithacan</i> on December 23rd, 2014 <br />
<br />
My lungs burned from climbing up the quarter mile of stairs, and the
cold December air I inhaled soothed them momentarily, but then
intensified the fire as I exhaled.<br />
<br />
I smiled as I came around the
corner of the gorge wall, the distant rumbling I had been hearing
erupted into a gushing roar as Lucifer Falls came into sight. With a
sigh I leaned against the icy wall of the trail, which wound along the
cliff faces like Ithaca’s version of the Great Wall of China. The spray
of Lucifer Falls that landed on the gorge walls froze in brilliant
swirling ice sculptures, fashioned by the hand of nature herself.
Thousands of feet below me, the water crashed into a lovely aquamarine
pool, a chilly mist rising off the surface.<br />
<br />
I took another deep
breath, enjoying the sting of the frigid air. If things had gone as I
planned this week, I’d be in jail right now, not enjoying a hike in
Robert Treman State Park. The longer We Are Seneca Lake’s campaign to
stop Crestwood Midstream’s ill-fated project to store methane along the
lake’s western shore drags into the winter, the stranger our court
proceedings get. Just two weeks ago, if I had gone before the judge, I’d
surely be in the slammer.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
In the hours before my 7 p.m. court
date on Dec. 17, I was scrambling around my house to get ready. I didn’t
forget anything, which is unusual for me. I left the house with time to
spare. In my folder titled “Information,” I had my statements for the
judge prepared, as well as three documents I would give to him: the Town
of Reading Land Use Law, Crestwood Midstream’s 10K report and an
economic report. I had each of these documents highlighted so the judge
could easily find the relevant parts. I highlighted the Seneca Lake
Protection provision in the land use law which says there may be no
storage of hazardous materials to the east of Route 14, which is exactly
where Crestwood’s gas storage facility is. I highlighted the section in
the 10K report where Crestwood admits that disasters like cavern
failure, explosion and water pollution are possible, and that the
company is not fully insured. I highlighted the section in the economic
report pointing out that Crestwood ducked out of 7 million dollars in
taxes.<br />
<br />
I was ready to prove to the judge that Crestwood’s present
and future actions were far worse than trespassing in an act of peaceful
civil disobedience.<br />
<br />
However, when my companion and I arrived at
the courthouse, we found a line of signs up and down the road mandating
no one could park on the shoulder via a temporary sheriff’s order. In
addition, a parking lot neighboring the courthouse we had been using was
barricaded. As we pulled into the courthouse’s tiny parking lot that I
knew wouldn’t fit everyone who wanted to come that night, I felt the
hairs on the back of my neck tingling. They were limiting our access to
the courthouse.<br />
I had come prepared to play, but the rules of the game were about to change.<br />
<br />
While
a majority of the night’s cases, including my own, were scheduled for 7
p.m., there was one case at 5 p.m.: Laura Salamendra’s. As 5 p.m.
approached, we gathered around the door with Salamendra, waiting to get
in. A police officer emerged and informed her that she could only enter
with her attorney and either her father, mother or husband. Laura
replied that none of those people were available, and asked for a
support person.<br />
<br />
“No, the court is closed.” **<br />
<br />
Not long
after, one of our pro bono legal advisers, Sujata Gibson, arrived and
engaged with this officer, informing him that barring the public from
court was unconstitutional and illegal.<br />
<br />
“Sheriff’s orders,” the officer replied. “Take it up with him.”<br />
<br />
The
gathered crowd erupted into shouts of protest, and Gibson continued to
press the officer, demanding an explanation for why our rights were
being stripped from us. Not long after, we were informed that the press
was also not allowed to attend Salamendra’s appearance, violating our
first amendment rights in addition to our sixth.<br />
<br />
Growing
impatient, the officer threatened that Salamendra would miss her court
date, and Gibson and Salamendra gave up and went inside.<br />
<br />
As I
paced back and forth outside the door, trying to calm my anger, I
realized nothing was going to go as we planned tonight. The authorities
of Schuyler County were lashing out. In just two days 69 people were
arrested at the gates of Crestwood, marking 161 arrests total. Were they
scared?<br />
Overwhelmed? Both?<br />
<br />
When Salamendra and Gibson eventually emerged from the courtroom, we gathered around to hear what had happened.<br />
<br />
When
Salamendra plead guilty and refused her fine, she was not sentenced
jail. Instead, Judge Raymond Berry, taking orders from Assistant
District Attorney John Tunney, gave her a judgment. This damaged her
credit and placed a hold on some of her assets, essentially forcing her
to pay the $250 fine in one form or another.<br />
<br />
“He said they’re taking away the jail option,” Salamendra announced.<br />
<br />
I realized in that moment I wouldn’t be going to jail.<br />
<br />
In
addition, the pair revealed to us that upon entering the courthouse,
they could overhear a conversation between Tunney and Berry about how to
deal with all of us, and strategizing on how to discredit Gibson as a
legal adviser. These sorts of ex parte conversations are illegal, and it
goes to show the blatant corruption occurring in Schuyler County in
which the district attorney is using a small town judge with no legal
background as a puppet.<br />
<br />
Sandra Steingraber had to negotiate with
the police to get public and press access to the courtroom for the 7
p.m. arraignments. They brought in those of us with cases at first,
allowing us to choose one person to bring with us if we wished. After we
were all brought in, there was a count to determine how much space was
left for more members of the public without violating the fire code. As
we were waiting for the count, one person realized his court date had
been changed, and he and his girlfriend stood to leave the courthouse.<br />
<br />
The courthouse secretary intercepted the pair as they exited the courtroom.<br />
<br />
“Where are you going?”<br />
<br />
“We need to leave,” he replied calmly.<br />
<br />
“Absolutely not. Please go take your seat in the courtroom so we can count.”<br />
<br />
“We don’t need to be here anymore,” he said.<br />
<br />
“Sir, please go take your seat,” she said as the police officer also stepped in front of them.<br />
<br />
“Hey!”
I snapped from the door to the courtroom. “His arraignment date got
changed, he doesn’t need to be here. You can’t hold him here; this is a
courthouse, not a jail!”<br />
<br />
She jabbed a finger in my direction,
reprimanding me for being disrespectful. Not long after, however, the
officer let the pair out, and a tense quiet settled back over the
courthouse as we waited for everyone else to be let in.<br />
<br />
By the
time everyone had settled in, we had changed our strategy. Instead of
pleading guilty and refusing our fines, we would all plead not guilty. I
glared at the back of the chair in front of me as everyone went up, one
by one. Something didn’t seem right. How could we know for sure they
had taken away the jail option? The district attorney had left after
Salamendra’s case, and he wasn’t here to breath down Judge Berry’s neck
anymore. I stood and went over to stand next to Steingraber, who was in
the midst of conversation with another person.<br />
<br />
“I think we should
have one person plead guilty, just to see what happens,” she said as I
approached, her eyes sliding knowingly to mine.<br />
<br />
“I’ll do it,” I said. If I could break through and get to jail tonight, it would be big news.<br />
<br />
After
Barry read me my rights, I pressed him to tell me what my penalty would
be if I plead guilty, but he would only say that the options were
numerous. At our past few arraignments, the option was quite clear. If
you didn’t pay the fine, you would go to jail.<br />
<br />
His refusal to tell
me what he would do to me did not deter me. I informed him that I was
pleading guilty, and that I would not be paying any fine. He gave me the
opportunity to give a statement.<br />
<br />
“Your honor, I committed the act
of trespass to protect Seneca Lake. I did this peacefully and with
love. New York’s penal code does not offer guidance on how to sentence
someone who commits trespass peacefully and with moral purpose. That is
up to you.<br />
<br />
You have said many times in this courtroom how much the
law means to you. I think if you truly believe the justice system you
are upholding in this court is good for American citizens, then my
actions have been harmful to society and should be treated as such.<br />
<br />
However,
if you think the circumstances surrounding my arrest separate me from
normal trespass cases, I have a different proposal for you. I ask you to
serve our community and bring Crestwood executives forward to stand
trial.”<br />
<br />
I went on to tell him about Crestwood’s damning 10K report
and the potential violations of the Reading land use law. He sat back
in his chair when I read off these facts, bringing his hand up to his
face as he watched me.<br />
<br />
After I finished my statement, he stared at me for a moment before saying;<br />
<br />
“I am postponing your sentencing until January 21<sup>st</sup>. I’d like to take some time to think about what you’ve told me.”<br />
<br />
I
tried to object, but he wouldn’t have any of it. I handed over the
“Information” folder I had prepared — some reading material to
supplement his thinking time.<br />
<br />
When I left the stand people smiled
at me and put their hands on my shoulders and hugged me, telling me I
did I great job and that I had really gotten to him.<br />
<br />
Me, I’m not
convinced. I think Barry found a way to keep me out of jail while making
it seem like he had listened to me. He was still taking his orders from
Fazarry.<br />
<br />
What I do know is that Schuyler County officials are
becoming concerned enough to strategize behind closed doors, and they’re
becoming desperate enough to make a huge mistake like taking away our
constitutional rights.<br />
<br />
“First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.” —Mohandas Gandhi<br />
<br />
They are fighting back now, so it looks like we’re on track to win.<br />
<br />
**Note:
All quotes in this post are based on my memory of the night's
proceedings, not recordings or notes. My statement to the judge was
pre-prepared, so I was able to pull an accurate quote from it for this
blog post.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-56066737952887937182014-12-08T17:49:00.000-08:002014-12-08T17:49:24.266-08:00Learning the JailsI've never had much experience with jails. I was briefly introduced
to a holding cell in Washington D.C.'s Anacostia police station in March
of this year after refusing to move from the White House sidewalk while
protesting the KXL Pipeline. I stood in there for ten minutes with five
other female college students before I was processed and released.<br />
<br />
However,
I now find myself quickly becoming familiarized with the procedures and
expectations of Schuyler, Chemung, and Yates County Jails as the We Are
Seneca Lake civil disobedience campaign continues into December.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Schuyler
County does not house women. Schuyler also does not constantly heat the
jail, and it often gets cold. It is important to bring in spare
clothing for inmates within 24 hours of their incarceration so they can
stay warm. Chemung County, on the other hand, is heated perhaps too
much, and inmates receive a complete set of jail-issued clothes. At
Yates, you can bring in three books for an inmate by dropping them into a
box and telling a corrections officer who they are for. At Schuyler,
books brought directly in are rarely accepted; their formal procedure
asks you to mail in books from Amazon, and they have to be soft cover.
At Yates, to visit an inmate you are brought into a room and sat across a
table from one another and are allowed an initial hug. At Schuyler, you
have to speak to each other through a glass divider and you are warned
not to touch. Schuyler's visitation days are Sunday and Wednesday,
Yates's visitation days are Saturday and Tuesday, and Chemung's are
Monday, Wednesday and Friday.<br />
<br />
Before myself and my comrades began
lining up in front of Crestwood Midstream's gates on Route 14 just north
of Watkins Glen, I never put much thought into the area jails. I had no
clue that there was a jail in Watkins Glen right across the street from
the picturesque state park, and I admit to not even knowing that there
was a jail in each county. Now I find these various jails to be at an
almost constant forefront of my mind.<br />
<br />
On Nov. 5, Dwain Wilder was
incarcerated at Schuyler County Jail for a 15 day sentence. On Nov. 19,
Dr. Sandra Steingraber, Colleen Boland and 86-year-old Roland Micklem
were given 15 day sentences, with Steingraber and Boland going to
Chemung County and Micklem going to Schuyler. On Dec. 3, Susan Mead,
Judy Leaf, Dr. John Dennis and Climate Marchers Jimmy Betts, Michael
Clark and Kelsey Erickson were all loaded up and taken to Schuyler for
processing from their arraignment at the Reading Town Court. Dennis,
Betts and Clark remained at Schuyler for their 15 day sentences, while
Mead and Erickson were shipped off to Wayne County. Leaf, who was only
given a one day sentence, sat in a Schuyler holding cell for a few hours
until she was released shortly after midnight. Mead served out her
seven day sentence at Wayne, while Erickson was soon moved from Wayne to
Yates to finish her 15 day sentence.<br />
<br />
After their arraignment on
Dec. 3, I waited up until 2:30 a.m. Dec. 4, calling the jail every half
hour until they told me where they had sent Mead and Erickson. It took
another flurry of phone calls to find out that they moved Erickson to
Yates the next day.<br />
<br />
With 20 people scheduled to be arraigned, Dec.
