Stop Line 3 and Notes from the Treaty People Gathering

“Ought to happen sooner rather than later.”

Now that I’m officially settled in (well, mostly; there’s still a bunch of shit on the floor of my office that I haven’t cleaned up yet), I’m gonna start a series of posts talking about what the hell I’ve been doing for the past three months or so, because I did a lot this summer. Maybe too much, even. But anyway, this is the first one, and it’s not going to be so much as what I did, but rather what I participated in. The first thing I did this summer was attend and participate in the Treaty People Gathering in northern Minnesota to throw my energy in the struggle to stop Line 3. Well, that’s not technically true; the first thing I did this summer was graduate from college, and then visit Minneapolis for the first time in my life despite the fact that I’m now living there. Then I went to the Treaty People Gathering.

What is the Treaty People Gathering, then? And what is a Line 3? Well, I’ll explain that all here, but I’ve actually written about it once before. But it is an environmental thing, as well as a indigenous peoples’ rights thing and a ‘fuck capitalism’ thing, too. So, kind of like last week, it’s gonna be a bit of a doozy. These movements, this collective action that I’m going to talk about a bit, is incredibly powerful, both emotionally and logistically, and a beautiful thing to both witness and participate in. But it’s also fighting an uphill battle against corporate interests with billions of dollars invested in construction that will, with practically a 99% guarantee, severely damage the environment. It’s both uplifting and disheartening, and it’s tough to write about. But it’s much tougher to live it. I’ve been doing the easy part; it’s the people who live and breathe this struggle because they have no choice that are doing the most important part.

So, to refresh on the matter, Line 3 is an oil sands pipeline being constructed by Enbridge, a Canadian company, and the current construction (while likely finished by the time you’re reading this) is actually to replace an existing pipeline corridor for reasons that probably have to do with outdated technology and aging infrastructure. The pipeline goes from Alberta, Canada, to Superior, Wisconsin, where the oil is then refined and exported. A couple quick fun facts about this pipeline and its oil: the oil cannot be used in the US, as it’s too dirty, so it’s being sold internationally. It’s so dirty because it comes from the Athabasca Tar Sands, an incredibly destructive oil-mining operation that either strip-mines the surface of the earth or forces chemicals into the ground to bring up black sludge as thick as asphalt. And this pipeline is being run by Enbridge, the company responsible for the two largest inland oil spills in history. And it’s also all being funded by major banks, like JP Morgan Chase and Wells Fargo.

What’s the problem, then? Well, besides the fact that fossil fuels are a doomed industry and we need to start preparing for long-term alternatives instead of just trying to get tougher and tougher oil sources, these pipelines leak. A lot. Like, all the time. I know people who have been wading in the water around active pipelines, and the water is slick from leaking oil. You can see the rainbow sheen on everything; it’s disgusting. Not to mention the sheer environmental damage that comes from laying pipe across hundreds, or in some cases, thousands of miles of what is often wilderness. It isn’t just the pipe; you have to get the materials out there, get the construction machines in place, and you have to produce the manpower to put it all together. Oh, yeah, that’s another thing; the construction of these pipelines tend to see spikes in murder and sexual assault rates, especially among indigenous communities. They’re all around bad news. We can’t even use the oil anyway!

But the more direct, human issue with all this is that the construction of Line 3 violates a 19th century treaty made between two sovereign nations; that of the Anishinaabe (or Ojibwe) people and that of the United States of America. This treaty promised the Anishinaabe the right to practice their religious and cultural customs unimpeded by the United States. One of these rites is the harvesting of wild rice, or manoomin in the language of the Anishinaabe. However, the argument here goes that the pipelines prevent the unimpeded practice of this sacred rite because it damages the growth of manoomin within treaty territories, and possibly well beyond. Therefore, the construction and usage of Line 3 violates a federal legal document and infringes upon the rights of a group of people.

