Reporters and videographers recording the episode were also targeted in the sweep. As directed by the local county sheriff, some were arrested just for being there with their cameras on. He justified this action later by noting they were trespassing on land under the control of the Army Corps of Engineers.
With each of these incidents of violence, Rhonda felt increasingly alarmed and personally threatened, even though she wasn’t among the frontline protectors. With the help of Grandma, the Spirit Camp youth, and the increased participation in Native ceremonies, the teen began to realize that her own self-protective barriers were coming down. A feeling of connectedness had been growing within her, dispelling much of the darkness that had lurked in the corners of her soul.
While this sense of openness had helped her feel more alive, it also increased the feeling that she was surrounded by, and more vulnerable to, increasing danger. Again, with Grandma’s input, which was every bit as effective as any therapist’s guidance, Rhonda’s outlook on life was definitely more open and positive than it had ever been.
As November replaced October on the calendar, colder winds began to sweep across the plains. Seeing that winter was on its way, some people realized they were really only fair-weather protesters and headed for home. Many others, however, who’d come from nearby northern states, were ready to face the coming colder weather with blankets, heavy coats, wood-burning heaters, and winter-worthy camping gear.
Responding to Grandma’s invitation, a gathering of several hundred religious leaders from all over North America came in early November to join the protectors in a day of prayer and ceremony, hoping to end the violence and stop the pipeline. By that time, representatives from more than one hundred tribal nations had also made their way to the camp, and their flags were added to those already on-site. Viewed from a distance, the brown autumn grasses along the river seemed to burst with brilliant spring colors that danced in the wind.
In spite of the thousands of prayers and months of ceremony, word came down to the camp’s HQ in mid-November that all legal options for stopping the pipeline had been pursued and exhausted. Corporate and government entities seemed to have successfully merged their forces to deny every petition, motion, or legal action the tribes and environmental groups could muster.
The Thanksgiving holiday arrived to find a disheartened army of protectors experiencing daytime temperatures in the midthirties and nighttime temperatures dipping into the upper teens.
Of course, for many Natives, Thanksgiving was observed as a National Day of Mourning, not a time of joy and celebration. Rhonda learned from Grandma that the idea that the Pilgrims and Indians of the Northeast sat down to a bountiful feast enjoyed by immigrants and indigenous peoples alike was a myth begun in the era of Abraham Lincoln.
On the Monday after Thanksgiving, Rhonda got word that pipeline workers would be returning to their machines, accompanied by a full contingent of military might. Cleared by the courts to proceed, the oil company had a green light to move dirt and push people out of the way. Truckloads of National Guardsmen lined up in front of the big-wheeled, heavy equipment. A whistle blew, and the expulsion of protectors began.
In the most brutal show of force to date, campsites in the pipeline’s path were crushed. Any person found in those sites who wasn’t readily evacuating was seized, arrested, and escorted to waiting prison buses. Protectors from the main camp watched in horror as the chaos unfolded before them. Tribal leaders urged them to refrain from engaging in the conflict.
Rhonda and her phone camera witnessed the entire process from atop Grandma’s RV, as the heavy equipment and military force pushed eastward almost to the river. Tears streamed down the girl’s face as months of bottled-up fear and tension were released in a flow of sheer emotional agony. Feeling faint, Grandma escaped to the RV, where she proceeded to crash on her bed and cover her head with a blanket, as Rhonda had done before.
Distraught beyond belief, Rhonda kept it together long enough to make it to the generator truck to email the new video to her uncle Floyd and share it on social media.
CHAPTER
12
What Do We Do Now?
The following day, Chairman Smoke paid a visit to the camp. Disillusioned protectors gathered around the camp’s central ceremonial circle wearing heavy coats or wrapped in blankets. A warming fire burned in the fire pit, but everyone’s breath was visible in the cold morning air.
“It’s clear we’ve lost this battle,” the chairman said with a sad expression on his face. “We thank you for your sacrifice and your valiant efforts, but I’m afraid it’s time to go home.”
A general grumbling spread through the shivering crowd.
“I know this is a big disappointment,” he continued. “We all feel that way, but there’s no reason for you all to stay on and face the brutal winter weather.”
With that, the man turned and walked away. No one moved as they watched him drive away in his black truck with the Standing Stone tribal seal on the door. Rhonda was standing with her friends from the International Council of Native Youth, and they began talking among themselves about this news.
“What are we going to do?” one girl asked the others in the group. “You guys are like my family now, and there’s nothing for me back home on my rez.”
“Donations have come in from all over the country to support our efforts,” another one responded. “I think people expect us to carry on with the fight somehow.”
“We’re staying on Grandma’s land, not the reservation’s or the federal government’s,” Rhonda said. “Maybe we should ask her about what she wants to do.”
They walked up the hill to the Spirit Camp lodge, where a fire burned inside. They gathered around the fire while Rhonda went to the RV to talk to Grandma. Soon the two returned.
“I’m not moving the RV or taking down the lodge anytime soon,” Grandma told them. “This is my family’s land, and you can stay as long as you want. You young people are our best hope for a positive future, and I’ll support you anyway I can.”
