Salonathon: Emergency Exit (5/29/17 Performance Text)

This afternoon — situation escalated. They took the bridge yesterday before arrival. We showed up — 8 in the morning — 18 hours on the road for some of them — they were gonna hop across the river and hook up with Mississippi Stand the smaller camp with the hardcore commie farmers most of whom didn’t have the Native cred or the eye of the Movement on them but were still doing critical backstop work the only way to kill this black snake was multiple fronts, and most of us knew that many of us had already started hitting the banks pouring in their blood money and some of us had been hustling for multiple years now trying to flood systems flood wall street stir some unrest in the midwest keep the drum beating and follow the generals that had been on this path many times before but now here we were deep cuts in the earth day by day a little closer to 470,000 barrels per day it felt like a few more people could hear the ticking of the clock of the world to the fire and ash these fossils were trying to drudge up for a better quarterly return and more people could see the dogs that bite and the eyes that watch and the hands that squeezed tighter and tighter there was something being scraped away revealing the graveyards that our skyscrapers were built on and so now here we were. Car full of supplies, hearts full of eager solidarity — where to go? How to help?

There’s a march starting.

Down to the bridge.

Follow the flags flapping in the bitter wind.

Arrive.

See the first person in the crowd that I know.

They’ve been at camp since the beginning.

Sacred Stone.

Beard’s unkempt. I offer a smoke.

Tells me about the days before.

Set up the new camp in the path of construction.

Finally escalating — not just symbolic action, but real direct action now.

But not everyone wanted it

But they had enough people on their side to keep moving

But not enough to stop the iron fist of TigerSwan Securities and 5 counties’ worth of militarized law enforcement.

Clogged the jails blew smoke in the faces of the guards

Some weren’t so lucky. Kept in cages meant for dog kennels.

So what’s next, I ask. I’m only here for a night but could come back — what’s most helpful?

The response — go home and start shutting down freeways.

We lost the fight here when we were pushed over the bridge and now there’s no path forward. Only way to win is to shut it down everywhere.

I heard that refrain over and over again.

From comrades old and new.

Native folks there to protect the land and their buried ancestors.

Climate organizers there to show up and learn how to prepare for the fights to come.

Internationalists whose only point of reference for the scene in front of them were literal war zones.

That night, we met new friends around the fire — first the central sacred fire, always burning — signifying the first gathering of the Oceti Sakowin, all the Sioux tribes, in over 150 years. We heard stories, broke fry bread, and chanted Mni Wiconi — Water is Life — over and over again — where it reverberated through the camp.

Then, later, in a hole in the ground next to our tent — shared reflections with a couple out on a whim after seeing the news and cancelling their vacation plans.

We went to sleep, 2 and 3 to a tent, sated and satisfied and tired.

Wake.

Screams and shouts.

Fire! Pack your shit!

We don’t know what’s happening, so I roll over pull on two layers and step outside.

Sure enough, there’s a dull orange glow on the horizon, to the north, which is closer than any other horizon because we’re on the low flood plain looking up at the hills.

The highway bridge is still blocked with two burned out shells of the cars that were blockading the Treaty of 1851 camp, and it’s a dirt road’s distance to the other exit, and the river’s on the two other sides.

I can hear horses starting to softly whinny — they can smell fear. Or maybe the smoke.

We can’t see any flames, and we’re dumbfounded. No idea what to do. Still a couple folks asleep in the other tent, so we can wake them at least. They stumble out — take one look around — tell veeryone to go back to sleep, cuz we’re not leaving while there’s elders and children here, and these sorts of fires happen, and it’s probably fine.

30 minutes later, we hear the cry of fire again and are roused from a much lighter sleep — peer out of the tent to see the glow much brighter and closer. Can even see flames now. Watch a couple college juniors that had jokingly planted their campus flag in the ground next to their tent scramble to throw everything in the van and peel away, cursing.

The couple that we were having a good time with heard this commotion and also hopped into their RV and bolted. The five of us looked at each other — we all knew that none of us wanted to leave, but we didn’t know what made the most sense or what to do that could reconcile our fear and our values.

We decided to pack our tents while two folks went to check in at the main central nervous system of camp for direction.

Shortly after we were packed, ready to go if the flames came much closer, the RV came roaring back.

All entrances blocked.

The fire hasn’t jumped the road.

Very little wind.

They say we’re fine.

I just wanna leave!!

The couple are stumbling over each other’s sentences. This isn’t the weekend jaunt they signed up for.

We’re still waiting for our folks that went to scout the situation. I can still see the lights over the 1806 watching, waiting. More cars in the distance , people calling to each other.

“What’s happening?”

“We gotta go!”

“No, no…”

I started thinking about the river. If the flames jumped the road they would run right through these tents and haybales- but I”d freeze to death in less than a minute if I tried to jump in the river.

Our people walked up with news — but we had questions.

“The exits are blocked?”

“How sure are they that the flames won’t jump?”

“Is there any kind of plan?”

Fire Department had been called — no they didn’t know if the fire had been started by DAPL or anyone else yet — buckets were being filled and a DIY fire crew was forming in case there was a jump over the highway — most important thing was calm calm calm — if more people woke up from panicked cars driving aimlessly around camp there would be mass upheaval — we should really just set our tents back up — it’s ok its ok its ok! ~

And so, by the light of a burning brush fire, we unrolled our sleeping bags and re-erected our pup tents and closed our eyes.

That moment was the most I have ever resigned myself to the real possibility of death — and the moment of placing the most trust for my life in the hands of strangers whose land I was on and who I was ready to unquestioningly put my body on the line for.

The next morning, as we were getting ready to drive back to Chicago, two of the folks in our crew disappeared for twenty minutes. When they came back, they told us they had had to leave two of our quilts behind because they had just been asked to run them out to the river to bundle someone up who had fallen in while scouting to see if DAPL security had tried to cross into the camp while everyone’s attention was on the burning fire.

We drove away and the car was quiet until we hit Mandan and got out to buy more cigarettes and fill up the car with premium unleaded gasoline.

This reflection was written to be performed originally — but I think it captures very well the feelings and emotions I felt in the 36 hours traveling to Standing Rock and back for solidarity work. After this weekend, 3 of the 5 folks in this photo, including myself, went on to take arrests at a Citibank shutdown action and continued organizing in solidarity with the Native-led work at Standing rock in our communities in Chicago.