The
Crestone Eagle, February 2007:
A caravan to Dinéland
by Winter Ross
 I’ve
been trying to get to the Rez for months. When I find a partner
in Mackenzie Trujillo, the mission comes together like a clap
of thunder. The caravan of firewood, money and supplies in
support of Navajo grandmothers and youth protesting the construction
of a third coal-fired power plant on ancestral lands has coalesced
magically over the past four days. KRZA has graced us with
public service announcements, the manager has bought us a
cord of firewood, Alamosa Food Bank has filled our jeep with
food. I’m getting calls from northern New Mexico. The
Crestone community has offered cash, clothing, blankets. The
sky is clear, Wolf Creek Pass, dry. Our party numbers three
women, three men, four vehicles. Adventure!
As soon as we drive onto the Rez we are lost! White plumes
of smoke from the Navajo and San Juan power plants are the
only landmarks in this treeless flat desert. But after a few
false turns, we find the end of the pavement and the dirt
road which will lead us to the resisters’ camp. The
sun is setting.
Our first sign of the camp is two trailers and a three-sided
shelter with a fire in front of it. We see tall teepees rising
behind the trailers and know we’re in the right place.
It seems deserted. The New Year’s Feast had included
coal activists I’d met back east. I’d missed them
by a day. Two young men rise from behind the fire to sign
us in, warn us that the cars across the road are State Police,
and that guns have been unholstered.
It is dark now, but the full moon provides enough light to
unload. Two huge coffee pots and a caldron of mutton stew
sit on a grate over thefire. It is indicated that we should
help ourselves. We put our sleeping bags in the biggest teepee
where a medicine ceremony has recently been held. We are assured
meaningful dreams.
Elouise Brown, president of the committee, has left a meeting
in Farmington to welcome us. A generator is started to light
one of the trailers where I meet Molly, one of the infamous
grandmothers. “We’ve been trying to get our ‘Elderlies’
to rest tonight for the hearing tomorrow, but they never slow
down,” Elouise laughs. There are other women, and a
baby. They are all somehow related to each other and I envy
the strong family connections.
The KRZA freelancer who has joined our caravan interviews
one of the young Navajo men. Orion came to the camp because
he’d heard the elders needed help. A soft-spoken and
gentle young man, he has received a scholarship to Naropa.
He speaks of wanting to live traditionally on his grandmother’s
ancestral land. But it is now Hopi partitioned land and the
wells are going dry.
I sit silently with the men staring into the fire long after
my companions have retired. We listen to the “Monster”
up the road—a giant crane called a dragline—whose
appetite never slakes. It groans as it eats away at the earth.
“It operates 24-7,” explains Orion. “The
BHP strip mine supplies coal to the two power plants you saw
on the way in.” The dragline is lit up like a surreal
skyscraper, the only lights in the desert, where, ironically,
the Diné hogans have no electricity.
Dawn is pink, and bitterly cold. Two of us restart the main
fire at the shelter—boil a fresh pot of coffee. Kenzie
takes charge of breakfast: potatoes, scrambled eggs, corn
tortillas and chili beans.
Against advice, Mackenzie and I take hot coffee and breakfast
across the road. (We figure our Crestone Eagle press
passes will protect us) The police accept our offering. The
four men are all Navajo troopers. They explain that the hearing
in Shiprock today will determine if the temporary restraining
order requested by Sithe Global Energy and the Navajo government
will be lifted or made permanent. Grandmother Alice Gilmore
and her 65 sheep may lose their pasture.”
“They warned us at the academy there might come a time
when we’ll have to arrest our brothers and sisters,”
one trooper admits. He is shifting uneasily as I explain we
are not here because of tribal squabbles. This is a global
warming issue. The ice caps are melting.
We take photos this morning, of camp and ourselves, before
leaving for the hearing. Grandmother Molly is dropped off
so that she can ride with us. Speaking only Navajo doesn’t
deter her from talking to Kenzie and me most of the hour’s
drive. I am struck by the magnificent formation of Shiprock.
I can barely see it through the white haze of pollution.
About seventy Diné and supporters gather in the courthouse
parking lot to rally. The pirate radio station bus, Earth
Cycles, transmits speeches. Some of our group helps make signs
to hold along the street. I see my chance to use the microphone
and step up next to Grandmother Gilmore in her wheelchair.
I tell the crowd that their brothers and sisters in Appalachia
support them in their respective fights against big coal and
the destruction of their land and culture. Mackenzie has had
almost magical luck networking with people in the crowd who
can help with Crestone’s Lexam problem.
The rally comes to a close with the news that the corporate
and defendants’ lawyers have made a deal. The surveying
for the power plant will be allowed to continue. But so will
the protest camp across the road from it. I imagine the possibility
of a village growing out there in the desert—a village
of diverse people saying “No Doodá” to
the rape of Mother Earth.
One week later there is a radio news update on the protest.
The spokeswoman talks about the support the Diné have
received from around the world. She does not mention Alamosa,
Crestone or West Virginia. But I know “my people”
are listening to this broadcast and we were there—our
bodies, our money, our love, were all there!
So I am writing this for us! Thank you ay’heyha’—all
who helped with this mission. Gaia thanks you. Rock on ‘cause
there’s a lot of work still ahead of us.
Winter Ross is associated with the international climate
change coalition, Rising Tide. Another caravan to Desert Rock
is planned. If you would like to drive or donate, please call
her at 256-4499 or e-mail her at winterross@yahoo.com.
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