Editor’s note: From 2016-2017, Jessica Reznicek and Ruby Montoya conducted a campaign of sabotage against the Dakota Access Pipeline (known as DAPL). The saboteurs had previously participated in the aboveground movement at Standing Rock and Mississipi Stand, but when that proved largely ineffective, they turned to underground direct action.
Now, Montoya’s case is moving towards sentencing. It appears she may be collaborating with authorities. If that is true, it’s disturbing. If you join a revolutionary movement, study security culture and gird yourself for what comes.
Des Moines, IA – Federal prosecutors are seeking a sentence of 96 months in prison for Ruby Montoya, admitted Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) saboteur, which includes a ‘terrorism enhancement’ that could tack years onto her sentence.
In November 2016, on the night of the election of Donald Trump, Montoya and Jessica Reznicek, who had become convinced that an escalation of tactics was necessary, began their arson and sabotage spree. In a press release shared on July 24, 2017, the two admitted to their direct action campaign.
“After having explored and exhausted all avenues of process, including attending public commentary hearings, gathering signatures for valid requests for Environmental Impact Statements, participating in Civil Disobedience, hunger strikes, marches and rallies, boycotts and encampments, we saw the clear deficiencies of our government to hear the people’s demands,” the pair wrote.
According to federal law (18 USC § 2332b(g)), a crime is considered an act of terrorism if it is “calculated to influence or affect the conduct of government by intimidation or coercion, or to retaliate against government conduct,” and is a violation of a federal statute.
US Federal District Court, Des Moines, Iowa. Photo by Ryan Fatica.
“While stopping the DAPL may have been the immediate purpose of their unlawful conduct,” wrote Assistant United States Attorney Jason T. Griess in his memorandum to the court, “Reznicek and Montoya’s ultimate goal was to address ‘the broken federal government and the corporations they continue to protect.’ A federal government which they described as ‘more like a Nazi fascist Germany as each day passes.’”
Montoya’s sentencing has been delayed several times and a date for the hearing is not currently set. Meanwhile, Reznicek was sentenced to eight years in prison with a domestic terrorism enhancement on June 30, 2021. She appealed the enhancement, but it was upheld on June 6, 2022 by judges Ralph R. Erickson, David R. Stras, and Jonathan Kobes, on the Eighth U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals. (All three judges were appointed by former president Donald Trump.)
In recent pleadings to the court, Montoya has sought to withdraw her admission of guilt, admitting to the campaign of sabotage against the Dakota Access Pipeline, but claiming that she’d been coerced into doing it. Her co-defendant Jessica Reznicek, members of the Des Moines Catholic Worker Community, her father, her mental health, and even an undercover federal agent were all to blame for her conduct, according to Montoya.
According to an article in The Economist, by the fall of 2020, Montoya had “agreed to cooperate with the FBI.” Although the contents of her meetings with the FBI have not yet come to light, such meetings usually involve providing information on other activists in hopes of receiving a lighter sentence. Montoya still denies cooperating with the FBI.
Graffiti on electrical equipment in Boone County, Iowa next to a pipeline damaged by Ruby Montoya and Jessica Reznicek on March 18, 2017. Photo source: US Federal District Court, S.D. Iowa.
“She’s saying anything and everything to avoid going to jail and that’s a deflated position to be in,” said Frank Cordero, co-founder of the Des Moines Catholic Worker Community where Reznicek and Montoya lived during their sabotage campaign. “It’s just sad to see a person with such integrity and such hopes be destroyed like this. I pray for Ruby all the time.”
In a motion to the court last year, Montoya’s attorney, Daphne Silverman, pointed fingers at members of the Des Moines Catholic Worker, claiming that they had pressured Montoya into taking action against the pipeline.
“Ms. Montoya was then coerced by the activist community within the Catholic Worker Des Moines,” the motion reads. “This activist community offered the opportunity to engage in destruction but did not give Ms. Montoya the information and other tools she needed to evaluate what they requested.”