3 was a long and interesting night at court. After sentencing Betts,
Clark, Dennis and Erickson 15 days each, Judge Raymond Berry revealed to
us that he did not believe it was up to his discretion to sentence
anything lower than maximum, to which a lawyer and the entire court room
responded: "Yes you can!" The court was adjourned long enough for the
lawyer to show him the statutes proving that sentencing was indeed up to
his discretion, not the district attorney's. Judge Berry proceeded to
sentence Leaf one day and Mead seven days. However, he refused to reduce
Paul Passavant's fine following his guilty plea, gruffly demanding $250
after Passavant, a Hobart and William Smith Colleges professor, made a
long and eloquent case for why Berry should reduce the fine.<br />
<br />
There
has been no explanation as to why Judge Berry was lead to believe he
had no discretion in his own courtroom. He offered no explanation as to
why he gave Leaf one day but Mead seven, and why it seemed as though
someone had poured wax in his ears when Passavant pleaded for a reduced
fine.<br />
<br />
But what I do know is that I now find it hard to sleep at
night while my companions from both the Climate March and the We Are
Seneca Lake communities sit in jail. I have visited Dennis, Betts, Clark
and Erickson each once since their incarceration, and they are all in
relatively good spirits. Even while fasting, Betts and Erickson are each
surprisingly chipper. Clark is treating the whole thing like a
vacation, and he told me he has taken to dancing in his cell.<br />
<br />
Although
I know they are all doing okay, I still can't sleep. My conscience
keeps me awake at night, wondering why such sweet and kindhearted people
are doing time behind bars while Crestwood Midstream executives are
getting away with endangering people's lives and an entire ecological
region.<br />
<br />
My time is coming soon. I face Judge Berry at 7 p.m. on Dec. 17.<br />
<br />
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Jimmy Betts </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
John Dennis</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Judy Leaf</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Kelsey Erickson</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Michael Clark</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Susan Mead</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-54305220417593645152014-11-28T19:01:00.000-08:002014-11-28T19:15:07.349-08:00My First Vegan Thanksgiving*The following was originally a letter to Sean, one of the amazing people on the Climate March who influenced me to become vegan. I realized after I finished the letter that it was great blog material. Enjoy! <br />
<br />
Dear Sean,<br />
<br />
Well, I did it. I survived my first family Thanksgiving as a vegan. Sometimes it was annoying. There were lots of head-smacking moments. But, overall, I found the experience to be rewarding.<br />
<br />
Just for fun, I wanted to share the ridiculous moments with you. I think I'm going to keep an ongoing record of these. Some of them are just too good to be true.<br />
<br />
1. (A few days before Thanksgiving)<br />
Grandma: "I have no idea how to cook vegan!"<br />
<i>Neither do I. I've been using this thing called the world wide web to help. </i><br />
<br />
2. Grandpa: "Why did you go vegan? I don't understand."<br />
Me: "I decided I didn't want to exploit animals anymore."<br />
Grandpa: *shakes head and laughs* "People gotta eat, Faith."<br />
<i>That's funny. I haven't stopped eating. </i><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
3. Grandma: *stressed out*<br />
Me: "Grandma, let me make the stuffing. All I have to do is change one ingredient."<br />
Grandma: *snaps* "I just want to do it my traditional way, okay? You can have yours separate!"<br />
<i>Okay, okay...</i><br />
<br />
4. Me: "Grandpa! Do you want to try some cookie dough?"<br />
Grandpa: "You're not supposed to eat raw cookie dough."<br />
Me: "There's no eggs in it."<br />
Grandpa: "What's wrong with eggs?"<br />
Me: "Grandpa, eggs are the reason why you aren't supposed to eat raw cookie dough."<br />
<br />
5. A friend over email: "Enjoy Thanksgiving! Well, except you're vegan now."<br />
<i>You're right. I can't enjoy Thanksgiving anymore. It's about the turkey, not the quality time with family over a lovely tradition of food.</i><br />
<br />
6. Grandpa: "He used to do vegan, but he stopped."<br />
Uncle 1: "Yeah, because I grew up."<br />
<i>Well, that was offensive. Guess I've got some growing up to do. </i><br />
<br />
7. Uncle 1: "What's that?"<br />
Me: "Spaghetti squash with spaghetti sauce."<br />
Uncle 1: "Seems out of place at a Thanksgiving dinner."<br />
<i>You're right, it's a delicious plate of food amongst a table of food. What was I thinking bringing a squash dish to Thanksgiving? God, I'm such a black sheep. </i><br />
<br />
8. Younger cousin: "Mmmm, this turkey is good. But you wouldn't know because you're vegan." *waves turkey around on a fork*<br />
Me: "That's okay because I <i>really</i> don't want any." <br />
<i>Mmmm, these vegan dishes I prepared from scratch are really good, but you're too busy trying to taunt me with store-bought turkey to notice.</i><br />
<br />
9. Uncle 2: "Spaghetti squash? Never heard of it."<br />
Me: "It's delicious."<br />
Uncle 2: *tries some* "Oh wow! That <i>is</i> good! Okay, I won't call you a hippie anymore."<br />
<br />
10. Younger cousin to little brother: "She's vegan. She's from a different planet."<br />
Me: "Yes, let's teach your little brother that people who do things differently are from different planets."<br />
*awkward silence across the table*<br />
<br />
I can't make this stuff up.<br />
<br />
I cooked more than I ever have this year, and it made the holiday a little more exciting. I felt like I was contributing. At my step dad's family dinner, his aunt begged me to let her take the leftover spaghetti squash, and I happily sent her home with it. Grandpa loved my vegan cookies, even though I wasn't totally thrilled with them. I think next time around I'll use more applesauce and sugar. My avocado chip dip vanished pretty quickly. Mom was ecstatic when I saved the spaghetti squash seeds and baked them. It was nice to watch people enjoy my food. I did find it annoying, however, when they were surprised they liked it just because it was labeled "vegan."<br />
<br />
You and Mack taught me so much. I used to say these silly things too, even while I was on the March and vegetarian. I told you and Mack I was worried it would be too hard to transition. But, just like you warned me, it was easier than I thought, and just like you said I would, I'm wondering why I didn't go vegan sooner.<br />
<br />
Going vegan has helped me mature. It's helped me understand myself better and to take the next step in "walking my talk." I am more honest with myself now. Even when I was a vegetarian, I didn't realize I was making excuses. I now have a deeper relationship with my food. I am healthier.<br />
<br />
And my planet is a little bit happier.<br />
<br />
This Thanksgiving, I am thankful that I joined the Climate March and that you came into my life!<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Faith <br />
<br />
For those of you who are just breaking into the global food issue, I highly recommend <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/tristram_stuart_the_global_food_waste_scandal">this TedTalk by Tristram Stuart about the global food waste scandal</a>. In it, he briefly touches on how meat production and our insistence on eating meat is actually contributing to food waste, not making more food for people, as Grandpa alluded to in Ridiculous Thanksgiving Moment #2. <br />
<br />
Here are the recipes I made this Thanksgiving, give them a try! <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>The <a href="http://www.yummly.com/recipe/external/Easy-avocado-dip-345494">avocado chip dip</a> was really easy and yummy! Avocados are a vegan's best friend.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/food-network-kitchens/vegan-stuffing.html">Vegan stuffing</a>. Food Network is right about the green tea! It works great!</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Here's instructions for <a href="http://lowcarbdiets.about.com/od/cooking/a/spagsquash.htm">how to cook a spaghetti squash</a>. I prefer the method where you bake the squash whole. I added Earth Balance vegan butter and spaghetti sauce to my dish. To improve a store-bought jar of spaghetti sauce, chop fresh sweet peppers, onions, garlic, parsley and basil and add to the sauce when cooking. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Save the seeds from the spaghetti squash! Separate them from the goop and put them on a cookie tray. Add salt and bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes. The result is a healthy, yummy snack. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><a href="http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/vegan-chocolate-chip-cookies">Vegan chocolate chip cookies</a>. I personally found this recipe to be too dry. Some of my family loved it and others weren't fans. You can add more applesauce to moisten the cookies. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>To make mashed potatoes vegan, replace dairy butter with Earth Balance vegan butter and cow's milk with a dash of almond milk. Don't forget to add fresh, minced garlic!</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-6226465278333972622014-11-15T22:12:00.000-08:002014-11-15T22:12:54.466-08:00Risky Business"There it is," Doug announced as we pulled into the rail yard.<br />
<br />
I
wondered how many people drive by and mistake it for a snow drift. Some
parts of the pile were even stained brown, much like how snow drifts
get dirty as the winter goes on.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFdlOJCyb__9Z7dVwBes3YxSHGUE-gQ5yHrOVLyQFvTuNJCUNfCQ-wRefGjj2vwlJMYCDiyssHp7mFxG5_HzQZYq1sw7u12aGTexs1_wMR-iyvBfriJGWWxa6ZytJtqYJu-ujvLWwYdXo/s1600/1113141628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFdlOJCyb__9Z7dVwBes3YxSHGUE-gQ5yHrOVLyQFvTuNJCUNfCQ-wRefGjj2vwlJMYCDiyssHp7mFxG5_HzQZYq1sw7u12aGTexs1_wMR-iyvBfriJGWWxa6ZytJtqYJu-ujvLWwYdXo/s1600/1113141628.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a> </div>
<br />
Large, fluffy flakes were falling from the pale grey sky. Although
the snow wasn't sticking yet, the gravel that Doug's tires crunched over
was already dusted in a layer of white. It was sand that coated the
ground, much sharper and finer than the lovely puffs of water crystals
descending from the heavens.<br />
<br />
Doug pulled closer so I could take a picture. My phone clicked and the shutter closed, capturing the evidence.<br />
<br />
"I can't believe it's just sitting out here in the open," I muttered. Doug pointed across the road.<br />
<br />
"That's our city's premier family park. When the wind kicks up it blows over there."<br />
<br />
As
we fell silent again, I could feel the tension building. We were
trespassing, after all. Our ruse of being lost tourists would only last
so long. A freight truck had pulled into the rail yard ahead of us, and
the driver must have noticed us by now.<br />
<br />
It was now or never.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
"I brought that jar," I announced, referring to the jelly jar Doug had washed out for me before we left his house.<br />
<br />
"You want to collect some?"<br />
<br />
I
nodded. I could see the look on his face go from surprise to one of a
worried father. I could hear him thinking, "If she were my daughter..."<br />
<br />
But
not even a full second of deliberation went by before his expression
turned to one of resolve, and he started to pull forward.<br />
<br />
"Let's get you closer."<br />
<br />
The
car come to a stop and I lurched into action, as though Doug had hit an
"eject" button for the passenger's seat. I opened the door and
unscrewed the lid to the jar as I stepped out. I could feel the presence
of the truck driver behind me like a shadow falling over my back. The
gravel and sand crunched under my sneakers as I hurried forward. The
words on the sign I had seen as we pulled in, "Smile! You're on camera!"
flashed in my mind.<br />
<br />
I knelt down at the base of the pile and
scooped the mouth of the jar through the stuff. I made sure to get a
sample that wasn't dirtied. As I went to screw the lid back on,
inevitably there was the layer of granules that had stuck to the outside
of the jar.<br />
<br />
My heart was pounding as I brushed the excess sand
off the jar, and it wasn't because I was risking trespass charges. It
was because I knew there was a chance I was risking my life. Once I
screwed the lid on, I frantically brushed my gloves off on my pant leg,
and then did the best I could to shake the stuff off my pants. A little
voice in my head told me that trying to decontaminate myself was futile,
that if I had been smart I would have come here equipped with a mask.