That, of course, was good news for members of the ICNY, who now felt they at least had some time to decide their collective future. But the camp population did begin to dwindle a little as people considered the chairman’s words, and a few chose to head home.
What surprised everyone who stayed behind was the arrival of hundreds and then thousands of military veterans from all parts of the United States during the first days of December. Within a few days, four thousand veterans had come to the area to participate in the protest, many staying in nearby hotels and motels. The whole thing had been organized by a handful of men and women who had defended the nation but now believed leaders of the country had taken a wrong turn regarding the environment, the wars in the Middle East, and the harsh treatment of Native protesters.
Rhonda was surprised to see that her uncle Floyd was among the veterans who’d come to “Stand with Standing Stone,” as the veterans’ campaign was called. As soon as the man set foot on the campgrounds, he asked where he could find his niece. Everyone pointed up the hill toward the Spirit Camp lodge.
There Floyd found her, encircled by the youth council as they planned their next moves. The delighted surprise he saw on his niece’s face made the whole ice-cold, snow-covered trip worthwhile. But their initial reunion was brief because the time had come for the veterans to execute their preplanned action.
Floyd explained to Rhonda that the purpose of their visit to the camp was not to confront pipeline workers or police. The purpose was to bring the nation’s attention to an important moment in the country’s history. On the morning of December fifth, General George Armstrong Custer’s birthday, their purpose was to have former enemies unite in one cause. Descendants of those who fought against one another in the Indian Wars of the 1800s would now stand together in solidarity to protect Mother Earth.
The powerful and symbolic union took place as military veterans and elders of the Great Sioux Nation marched and stood
together on a bridge that overlooked the path of the destructive Black Snake. Prayers were offered and words were spoken that helped to mend the broken hearts of veterans and Natives alike.
In spite of frozen fingers and toes, Rhonda and others filmed the whole inspiring event, which lifted the spirits of protectors who felt defeated. The overall effect of the veterans’ visit was to validate the ICNY’s belief that there was still plenty of support in the country for their goal to continue their mission.
What would happen next took Grandma, the youth, and all the remaining protectors completely by surprise.
CHAPTER
13
The Final Blow
As the veterans were saying their goodbyes and heading for home, the winter’s first blizzard began to blow into the camp. For several hours, wind-driven wet snow fell at a sharp angle against the tents and tipis still standing on the land just south of the Black Snake’s trail.
Using fifty-five–gallon steel barrels, many campers lit fires to provide warming stations around the camp. The youth near the Spirit Camp lodge did the same, but also had the lodge’s interior fire going.
Because of the intense cold, the youth had invited elders from the camp to join them in the warmth of the youth lodge for the day. As Natives had done in winter months for centuries, elders took turns telling ancient stories to pass on wisdom to the younger generation. Gallons of hot chocolate, herbal tea, and campfire coffee were consumed as the stories and the warm feelings flowed.
It was around noon when Rhonda heard the rumblings of heavy vehicles. From inside the lodge, it sounded like army tanks were moving down the blacktop road that ran beside Grandma’s land and the rest of the camp.
Rhonda opened the east-facing flap of the lodge and stepped out to see what was up. The blizzard, thankfully, had eased up. As she rounded the tipi to get a better look at what was making all the racket on the road, she got the shock of her life. A line of dozens of army-green fire trucks and armored personnel carriers were moving into position on the blacktop.
Rhonda ran back into the lodge and alerted everyone about what she’d seen. She reached for her walkie-talkie radio and was about to push the talk button when she heard it crackle to life.
“HQ to all members of the ground crew and logistics team,” a voice on the radio said. “Be advised that militarized police units have just shown up on our doorstep, arriving in heavily armored vehicles. We don’t know their intent, but do not confront them. Tell all those around you, do not engage.”
People who’d been standing near the barrel fires scampered toward their tents or their cars parked nearby. For a long moment, all was still. No one or nothing moved. After a time, when nothing bad happened, people began to venture out to see what was going on.
That’s when it hit. Powerful water cannons began shooting jets of pressurized water from some of the trucks. Anyone standing within range was swept off their feet, drenched with freezing water, and washed toward the river. Smaller tents nearby, as well as camping gear, collapsed into soggy heaps on the frozen ground.
Then, poncho-draped police officers stepped from behind the trucks waving their batons. In a repeat of the previous fall’s violent actions, these men swept through the camp, intent on the eviction of every man, woman, and child from the premises.
Hearing screams of pain and sounds of water cannons shredding tents, Rhonda peeked out of the lodge again. Witnessing what was an incomprehensible site, she quickly ducked back inside. With only a moment’s thought and no hesitation, the girl immediately got everyone in the Spirit Camp lodge organized.
“Elders, move quickly to the center of the lodge near the fire,” she ordered. “ICNY, form a circle around them.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Grandma demanded of no one in particular. “They can’t force me off my own land!”
“They can and they will,” Rhonda replied to the elder, and then to the youth she said, “Face outward and lock arms. We’ll form a human shield around our elders.”
Panicked, members of the ICNY didn’t move. Did they hear Rhonda right?