The allegation that other activists offered her the “opportunity” and “tools” to engage in crimes implies that members of the Des Moines Catholic Worker were aware of her ongoing sabotage campaign or had even encouraged or “requested” that she engage in it. Implicating others in serious federal crimes is a form of cooperation with law enforcement usually avoided by activists loyal to the movements they’re a part of.
Part of the Dakota Access Pipeline in Hedrick, Iowa cut with an acetylene torch by Ruby Montoya and Jessica Reznicek. Photo source: US Federal District Court, Southern District of Iowa.
Despite this breach of trust, Cordero said that for him, it’s the federal government and the pipeline companies that are to blame, not Montoya. “I feel sorry for her and I feel no resentment toward her,” Cordero explained.
“The real criminals are the ones running the government and creating the laws,” he said.
“The ‘justice system’ is hardly that,” Cordero continued. “The fear tactics that they use, piling charges on top of charges, that’s how the feds do it. Did you know that 95% of all criminal charges are pled? Rarely does anyone go to trial. The prosecutors lay on tons of charges and you are facing the possibility of never getting out of prison alive, so you plead. This is typical of how the justice system works.”
Cordero also pointed out that none of the actions claimed by Montoya and Reznicek caused harm to any living thing. “Jess is no terrorist, neither of these women did any violence,” said Cordero. “They did a great thing, trying to bring down an oil pipeline.”
Frank Cordero, right, is arrested at a direct action at the Iowa Air National Guard Drone Command Center on Armed Forces Day, 2018. Photo Source: Des Moines Catholic Worker Community.
In the sentencing memo to the court, the federal prosecutor performed the same sentencing guideline calculation that they’d performed for Reznicek prior to her sentencing. For Reznicek, the prosecutor sought a sentence of 180 months—15 years in federal prison—but sought only 96 months, or eight years, for Montoya “to avoid unwarranted sentence disparities among defendants with similar records who have been found guilty of similar conduct.”
Whatever information Montoya has provided to authorities, it appears that it may not result in a lighter sentence.
In January 2021, Montoya signed a plea agreement admitting to ten acts of sabotage committed between November 2016 and May 2017. In each case, Montoya and Reznicek admitted to either setting fire to construction equipment associated with the DAPL project or using an oxy-acetylene torch to cut holes in the pipeline itself at various locations along its route.
“We began in Mahaska County, IA, using oxy-acetylene cutting torches to pierce through exposed, empty steel valves, successfully delaying completion of the pipeline for weeks,” the pair wrote in a public statement in 2017. “After the success of this peaceful action, we began to use this tactic up and down the pipeline, throughout Iowa (and a part of South Dakota), moving from valve to valve until running out of supplies, and continuing to stop the completion of this project.”
Montoya’s new oppositional stance toward her co-defendant and former movement allies worried many involved in climate justice and related movements, as did her new attorney’s series of sealed motions in court.
The Iowa Utility Board Office of Consumer Advocate, where Reznicek and Montoya publicly admitted to their arson and sabotage campaign in 2017. Photo by Ryan Fatica.
Despite her attempts to cast blame on others and her claims that she was not capable of fully understanding the consequences of her actions, in June of this year, U.S. District Judge Rebecca Ebinger rejected Montoya’s motion to withdraw her guilty plea, stating that Montoya had failed to prove that she’d received ineffective legal representation. Judge Ebinger also cited Montoya’s statements under oath that she understood her plea agreement and was satisfied with her legal representation. (Ebinger was appointed by former president Barack Obama.)
“Montoya confirmed she was not pressured in any way to plead guilty,” Ebinger wrote in her nine-page ruling. “On this record, Montoya cannot demonstrate a fair and just reason to withdraw her guilty plea.”