It could already be in my lungs.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ZZlKVtxHjP1yrcHQhpdRVRQU7fGOe95H_G50uB46fpVmWjAEwB0gc6V8zcY0XFGH7YTNFX7RGA1CSOdEUs9FEZUWmTYkK1NXDljFAHhKxNApKitn-6MMaHutmU0Min4HUwyFA9OyOtiW/s1600/1115142324a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ZZlKVtxHjP1yrcHQhpdRVRQU7fGOe95H_G50uB46fpVmWjAEwB0gc6V8zcY0XFGH7YTNFX7RGA1CSOdEUs9FEZUWmTYkK1NXDljFAHhKxNApKitn-6MMaHutmU0Min4HUwyFA9OyOtiW/s1600/1115142324a.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I scrambled back into the car and
Doug pulled out of the rail yard quickly. The truck driver seemed
preoccupied with his delivery task.<br />
<br />
Once we got back to his house, I reached to pick up the glass jar
from the floor mat. As I did, I noticed a smear of white on the floor.<br />
<br />
<em>Shit, my shoes</em>.<br />
<br />
"Doug, we need to vacuum the floor."<br />
<br />
He leaned over from the driver's seat and peered down.<br />
<br />
"Yes, I'll make sure to do that."<br />
<br />
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
The
first time I ever heard of frac sand was last year, when I watched a
documentary called "The Price of Sand" at Ithaca College. At that point,
I was well educated about the process of hydraulic fracturing to
extract natural gas from shale layers, but I wasn't as knowledgeable
about one of the industry's tentacles — silica sand mining.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
Silica
sand, or frac sand, is mixed in with the water and chemicals that are
shot down into fracking wells under high pressure. The shale layer
ruptures with cracks and the water and chemicals are sucked back out,
leaving the sand behind. The sand keeps the cracks propped open so the
gas can leak out into the well.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
"The
Price of Sand" follows the stories of American citizens living in
communities where silica sand mining takes place. They describe the
mining companies coming in against their will, tearing up the land, and
being unable to sleep because of the constant truck traffic. Not long
after the companies move in, the silica sand starts blowing out of the
mines, gathering in little drifts on the shoulders of the road outside
of people's homes. And then they start getting sick.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
When
silica sand gets into your lungs, it causes a potentially fatal
sickness called silicosis. It's characterized by shortness of breath,
severe coughing, fatigue, weight loss and cyanosis; the official name
for skin turning blue.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
To put it simply, frac sand is nasty stuff. And it's only one part of the entire fracking process.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
I fiddled with the dial, peering through the lens, and the sand came into focus under the microscope's gaze.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
The
sample of the sand I collected looked like every picture of frac sand I
had ever seen. It was pristine white, devoid of any coloration, and the
grains were smooth and almost perfectly rounded, with some variation.
It looked very neat and intentional, not diverse and unruly like your
average beach sand.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
This
was no official lab test, and I have no idea how to chemically test the
sand to dispel uncertainties, but I'm capable of comparing images and
determining if they match.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
Everyone
told me that the pile of white sand at the rail yard was frac sand. In
response, I asked if it had ever been looked at or tested, and no one
knew. So, rather than assume, I decided to take on the task myself
despite the health risk.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
Indeed,
there is a pile of frac sand — life threatening when it enters the
lungs — in the open air, within eye sight of family park and within a
couple blocks of a school. Right here in New York State, grand old US of
A. All it takes is a gust of wind, and it's airborne and being inhaled
by our children and whoever else is unfortunate enough to be around.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
The
risk of defiantly holding my ground in a blockade when a police officer
orders me to disperse, the risk of gathering a sample of toxic sand in
the pursuit of truth — it doesn't feel so severe when I pause to think
about it.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
Because, in comparison, the oil and gas industry's habit of gambling with human life for the sake of profit is far riskier.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
And, even riskier than that — the future we will face if we don't take action.</div>
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-82240482970247392932014-11-07T12:43:00.002-08:002014-11-07T12:43:36.600-08:00Obama, did you hear us knocking? If you received word that there was a group of people walking 3,000
miles across the United States, and their end destination was your
house, would you take the time to greet them when they arrived? If one
of these cross-country adventurers wrote you a letter every day of this
journey, describing to you in detail the lands she traveled through and
the beautiful stories of the hundreds of people she met, would you write
back to her? <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
President Barack Obama was
presented with this very situation as the Great March for Climate Action
made its way from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., starting earlier
this year on March 1. On Saturday, November 1, the Climate March
completed its journey. I was among them, having walked about 1,800 miles
from Taos, N.M to Youngstown, Pa. and then the final seven-mile stretch
from Bethesda, Md. into the nation's capitol. It was a surreal moment
as we rounded a corner and the White House came into view. Although our
march into D.C. was only a few hundred strong, we carried with us the
questions, comments, hopes, concerns, and dreams of thousands of others
we had met along the way. Many were written down on little index cards
strung together in a garland, but countless more were written down in
our memories, carved into our hearts. We had told these people we would
take their words to the White House and demand they be heard.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQYKBXKv1n5vSR5Tu6PH3Qz17M5Xxa64KWdKu69fgXgCJI-MI7ptpg9GhKxgk4jfVxNvoQWLAhowkfrmp3t77R62NPc6lqstMncOANZDre4Da-g1ySAerNjxn0rwJTj7ZoFr0coiTnSye/s1600/1101141254a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQYKBXKv1n5vSR5Tu6PH3Qz17M5Xxa64KWdKu69fgXgCJI-MI7ptpg9GhKxgk4jfVxNvoQWLAhowkfrmp3t77R62NPc6lqstMncOANZDre4Da-g1ySAerNjxn0rwJTj7ZoFr0coiTnSye/s1600/1101141254a.jpg" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The garland of messages from across the country</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlTVJC9Qoqjtc3NYyi0UCoaDvkWREqt97yBTheGpqhVeIdQychJ8jQPAwDiM296kljK7v8fQ-W8lsbQAYbn_NPnycoVZOEPqNl-C6RUq8m7SneGjz4grjzztFWQgR7zWsR49aWqmVpLaP/s1600/1101141410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlTVJC9Qoqjtc3NYyi0UCoaDvkWREqt97yBTheGpqhVeIdQychJ8jQPAwDiM296kljK7v8fQ-W8lsbQAYbn_NPnycoVZOEPqNl-C6RUq8m7SneGjz4grjzztFWQgR7zWsR49aWqmVpLaP/s1600/1101141410.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Final destination: the White House</div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
The
Climate Marchers definitely upheld our end of the bargain — we carried
these stories with a sense of honor and purpose — but unfortunately our
plea to be heard was not answered. Although every person I met on the
March was remarkable and influenced me in some way, Mary DeCamp was a
character who stood out even among the extraordinary. Mary wrote to
President Obama and his family every day for 246 days, and amazingly,
she never ran out of things to say. Each of her letters came from the
heart, and she always tied the message into the day's experiences and
the environmental issues we encountered in each state. I was always
proud to be able to put my signature at the bottom of her letters, and
if I was asked to pick a favorite, I'm not sure I'd be able to.<br />
<br />
Mary
frequently made requests for the President to come greet us when we
arrived, and sometimes she even invited him to join the March. In one
memorable letter sent over the summer, she made a very convincing pitch.
Where else can you get such a fantastic summer vacation for only $20 a
night? <br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
After all of our hard work and
incredible adventures — Berenice getting lost in the desert, John J.
accidentally wandering in Kansas, Steve developing a blister that
covered the bottom of his entire foot, Mack walking most of the journey
on crutches, hunkering down against tornadoes, talking to people who had
never heard of climate change, Jimmy fighting off mountain lions in
Colorado, myself getting hit by a car outside of Toledo, not to mention
all of the beautiful sights, the late night conversations and the soul
searching and finding — our arrival in D.C. was anti-climatic in
comparison.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BEahhtfYLiFXloHPHPVD07qG45NY32exZhNsZWHS242amEGKpRvV-Ly8g4TMEBONwc7Pk__6Uypyg1k59WtCmBGLfc0Ipr12DszUlWq3vvkUxnZUthRiutg2uoSAJ9W84h3GyQMcy7iY/s1600/1101140750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BEahhtfYLiFXloHPHPVD07qG45NY32exZhNsZWHS242amEGKpRvV-Ly8g4TMEBONwc7Pk__6Uypyg1k59WtCmBGLfc0Ipr12DszUlWq3vvkUxnZUthRiutg2uoSAJ9W84h3GyQMcy7iY/s1600/1101140750.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sean Glenn, who marched from Los Angeles, preparing to March into D.C. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSOj4Fsygr27vT2pI6xnKXZgdFi7MJz4hTIK4mvm7iXwAlcyyWaFZZF13OhKPo4yiPOXqcn_LOldC179NNMK4moSxtzB_4iZyro1iv6l0RidjXhjrzptrkQbkrNEq6ngGfyMJpAl3reWu/s1600/1101141234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSOj4Fsygr27vT2pI6xnKXZgdFi7MJz4hTIK4mvm7iXwAlcyyWaFZZF13OhKPo4yiPOXqcn_LOldC179NNMK4moSxtzB_4iZyro1iv6l0RidjXhjrzptrkQbkrNEq6ngGfyMJpAl3reWu/s1600/1101141234.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The front of the March into D.C. </div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
As we stood in Lafayette Park
in sight of the White House, individual Marchers climbing up onto a
little, rickety stage and using a megaphone to read out a selection of
the index cards, I looked around the crowd and saw mostly familiar
faces. Our words were not falling on any new ears, let alone any ears
belonging to a person who had the authority to create immediate action
and change. <br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
The whole ordeal left me with
the question: what does it take? To what length do the citizens have to
go to make our concerns heard and to have them taken seriously? <em>In a supposed democracy?</em>
President Obama, I must be bold enough to ask you, in what world does
one not take time to greet the dedicated folks — ambassadors for the
country's citizenry — who walked 3,000 miles over 8 months to see you?
What meeting were you in that was too important to cancel? What excuse
do you have? I certainly hope your answer isn't, "your arrival was too
close to elections."<br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
At the very least, couldn't Bo, the First Dog, have come out and had a play date with Birdie, our March mascot?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6XTpGyMrMkS-PoGy8b6sJtV-IazRsR_7-nIYCukF9MExyaJUUMB_xpOO3Wbnu4E6TfJ_SFILn0f0LpEq9MRdFKBFLlm9h02awC_SJ4qK_I1zTZd-3t3C4pcTEGIW4RZ1Ki5LNTjh_IjE/s1600/1101140950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6XTpGyMrMkS-PoGy8b6sJtV-IazRsR_7-nIYCukF9MExyaJUUMB_xpOO3Wbnu4E6TfJ_SFILn0f0LpEq9MRdFKBFLlm9h02awC_SJ4qK_I1zTZd-3t3C4pcTEGIW4RZ1Ki5LNTjh_IjE/s1600/1101140950.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
I
write this blog post on the train ride from D.C. back to New York,
where I intend to plunge wholeheartedly back into my community's
campaign to save Seneca Lake from the disaster of gas storage in
unstable salt caverns. Although I am happy to put pressure on leaders
like Obama, Gillibrand, Schumer, and Cuomo to stand up against this
awful project, I will not give the responsibility of creating change to
anyone but myself. <br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
Because at this rate,
we'll be underwater before the United States government and leaders take
sufficient action on climate change. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-4296538634882694532014-10-31T14:01:00.001-07:002014-11-02T09:25:42.005-08:00When all else failsWhen I was in Ohio and I called my dad to tell him I was coming home
from the Climate March early, I was in a state of both sadness and
disbelief. I couldn't believe that Houston-based Crestwood Midstream had
received federal approval to store methane in salt caverns along Seneca
Lake, my home, and I did not want to leave my March family. He assured
me I was doing the right thing.<br />
<br />
"You'll still be fighting the same fight."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrD94m359Qon3CpeBVumYTk1lt822bD7rgPtXC5GqMPhU2JBcqhUYA2bhNegQj7KnbFB9irgv-efXQ4ILCtNJdMLmryjXvk4eCTxs3ALg54_k0dX5PJ07GUo-Tw-0hPyKExRwE3IQcQjO/s1600/GOPR0271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrD94m359Qon3CpeBVumYTk1lt822bD7rgPtXC5GqMPhU2JBcqhUYA2bhNegQj7KnbFB9irgv-efXQ4ILCtNJdMLmryjXvk4eCTxs3ALg54_k0dX5PJ07GUo-Tw-0hPyKExRwE3IQcQjO/s1600/GOPR0271.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
Seneca Lake</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
I
know he's right, but it's hard to believe that it is the same fight.
