Chopping wood

I've been invited to stay at Rosebud Camp, and a corner in the cosy Healing yurt, where people can go for acupuncture and massage, has been set aside for me. I'm feeling so grateful that I will have a spot in a yurt warmed by a central stove! I've been taking a couple of days off from visiting camp, making the most of the hotel, resting and attempting to shake off the headcold I have caught, before I move over tomorrow. I've been drinking elderberry syrup and 'fire cider,' a potent brew of cider vinegar, garlic, chilli peppers and turmeric, given to me by the heavenly healing crew, who have a station here at the hotel to take care of people who are sick, traumatised, who came out of jail or needed recuperation and rest after being tear gassed or shot at with rubber bullets. Every time I take a shower, I've been appreciating what a luxury that clean hot running water is. Lots of people have colds and some, quite harsh coughs. There have been cases of pneumonia. Many could be due to the cold conditions, but there are those who put the coughs down to chemical spraying from DAPL. The presence of DAPL continues to be felt as their helicopters circle the camps and their lights glare up on the hill.

The straw bales have been ordered, bought with some of the money I fundraised - a huge thank you to all - and should arrive in a few days. These will be used to insulate the kitchen and the pantry at Rosebud. The day before yesterday, I spent some time helping to re-organise the kitchen. The sub zero temperatures mean that everything is a freezer. Sheets of ice coat the ceiling. Tins and eggs are frozen solid. It also means that there is no problem about where to store meat. The atmosphere in the kitchen was cheerful and industrious. We laughed at some of the items which we found in the donations. I can't imagine that a jam making jelly strainer will be needed any time soon. And yet as James, the carpenter, said, 'each of those tins of food and those items is a prayer of support.'  

Later, I went out with Meesha to learn how to chop wood. Chainsaws whined and the ringing of axes echoed in every direction as people split logs. Stores of wood are needed in case another blizzard strikes. James advised me, 'keep some food in your quarters in case one comes. The best thing is to stay put. It's so easy to get lost.' I had a skilled teacher in Meesha and she showed me how to use the weight of the handle. I found I could split pieces into fairly small kindling, but was still getting my axe stuck in the bigger logs. In any case it warmed me up. 

Everywhere I go, I see people helping each other out, being generous, and asking after each other. I was given a ride back to Oceti from a descendant of Sitting Bull, a large, welcoming man from South Dakota. He handed out boxes of hand warmers to the guards at the gate and plied me with buffalo jerky, made with meat he had hunted himself. 'Thanks for being here,' he told me. 'We appreciate it.' Then I was back in the hoghan to warm up. Somebody immediately insisted I take his seat. Once I'd warmed up, it was my turn to offer my seat to a woman who looked chilled through.

DAPL have been blocking phone signal at the camps, so I will be coming up to the hotel in order to update these posts. This is the first time I have stayed in a hotel where the elevators smell of sage, where nearly everybody smiles hello and where every now and again somebody bursts out singing a traditional Lakota prayer song, which I hear travelling through the walls of my bedroom, along the corridors and down in the dining room. 

Meesha powering through the log pile

The freezer kitchen  

A lesson in making fry bread

A Warm Arrival

 It is cold here. It is so cold. It's like walking into a freezer, only it is actually colder than that. A freezer runs at -18C. Today the temperature was -28C.

I set off this morning from Bismarck in a sturdy 4 wheel drive. I wanted to get going before the snow came. The hotel night watchman warned me not to stay outside for longer than half an hour. 'That's all it can take to get frost bite.' I left the garages and supermarkets behind and passed ranches with silos and a few rows of feathery, frosted trees. The cattle were velvet black against the white, strangely lunar landscape, their breath rising in clouds above. The empty road stretched away in a straight line. Occasionally a truck or a SUV would pass me and I saw several cars abandoned in the snow at the side of the road. 

After about an hour or more, I saw the silhouette of the Casino Hotel looming on the hill. It's on the Reservation and belongs to the Sioux tribe, but is managed by a company. Gamblers sit at flashing slot machines, smoke cigarettes in front of tired croupiers. The walls around them are painted with scenes of buffalo and tipi encampments on the plains. Water protectors gather in the lobby and the dining room, taking refuge from the cold. 

Over a buffet lunch, I talked with Kendra and Bea. They have both been here since the Autumn. 'It's probably been the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' said Kendra. 'All these people coming together, realising there is something they can do. I've been blown away by the people I've met and by the skills they have shared. I helped build a yurt with the construction team. Others were building compost toilets. A woman was running a herbalism course. Before it got cold, it was heavenly living together like that. So many people have left now. ' Kendra looked sad. 'It's time for me to go home. Now it's so cold, I can't be self sufficient any longer. My food is all frozen. I can't even open the cans.'  