But that’s the gist of thing, and what lead to the organization and hosting of the Treaty People Gathering in Northern Minnesota. The event took place from June 5th to 8th, and it’s called the Treaty People Gathering because we are all treaty people; in order for a treaty to work, both parties must be ensigned. And since it was between the citizens of the Anishinaabe nation and the citizens of the United States, the treaty is binding to everyone, not just the Anishinaabe. Which is, then, why this is a fight for all of us, not just for the rights of Anishinaabe. I went to the event, along with my brother and my close friend from college, to help stop the expansion of destructive fossil fuels, but I can at least speak for myself in saying that I learned it was so much more than that.

The Treaty People Gathering was an incredible experience, partially because it was a bit surreal; it was the first time since the pandemic began that I’d been around more than about fifty people at once. And there were thousands of people here. Mind you, I’ve been vaccinated since April, and this was before the Delta variant seemed to be any sort of threat. It was during that blissful time when we thought the pandemic would be over (at least in America) by winter. So much for that. But anyway, we were at the Treaty People Gathering, and it felt safe. Not just from COVID, but from anything; I have never been around so many like-minded people all fighting together for the same, beautiful cause. There was no violence, there was no hate, there was no anger at others; all the anger and energy was focused on the real villains of this story, Enbridge and the geopolitical interests of powerful corporations and apathetic governments.

That’s not to say that it wasn’t a little chaotic; the logistics of organizing this many people from so many varied places was maybe expected to be a bit of a shit show, but honestly, it was so much more structured than I could have ever hoped for. My brother and our friend and I didn’t necessarily have a ton to do, per se, because the primary people volunteering and steering the event had been there for months already, or they were, you know, indigenous peoples who lived in the area, and this was their life. But the three of us volunteered as much as we could, and I think we made some sort of contribution. My brother and I chopped like five pounds of garlic. Our friend made tons of art posters and banners. We all, of course, participated in the actual events. And we made friends; we somehow managed to meet people that we connected with pretty well, including with people who were from Illinois (this was before I moved to Minneapolis, of course). Though maybe that shouldn’t have been too surprising, considering the vast number of college students and young people who where there.

Though it wasn’t all young people; I was surprised by the number of older people who were there, too. It was really a pretty solid cross-section of diversity, the whole gathering; people from all over the country, from all walks of life, coming together to listen the indigenous leaders and hopefully enact a change. There were lessons on the history of the movement, lessons on how to carry out non-violent direct action, there was singing and dancing, learning songs to sing at the action, and more. We shared meals with thousands of people, camped on hills nearby, and played in a nearby river. It was an incredible experience, and that was before the actual action.

Now, here’s where things get tricky. During the event, we practiced something called security culture, which isn’t so much of a system but more a way of being. It means that most info is on a need-to-know basis, to prevent actors of the state from learning about activist plans before it’s time. Now, I contend that nothing illegal happened on June 7th, regardless of where people were, and I also contend that I, nor anybody else, committed any crimes. This is, at least in part, because the pipeline is illegal in the first place; therefore, acting to stop its construction cannot, in my mind, be illegal. However, the state says differently, and there was, as we were consistently reminded, a risk of arrest at the actions themselves. However, one action had a much higher risk of arrest than the other. I don’t know what you’ve read about the actual event in the news coverage that followed it, but the truth of the matter is this; there were two events happening on that day, June 7th. One was a public-facing march along the road, and the other was physical obstruction of the pipeline construction at an active building site.

I won’t give specifics about much of this, because it isn’t really my place to say, but I will say that there was a march, and I might have been there. But either way, thousands of people marched a few miles down this road, carrying hundreds of banners and posters and piece of art. Eventually, the march reached one of the first river crossings of the Mississippi river that Line 3 would be building over. And up there, the Mississippi isn’t more than a six or seven feet wide, and only about a foot deep. It’s a marshy floodplain, instead of the mighty waters that Mark Twain likes to ramble on about. But it’s these headwaters that Enbridge has been defiling, and it was there that the march turned into a stand-in protest. There was music and speeches and chalk work, and Jane Fonda was there. It was beautiful. I may have stepped into the Mississippi river.

