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There is no ending to this story. No closure granted to those that fought or stood valiantly up to what is quickly becoming a police-state zeitgeist. There’s no justifiable time to relax, to let your guard down, to think the battle, let alone the war, has been won. As you're reading this, there are people caked in frozen mud, weary to their bones, hungry for justice and peace, willing to sacrifice themselves out of hope and faith in their country, in our country, to do what’s right. What’s more, they do all of this out of love for each of us. Because they stand for all of us. Holding fast to the heroism innate in their culture, they plant themselves into the earth they love, staid to the American stormtrooper tempest that is inexorably destroying their, and slowly our, way of life.
Though I left them after only a few days, the indigenous people that embraced me will forever be a lasting part of the way I view my present and future. It is my fervent hope that you glean even a fraction of this feeling when you read this. Because if you do, you will be part of a movement that is not simply right in front of us, but imperative to all of us. This isn’t simply a protest to save the water sources of the tribes that lived on this sovereign land, but rather a human collective taking a harsh but peaceful stance against corporations that have been given rights as though they were people. And yes, corporations are given MORE rights than any of us. This is how unchecked capitalism thrives, through bold lies told to exploit our fellow man so that the rich few lead lives of ridiculous freedom while the rest of us give our lives for them. The contempt involved is so extraordinary that people blind themselves to it rather than come to terms with the staggering gravity of what has been done to them.
Want another harsh truth? I don’t care about much. Honestly, I can’t often afford to. I’ve had too many times where investing emotion wound up failing me, rather than reinforcing hope. I’m not saying this is right or wrong (or even that there is a right or wrong concerning this), I’m only saying that the moments and ideals that I think are worth fighting for have become more and more rare as the shadow of age creeps upon me. Because of the rarity of these moments, I cherish them all the more, dedicating all I am to accomplishing the principled mission set before me, prepared to give my life in the venture of societal growth. This is, of course, all the easier when all you really want is a noble death. There’s a liberation in that, a freedom to actualize every part of you without regret or concern. But when you start caring about the future, well… I’ll get to that in a few paragraphs.
Another important factor to get the full impact this protest had on me, you should know how I felt about Native Americans. Since I was a child, it seemed obvious that we, as a human species, were “all in this together.” It didn’t matter your sexuality, race, religion, etc.. It was just obvious. And it’s been reinforced throughout my life as a law that most view as a guideline. But there was a separation when it came to our indigenous peoples. Something about owning their own sovereign land, isolated from the rest of us by what I subconsciously understood as an unspoken anger and contempt, set my perspective to us/them.
I never reciprocated what I thought was their anger and contempt. How could I? After all, I was part of the guilty party. Though I don’t believe I am responsible for the actions of my ancestors, I do recognize I benefit from the subjugation they inflicted. Point being, I didn’t feel like my life and theirs were as intricately tied together as all of the other cultural variables in which we find ourselves. In fact, and like so many of us, I have Native American markers floating through my own genome. Yet I still don’t know in which tribe I’m ever so slightly a part. Given what has happened since I left Standing Rock, you’d better believe I will soon find out.
I've been told that too many words without pictures makes for less interest in a blog. So here's a dog, in a bathtub, with three gerbils. Anyway...
I’d heard about this protest months ago. Saw it on social media long before I saw it in the news, the flood of support tamped down by stories found to be more “sexy.” Because Kim Kardashian has a better body than the elders leading the camp. Because Trump’s tweets are easier to grasp than genocide, governmental policies on sovereign nations, corporate terrorism, police overreach, lie-infested media manipulation, and the generalities that inherently take advantage of our fellow citizens through the seemingly infallible lens of Capitalism. Nobody gives a shit because our responsibility for casual human suffering isn’t sexy. Instead, it’s an indictment. So we look away. This is America now. This is our standard. Tragically, regardless of whether they know it or not, this is what our veterans fought and fight for while overseas. This is our reality.
Until recently.
It was a Saturday when I got the email telling me about the collection of veterans that were teaming together to support the indigenous people of Standing Rock. One sent email later and I received this email in response:
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VETERANS STAND FOR STANDING ROCK
OPERATIONS ORDER
DECEMBER 4-7 2016
I) Situation – In response to the assertion of treaty rights, citizen rights,
tribal rights, and protection of the most valuable of resources, water, the Sioux tribes and allied comrades, are under sustained assault by agents of and working for private interests under the color of law. First Americans have served in the United States Military, defending the soil of our homelands, at a greater percentage than any other group of Americans. There is no other people more deserving of veteran support and this situation encapsulates whether we are called heroes for violence and cashing paychecks or for justice and morality.
a) Opposing Forces -- Morton County Sheriff ’s office combined with multiple state police agencies and private security contractors.
1) Composition, Disposition, Strength – we will face between 500--1000 police and contractors with approximately 300 in riot gear.