The type of work and the mood of the situation here at home is entirely
different from the Climate March. The March is addressing the broader
issue of climate change, which encompasses gas storage on Seneca Lake
along with hundreds of other projects around the country and the world.
Our primary activity is walking and experiencing our world and the
stories of the people living in it. It is our responsibility to bring
the concerns, questions, hopes, dreams and prayers of the American
citizenry to President Obama's doorstep. We live in community, and we
are constantly surrounded by love and friendship.<br />
<br />
Back here in
Upstate New York, the story is much different. Although I am making many
new friends (none of them my age) and finding a place in a new
community of inspiring people, the tone is more focused and serious.
While the Climate March is mostly an awareness-raising, mind-awakening
crusade across the country, the fight to save Seneca Lake is exactly
that; a fight. A battle. We are waging a weaponless war.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
There are
strategics and long planning meetings, reconnaissance missions and
hours of research, media swarms and endless floods of emails, and the
planning committee even fondly calls the citizens who have joined the
resistance "troops." And yet, we are fighting this war in peace, because
we know that using violence to bring about peace is one of the biggest
paradoxical mistakes humanity is still consistently making.<br />
<br />
The
Finger Lakes community has not arrived at the decision to use civil
disobedience lightly. We have used every other possible option to
redress our grievances. We have contacted and met with our
representatives, we have written countless letters to the editor, we
have rallied, we have united the area's businesses against the project
and we are pursuing the matter in the courts. Yet, the Federal Energy
Regulatory Commission blew past the overwhelming local opposition to the
gas storage project and gave Crestwood the green light to store methane
gas in unstable salt caverns beneath the western shore of Seneca Lake.
Although FERC's decision is certainly angering, it doesn't necessarily
come as a surprise. FERC is a federal agency that receives most of its
funding from approving permits; hence, the more permits they approve the
more money they get. This is a perfect example of our government
valuing money over people and the planet.<br />
<br />
The only thing we have
left is our bodies. Although Crestwood claims in its biweekly reports to
FERC that it has not yet started construction on the compressor station
for the methane gas, they have been authorized since October 24th to
begin. On October 23, 24 and 28, we blockaded the main entrance to
Crestwood for most of the work day. Each day, they locked the gates and
left us alone. On October 29, we knew we had to step up our game. Our
group split up, and we blockaded both the main entrance and a smaller
southern entrance at the same time. At first they shut both gates and
made it look as though they were going to let us sit there again, but
not long after a manager appeared asking if we would let a truck in.<br />
<br />
"Tell me, how do you define 'blockade'?" Lindsay Speer, my fellow Seneca Lake Defender asked.<br />
<br />
Our resolve and commitment to nonviolence would soon be tested.<br />
<br />
At
the main gate, I was playing the role of police liaison, peace keeper
and videographer/photographer. The group at the south gate called to
tell me they had just turned away the manager, and to expect him at my
gate next. About ten minutes later, a freight truck from Amrex Chemical
Company based in Binghamton pulled into the driveway, and the manager
appeared at the gate and asked us to let the truck in. I clarified to
him that our blockade was not going to let anything in or out.<br />
<br />
"Well,
I'm going to open the gates, then!" He declared in a tone that said,
'alright, you asked for it.' The negotiation phase was over; now, they
were using intimidation.<br />
<br />
When he opened the gates, the driver
climbed into his truck and lurched forward, blaring his horn. The
members of the blockade looked on fearlessly and didn't so much as
flinch. The truck came to a rest just feet away from where they were
standing, but the driver proceeded to rev the engine. I had never been
so proud.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJls1A5Bnj8Rcplk0LoNP51gDo-P42bZRVplreQKKqzYViPrrBMuJCYzQecTbZvWrotBxrSgSZJd214JoUMRGfoMZuSgGk9SnsrA7ypjbnWGnk3ktAE5xrYFIEK-GH6JrwQkS-3SUvJzh-/s1600/1029141009e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJls1A5Bnj8Rcplk0LoNP51gDo-P42bZRVplreQKKqzYViPrrBMuJCYzQecTbZvWrotBxrSgSZJd214JoUMRGfoMZuSgGk9SnsrA7ypjbnWGnk3ktAE5xrYFIEK-GH6JrwQkS-3SUvJzh-/s1600/1029141009e.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
"The state troopers will remove you!" The driver declared, dutifully snapping open his flip phone.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPMrTYragJupMZTLRQ-Pn5XF00k9iJ2hoEv0Myvp4BolEcTAUC_HmWrtSGa99wEIG0dYk1ZK6aNedPT7rgodId6f5-ZmMOJUahYSXIofRDAtuzLsZ2Y5Nsdea1vXH7aWJ0vGKgLjhmeAS/s1600/1029141018h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPMrTYragJupMZTLRQ-Pn5XF00k9iJ2hoEv0Myvp4BolEcTAUC_HmWrtSGa99wEIG0dYk1ZK6aNedPT7rgodId6f5-ZmMOJUahYSXIofRDAtuzLsZ2Y5Nsdea1vXH7aWJ0vGKgLjhmeAS/s1600/1029141018h.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
From left to right: Colleen Boland, Sandra Steingraber and Rolan Micklem being taken into custody</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
The
local and state police arrived, and without giving a lawful order to
disperse they immediately took the seven blockade members at the main
gate, including fracktivist and biologist Sandra Steingraber, into
custody. After the main gate was cleared, they went to the second gate
and arrested the three people blockading there.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHdXLWxsUnvFc_KfsWrmPB-o5SeskzsMo_YzkSy8BQDzaCSpBeIWw9P34Fd7gDaITsPOwbOgtO8Vcw856iPsxNCI-r1Z-LcOEasMdelm7fZj_Pqgok7e0yYSWZJJ3-SirBmkIC8OTpAjPh/s1600/1029141041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHdXLWxsUnvFc_KfsWrmPB-o5SeskzsMo_YzkSy8BQDzaCSpBeIWw9P34Fd7gDaITsPOwbOgtO8Vcw856iPsxNCI-r1Z-LcOEasMdelm7fZj_Pqgok7e0yYSWZJJ3-SirBmkIC8OTpAjPh/s1600/1029141041.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
From left to right: Nancy Kasper, Chuck Geisler and Dwain Wilder</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
Somehow,
the arrestees at the main gate managed to incur both a trespass
violation and a charge of disorderly conduct. A trespass charge is
granted when a person is on private property. A disorderly conduct
charge is granted when a person is disruptive on public property. This
means that the seven of them were miraculously on private and public
property at the same time. We expect this issue to be addressed at their
court date in the Town of Reading outside Watkins Glen this upcoming Wednesday.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9Q80kOJ3xNzEdYEpcgEkqK8-NYAi3NhnheniuybTb0ENOh4kdN89dgPvmsIIuQ5FmbnMKsg7-QjI_fc4d6bc6rwWeDe9efpKODBE_Et3urk4caCRuBDQTEWXY9fS2E42ERaBetAgQ7TI/s1600/1029141129e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9Q80kOJ3xNzEdYEpcgEkqK8-NYAi3NhnheniuybTb0ENOh4kdN89dgPvmsIIuQ5FmbnMKsg7-QjI_fc4d6bc6rwWeDe9efpKODBE_Et3urk4caCRuBDQTEWXY9fS2E42ERaBetAgQ7TI/s1600/1029141129e.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
These are the faces of the first 10 people to be arrested in the We
Are Seneca Lake resistance movement. They include mother and son team
Jeanne and Astro Judson, 86-year-old environmentalist Roland Micklem,
retired Air Force Master Sergent Colleen Boland and others. They will
not be the last. I personally expect to be behind bars myself before the
year is out.<br />
<br />
When the government and elected leaders fail to
serve and protect the people, breaking the law becomes a public service.
Standing nose to nose with a freight truck becomes an act of bravery,
not an act of foolery. When the people are ignored in a democratic
system, we cannot sit back complacently and allow power-abusers to walk
all over us.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
We must rise.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxxPNxHxeMJ8yuP0rAkvOfE0leNUXcHzcYh68Gzas83x8l7CHxda5XW3GPHADe_wBY0QOveqeRl_VIMNPconadJwu_hBlTc2ZZSctDtipMD0H9LoGyFy9WVjPQQsBBtZ6qqtRtiGoGexi/s1600/1029141037b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxxPNxHxeMJ8yuP0rAkvOfE0leNUXcHzcYh68Gzas83x8l7CHxda5XW3GPHADe_wBY0QOveqeRl_VIMNPconadJwu_hBlTc2ZZSctDtipMD0H9LoGyFy9WVjPQQsBBtZ6qqtRtiGoGexi/s1600/1029141037b.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-86386416771734031262014-10-21T12:20:00.000-07:002014-10-21T12:20:08.053-07:00My Mom is Bartender — Social Stigmas & Climate ChangeWith a heavy heart, on October 10th I left the Climate March on the
same day it crossed into Pennsylvania, and I returned home to New York.
Recently, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) approved
Texas-based company Crestwood Midstream's proposal to store methane in
old salt caverns along the Western shore of Seneca Lake. This, I had
told myself, would be the one situation that would draw me away from
finishing the Climate March early. So, here I am.<br />
<br />
I soon discovered that I was not only returning home to a lake in crisis, but also a mother in crisis.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgobHTgwf4z7dBvtWMU9tsncDmYAheZ9gelTsAE4Zk1Un6HYJsBQ-BRd-XPUkwu3EDv2MpsBl69asyg76ciiUjq3IxS7VfEIm5MRySn_Ap4E-G8C73-YNZ_yyRh5TfoKhqZZXlgQKbtp9m/s1600/IMG_20140928_172730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgobHTgwf4z7dBvtWMU9tsncDmYAheZ9gelTsAE4Zk1Un6HYJsBQ-BRd-XPUkwu3EDv2MpsBl69asyg76ciiUjq3IxS7VfEIm5MRySn_Ap4E-G8C73-YNZ_yyRh5TfoKhqZZXlgQKbtp9m/s1600/IMG_20140928_172730.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
My mom and I during her visit to the Climate March in Ohio</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Two
nights ago my heart was broken as my mom broke down in tears and sobbed
in a panicky voice about the outside pressures she was feeling in her
life.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
"People say things like, 'Jen, I'll never understand why you
left your career to bartend,'" she sobbed on my shoulder. "This job
just makes me happy, and that's what I want to do right now; something
that makes me happy."<br />
<br />
Amidst a swirl of budget cuts and an
ever-increasing workload, Mom resigned from her job as a school
psychologist at the Watkins Glen School District in 2012. After
resigning, she took up a profession she had been doing on and off since
she was 18 and in college: bartending. Except this time, she became
employed full-time. The improvement to her mental and emotional health
was dramatic.<br />
<br />
Since I was a kid, I have always loved watching Mom work the bar. She's <em>good </em>at
it. She applies her psychology degree while working, simultaneously
mixing tasty drink recipes she invented and counseling the
broken-hearted as though it were all one, smooth motion. Since arriving
at Harry's Sports Bar, she has noticeably increased business. People
make it a point to come in when she's on shift. A free, home cooked
dinner magically appears for everyone on Thursdays and anytime there's a
band playing, Mom is behind it.<br />
<br />
However, ever since she made her
decision in 2012, people have been questioning her. They've belittled
her profession in subtle ways, making it clear that as a bartender, she
is lower in the pecking order. And now it's taking its toll.<br />
<br />
Mom
has been working tirelessly for years to renovate the little house I
grew up in. Since I was a toddler, the nasty carpets have been ripped up
and replaced with silky wood floors, central heating and cooling has
been installed, the bathrooms have been torn apart and redone, her
gardens are more stunning each year, and my bedroom is now the room of
my dreams, all the way down to the detailing on the window frame. Mom is
very particular about keeping her house tidy, to the point where
leaving a sweatshirt on a chair can get me a stern talking to later.