The other event, or so I’m told, was at the construction site for a separate river crossing. Protestors, or as they’re more accurately known, Water Protectors, chained themselves to machinery, built physical barricades to construction materials, and took up space to stop construction. That was the event that the state got mad about. If I recall correctly, some sort of regiment of riot police were brought in. State violence in the name of corporate profit was perpetrated against non-violent water protectors. A helicopter dusted the water protectors, spitting sand in their eyes and mouths. Hundreds of people were arrested and shipped to local jails and charged with gross misdemeanors, sometimes entire counties over. Sonic weaponry, or LRAD, was in use, and it made people physically ill. The protectors were able to hold ground into the night, but were all arrested sooner or later, unfortunately. And this was the state going easy on them. Things have escalated at later actions, apparently, including chemical weaponry. But I don’t know more than that.

At the river crossing where the march was held, some individuals stayed long after the march, into the night and the next day, to hold space for indigenous folk to hold prayer sessions and practice their traditions in the Mississippi river. That, I think, is perhaps the greatest success of the Treaty People Gathering. Besides the huge public statement that the entire event was, it allowed Anishinaabe folk to say prayers and spend time in their ancestral waters in a way that they haven’t been able to since Enbridge first began construction. It was an emotional and cultural win, to be sure. And the whole thing cluttered up and confused the local state legal forces, which was a nice bonus, and I’m proud that I was able to be a part of it, even in very small ways.

But that’s the thing for me; at the end of the day, I was a part of the Gathering, and I participated and made a positive impact, but my impact was small and didn’t last very long. Because I had the privilege to leave; the day after the march, my brother and my friend and I got back in our cars and drove home. Though we all had responsibilities in our own lives to attend to, I still personally feel guilty that I couldn’t do more. That’s always my issue with activism; I never feel like I can do enough, either because I’m too busy or too scared or don’t know how. It’s something I suspect I’ll have to come to terms with for the rest of my life, because I’m still a cisgender white man, descended from colonizers and European immigrants. For some people, many of them indigenous, this is their entire life because they don’t have a choice. Their home is under attack by outsides forces, massive conglomerates of wealth and power that wish to them harm. How could they do anything else but fight? There are other places I can be, but for them, there’s nowhere else to go. Whatever I’ve done or will do is unimportant next to their experiences.

Which is why this is an ongoing battle; neither Joe Biden and his empty promises nor the Minnesota governor changed their tune on Line 3 following the Treaty People Gathering. Water Protectors have been continuing to hold space up there for months now, and they’ve been continuing to battle with forces of state violence this entire summer. A friend of mine get arrested in the fight, because this isn’t just about generic fossil fuel companies. This is also about water, and water is life. As long as there’s a pipeline, there’ll be people to fight it, because water needs to be protected. And the Water Protectors up there now need help. Help that you can give, if you can. They’re accepting donations across the board, such as at this site, or this one, or at camps of Water Protectors themselves. If you want to learn more, Instagram is the best place to find links to more info, or places to get in contact with people if you want to be a volunteer for future events, or if you want to risk arrest, or if you want to help out in other ways, too.

But now? Tomorrow, there is an event at the Minnesota State Capitol building, in St. Paul, to protest Line 3. I may or may not be there. Whether I’m there or not is irrelevant, because Water Protectors of all kinds will be there, working to stop the erasure of indigenous cultures and the destruction of wilderness spaces, and working, above all, to protect the water. Line 3, and all pipelines like it, need to stop. If you want to have hope about the future, after all the IPCC report stuff, the best way to do it is to get your own boots on the ground and start fighting for change. It has to happen somewhere, after all. And Water Protectors are way ahead of the game on this one.

We can all help stop Line 3. I’ve done something, but I can always do more. We can always do more. After this summer, I’m hoping to join the fray again, in some small way. Maybe you can, too. But remember to listen to indigenous leaders. We may all be treaty people, but this is still their land. And this is their water, and they’re calling for it to be protected. This is everyone’s fight to stop Line 3.