Bea came from the East coast in September, bringing solar panels for the camp. She has been arrested twice here at Standing Rock and has a court case coming up soon. 'I'll come back. It's not over. DAPL are still drilling.'  Kendra peeled back her sleeve and showed me faded biro marks on her skin. 'It's the phone number for legal aid. Everyone was told to write it on their arm in case they got arrested.' 

Both of them agreed that the welcome they received here was wonderful and they have passed time with brave and inspiring people. 'Real warriors. Noble people,' said Kendra. But she worried too, about infiltrators. 'I tend to trust everyone, but there have definitely been cases of people trying to sow dissension. And a bunch of DAPL stickers were found at the camp.'  

After lunch, I drove down to the Oceti Sakowin camp, passing on a bridge over the Cannonball River, the water now frozen solid. A man at the entrance gate welcomed me, and asked me if I am coming to visit 'in a good way.' I assured him I am. I was struck by the beauty of the coloured flags in the wind, the tipi poles pointing up into the white sky. People warmed themselves at fires. Hand warmers were handed out.  Everyone is wrapped up. Some were arranging lifts to go home. I arrived at the moment that the sacred fire was being burned for the last time. Wood is short. A Native American man spoke prayers into a microphone. 'There are no real goodbyes. Take what you have learned here and bring it home. Protect the water and the land wherever you are.' Large quantities of sage and cedar, whole bags of tobacco were placed on the embers, sending their sweet smoke over a statue of a beautiful woman with braids. Someone ladled hot water onto the earth, making a lake around her feet. 'Mni Wiconi! Water is Life!' 

I stood next to Mark, a strong looking 'Native' with a kind face. We shook hands. 'I was born here at Standing Rock.' He had also just arrived. But he didn't drive. He walked through the snow for eight hours to be here.

I had brought some tobacco with me. I asked him who I might offer it to. 'To my uncle,' he said, and he led me to an elder. We waited at a distance while he finished a conversation with someone. And then the elder came to me, and I gave him the tobacco, and told him I had come from England, that many people there were praying for the water and the people at Standing Rock. We took our gloves off and shook each other's hand. 'Thank you,' he told me. 'I won't forget that.' 

Nor will I. 

A good day

I heard the good news late last night. Yesterday, the Obama administration denied Energy Transfer Partners (ETP) the easement needed to complete the last piece of their oil pipeline, that section supposed to pass under the Missouri River. 

This unusual intervention from the administration is an historic victory, a huge relief for all those who have been courageously protecting the water each day over the last months, as well as for millions supporting them all over the world. It's a cause for celebration, for singing, for hugs and for prayers of thanks. The water remains clean. For now.

Several friends of mine have asked, will you still be travelling out to Standing Rock? I have been considering this question today, along with the recent news.

As a young child, watching films with my older cousins, I was regularly laughed at for asking, 'who are the Goodies and who are the Baddies?' I needed to know who to back. There is a part of me that wants to see this latest development as that victorious moment in a film; that moment when justice prevails, when the score turns epic and stirs the emotions, the sweet moment when the Goodies have won and now the credits are rolling to joyous violins and expansive scenery.

It absolutely is a time to celebrate. It's a moment to celebrate the power of people peacefully coming together to protect the water and the earth. It's a good day for the water of the Missouri River. It's a good day for the sacred burial grounds of Standing Rock. It's a good day, long in coming, in terms of making a start in respecting the sovereignty of Native Americans on their land. It's a good day for Mama Earth.

However, it is clear that the story is not over. The army corps have said they will undertake an environmental impact statement, a lengthy process which could halt construction for years. Assistant secretary for civil works, Jo-Ellen Darcy said the order to halt the pipeline was based on "a need to explore alternative routes" for the crossing. There is no guarantee that DAPL will respect the order to stop works, after all, the prospect of paying fines has not restrained them until now. So many promises and treaties have been broken before, that Native American people have every reason to be distrustful.

Even if DAPL do respect the call to halt the works, a re-routing of the pipeline does not constitute a happy ending. It is not just land on Native American territory that is sacred. All land is sacred. The difference is that the tribes living on those reservations know that land is sacred and treat it as such. The ultimate goal must be to stop the pipeline altogether, to make good as far as possible the damage done by digging, to leave the oil in the ground and to break our addiction to fossil fuels and switch to renewable energy. Perhaps then I will hear the violins.