That night, she revealed to me why she was so hellbent on making the
house "perfect."<br />
<br />
"This is a double-wide trailer; it's not even
considered to be a real house. I've tried so hard make it look like a
real house so I don't have to be embarrassed of it."<br />
<br />
This came as a
shock to me. Even in its worst state, I always loved our little home.
Enclosed in it are my favorite memories with Mom, Dad, and my dogs. The
property around the house has always been more important to me than the
inner contents; there's ample room for a child to run and stretch her
legs, endless trees for climbing, flowers for picking, and bugs for
investigating. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh177u_c8DENJu_lpsaut8G4mzFznX0m__0RRLPbrxqdNXFq6cJoh6aDit-u5bS071T9EAfWlKK3M5v70SHJObHhcoHgxLKL_1XaBLvuLbBeVmamv4qbhKtmG3J3fUrGPZpld0cj1JneIcQ/s1600/IMG_2855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh177u_c8DENJu_lpsaut8G4mzFznX0m__0RRLPbrxqdNXFq6cJoh6aDit-u5bS071T9EAfWlKK3M5v70SHJObHhcoHgxLKL_1XaBLvuLbBeVmamv4qbhKtmG3J3fUrGPZpld0cj1JneIcQ/s1600/IMG_2855.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
Mom going for a walk with her niece, Alicia</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
It all came boiling down to one key point in our conversation.<br />
<br />
"I
don't want a big house anymore; I've worked hard on this one and I love
it," she said, tossing her hands up in the air. "I don't need all this
stuff! I just want to make enough money doing something I enjoy to have
what I need."<br />
<br />
When she said this, it was all I could do not to
jump up and down with joy. I'd been preaching this to my friends and
family for years, and it had been a theme of discussion on the Climate
March. Here she was, arriving at this conclusion almost entirely on her
own. And yet, it was not a delighted epiphany, it was a tearful one full
of shame.<br />
<br />
The reality of it all sank in deep. Mom is feeling
ashamed of her situation because of society's idea of success, and the
social pressures that exist to make people feel they need to fit the
description of successful. We live in a society that equates materialism
with luxury and success.<br />
<br />
And isn't it our constant quest to make
and buy more unnecessary stuff a huge contribution to the state of our
planet? We have to destroy ecosystems to dig up resources, we use
polluting factories to convert those resources into objects, we belch
out massive amounts of carbon emissions to send them all over the world,
and we steam roll over more natural places to build the stores to sell
them in. Then, we just throw out most of the stuff anyways, filling up
our world with trash. Americans represent 5 percent of the world's
population, but we produce 30 percent of the world's garbage.<br />
<br />
Mom
has the right idea. She loves her job, and she has discovered that
happiness is contained in actions, not material things. In my opinion,
that makes my bartending, low-income mother one of the most successful
women I know.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7Tu-6lMi39HwBCqyVZQvGTQL8DyUn1gzbYtMkIQm9TAHpVq2oXf05aVGTLewycS8h0veSDFDM6OjGCCubblazaEZ9Tc9L_ruRfRqx0RdR0pOgIHRId4ttWarhk4FnQPQfL5IpMMffb6f/s1600/1021141504-1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7Tu-6lMi39HwBCqyVZQvGTQL8DyUn1gzbYtMkIQm9TAHpVq2oXf05aVGTLewycS8h0veSDFDM6OjGCCubblazaEZ9Tc9L_ruRfRqx0RdR0pOgIHRId4ttWarhk4FnQPQfL5IpMMffb6f/s1600/1021141504-1-1.jpg" height="400" width="292" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mom and I on her wedding day </div>
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-79173908802461183612014-10-03T07:40:00.000-07:002014-10-03T07:40:16.937-07:00First Amendment Rights Don’t Come First
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The day after the largest climate march in history flooded
the streets of New York City, a group of 3,000 impassioned citizens flooded
Broadway outside the entrance of Wall Street, and a little over 100 of them
were arrested after a long day of occupation. Five of the people arrested were my
fellow Climate Marchers. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPx1VSkG1z-_YeE_RKIqSiPTMsFsr0NLad-yd6cAZks85KvApO9_tm_g5WDBzTVV2eI5N-SAC_QV00i9Id9ErMv7L5ST5S7FxMeUO6_yplezAeOyPtbYl9IoLJcVejXRVS7NbI-iEaJnaK/s1600/0922141552a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPx1VSkG1z-_YeE_RKIqSiPTMsFsr0NLad-yd6cAZks85KvApO9_tm_g5WDBzTVV2eI5N-SAC_QV00i9Id9ErMv7L5ST5S7FxMeUO6_yplezAeOyPtbYl9IoLJcVejXRVS7NbI-iEaJnaK/s1600/0922141552a.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Here are Marchers Sean Glenn and Mack McDonald, two of the five arrested </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeSUyndQuMTP2-fndlw8wH32ApIB1amqYFxSx3zGYCyBhrS4x_LT7tu5VwC6qmhZKWbafeNR0Stzm11LubN-gl7sBodWGkwW8Zq-pGS-aI0aWOQn9RptQyEUzsoPFaUlfGyKIGlAPrs8nW/s1600/0922141156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeSUyndQuMTP2-fndlw8wH32ApIB1amqYFxSx3zGYCyBhrS4x_LT7tu5VwC6qmhZKWbafeNR0Stzm11LubN-gl7sBodWGkwW8Zq-pGS-aI0aWOQn9RptQyEUzsoPFaUlfGyKIGlAPrs8nW/s1600/0922141156.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Marcher Kelsey Juliana carrying Simon, 6, on her shoulders during Flood Wall Street </div>
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During Flood Wall Street and directly after, I was
absolutely psyched about the event. During the People’s Climate March on Sept.
21 a few of us had overheard police officers calling it a “big parade.” Flood
Wall Street seemed like a more tangible action <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>— people weren’t just waving signs around for
a few hours and going home. Way more people than expected showed up, the place
was crawling with media, the police ended up pepper-spraying protesters and
eventually there were arrests. There was momentum and the feeling of
accomplishment. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkmNkwqdmntHuMg638Sw7c8ZlfQI-_NmC8ilr7ypb_lkuw4ySjoLVmMbMi68I0_BQD2nanWZnNtqNNW0YOuAS_xWDAopXjZDhXhvUpMw8WY-ymIqpHo515HxIM14dxhMNM37bnbD_NV30/s1600/0922141215c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkmNkwqdmntHuMg638Sw7c8ZlfQI-_NmC8ilr7ypb_lkuw4ySjoLVmMbMi68I0_BQD2nanWZnNtqNNW0YOuAS_xWDAopXjZDhXhvUpMw8WY-ymIqpHo515HxIM14dxhMNM37bnbD_NV30/s1600/0922141215c.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on what happened since
then and talk to my fellow Marchers, and as the excitement from Flood Wall
Street died down, I saw that day much differently. I now see how tightly the
police controlled us, and, subsequently, how watered-down our first amendment
right to peaceably assemble was. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6wbG9AIIhh6KrY2xSkFuY4S9Y4mh52p5tXVyXzGEU33gzairzCTy_EAxlRtPhlPbeBdojTN_M4WG69Z0xUpJzpk5yxmn0z-_bznRzYzm6k0om1eijOCpPOI6NI8GUnDgKOgTFgVfChoa/s1600/0922141505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6wbG9AIIhh6KrY2xSkFuY4S9Y4mh52p5tXVyXzGEU33gzairzCTy_EAxlRtPhlPbeBdojTN_M4WG69Z0xUpJzpk5yxmn0z-_bznRzYzm6k0om1eijOCpPOI6NI8GUnDgKOgTFgVfChoa/s1600/0922141505.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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Watching from the sky</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Ww3BJcn0lxzcIv7wWYdiZjFPMITO79yLEaCznZH8XtPxzaqGxUzN5VKLEtUD_FAMByemq45yTUhfcD_-YWpmxMolnUJw6Mq-b8VWFB6P1Z921ywE-o3LSjgc66-P_qvnWRFNGmK4CX9C/s1600/0922141611b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Ww3BJcn0lxzcIv7wWYdiZjFPMITO79yLEaCznZH8XtPxzaqGxUzN5VKLEtUD_FAMByemq45yTUhfcD_-YWpmxMolnUJw6Mq-b8VWFB6P1Z921ywE-o3LSjgc66-P_qvnWRFNGmK4CX9C/s1600/0922141611b.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYHQ-j5ni-O_DtUShIF-L5OhhuDesya4ZzNM0CRNH0oQg-JYGN6MRsisi6R-vyqSqF_SZzpt-896F0IxVJzkHHGcwVO_6OkpqQv4Jb_FOuxy-TUXNGULSx07TrsHG8jEg2co1HiTPJExB/s1600/0922141620b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYHQ-j5ni-O_DtUShIF-L5OhhuDesya4ZzNM0CRNH0oQg-JYGN6MRsisi6R-vyqSqF_SZzpt-896F0IxVJzkHHGcwVO_6OkpqQv4Jb_FOuxy-TUXNGULSx07TrsHG8jEg2co1HiTPJExB/s1600/0922141620b.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Heavy police presence</div>
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</div>
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Even before the demonstration got mildly violent after a
small group of the protesters decided to hit the hands of police officers while
playing tug-of-war with the barriers, the police had a very tight leash on us. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Because I am not familiar with New York City, I didn’t know
until a couple hours into the sit-in that we weren’t actually on Wall Street.
One of the people next to me informed me that the street we were blocking was
Broadway and the police had barricaded all entrances to Wall Street. The only
people allowed through were workers with I.D. </div>
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<br /></div>
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When we first arrived on Broadway from Battery Park, the
police blocked us after we passed the bull statue and we sat down where we
were. Because I wasn’t at the front of the march, I didn’t see the blockade and
I assumed when everyone sat down that we had arrived on Wall Street. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vqJ4IduLivgMtYAbr5pdmiXMBwHooA7vEogi7b6j8obISpSaIfG6t495vrFVsWdotnRAirwoaQKxnQ8oyVIoMi9jEl6As8IcmIGH2nKy1b0F9x6YI3PMtse_X0GHVunRfDFf-4zi4o6S/s1600/0922141220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vqJ4IduLivgMtYAbr5pdmiXMBwHooA7vEogi7b6j8obISpSaIfG6t495vrFVsWdotnRAirwoaQKxnQ8oyVIoMi9jEl6As8IcmIGH2nKy1b0F9x6YI3PMtse_X0GHVunRfDFf-4zi4o6S/s1600/0922141220.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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The sit-in on Broadway around the Bull</div>
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Later on, when the procession decided to move forward and
actually occupy the intersection of Broadway and Wall Street, it was only
because the police moved the barricades up and allowed us to. Even then, we still
couldn’t access Wall Street. If we tried, pepper spray, batons and police
horses awaited us. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1dZiIv46w1v07l8O7vAfEIt5Wf40mFqzUa9OZ50m9yJGL_vQ0Uil2SHAkGhZTxfb5Qn-WqdG9JgmnlWjZtvCI3tDw6pF4-zsSaPWqJ1WPFoiwCRXXJrl24LKEfie6lfgC4U4vGg7cStYR/s1600/0922141654c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1dZiIv46w1v07l8O7vAfEIt5Wf40mFqzUa9OZ50m9yJGL_vQ0Uil2SHAkGhZTxfb5Qn-WqdG9JgmnlWjZtvCI3tDw6pF4-zsSaPWqJ1WPFoiwCRXXJrl24LKEfie6lfgC4U4vGg7cStYR/s1600/0922141654c.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
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Me perched over the scene at the intersection of Broadway and Wall Street </div>
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On a normal day, anyone is allowed to walk down Wall Street.