The 1,172-mile-long Dakota Access Pipeline, which now stretches from the northwest corner of North Dakota to Patoka, Illinois, was heavily contested by Indigenous and environmental activists. Indigenous people and those fighting alongside them staged a yearlong direct action campaign in 2016 and 2017 in hopes of preventing the project’s completion.
Fierce battles with law enforcement and private security companies near the encampment on the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation in North Dakota involved thousands of people and gained national support, but were ultimately unable to stop the project’s completion. On June 14, 2017, a federal judge found that the Army Corps review of DAPL’s potential impacts to wildlife, hunting and fishing rights, and the environment did not fulfill their obligations under the National Environmental Protection Act (NEPA), yet the pipeline has remained operational.
In Montoya and Reznicek’s press release shared on July 24, 2017, they expressed how “the courts and public officials allowed these corporations to steal permissions from landowners and brutalize the land, water, and people.” They concluded that “the system is broken and it is up to us as individuals to take peaceful action and remedy it, and this we did, out of necessity.”
This prosecution unfolded in the Southern District of Iowa, which has played a key role in many probes of leftist groups since 2004, hundreds of pages of FBI records involving ‘domestic terrorism’ investigations obtained by FOIA showed. This included the 2004 and 2008 Republican National Conventions, a 2004-2007 Crimethinc investigation, and a 2009 grand jury in Davenport that held a Minneapolis resident without charges for four months.
Instructions: All correspondence needs to be on white paper and white envelopes. Do not use stickers, return address labels, tape, or markers. You cannot send Jessica unused paper or stamps.
Be aware that prison authorities will read all mail. Don’t include any sensitive information and don’t ask Jessica questions about her case.
Editor’s note: The Extraction Economy and oil pipelines are everywhere, and they affect everyone. If you are white enough, rich enough, and/or lucky enough, the pipelines might not be built in your backyard, but no matter who you are, they contaminate the water, air, and land upon which you depend for your life. The distance does not keep you safe, it only delays alarm. There are no safe places to hide from a culture and economy based on extraction, drawdown, theft, genocide, and ecocide; this culture eats beautiful forested lands, rich seas, and clear skies and leaves behind wasteland, toxic dead zones, and, possibly in the near future, an inhabitable planet. If it doesn’t seem like this culture and its economy steals wealth of all sorts for the benefit of a few, it’s very likely that you live in an exclusion zone rather than a sacrifice zone. The exclusion zones are where resources are sent, where power is concentrated, where the in-group is nourished. Sacrifice zones are where resources are extracted, where power is enforced to maintain subjugation, where the out-group is impoverished. Even if you recognize the material problems this culture produces, its strong tradition of silencing dissent, erasing indigenous cultures and knowledge, and spreading self-serving disinformation obscure the root cause of these problems. For thousands of years, the dynamic of the haves and the have-nots has been at the core of an evolving culture that dominates and erases other cultures. It has taken many forms, including city-states, empires, kingdoms, feudalism, mercantilism, colonialism, white supremacy, patriarchy, capitalism, and fascism. The common denominator is a selfish urge to profit at the expense of others, beginning about 10,000 years ago with the advent of agriculture and male subjugation of women. This developed into various socioeconomic structures that depend on and thus facilitate the destruction of life. The dominant culture abuses the earth just as it abuses women.
“When it comes to protecting the planet, stopping pipelines needs to be one of our first priorities. And like other Earth-destroying machinery, pipelines are very vulnerable. They stretch on for miles with no guards, no fences, and no protection.” – Max Wilbert
When Enbridge Inc. announced on September 29, 2021, its “Line 3 Replacement Project [was] Substantially Completed and Set to be Fully Operational,” Winona LaDuke, Executive Director of Honor the Earth, issued a video response from the White Earth Reservation in Northern Minnesota. After years of fighting against Enbridge’s efforts to desecrate Anishinaabe lands, Winona refused to give up the fight. In her words, “They’ve created their jobs. They put in their pipe. They won. They’ve committed a crime. And someone needs to stop them from making a profit off of that crime. Do something for the people. Stop Line 3 and give us a ‘just transition.’”