“We’ve got about ten seconds!” Rhonda yelled. “Are you with me or not? Are we going to live up to our promises or not?”
With a look of resolve, the youth stepped one by one into the circle, faced outward from the elders, and locked arms with their neighbor. Each of them realized full well that he or she might be injured for making this stand.
Moments later, half a dozen uniformed men stepped into the tipi.
“Vacate the premises now or you will be arrested!” the man in front barked.
Rhonda and the youth braced themselves, locking arms even more tightly.
From within the circle of elders, Grandma stood up and shouted, “You can’t evict us. This is my property, and these people are here as my guests.”
“So you say, old lady!” the man in charge fired back. “Okay men, move in.”
Forming a semicircle, the officers approached the outer circle of youth. On a signal from their commander, they grabbed the arms, elbows, or wrists of the nearest young person.
Rhonda yelled to her cohorts, “Remember what the elders taught us! Resist, but don’t fight back!”
Not achieving the desired result using only their hands, the men reached for the batons that hung from their utility belts. The circle of youth cowered a little at the thought of being struck with the batons but managed to hold their positions. Rather than striking them, the men used the sticks as leverage to pry their arms apart. A couple of the youth cried out in pain.
Suddenly Rhonda heard the snap of bone breaking followed by the loudest cry of all. Turning to look behind her, the Blackfeet teen saw the youngest, smallest girl among them collapse on the ground holding her noticeably bent forearm.
“Enough!” Grandma yelled. “Enough!”
The officers froze in place, waiting for further command.
“Rhonda, what you’re trying to do here is good, but I’m not willing to risk any more pain and suffering,” Grandma said.
Still standing with locked arms, the teen turned to look at the elder.
Grandma smiled back at the girl and said, “It’s okay. We’ll go quietly.”
The youth released their grip on one another, feeling as though they’d failed their elders and failed in their mission. The youth on either side of the injured teen turned to help her.
Sensing the emotions of the young people, Grandma stepped toward the policemen and said, “Our warriors of old would be so proud of you young people today. You stood your ground, ready to give your lives for us. No one could ask for anything more.”
With that, Grandma held her arms together out in front waiting for handcuffs to be slapped on them. The commanding officer merely grabbed the elder by one arm and led her away. Other officers showed up to escort everyone in the lodge to waiting personnel carriers.
When the group arrived at the sheriff’s office, a waiting ambulance took the injured teen to the hospital. As for the rest, each one was booked and fingerprinted. As the commander fingerprinted Grandma, she quipped, “Not my first time in jail, sonny. Ain’t no big deal.”
Then she winked at Rhonda before wiping the ink from her fingers. The officer tried to rush her away, but the elder pulled herself loose from his grip. Standing taller and straighter than before, she smoothed a few wrinkles in her dress. When she was all done, she indicated to the man that she was ready to go to her cell.
Taking her cue from Grandma, Rhonda also displayed the attitude that this was no big deal. All part of a day’s work as a Native activist. And her first night in lockup really wasn’t going to be all that bad. It beat spending the night out at the camp in freezing overnight temperatures and twenty-five-mile-an-hour winds.
CHAPTER
14
Water Protector Forever
The following morning, Standing Stone tribal attorneys paid bail and got the elders and the youth released from jail. In the process, the Native lawyers we
re quick to let the sheriff know they would be taking him and his officers to court for trespassing on private property, police brutality, and wrongful arrest.
The sheriff claimed he was only following orders from the state governor’s office and didn’t realize most of the encampment they just raided was on private land. His office had been informed incorrectly that the camp was on pipeline land and had to be cleared of protesters.
“Likely story,” Grandma said as she and Rhonda left the jail.
A van belonging to the tribe drove the elder and the teen back to Grandma’s RV. As the pair stepped out of the van, they were shocked by what they saw. Grotesque ice sculptures were scattered across the landscape from the blacktop road to the river.
Actually, these were the remnants of collapsed tents, tipis, and a variety of camping equipment that had been frozen in place overnight after being sprayed by the water cannons. Grandma’s large tipi, the Spirit Camp lodge, had suffered the same fate, looking very much like the broken mast and sail of a sailboat locked in ice at the North Pole.
Fortunately, the large, sturdy RV survived the aquatic attack with no damage, so Grandma and Rhonda climbed aboard.
“I guess it’s all over, and the whole thing was for nothing,” Rhonda said with obvious disappointment. “I can add it to the list of failures in my life.”
“Oh, child, you’re so very wrong about that,” the elder said as she sat down at the RV’s built-in dining table. “It wasn’t for nothing, it’s far from over, and failure is not an option.”
Rhonda let that sink in as she rummaged through the kitchen cabinets looking for something to eat. After finding a box of packaged cheese and crackers, she sat down across from the elder. Grandma could tell she was thinking hard about something as the girl ripped open the package and began munching.
“Sure, these guys are going to build their pipeline under this river,” the elder said. “But already there are a half dozen other oil pipelines being planned in Canada and here in the States that could pollute Native lands and waterways.”
Standing Strong Page 7