But because we weren’t complacent tourists, because we had a goal to disrupt,
we weren’t even given the opportunity to try. If we have the right to peaceably
assemble, the police shouldn’t be allowed to block us pre-emptively. They
should only be allowed to come in after the disruption has happened, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after</i> we’ve started the sit-in.</div>
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After Wall Street, I was forced to look back at my first
time risking arrest two summers ago — which at the time had been one of the
proudest moments of my life — with great sadness. The first time I ever
participated in a sit-in I was not arrested because the police got to the
building first and blocked the entrance. The entrance was still rendered
useless, which was silly, but this way they didn’t have to bother themselves
with processing us. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I have always looked up to Mohandas Gandhi as a role model
for resistance and civil disobedience. However, I’m beginning to think the
principle of informing police and authorities ahead of time just won’t work for
our current environmental resistance. Warning the authorities beforehand has
only resulting in thwarted attempts to disrupt a system that is slowly killing
all of us. Frankly, we don’t have the time to continue doing cutesy sit-ins
that attract a lot of media but accomplish nothing. We don’t have time to be
thwarted; the wheels of climate change are already turning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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At Flood Wall Street, we pointed at the big buildings and shouted
at the line of stone-faced cops, “We’re not the ones you want! The criminals
are in there!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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How can corporations and the 1% can commit crimes against
the environment and humanity in the name of profit and get away with it, but as
soon as we the people stand up to them we are pepper-sprayed or hand-cuffed?
The longer I am on this March the more I realize our government and leaders are
no longer looking out for us. They no longer represent and protect the people.
Safeguarding our First Amendment rights is no longer as important as quelling
rebellion and preserving business as usual.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So I guess it’s up to us to do it. What are you willing to
do to take back our rights? To protect our only planet? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57slcTgm6pHP2_NbNWI4xEcs44cZCMkr1BpiJwojzY9TBZLZGuZcj0cYUiYSgqrk9m-BfanMtH54HXHAQ-BlE6KjIySRAjUDGfoYwuVqSwSUsWsp7NkO_dS6ehunXi-HZQc60vUyRVV0O/s1600/0922141301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57slcTgm6pHP2_NbNWI4xEcs44cZCMkr1BpiJwojzY9TBZLZGuZcj0cYUiYSgqrk9m-BfanMtH54HXHAQ-BlE6KjIySRAjUDGfoYwuVqSwSUsWsp7NkO_dS6ehunXi-HZQc60vUyRVV0O/s1600/0922141301.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-36115518976299105082014-09-29T09:30:00.000-07:002014-09-29T09:30:29.203-07:00Our Car-Centered Society<style>
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The 1986 Great Peace March for Global Nuclear Disarmament,
which was also a cross-country march seeking to change the world, lost one
marcher to a vehicular collision. The Great March for Climate Action has gone
for seven months without incident, but that awesome track record came to an end
on Friday, Sept. 26. While walking along Route 65 out of Maumee and toward
Toledo, a pick-up truck operated by a sleeping driver struck me head on. Unlike
the unfortunate Peace Marcher in 1986, I can live to tell the tale. </div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
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The road I was walking on that day was a busy, winding
highway with a small shoulder, but the walking conditions were still far better
than many of the roads we traverse. We often find ourselves on narrow roads
with no shoulders where cars either have to go around us or pass within inches
of us. This is a danger we have been hyper-aware of since day one. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The cart that I have been pushing all of my gear in took on
the brunt of the collision and saved my life. The collision wasn’t a brush or
even a sideswipe; it was a full, head-on contact at nearly full highway speed.
I had glanced down at my phone briefly, and when I looked up the truck was
right there in front of me, and I only had time to scream. Because it happened
so fast, my body did not have time to tense and I remained relatively limp,
which worked in my favor. When the truck struck me, I was thrown completely off
of my feet and into the air. I landed in the yard I had been walking along and
rolled through the grass. I was back on my feet in moments, feeling dizzy but
relatively okay.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2VvFFvQ-vV1mBmwy1RVw8cqdt2sAH3ZFnH7SwoKAtyF7N5ZTG_m2sEAJuNhS24Cx1iWRMrMAKtCDyYXIx-UbJpOL8dSt03yn6sDXEea_ekSyUvysqM-sf2nfBwOxZtOvciOK8ZlkO0w6N/s1600/mangledcart.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2VvFFvQ-vV1mBmwy1RVw8cqdt2sAH3ZFnH7SwoKAtyF7N5ZTG_m2sEAJuNhS24Cx1iWRMrMAKtCDyYXIx-UbJpOL8dSt03yn6sDXEea_ekSyUvysqM-sf2nfBwOxZtOvciOK8ZlkO0w6N/s1600/mangledcart.jpeg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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The remains of my push cart after the accident. Read about why I decided to start pushing my gear <a href="http://viridorari.blogspot.com/2014/09/pushing-my-weight.html">here</a>.</div>
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As the adrenaline wore down over the next half hour, I would
discover that I had a fat lip; abrasions on my left knee, my right hip and my
right forearm; and that my lower right leg was heavily bruised with a dent in
the skin and muscle. The next day my neck would be sore from whiplash. But
nothing was broken and not a drop of blood was spilled. I didn’t even need to
go to urgent care — some Ibuprofen and an ice pack was all I needed. My good
luck is hard to believe. </div>
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However, as I’ve walked from New Mexico to our present
moment in Ohio, I have seen thousands that weren’t as lucky as I was. Dogs,
cats, raccoons, opossum, songbirds, geese, a great horned owl, deer, rabbits,
frogs, butterflies and creatures so ground into the pavement they were
unrecognizable. A scrap of fur here, a jaw bone there. I have stepped over
them, around them, and lifted up the front wheel of my cart so as not to run
them over. I have stooped down to pray for their souls, I have fallen to my
knees and cried and I have spray-painted two roadside memorials in an attempt
to make a statement. I now wear a feather in my hair from a Canadian goose
murdered and left to rot on the shoulder. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4s5jEaqsRyafwf-nmRcB_zHC6l_dLVtYFDVHblhYJaWoB1dKwn3Qxiat1Dh7l7Bfd4IdqkQ4XqT9O4OGWj4F6hWLOQfHzEpRFE52gv19-RytDOJ9efiGf9mJAlwq2roda5vp90C_Zl11t/s1600/gooseroadkill.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4s5jEaqsRyafwf-nmRcB_zHC6l_dLVtYFDVHblhYJaWoB1dKwn3Qxiat1Dh7l7Bfd4IdqkQ4XqT9O4OGWj4F6hWLOQfHzEpRFE52gv19-RytDOJ9efiGf9mJAlwq2roda5vp90C_Zl11t/s1600/gooseroadkill.jpeg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Canadian goose in Ohio</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMHTIsyIac4A-anvqRoz43u7JMy1_wISDFLlVaeaKg1yffC-pWkx1f-DV8VRgnNhq4o-AU8kq5SZoH0ehLYl4ASWtSVygWviNSwHI9mnG0PNlXjxQEtnEFqXJ_pdC9wstMykg3cJ-7Uer/s1600/0803140856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMHTIsyIac4A-anvqRoz43u7JMy1_wISDFLlVaeaKg1yffC-pWkx1f-DV8VRgnNhq4o-AU8kq5SZoH0ehLYl4ASWtSVygWviNSwHI9mnG0PNlXjxQEtnEFqXJ_pdC9wstMykg3cJ-7Uer/s1600/0803140856.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Memorial for an opossum in Iowa</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTg_rcbpCUkKI7NNFX4-zZhgUO4G86kUeDTRQdab2O_bBognQWUa3Q-6YWL3_1aKSf18RMkDPQRi2x3sVQ9Em_3XTUXjbLdJPKC05-X7YuKXKhsJC4nb-D-Rf7cBPcCgZ19M7__52flSu/s1600/0806141142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTg_rcbpCUkKI7NNFX4-zZhgUO4G86kUeDTRQdab2O_bBognQWUa3Q-6YWL3_1aKSf18RMkDPQRi2x3sVQ9Em_3XTUXjbLdJPKC05-X7YuKXKhsJC4nb-D-Rf7cBPcCgZ19M7__52flSu/s1600/0806141142.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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Memorial for a slain fawn in Iowa</div>
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With the invention of the car, our entire infrastructure was
transformed. Think about it — you can travel from one end of the country to the
other without ever leaving a strip of pavement. And then you can come back and
take an entirely different route on a different strip of pavement. This
infrastructure requires that we slice through forests, drill tunnels into
mountains, blow up hills and crisscross rivers, cutting up valuable wildlife
habitats into neat little packages that are convenient for humans and no one
else. Rather than looking at roads as a necessity for our daily lives, we need
to start looking at them for the scars on the face of the Earth they are.</div>
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With the invention of the car, we could place two buildings
ten miles apart from each other and call them next door, and thus the morning
commute was born. Of course I need a car if I’m expected to get to work on
time! While marching I have learned to completely disregard the advice and
directions of locals. When they give us walking directions, they’re thinking
about it from the perspective of a driver; they never tell us about nice biking
or nature trails. They also have no concept of distance. If a local tells us
something is three miles away, in reality it could be as little as a mile away
or as much as six miles away. Our constant reliance on cars for travel has
disconnected us from our environment — we can only understand distance in
“car-time” and we do not appreciate the actual effort it takes to get from
place to place. Have you ever noticed how much more rewarding it is to walk or
bike somewhere? Isn’t it amazing the details you notice when you’re not inside
a car? How beautiful the world around you suddenly is?</div>
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I’d like to revisit a set of statistics from <a href="http://viridorari.blogspot.com/2013/06/harsh-facts-ecofriendly-economics-13.html">an old post on my blog</a>: <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Americans now use motor vehicles for more than 90 percent of
their daily trips. A quarter of all car journeys are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">less than two miles</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Our precious cars are born out of our
disease of convenience, and the effects have been devastating. Massive fossil
fuel consumption and greenhouse gas emissions, disconnection from our
environment, loss of ability to conceptualize time and distance, habitat
destruction, species loss and endangerment, human injury and even death. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Next time you reach for your keys, think about why
you’re reaching for them and whether or not you really need them. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_henGEv3NjWTU_AjKPIPHq8gDh-XcsH3t836n6dIcVWkucaQ8snP4uabdSm3Ue8tg40okrko_15M_2fhZPDhzvphls2Qdl3M2D9Euy5Wft5cN16H1CSdKaGGRiO_NRMa4fPL0xFNVTYH/s1600/0729141933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_henGEv3NjWTU_AjKPIPHq8gDh-XcsH3t836n6dIcVWkucaQ8snP4uabdSm3Ue8tg40okrko_15M_2fhZPDhzvphls2Qdl3M2D9Euy5Wft5cN16H1CSdKaGGRiO_NRMa4fPL0xFNVTYH/s1600/0729141933.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-73156394637285616482014-09-20T18:25:00.000-07:002014-09-20T18:25:05.492-07:00Letter to the FutureDuring my time on the Climate March I have come to realize that the
climate crisis is more dire than I could have ever imagined. The reality
of the situation has affected me very deeply and has begun to lead me
down paths I didn't even know existed. Since this transformation in my
thinking about the future has been very personal, I thought it would be
more appropriate to share this in a letter rather than a
typically-formatted blog post. The following is an excerpt from a letter
I wrote to Chris, the Climate March's Colorado State Coordinator and my companion, while on the bus
from Montpelier, Ohio to New York City.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
"... I look
forward to our time together in Washington, D.C., which I hope will be
more thorough and personal before our next long separation.<br />
<br />
While all this is going on in my mind, I also have to remind myself of the present and to remain in it.<br />
<br />
And
yet, this entire movement we're in is about the future. We're trying to
convince all of humanity to think beyond themselves and to think bigger
and farther than the present moment. We're trying to take on this huge
task so a future can exist where humans and the Earth can coexist
happily and peacefully. Or else we go extinct and take a lot of others
with us ... we already have.<br />
<br />
Chris, I have learned so much on this
March; more than I could have ever imagined. I have learned from you,
my fellow Marchers, the communities we have passed through, news
articles, documentaries and more. Every day there is something new to
discover. The more I learn the more I realize how dire the situation is
and how much there is to be done. It sounds like you're having a similar
experience at American University. If you're responding to it similarly
to how I am, I imagine you must be feeling very heavy-shouldered right
now. I'm glad we're in each other's lives to help carry the load.<br />
<br />
I
was inspired to write to you at 11:30 p.m. at night after we finished
playing the documentary "Planet Ocean" on the bus. The film built from
the ground up how life started in the oceans and became what it was,
from phytoplankton to us. And then it turned and proceeded to show us
how humans have and are dismantling everything nature created from our
level down. It was shocking and disgusting to see the reality of what
we've done. There are fishing nets that are 25 miles long. 25 miles.
