Dakota Access Pipeline Protest November 2nd: Catalyst on the Ground
The Catalyst
It’s announced that a UN representative has been at the protests and has witnessed the violence employed by the cops. Whoops and cheers follow; peace signs are raised.
It’s announced that a UN representative has been at the protests and has witnessed the violence employed by the cops. Whoops and cheers follow; peace signs are raised.
At 5:30 a.m. on November 2nd 2016, a small group of men chopped, tied, and lay logs for a rickety wooden bridge on the Canon Ball River. Those men are Red Warriors, fighting for their right to clean water. Through the night they were building a bridge by which they could reach DAPL construction. The night would have been dark if it were not for the enormous stadium lights DAPL had constructed all along their construction site. This little bridge was built on Army Corps land. The bridge leads from the side of the river on which the main camp lies to the side of the river where DAPL is currently continuing construction.
At around 9 a.m., hundreds of other water protectors flocked to the bridge, which is only half a mile from the main camp. They were quickly met with a large police force in full riot gear. A lengthy protest ensued. Here’s an update, step-by-step.
The protectors came before the cops, so the warriors had some time to put finishing touches on the little wooden bridge. At this point, about fifty people are standing around nervously while a few people work furiously on the bridge.
About 40 cops in riot gear file over the hill while others watch from the top. They begin to say, “Return to the south camp and you will not be arrested” and “You are trespassing on Army Corps land.” The response from the crowd: “You’re trespassing on native land.” As word spreads at camp and the crowd grows the chants become louder than the police’s bullhorns.
A motorboat appears carrying five men in full army attire. All carry rifles—it’s unclear at this point whether their bullets are rubber or metal. The boat creeps up to the bridge and one soldier throws a grappling hook over its far edge. A few people throw scrap wood at the boat as it drags that section of the bridge away. Anyone who throws anything is immediately shouted down by the rest of the crowd. People scream, “Stay in prayer!” and “No violence—we’re here to protect!”
Spirits are low at this point. It seems like the bridge was the whole point of the protest, and no one is sure what to do now. But someone raises a fist in defiance and everyone follows suit.
Two men, a young man in black and an older man in jeans, jump in the river and swim to the other side. At first there are wild cheers, but no one follows them.
More people swim over and more cops join the loose line on the opposite shore. The protectors are thrown lids and tarps to be used as shields. There is no visible provocation on the part of the protectors, but cops begin to sporadically spray people with pepper spray. Their selection appears random, and at times obviously excessive. There is one cop in particular who sprays longer and harder than the others. Some cops, though, are clearly hesitant to spray unarmed people shivering in a river. A lot of the cops who have mace never spray at all.
Two canoes shuttle people back and forth across the river. They carry the partially submerged water protectors from the front line at the water’s edge back to the safe side of the river, where more people wait to treat burning eyes and freezing bodies with milk and insulation blankets. Many show symptoms of hypothermia. Heading back across, the canoes carry eager protectors to fill in the gaps, maintaining a solid line.
It’s announced that a UN representative has been at the protests and has witnessed the violence employed by the cops. Whoops and cheers follow; peace signs are raised.
All the protectors are gradually shuttled back to this side of the river. Milk, mace and tears run down their faces. Some are triumphant that we held ground for so long, others disappointed that we didn’t seize the hill on the other side of the river.
The first man to get into the water is the very last to leave. He’s clearly hypothermic, so a medic shouts, “Hug him, hug him!” And a small crowd embraces the guy to keep him warm.
We seem to have accomplished something today. Hundreds of cameras captured the obviously excessive force shown by the police. Facebook and Twitter have been exploding with sympathy and principled anger. But mainstream media continues to pay little attention. Those outlets that did, covered the day poorly. The Obama administration has delayed commitment to the cause and Hillary’s only comment was comically evasive. Morale is high this evening, but frustration is growing and the nights are getting colder.
I talked with Sage Robertson this afternoon. He was in the water on the frontline. At this confrontation, he said, “I was closer than I was the last time.” I asked if anything felt different about today and Robertson said that in one way, “it’s always the same thing. Us standing in front of them, with their guns and pepper spray.” But the protectors and the cops were in closer proximity today, and that let Robertson see something new: “they know it’s wrong,” he said. “We saw that on some of their faces today. That was new.”
Another protector told me today, “When a man is afraid, he brings a gun. A man with no fear has no need for a gun.” Robertson echoed this sentiment: “It was a real rush, but I wouldn’t say people were afraid. Everyone that goes to an action is willing to die. We don’t know if they have live rounds or what. One of them looked like he had a grenade launcher. I was thinking, wow, you need a grenade launcher for these people? What are you afraid of? But we were all together, so we weren’t afraid.”
We talked about the cops—what they might be thinking, what they’re consciences are telling them, how it must feel to be ordered to harm innocent people. “It makes me wonder,” Robertson said. “When they go to work, do they tell their families what they’re going to do?”
The future is on everyone’s minds. But Robertson is taking it slow: “It’s hard to say about the future. We live one day at a time. How we’re living at camp—that’s how we lived back then. Day by day, not knowing what lies ahead the next day. So that’s why I’m thankful for every day I wake up.”
I ask if there’s anything else. He says, “I just want to say I love my family back in Lake Lena, and I’ll be here. Here in Standing Rock.