Line 3 is a project of Enbridge Inc., a multinational corporation headquartered in Alberta, Canada. Enbridge transports 30% of all oil produced in North America and operates 76,546 miles of pipeline across the continent. Last year, Enbridge reported yearly revenue of $39.853B, a 33.53% increase year-over-year. Line 3 is part of Enbridge’s Mainline System and runs 1,097 miles from Edmonton, Alberta, to Superior, Wisconsin. Line 3 transports ‘tar sands oil,’ a variant of oil that the Union of Concerned Scientists denounces as “a mixture of mostly sand, clay, water, and a thick, molasses-like substance called bitumen…[which] on a lifetime basis…produces about 15% more carbon dioxide emissions.” Built in 1960, Line 3 initially transported 760,000 barrels of oil a day. But, as of 2019, it could only transport 390,000, about half the amount. Enbridge Inc. announced its Line 3 Replacement Project on October 24, 2014, by filing a Notice Plan with the Minnesota Public Utilities Commission (MPUC). In Enbridge’s words, the Line 3 Replacement Project will “maintain … high safety standards…and restore the historical operating capabilities of Line 3.”
But, the story of Line 3 is not that of “safety standards” and “operating capabilities.” Instead, it is the story of Honor the Earth and the Anishinaabe’s resistance against Line 3. It is the story of ‘manoomin,’ and Turtle Island again being attacked by the “Black Snake.” And it is the story of the MPUC’s failure to honor treaty rights and protect the Earth. Line 3 was not a failure of the State of Minnesota but rather the logical consequence of a settler-colonial political system determined to destroy the Earth and any potential for Native sovereignty. Enbridge knew it would face a fight, as with the Dakota Access Pipeline and Keystone XL. But, this time, it came prepared. It assembled the Northern Lights Taskforce, “brought jobs to Minnesota,” and pursued every legal and illegal option available to nullify resistance to Line 3. Enbridge wielded its power to its advantage, and it won. But, that doesn’t mean that the resistance failed.
Andy Pearson, Midwest Tar Sands Coordinator at MN350, who was also detained at an MPUC hearing, said, “Although Line 3 is in the ground, the fight against tar sands and pipelines…is something that does continue and will continue. We’re seeing action against Line 5 in Northern Wisconsin, and we’ll see more work to build against the Enbridge Mainline System.” While Line 3 is just a single component of Enbridge’s vast infrastructure holdings across the so-called United States, Enbridge appeared determined to influence every unit of the State of Minnesota to its advantage. Despite resistance by Honor the Earth, StopLine3, MN350, the Giniw Collective, the Sierra Club, and many others, Enbridge was able to use the police, the legislature, and the PUC to neutralize the Anishinaabe people and affiliated water protectors.
Enbridge’s relationship with Minnesota law enforcement is well established. Before beginning construction on Line 3, Enbridge obtained a permit through the MPUC that outlined its financial responsibilities to the State of Minnesota, including Minnesota law enforcement. It states:
“Prior to construction, the Permittee shall establish a Public Safety Escrow Account…Local Government Units (LGU) shall submit in writing an itemized request to the Public Safety Liaison sufficient to recommend to the Commission’s Executive Secretary whether services rendered were additional municipal services uniquely provided as a result of construction of the pipeline during the term of this permit.”
While Enbridge didn’t explicitly approve of nor solicit this inclusion, it’s hard to imagine that they do not approve. The Northern Lights Task Force, a coalition of Police Departments in Northern Minnesota, including the Aitkin Police Department and Palisade Police Department, is also the direct beneficiary of this provision. The Escrow Account functions as a blank check written by Enbridge on behalf of the policing agencies in Northern Minnesota. There are few limitations on what can be included in a reimbursement request. And in documents obtained by The Intercept, one Aitkin Police Department Seargent expressed hope that “the pipeline will give us an extra boost to next year’s budget, which should make it easy for me to propose an upgrade/trade to your rifles rather than a rebuild of our 8 Bushmasters.”