2) Capabilities & Limitations – Enemy has rubber/plastic bullets, CS gas, pepper spray, and an LRAD sound cannon. They will be limited in their violence against us by US and international human rights laws, a national press presence and observers from the US Congress.
3) Most Likely Course of Action – we will likely be gassed, pepper sprayed, shot with rubber bullets, hit with batons and brie4ly arrested.
4) Most dangerous Course of Action – live Tire with lethal rounds.
b) Friendly Forces – Veteran and Tribal protestors
1) Higher’s mission & Intent – our intent is to honor the giants on whose shoulders we stand, such as Gandhi’s salt protest or MLK’s Selma protest. In the ultimate expression of alliance, we are there to put our bodies on the line, no matter the physical cost, in complete non-- violence to provide a clear representation to all Americans of where evil resides. The Water Protectors are leading the way against this same evil which we must all face globally, saving ourselves and our children from the apocalyptic outcome of climate change.
2) Adjacent Units – there will be no adjacent units. We are there to give the Sioux a breather from the abuse they’ve been taking and allow them a couple days of warrior’s respite.
3) Supporting Units – there will be civilian and tribe members watching us from behind but nobody supporting us – we are the cavalry.
4) Attachment/Detachment – Medical Detachment will be led by ____________. If you are a trained combat medic, contact _____ at ________________
5) Civil/Terrain Considerations – the national press will be on location filming our entire action which is why it is critical that we demonstrate discipline, resolve and bravery. This is not an action of violence, if you feel any potential for violence or anti--social behavior, do not participate in actions, contact us for resources to address that first. Anytime one of us who speaks to a camera or tweets something out, you are a representative of all of us, feel no shame in leaving that to members more experienced in that lane.
II. Mission – Our mission is to prevent progress on the Dakota Access Pipeline and draw national attention to the human rights warriors of the Sioux tribes regarding the United States lack of treaty enforcement.
III. Execution
a) Intent – Our intent is to slow construction of the DAPL and draw attention to both the injustice committed there and the danger to our families posed by an increase in greenhouse gas emissions.
1) Center of Gravity – Our center of gravity will be the center of our lines. We must hold the center and quickly replace any gaps caused through attrition.
2) Critical vulnerability – We are vulnerable to being goaded into Tighting or destroying private property – this must not happen under any circumstances.
3) Exploitation Plan – If we have a gap in police lines we will maneuver through and head straight for the drilling pad, which we will surround arm in arm. If DAPL personnel need to access this pad for safety reasons, we will permit them entry. Nothing can be destroyed or sabotaged.
4) Desired Endstate – Our desired endstate is to create an uproar in the country over the failure to honor our treaty obligations, and to halt construction of new projects in the gas and oil industry.
b) Concept of the Operation -- There will be three phases of the operation:
1) MUSTER DEC. 4th – we will muster at noon on December 4th outside the school gymnasiums at Fort Yates, which is on the Standing Rock Reservation. We will then quickly form into platoons and companies and brief following day actions.
2) TRIBAL WELCOME AND FRONT LINES DEC. 5th – we will be bused 20 miles from the gymnasiums to the main Sioux Camp for a dawn welcome ceremony. The tribal elders will then perform a cleansing ceremony to wash away our sins and steel us for the days ahead. A few veteran members of US House of Representatives will then hold a press conference to confirm the rightness of our cause to the national press. We will then board the buses and be transported to the front line. Upon exiting the bus we form up into our platoons and companies, transitioning into one massive line of us all wrapped arm in arm marching toward our 4irst encounter. At sundown, we will board the bus and return to the gymnasiums, where we will be fed by the Sioux.
3) FRONT LINES DEC 6th & DEC 7th – After morning chow we will deploy on buses to the front lines in the same formation each day and return to billet at sundown.
c) Tasks – TBD – Evolving and briefed as needed for operational security.
d) Coordinating Instructions
1) UNIFORM – Wear one of your old uniforms, Class A, BDU’s, police or firefighter uniform (with long underwear beneath it!). Name tags, unit patches and awards are 4ine but do not wear rank as we’re brothers and sisters.
2) EQUIPMENT – Body armor, protective mask, hearing protection
(both plugs and mufflers), sleeping bag, military headcover or black Stetson if you’ve got it, long underwear, cold weather gear, canteen, multiple pairs of warm socks, cold weather gloves or mittens, foot powder, toothbrush….you know the drill.
3) DO NOT BRING WEAPONS, DRUGS OR ALCOHOL!
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Seems legit, right? Right?!
Sorry. When I read this, I get flushed with anger.
Still, at the time, I had no choice. I had to do this.
Throughout my adult life, I’ve kept my distance from most things veteran. My time in the Marine Corps was corrupted by some of the people with whom I’d served. Not all of them, mind you, but enough. Or maybe they reminded me of who I once was. Who I try daily to forget. Maybe it’s both. Regardless, nobility wasn’t something that coincided with my idea of veterans. And trust me, I’ve earned that opinion. But something was different about this offer. Something into which I put my faith and hope. I knew there were plenty of good servicemen and women out there. If they were going to be anywhere, it would be this protest. So maybe I’d meet people like me; warriors who just wanted to help others. Men and women who still had that need to sacrifice what they could. Good company.