Bluefin tuna are expected to be extinct soon. Jellyfish are taking over
the waters because we have removed their predators. That doesn't even
scratch the surface.<br />
<br />
Right at the end of the movie we had a rest
break, and Gavain and Kelsey and I sat on a bench together outside the
gas station. Tilly was asleep in Kelsey's arms. I asked Gavain a
question I'd been wanting to ask him for a while: if he regrets bringing
his children into this world, knowing what he knows. He said although
he and Dana are actively raising their children to be fighters so they
can face this age, if he had known what he does now before they were
born he wouldn't have had them so they could be "spared of an existence
in this world."<br />
<br />
He had to get up and leave, but I turned to Kelsey and told her for
the first time in my life I was having second thoughts about having
children, and we broke down and cried together right there on the bench.
Eventual motherhood is a part of both of our identities. Having that
stolen from us in cruel and unfair, but it seems to be happening. If we
love our world, how can we contribute to overpopulation? If we love our
children, how can we dump this mess upon them?<br />
<br />
I'm not sure yet if I'm ready to abandon motherhood entirely. But tonight was the first night where I considered it seriously.<br />
<br />
Chris,
I'm so scared. And I'm so ashamed of my species. And yet, I must remain
hopeful or we will surely be lost. Without hope, we cannot possibly
face this task.<br />
<br />
"Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced." —James Baldwin<br />
<br />
I'm
so glad I have you in my life. I'm so glad I am not alone in my fear
and the feeling of being overwhelmed. I'm so glad I have someone to
share these burdens with, someone to help me carry them and someone who I
can help carry.<br />
<br />
We have to do this. It's our last chance ..."<br />
<br />
I've
found that one of the hardest parts of tackling climate change is
accepting responsibility for what has happened to our planet and
allowing time and energy to grieve. The Climate Marchers have held a
couple of spiritual gatherings to allow for grief and lamenting, one of
which I participated in while we camped in Cumberland, Iowa. To
understand this concept better, I would highly recommend a fantastic
article I recently read which encourages us to turn our despair into
action. It can be read <a data-mce-href="http://www.yesmagazine.org/issues/love-and-the-apocalypse/radical-is-the-new-normal" href="http://www.yesmagazine.org/issues/love-and-the-apocalypse/radical-is-the-new-normal">here</a>.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-42837195452621842262014-09-17T10:28:00.001-07:002014-09-17T10:28:13.334-07:00Pushing My Weight<span id="goog_1395794211"></span><span id="goog_1395794212"></span><br />
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</div>
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A
response to the Climate March I hear a lot is, "Isn't it hypocritical
to say you're walking to fight climate change while you're using all of
those gas-guzzling vehicles?"</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yes,
you caught us. The Climate March is not fossil-fuel free. We have a
gear truck, a kitchen truck, a truck to haul our Eco-Commodes and
several personal vehicles. We rely heavily on these vehicles to make it
through our days, and attempts to reduce our number of vehicles are
often stymied due to the wide variety of needs from our diverse
community.</div>
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<br /></div>
In response to people being skeptical of the March
because of our vehicle use, I'd like to quote two of my fellow Marchers.
During one of our emotionally-intense group meetings about our
fossil-fuel usage, Jeffrey Czerweic pointed out that it takes fossil
fuels to produce wind turbines and solar panels. My fellow marcher Mack
McDonald often cites the following statistic: if every single American
started living a truly sustainable lifestyle tomorrow, it would only cut
about 20 percent of our emissions. The other 80 percent comes from
industry and corporations.<br />
<br />
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It's
true; we need to drastically cut our carbon emissions if we have any
hope of even a bearable future on this planet. While it is important to
make changes in our own lives, it is even more important to tackle
industry, consumerist capitalism and wasteful individualism. Currently,
our daily lives and the resources we use and think we 'need' encourage
this system, and one way we can bring down the giant is to remove our
monetary support from it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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That's
why, inspired by my fellow marcher Kelsey Erickson, who has been
carrying her own gear in a cart or a backpack for most of the March, I
decided to start using a cart in Nebraska and I am still going strong
now.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWUV5DlI3pAyVMzfgCZIZtewEqkpgbSVNRBBUsr0OwokUOLOAhlYjsra-MUYHAdGssRAD2BqezqJO4k-dPYgbjz0AuGgH39CGcCiYZZ6pAvlsATB_lP2I_2eVuerRhWelugAMDZL2VEBd/s1600/0719140923b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWUV5DlI3pAyVMzfgCZIZtewEqkpgbSVNRBBUsr0OwokUOLOAhlYjsra-MUYHAdGssRAD2BqezqJO4k-dPYgbjz0AuGgH39CGcCiYZZ6pAvlsATB_lP2I_2eVuerRhWelugAMDZL2VEBd/s1600/0719140923b.jpg" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
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A picture of me using a push cart for the first time in Nebraska. All of my gear is on it.</div>
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Although
walking across the country is a feat within itself, I wanted to
demonstrate to people that I could do it while minimizing my dependence
on vehicles. Now that all of my gear is in a cart, I don't need to rely
on the gear truck anymore. In the process of hauling all of my stuff, my
body has gotten even stronger than it already was from just walking.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKFOtJu_siZMjMAVr331w_kDh9TgxsrWHZWlZWFV91A1v-pbtGtlsc16C1a1IzlkFnO7WhczHOlQ5bA6JvaA3B3t2O1_xqAQoBEZ_kAHevzVmsfqZt3ij0sAFUwxlcHBWsXkdNWkbPlyP/s1600/0909141721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKFOtJu_siZMjMAVr331w_kDh9TgxsrWHZWlZWFV91A1v-pbtGtlsc16C1a1IzlkFnO7WhczHOlQ5bA6JvaA3B3t2O1_xqAQoBEZ_kAHevzVmsfqZt3ij0sAFUwxlcHBWsXkdNWkbPlyP/s1600/0909141721.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a> </div>
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My tent and cart </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZZgO6P9SkL32X8PsNtmkdKT9GypxPwyHtGVsQag3WJPZ0ovVJjCEY50GyePC9G_I87noBuSoyofeNrengGUstVT4j5mfdbhbPcBR9_hIV0Ybz4RFaIuQBGij26NgYrTlSHSsh5OeKIf7/s1600/IMG_4064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZZgO6P9SkL32X8PsNtmkdKT9GypxPwyHtGVsQag3WJPZ0ovVJjCEY50GyePC9G_I87noBuSoyofeNrengGUstVT4j5mfdbhbPcBR9_hIV0Ybz4RFaIuQBGij26NgYrTlSHSsh5OeKIf7/s1600/IMG_4064.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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From left to right: Rob Lister, Ben Bushwick and Kelsey Erickson pushing carts on our way into Lincoln, Nebraska</div>
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<br /></div>
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Not
only does transporting my gear using my own power have an outward
impact to those who see the March, but it has also had a significant
personal impact for me. I now understand better than I ever have what I
am capable of physically. Last semester at Ithaca College, I had a
personal car, and although I rarely used it without carpooling, now
looking back I realize I probably could have done without it. My time on
the Climate March has inspired me to start planning a walking or
bicycling trip to college this spring semester rather than driving. I
hope to downsize my personal possessions enough that I will not need a
car to get it all to campus.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Although
some people do mistake me for a homeless person because of my cart, I
hope that as I continue to walk across the states with my fellow merry
travelers that some of our onlookers and supporters will be inspired to
test how much they can do with their own human willpower.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiLJ6ZvKZtiDOT5FyfU6g_GZFouaU9R2fbU8I3yaszfKGyN5RsziElkSY7DYyVJqttxGeNOcU6fKOuxoW85PNhLPn9Z_Pr4qNzKnmbaUm8bovaKtWN_jKA6gRIbm-T9KJ4vz2fqubYdBvT/s1600/IMG_4158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiLJ6ZvKZtiDOT5FyfU6g_GZFouaU9R2fbU8I3yaszfKGyN5RsziElkSY7DYyVJqttxGeNOcU6fKOuxoW85PNhLPn9Z_Pr4qNzKnmbaUm8bovaKtWN_jKA6gRIbm-T9KJ4vz2fqubYdBvT/s1600/IMG_4158.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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I crossed this bridge into Iowa on July 30th while pushing my cart.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikj0gn9mb-N4uHprjPgymsgVytq2CP84Iiwa3E4YgQlXKkATF3GOFMZItcR-k9uK11pchLImQWswFGwCq0e0YqonAg1ARQyrQYORA0TldyVJgxFmqkeHJE6cC9TGLTOhtqOY6jhFXoxtoa/s1600/IMG_4166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikj0gn9mb-N4uHprjPgymsgVytq2CP84Iiwa3E4YgQlXKkATF3GOFMZItcR-k9uK11pchLImQWswFGwCq0e0YqonAg1ARQyrQYORA0TldyVJgxFmqkeHJE6cC9TGLTOhtqOY6jhFXoxtoa/s1600/IMG_4166.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5kfu2f3oe-rrtJIBvnvPc9vfPcdAowJuyCNHIRSfB-b8YGN0r4YmYF9k0p1VsP6f76hIS8CqqA4WhO0bygbXAGGB8tTNrXaxIeWfyCYTBMTxRM9POIRv4IibI2m0hrxJ27PVQf52NgXxr/s1600/IMG_4190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5kfu2f3oe-rrtJIBvnvPc9vfPcdAowJuyCNHIRSfB-b8YGN0r4YmYF9k0p1VsP6f76hIS8CqqA4WhO0bygbXAGGB8tTNrXaxIeWfyCYTBMTxRM9POIRv4IibI2m0hrxJ27PVQf52NgXxr/s1600/IMG_4190.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a> </div>
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While not all of our community members are willing and able to push
carts full of gear, I have received support from many of my fellow
Marchers in this endeavor. Sometimes they offer to take the cart off my
hands and give me a break. Now, the March also has a covered Conestoga
wagon and a rickshaw to pull, and the Marchers take turns pulling them.
