My heart was pounding as I brushed the excess sand off the jar, and it wasn’t because I was risking trespass charges. It was because I knew there was a chance I was risking my life. Once I screwed the lid on, I frantically brushed my gloves off on my pant leg, and then did the best I could to shake the stuff off my pants. A little voice in my head told me that trying to decontaminate myself was futile, that if I had been smart I would have come here equipped with a mask. It could already be in my lungs.
I clarified to him that our blockade was not going to let anything in or out.
“Well, I’m going to open the gates, then!” He declared in a tone that said, ‘alright, you asked for it.’ The negotiation phase was over; now, they were using intimidation.
When he opened the gates, the driver climbed into his truck and lurched forward, blaring his horn.
…corporations have no right to be exploiting people, whether they live in Nebraska or Texas or the Ecuadorian Rainforest, and I know that this current system cannot last. Although the Tar Sands Blockade failed to stop TransCanada in the south, the northern section of KXL has not been built because of activists.
I sat down beside a bubbling stream near our campsite, dipped my feet into the cool water and wrote Rob a letter. I described to him the beauty of Colorado, the physical challenge of walking 15 to 20 miles each day and the incredible new family I had acquired in the Marchers. I ended the letter by begging him to come out and see it for himself.