Walid, my companion for the trip and also a Marine, had sent me the email that got the ball rolling. He had been an activist for as long as I’d known him, which though we weren’t close, was over the span of six or seven years. He’d call me “Marine,” as one does when they recall the “brotherhood” fondly. Odd that as enthusiastic as he is about the Marine Corps, he lives in modern Bohemia, meaning he swears by his Vibram toe-shoes, is literally a card carrying member of NORML, is passionate about conspiracy theories, apologizes for any bad news that happens to anyone around him, and forgot to bring his walking stick to the protest. Add to this that he was an MP in the Marine Corps and eventually a police lieutenant and what you have is a well-armed wild mess of positivity and enthusiasm built off of strange and chaotic circumstances. And what’s more, he often gets this energy out by standing up for citizens rights wherever he finds them staunched, regardless of what target is put on his back. So it didn’t matter that our demeanors were practically polar fucking opposite. He still had his charm.
He is also an actor who's been in Homeland, Banshee, Iron Man 3, and several others. Of course he has because brply prply siss boom bah and a half twist.
That's right. I had a companion, a destination, and a call to action. I felt like Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting, begging "Just one more hit! Just one more fookin' hit!"
Then there was prep. I had less than a week to get every bit of gear I needed. Not just for the cold, which was going to be well below freezing, but food, communication, first aid, body protection, and a tool to secure proper respiration during chemical employment, meaning a gas mask. I recently upgraded my phone to an iphone 7-plus, a move that I did solely to capture the highest quality footage I could, along with a water and impact resistant case. From there I got online and ordered a bicycle helmet (because I didn’t want to lose too many brain cells if I were to get hit in the head with a beanbag round from a shotgun), a motocross chest and arm protection system, reflective ski goggles to protect from chemicals and to show the people responsible what they were doing while they were doing it, knee and shin guards, an athletic cup, because of the obvious, and a 100p gas mask someone might use to mow their lawn. Apparently they are effective. Small, too. And hand warmers. All of the hand warmers. Problem being, I didn’t have money to pay for this stuff.
Without cup, knee and shin guards, or the gas mask, and a no weather gear, which would hide most of it. And still Call of Duty AF. Yes, my inner child was jubilant. And my dog is far happier than he seems in this picture.
So when Walid pointed out that he was doing an online fundraiser, I felt that I should do the same. After all, there was gas, food, and all the other expenses I haven’t listed due to the tedium of it. So I set a goal of $800, fingers crossed that my friends would see what I was doing, see that, in spite of my pride, I was asking them for help. This cause was beyond me. And damned if they didn’t show up in droves. Before I even got into the car to leave for Standing Rock, my goal had been met. To those who have helped me, I will list you at the end of this string of posts. But in the meantime, know that I don’t have words to express my gratitude to you. It’s with humility that I write these words, as none of this would have been able to occur had you not contributed.
I was on a high, the momentum of the occasion filling my blood with fire. I was going on a mission of peace to do Good against Power. There’s nothing in life like purpose and mine was placed at my feet before me. My life made a profound sense.
And then I caught myself going to war.
The mentality I had, the fury that I can’t seem to let go, built itself up in my mind until I was back in Kabul, ready to kill any poor soul that got in my way. It wouldn’t be personal. I would only be a tool of circumstance, fulfilling my nature to destroy in a spiritual concerto. Realizing that this is bat-shit crazy, especially given the nature of the protest, I had to tamp this idea down, over and over and over again. And still, it clawed at me. That sweet promise of purpose and worst case, a noble death. And that’s when it snowballed.
Looking past the obvious "this is a peaceful protest," I have things to live for now. Things to celebrate or see to the end. I wasn’t just risking myself anymore. I was risking the impact I might still be able to achieve. As my brain dislocated itself for a few minutes, I tried to grasp this feeling, so foreign as to be able to sneak up on me. What if I did get hurt seriously? Wouldn’t I fight back? What the fuck was I doing?! I had things I needed tending to at home! A book to rewrite so that it could have its own significant impact on the world! I had to move out of my apartment by the end of the month! What happens if my dog is hurt?! What if I’m arrested and red-flagged from flying out of the country?! Is this what it’s like to care about your future?!!
And then I shut it off, because being bipolar, I’m familiar with the mantras I need in order to be functional. I bought the ticket. I’m taking the fucking ride.
So I drove from Spartanburg, SC to Columbia to pick up Walid. After an hour of packing and saying his goodbyes, we loaded up my car, turned on the GPS, and hit the road. As far as we knew, it would be 22 hours of smooth sailing.
33 hours later, and we told a different story.