The wagon and rickshaw are each big enough to haul people, and we often
use them to transport the children who are on the March. The use of
carts have strengthened our sense of community and personal sacrifice. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xFLhVJTYscapjBYH3AzNi4XfDaJusfF90K9u3EhoaqQZjsIB-xYLajTXg5NW-rU-JZAKMbh3zRsdnlJH5lI0PmmUvthKXdse0_6U0JhE-nQzveUJMdCuRZjIUXmMnICs7oXb3FYyATpC/s1600/IMG_4253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xFLhVJTYscapjBYH3AzNi4XfDaJusfF90K9u3EhoaqQZjsIB-xYLajTXg5NW-rU-JZAKMbh3zRsdnlJH5lI0PmmUvthKXdse0_6U0JhE-nQzveUJMdCuRZjIUXmMnICs7oXb3FYyATpC/s1600/IMG_4253.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Sean Glenn (left) carrying all of her gear in a backpack and John Abbe
(right) pushing my cart to give me a break. We are walking through a
huge wind farm in Iowa.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwZk3kKy7NLfPE_agAD7FGOl_WK-VsBadS_6-lZSvoOZHwQa23JyGOdkuPw7u0FvYk-ShCxirXa6O4dbmn0ifM9Ro1twM84c_lP7VnaLrFucDfBtyJUkkI1otJN4LN2fNXo86MZ27ZDCS/s1600/0724140839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwZk3kKy7NLfPE_agAD7FGOl_WK-VsBadS_6-lZSvoOZHwQa23JyGOdkuPw7u0FvYk-ShCxirXa6O4dbmn0ifM9Ro1twM84c_lP7VnaLrFucDfBtyJUkkI1otJN4LN2fNXo86MZ27ZDCS/s1600/0724140839.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
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Marcher Luke Davis pulling Tilly, 3, in the rickshaw on our way into Lincoln, Nebraska </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpiCgpqgqU_3wr2-YufoMi1j1rVlicyEr-UjndgsNgJ12JCVE9GVOUp9I62siC_1mxdNy2v6MxS1ieu_VicOj8YNdInitNRwOZ_MmmPE4NkeSFA65Su_43qB_P_8yjlu_qrde7VeN1BkhK/s1600/0821141008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpiCgpqgqU_3wr2-YufoMi1j1rVlicyEr-UjndgsNgJ12JCVE9GVOUp9I62siC_1mxdNy2v6MxS1ieu_VicOj8YNdInitNRwOZ_MmmPE4NkeSFA65Su_43qB_P_8yjlu_qrde7VeN1BkhK/s1600/0821141008.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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The first time I tried pulling the Conestoga wagon, I pulled it six miles toward our destination in West Branch, Iowa.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzD0u0UHMg6664tg85QSW8vnIr5UMCKK5-Zz5GEK_lUEiZsFxCgDMLILMYVGWHASE-L-CQOk_Lz-5TEuJ_t_AT82yikQqcNheeBParbWsm2eTIE_-a32WrJZTeM3lmwyRyC3EFH_R79tQ/s1600/IMG_4254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzD0u0UHMg6664tg85QSW8vnIr5UMCKK5-Zz5GEK_lUEiZsFxCgDMLILMYVGWHASE-L-CQOk_Lz-5TEuJ_t_AT82yikQqcNheeBParbWsm2eTIE_-a32WrJZTeM3lmwyRyC3EFH_R79tQ/s1600/IMG_4254.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's going to take a lot more of what you see in the picture above, as
well as an entire restructuring of our society, culture and government
to have any hope of slowing down climate change. But in the mean time,
as I push my cart across the country, I can set an example of what
humans are capable of. I can demonstrate how we can be reliant upon our
own bodies and capabilities to meet our needs. We can cut our dependence
on industry.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYraEjodDdh-Sqiw_XiIVyfuA2DT0rsnik1d_uTIk-2hjaKneMY6q5WNqZTm1wDQ4dowpVzp9jOxPFIA2PT9j-1aLoBPWw3oiMZvcY0zRfPui4R01EzgeMd-GZb1wybikwS3XEpJVAf5KM/s1600/0909141000a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYraEjodDdh-Sqiw_XiIVyfuA2DT0rsnik1d_uTIk-2hjaKneMY6q5WNqZTm1wDQ4dowpVzp9jOxPFIA2PT9j-1aLoBPWw3oiMZvcY0zRfPui4R01EzgeMd-GZb1wybikwS3XEpJVAf5KM/s1600/0909141000a.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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I think this sign in front of America's largest oil refinery in Whiting, Indiana says it all.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-28480922345243571082014-08-29T15:01:00.000-07:002014-08-29T15:02:22.556-07:00The Fruits of Our Labor — Crossing the proposed KXL route<b>Q: What is the Keystone XL Pipeline?</b><br />
A: The Keystone XL Pipeline, or KXL, is a proposed 1,179 mile pipeline from a Canadian company called TransCanada. It would carry crude tar sands oil from extraction sites in Alberta, Canada to Steele City, Neb., where it would connect with the southern section of the pipeline to run to refineries in Texas. Tar sands is dirtier than other crude oils and emits more carbon dioxide in its lifetime. Not to mention, if spilled, it is nearly impossible to clean up due to its heavy, sticky nature, especially in water. Because it crosses an international border, the pipeline requires presidential approval.<br />
<br />
<b>Q: When the KXL project was first proposed in 2008, it was considered a 'done deal.' Why hasn't it passed yet? </b><br />
A: Activists and concerned citizens.<br />
<b></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b> </b><br />
<br />
KXL hasn't been built yet because environmentalists and environmental organizations have put up a huge stink about it. I was arrested with over 300 others on March 2 of this year for protesting the pipeline in front of the White House — the same weekend the Climate March started in Los Angeles. The Obama Administration is aware of the resistance from citizens and the consequences that will occur if the project is approved, but it is also aware of the huge amounts of money pouring in from the industry to move this forward. Hence, we find ourselves in a state of limbo where a definitive decision on the pipeline is continually delayed.<br />
<br />
I had the unforgettable opportunity to meet some of the amazing people who stopped the pipeline in its tracks while the Climate March was in Nebraska. On July 19th, the March crossed the proposed KXL route in a massive stretch of soy and corn fields near the tiny town of Benedict.<br />
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Corn on the left, soy on the right, and a coal train in the background. </div>
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Our destination was the Build Our Energy Barn — a wind and solar powered barn built directly in the path of KXL. The barn was constructed by volunteers in the summer and fall of 2013 with Bold Nebraska, an organization that has been key in the KXL fight. <br />
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The mileage between our camps that day was 11.9 miles. When we were one mile out from the barn, we were met by a group of locals and activists who marched with us for the remaining mile. As we were swept up in a mass of banners and passionate people chanting for a clean energy future, our tired spirits were lifted.<br />
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Bold Nebraska founder Jane Kleeb rallying the troops! </div>
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Marcher Jimmy Betts </div>
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The meeting point of the Climate Marchers and the Bold Nebraskans! </div>
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The procession: "President Obama: Protect Our Sacred Water" </div>
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I'll never forget seeing the barn for the first time. I remember all the emails I received the year before at the time the barn was being built. I remember wishing I could be there to help and thinking how creative this particular idea for resistance was. People were literally building an obstruction along the pipeline path.<br />
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A couple of 'Pipeline Fighters': Tom (left) and Dennis (right) </div>
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A poster at the barn </div>
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Most of the people who were there to greet us at the barn that day had participated in building the barn. Some of our very own Climate Marchers had even been a part of it. While marching to the barn, I encountered a man named Dean Jacobs who was wearing Native American jewelry and face paint. When I asked him about it, he said he was wearing it to represent his native friends in the Ecuadorian Rainforest who are currently facing the extinction of their people because of land exploitation from oil and logging companies. Turns out, he was talking about the Sapara Nation — the very Native American tribe I <a href="http://theithacan.org/news/indigenous-leader-speaks-about-his-endangered-culture/">reported on</a> during my Fall 2013 semester at Ithaca College. He is close friends with Manari Kaji Ushigua, the Sapara leader who came to speak at my school. Small world! <br />
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Dean Jacobs pictured here with Jane Kleeb.</div>
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The highlight of the events that night at the barn was a screening of the documentary <a href="http://www.aboveallelsefilm.com/">"Above All Else."</a> The documentary focuses around a man named David Daniel from East Texas, who, after discovering surveyor stakes on his land in 2008, decided to resist the construction of the southern leg of the KXL pipeline from Oklahoma to Texas. He invited other activists onto his land and created the Tar Sands Blockade — a small tree house village built directly in the path of construction. Peaceful protesters performed "tree-sits" to keep TransCanada from plowing through the forests. The film follows the story of the intense standoff, and — spoiler alert — does not have a happy ending. Eventually, TransCanada found a loophole and simply built the pipeline around their blockade, knocking down trees just yards away from the tree-sitters and putting their lives in danger.</div>
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There was hardly a dry eye in the room at the end of the film, and many of us felt enraged, devastated or both. I was one of those who felt both, as well as a third feeling rising from the ashes of the film's ending — determination. I know that these corporations have no right to be exploiting people, whether they live in Nebraska or Texas or the Ecuadorian Rainforest, and I know that this current system cannot last. Although the Tar Sands Blockade failed to stop TransCanada in the south, the northern section of KXL has not been built because of activists. There are currently no permits to build KXL in Nebraska and South Dakota, and that's largely because of landowners refusing to sign leases, even when threatened with imminent domain. Imminent domain is the threat that companies will come anyways, regardless if landowners sign the lease.</div>
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Meeting all of the brave people at the Energy Barn gave me hope that this fight against corporate giants is not impossible. It gave me hope for the corporate battle I'm facing at my own home in New York to <a href="http://gasfreeseneca.com/">save Seneca Lake from gas storage</a>. It showed me that even though we're small individually, when the people unite, we can accomplish anything.</div>
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Respect existence, or expect resistance. </div>
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Sunset at the Build Our Energy Barn </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08278528096098651838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067945091266794669.post-16791046173547658422014-08-23T12:10:00.000-07:002014-08-23T12:28:13.799-07:00Double the TroubleAs I marched my way across the gorgeous state of Colorado, I couldn't get over the mountains, the wide open spaces, the crazy rock formations, the gentle forests and the big blue sky. At that time, I was still settling into March life and was perpetually amazed by the kind and welcoming spirits of my fellow Marchers. I noticed something else too; I couldn't stop thinking about how much my friend Rob Lister would love the Climate March.<br />
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One night as we camped in the San Isabel National Forest — which remains to be one of my favorite campsites so far — I sat down beside a bubbling stream near our campsite, dipped my feet into the cool water and wrote Rob a letter. I described to him the beauty of Colorado, the physical challenge of walking 15 to 20 miles each day and the incredible new family I had acquired in the Marchers. I ended the letter by begging him to come out and see it for himself.<br />
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I know how big of a deal it is to leave your "scheduled" life for a while to do something "crazy" like walk across the country, and so I didn't know what to expect in reply. But a few days later he contacted me after receiving my letter and said something to the effect of: "I have to tie down some loose ends, but I'm in!"<br />
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I met Rob in the spring semester of my first year at Ithaca College. We ended up in Professor Gagnon's Intro to International Relations class together, and we were two of the more engaged and outspoken students in class. Often our classroom conversations were so intriguing that we had to continue them outside of class, and a friendship started. We got into the habit of eating lunch together after our class. We realized we had a shared love for the outdoors, and we started going hiking together. He talked me into trying the IC rock climbing wall, and I was hooked after a few climbs. Soon, I was climbing multiple nights a week with Rob. We quickly became best friends.<br />
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When I originally told Rob about the Climate March, he was very excited and supportive. He bought one of my support t-shirts, helped me get ready and told all of our friends about it. Not surprisingly, he also became enthusiastic about participating it in himself. <br />
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Although Rob ended up missing out on the end of Colorado, he did make it to Nebraska, marching ten days and nearly 100 miles from Grand Island to Lincoln. Picking him up from the travel center in Grand Island was a joyful moment. Although I love being on the March, the waves of homesickness are inevitable. It felt good to share my experience with someone from home. <br />
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Rob was happily surprised at how quickly he fit into the community, but I
knew he would all along. Beautiful outdoors, abundant exercise and
awesome people — what's not to love?<br />
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Rob and I on his first day in Grand Island. We're both sporting our Spartan Race shirts! </div>
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Rob donating blood for the first time with the American Red Cross in Grand Island. He went with me to give blood, but it turned out I couldn't donate due to low iron levels. He and fellow Marcher Kim (yellow shirt) gave blood anyways with the support of Lala, Jimmy (blue hat) and me. </div>
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Swimming in the Platte River with Rob and Izzy along our marching route. </div>
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Rob (laying down and front) and me (sitting in front) on our way to the Proposed KXL pipeline route and the Build Our Energy Barn on July 19th. </div>
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Rob proudly carrying the Climate March sign to the KXL Pipeline route. </div>
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Rob helping to push a gear cart on our way into Lincoln, Nebraska.</div>
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Rob said his experience with the Climate March was life changing, and he was really glad that he heeded the call of my letter. But, I'll let him explain for himself. Here's a video of Rob's mini-speech to the Marchers two days before he left. His account of how the March influence him is now being used in the Climate March's recruitment package! Watch here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBA4GlNmE40&list=UUJxKfqhhbZOmSByvHKlMHQA">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBA4GlNmE40&list=UUJxKfqhhbZOmSByvHKlMHQA</a></div>
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Way to go Rob! I really enjoyed my time with my classmate on the March. Rob's decision to join made Ithaca College the college with the most students participating in the Climate March so far! I think it would be awesome if more IC students could join up for parts of the March... contact me if you're interested! </div>
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