The time immediately following a victory can be delicate. On January 20th there will be a new president, one who has strong allegiances to fossil fuels. Not only does Trump intend to further invest in fossil fuels and their infrastructures, not only does he have a stake in ETP, having personally invested money in the company, but ETP has paid money towards electing Trump. They are bound up with one another. Very likely there will be appeals.

There are some at Standing Rock who will be returning home to be with their families, to rest and to recover. Others intend to stay and continue to protect the water and the land. On December 10th, I will be joining the water protectors, to celebrate together, to hear their stories, to write about what I see, to help out, and to touch the sacred water of the Missouri river and to pray for the purity of the water, there and everywhere.

Chiaroscuro - the light and the dark

It's easy to feel disheartened by the immensity of what we face at this time. One only has to glance at Facebook, to pick up a newspaper, or to listen to the news to feel overwhelmed by the sight of  the dying forests and coral reefs, of elephants being killed wantonly for their tusks, of wars raging, refugees suffering, indigenous tribes dealing with black oily swamps and the news that dozens, if not hundreds, of species are dying out every single day. The extent of the destruction caused by the human race is so enormous and happening so fast that it is easy to feel overwhelmed and to keep it at arm's length. 

Last Christmas I was made deeply uneasy by the uncanny warmth of the weather, by the sight of daffodils blooming in December, by the sense of wrongness in the air. In the new year, something cracked in me. I could no longer keep all this at bay. The immediate physicality of my perceptions made me finally let in the possibility that we might not be alright in the end, that we might not make it, after all. Then, I grieved. I cried every day for ten days.  I would wake up and the heaviness in my heart would remind me of the irreplaceability of what we are losing, rather in the way that when someone dies there is the realisation each morning. Oh yes, they have died.

The crying was a relief. Through my tears, I fell in love with the beauty of the winter skies. The trees moved me in their silent dependability and the birdsong became acutely exquisite. I felt more alive than ever. Living in London, I was amazed how many people returned my smile. I was almost sorry when that time passed, as it inevitably did. 

It seems to me that we are living in a time of great contrasts. As the darkness of the world becomes more obvious, so does the light become brighter. The darkness and the brightness bring each other into relief. As construction of the DAPL pipeline continues, as the people of Standing Rock come together to pray for the water and to protect their land, as I prepare for the cold, borrowing a very warm coat, buying an arctic sleeping bag and mittens, this is what I think about.

Who we are

I’ve always objected to the term, ‘the environment’. The environment is something apart; it has its own subject in school, its own section in bookshops, its own governmental department. It suggests a backdrop for humans, a stage set for our business. What it does not begin to convey is the living intelligence within trees, rocks, plants and water, within the very air we breathe, within the lions, the elephants and the stars, within the earth, the sun and the moon, within a curled up woodlouse, within us.

Reading some of the letters of support for the water protectors, I am moved by how the Apache former chairman, Wendsler Nosie Sr writes to Dave Archambault, the chairman of the Standing Rock Sioux tribe:

‘For us, Oak Flat, known to us as Chi’chil Bildagoteel has always been our connection to our Mother, our right to exist, a central part of our prayers, songs, stories and spiritual practices. It is from here that we emerged. It is who we are.’

It is this love and total connection to our Mother, the understanding that we are part of nature, which inspires me. That, along with the wise, brave commitment to remaining peaceful. It is what has called me to go out to Standing Rock.

As the police in North Dakota turn tear gas, rubber bullets and water cannons onto the activists at Standing Rock, as the injuries escalate, as the silence in the press deafens, as the lack of response from President Obama stuns, this peaceful response is, I am certain, all the more vital.

It makes me think of a time when I said no to a bully a few years ago. I was faced with threats and lies, blackmail and a court case. As someone who really dislikes conflict, this was severely testing. My way through this was to aim to be the person I wanted to be, to be brave, even if I was terrified, to sort out my affairs as best as I could so that I was beyond the reach of blackmail, and to behave as impeccably as I knew how in response to what felt like grenades being thrown in my path. It truly stretched me.

The peaceful response requires strength and patience. But most of all, it is an effective way. I think of Gandhi and the Independence of India. I think of the persistence of the suffragists, including my own great grandmother, MAM, and how they brought the vote to women in Britain, and I think of Rosa Parks who refused to stand for a white passenger on the bus. The peaceful way worked for them and it worked for me too.

I hope and pray with all my heart that it works for the water, for the land and the people of Standing Rock. I hope it works for us all.