BLOCKADE NOTES

 

Available at Caitlin Press

Last night there was a wonderful gathering of land defenders in Tofino, to celebrate the launch of my friend Christine Lowther's latest book: Blockade, the story of how blockades have protected tracts of forest in Clayoquot Sound and other places on Vancouver Island, where the amount of old growth left standing is miniscule, even after all the efforts of forest protectors.

It was awesome to see all the familiar faces from those heady blockade days gathered together, and to hear folks' impassioned memories - and the sad recognition that the struggle continues. Right now,  Catface mountain, which is across the harbour from Tofino,  is threatened by mining interests, so more blockades may be forthcoming.

Chris's book is an amazing read, about what happened in the late 80's and early 90's, updated to relate what is happening now. The more things change, the more they stay the same. But I will say that there is a great contrast between the way the police behaved towards us in 1993 was entirely different, and significantly more respectful, than how the militarized "special forces" treated the land defenders at Fairy Creek. Corporate power rules everything now, including politicians.

But we protected the forests in Clayoquot Sound in the summer of '93, because we made it too expensive and difficult to keep fighting what was at that time the largest incidence of civil disobedience in Canadian history.

This is what I said last night:

I was drawn to Clayoquot Sound in 1989 by the ancient forests, the wild waves, the village full of folks who care about Mother Earth and her necessary old growth.

Always will I remember the summer of '93, gathering before dawn on the road, the smell of smoke from the campfire, people sleepily arriving from the Peace Camp, the gentle tapping of the bongos. And then the big trucks rolled in, huge, intimidating, and the official read out the proclamation to clear the road. Some of us stepped back. Those who volunteered to be arrested that day remained, and were carried off bodily, to cheers and tears, to the waiting police vans.

In 1993, I was a single mom, working three part time jobs, so I couldn't get to the blockades as often as I wanted. But I got there when I could, and they were the most passionate hours and days of my life. The wild woman who lived in my heart came fully alive that summer, and has never left me.

We were all ages, and all manner of folk: those who came for the summer, dedicated to protecting the forests, those who came in the early morning before work, elderly people, professionals, doctors, even an MLA. I remember the children, with rainbow faces, sitting on the road, and a policeman asking a determined little girl, "Are your parents here?" "Possibly," she replied, giving away nothing.

I was there for the women's blockade, all of us spiral dancing around the road, our faces aglow with primal womanhood, feeling our power, as the men sat in circle, off to the side, in respectful support. Ululations, wolf howls, pounding feet, powerful with love for Mother Earth, dancing for the trees, in defiance of the Machine, whose voracious jaws still threaten to devour everything loved, necessary, sacred.

My son is rather conservative. That night I got a phone call. "Mom, I saw you on the news, dancing around the road with a bunch of hippies." Yup. That was me.

I was there the night they closed the Peace Camp, Dana Lyons singing his wonderful songs. My favourite, "Magic", always brings me to tears, because it speaks of a time when all the creatures shared the earth. I can see them still, beautiful, loving, gentle people dancing in a clearcut under a fat, round, Grandmother Moon, followed by a 15-minute group hug and blissful OMMMMMMMM.

Memories that fill my heart, a time of dancing on Mother Earth, for the trees.

Lone Cone in forefront, the beloved Wah'nah'juss Hilth'Hooiss, that guards Tofino harbour. It would have been clearcut, if not for the efforts of First Nations and their allies. Catface, in the background, is threatened by mining interests.