Shanai Matteson, a Cultural & Campaign Organizer at Honor the Earth and lifelong resident of Palisade, Minnesota, was heavily involved in the resistance against Line 3. In one incident, Shanai was charged for, in her words, “conspiring, aiding and abetting trespass on critical public infrastructure” for making “a speech at a rally where I live, also known as the Welcome Water Protectors Camp.” On the 30th Anniversary of the Enbridge Oil Spill in Itasca County, Shanai was charged after officers “kettled and arrested dozens of people taking part in a memory march.” When asked about the relationship between the State of Minnesota and Enbridge, Shanai indicated, “What happened here in Northern Minnesota sets a dangerous precedent…with local law enforcement paid to police the property and profits of a private company.”
According to a Permit Compliance Filing with the MPUC, “$250,000 was deposited on May 8, 2020” into the Escrow Account. But, in total, Enbridge paid $2,171,008.84 to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources (DNR) and millions more to police departments across Northern Minnesota. Winona LaDuke, Executive Director of Honor the Earth, said she “was charged by a DNR officer first…so the guys charged with protecting us are the guys arresting us.” On June 15, 2021, Enbridge pierced an aquifer near its Clearbrook Terminal worksite. According to the DNR, as of September 5, 2021, 24.2 million gallons of groundwater had been spilled. As a penalty, the DNR ordered Enbridge to pay 3.32 million dollars. And yet, on September 10, 2021, Enbridge pierced another aquifer near the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Reservation, spilling 220 million gallons of groundwater.
The Department of Natural Resources and the State of Minnesota did nothing to stop Enbridge’s criminal misconduct in Northern Minnesota. But that shouldn’t be a surprise. Enbridge bought off the police and was willing to accept whatever fine the DNR might levy, as long as it meant Line 3 was in the ground. Yet, at the same time, viewing Enbridge’s relationship with the Northern Lights Taskforce, the State of Minnesota, and the Department of Natural Resources through this lens of corruption or malfeasance doesn’t do justice to the nature or extent of the relationship. It is no mistake that the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Reservation had 220 million gallons of water spilled into its Dead Fish Lake, threatening its wild rice harvest. Nor was it a mistake that Winona LaDuke, the ‘guardian ad litem for the Shell River’ appointed by the White Earth Band of Ojibwe, was arrested protecting the very river she swore to protect.
The Public Utilities Commission’s permit for Line 3 includes provision 6.11, titled Tribal Economic Opportunity and Labor Education Plan, which states, “The Plan must include…a discussion of how Minnesota-based tribal members and businesses will be given preference under the committed target.” Additionally, it demands that “The Plan…include: a discussion of a Regional Native American Training Program with the purpose of recruiting and training Native Americans in the region.” Enbridge employed 12,155 workers during its Line 3 Replacement Project, 295 of which identified as Native Americans and residents of Minnesota.
Even the Public Utilities Commission, despite serving as Enbridge’s puppet, recognized the plight of Native communities in Northern Minnesota.
Due to the legacy of displacement, assimilation, and extermination, Anishinaabe communities in Northern Minnesota have the highest poverty rates in the State. I.e., the 36.8% poverty rate on the Red Lake Reservation or the 37.9% poverty rate on the Leech Lake Reservation. If it could have a consciousness, Enbridge would not devote it to Minnesota, and certainly not the Anishinaabe. To Enbridge, the Anishinaabe are a resource and, at times, a nuisance. They are ‘people of the past’ and people to control. The MPUC urges Enbridge to “train” the Anishinaabe. But, here, “train” does not mean support or teach; instead, it means ‘to control.’ For Enbridge, it would be financially expedient to exterminate the last and only obstacle standing in the way of Line 3—the Anishinaabe who have stewarded the land for generations.
And while the Public Utilities Commission forbade “counterinsurgency tactics or misinformation campaigns” in Provision 5.5 titled Public Safety and Security, Enbridge didn’t listen. Documents obtained by the Intercept indicate that Enbridge launched an initiative titled “Opposition Driven Operational Threats,” which systematically documented and categorized Native individuals, tribes, and organizations into color-coded arrangements indicating whether or not they were a threat. In 2021, Enbridge event went so far as to purchase land near the headquarters of Honor the Earth (which they later sold after completing Line 3). While the relationship between Enbridge and the Northern Lights Task Force is well documented, Enbridge’s internally discussed strategy in directing the police against water protectors is less well known. Like a ‘black box,’ we know the result—nearly 900 arrests—but don’t know all of what went into Enbridge’s strategy.
While the battle against Line 3 is over, that does not mean that Honor the Earth or, for that matter, any other individual or organization involved in the fight against Line 3 has given up. Hundreds of water protectors are still facing charges, many of them, in StopLine3’s words, “with trumped-up felonies, with most of the felonies being bogus “theft” charges,” and a new campaign, “Drop the Charges,” has been launched to support those facing jail time upon conviction. But Enbridge hasn’t given up either. The fight against Line 5 is heating up in Michigan as Enbridge attempts to build a tunnel underneath the Straits of Mackinaw despite the opposition of the State of Michigan and the Bad River Tribe. When asked about the battle against Line 5 and why, despite the massive influence of a corporation like Enbridge, it’s still work fighting, Paul DeMain, Board Chair of Honor the Earth and Tribal Member of the Bad River Tribe, had this to say: “You know why? Because Enbridge fears the truth. And that’s what we’re fighting up against.”
Editor’s note: In Nepal, as in many parts of the world, male violence against women is relatively common, yet often goes unreported and unpunished. Today we bring you an interview with Ruby Khan, a working-class Nepali woman who marched 520km (320 miles) and helped launch a grassroots uprising for concrete policy and cultural change in response to two incidents of violence against Nepali women.
As an eco-feminist organization, Deep Green Resistance recognizes the links between the destruction of the planet and the oppression of women. Not least importantly, when women have greater autonomy and control over their lives, they chose to have fewer children, on average. Therefore, the liberation of women is not only the right path to justice, it is a necessity for reversing population growth and defending the living planet.
This interview, conducted by DGR organizer Salonika in Nepal, gives us a fascinating glimpse into the discipline, sacrifice, and hard work that goes into grassroots organizing.
It took 16 people 20 days to cover the ~520 km from Nepalgunj (a city in south-west Nepal) to Kathmandu (the capital city) on foot. With feet swollen with blisters from the mostly uphill march but determined to ensure justice for two women (Nirmala Kurmi and Nankunni Dhobi), the group started their first round of demonstrations in the capital, including a 12-day “fast unto death”, demanding proper investigation into the cases of the two victims of male violence. Finally, the government agreed to form an investigative committee and requested time to fulfill any ensuing recommendations.
This committee was formed under consisting of six members – five from the government and one from the protesters. The committee completed their work within seven days with a report that included recommending a Central Investigation Bureau (CIB) investigation for one of the cases.
Two months after the committee had submitted their report, the group was forced to travel to the capital again because the government had failed to follow through on the committee’s recommendations. After 41 days, the government developed a four-point agreement to address their demands. Following the successful second demonstration, DGR organizer Salonika interviewed the leader of the group, Ruby Khan, about her journey, her work, her movement and the cases that inspired it. The following blog post is based on that interview.
Resting in the shade during the march
“During our journey, we became so involved with Nirmala and Nankunni’s lives that we felt like the two of them were walking beside us. That feeling of being close to them inspired a hunger for justice. We knew that it would not come easily and that it required courage.”
— RUBY KHAN
Who is Ruby Khan? What does she do for women and girls?
I am Ruby Khan. My hometown is Nepalgunj. I work with women in Nepal who have been victimised. My goal is to help them get out of the violent situation and to help create a safe and secure environment for them. This is what I have been working for in the last decade.
The group marched for 20 days to reach the capital and returned after agreement was reached. Why did they need to make that journey?
I work with women in Nepalgunj who endure violence. They do so in silence most of the time. When they muster enough courage to finally speak up, no action is taken. It is not that the state is unaware of the injustice women are forced into. When we talked to the Chief Minister of Lumbini state and the Minister of Home Affairs (separately), they both admitted that they knew about our case beforehand. The media started covering us from the first day of our march. By the second day, even the bus drivers on the highway recognised us.
The state is feigning ignorance. Our march was a symbolic action. There were times in the feudal era where people had to walk to the capital to meet the kings to report any injustice. Our march symbolises the same hardship. We travelled to the capital to let the state know about the injustice women and girls are facing in the peripheries of Nepal. It is to let the state know that, in terms of justice, the peripheries of Nepal are still in a feudal state.
Why did the group travel to Kathmandu again, merely months after their return home?
We had reached an agreement with the government after our first round of protests. But the government did not fulfil their words. That’s why we had to return. This time, we demonstrated in Maitighar Mandala for 41 days before we reached another agreement.<
Although your fight is for all women and girls who have been victims of violence, the focus of the current movement was on two specific women: Nirmala Kurmi and Nankunni Dhobi. Who were these two women and what happened to them?
Nankunni Dhobi was a victim of domestic violence. She felt unsafe in her own house. Her husband and brother-in-law had repeatedly encouraged her to commit suicide. They brought ropes and pesticides to her so that she would kill herself. She had repeatedly complained about her situation to the Women’s Rights Forum and to the police. Succumbing to the regular torture she felt from her in-laws, Nankunni finally took her life. But it was her husband’s instigation, the indifference of the police and the unaccountability of the state that killed her.
Nirmala was a wealthy but uneducated widow with immense property – enough for two or three generations. Ultimately, her wealth became the reason for her torture. Her two sons died under mysterious circumstances. No proper investigation was conducted in that regard. She herself was abducted, raped by multiple men and killed. Her property has been stolen.
What has the state’s response been to the two cases?
Both women had contacted our organisation when they were alive. We worked with them then and after Nirmala Kurmi’s disappearance and Nankunni Dhobi’s death. The state’s response has been dire in both cases.
In Nankunni’s case, when we – women’s rights activists and her family – tried to file a complaint in the District Police Office, the police refused to report the incident. Furthermore, the Superintendent of Police (SP) and Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) of Banke Police threatened to file a false case against us and take us into custody.
In both these cases, the state has acted irresponsibly. Its mechanisms are not women-centred or women-friendly: women’s issues are never at the forefront. The state is supposed to look after its citizens and uplift them for a better life, but it has failed women in that regard.
With respect to women subjected to violence, the state is supposed to remove victims from their situation and give them security. Instead, the state turns its back on women. If a woman tries to speak up, she is silenced. They feign ignorance about women’s plight, and that is used to excuse the inaction of the state.
After the first phase of our movement, the government promised us in writing to form an investigative committee for these cases, which they did. The committee submitted a proposal within seven days. However, their recommendations were not fulfilled. They recommended delegating the investigation of Nirmala’s case to the CIB. Because we don’t trust the SP and DSP of Banke, we believe the CIB would carry out a better investigation. But the state is yet to send a CIB team to Nepalgunj.
This is common practice by the state: under pressure, they will promise action. Then they will take token action but not do anything substantial. Particularly in terms of human rights violations, we need a justice-centred approach. We need an investigative approach. Unless we question the state’s inaction and unaccountability, we cannot have a justice-centred approach.
Does the state respond in a similar manner in other cases?
The state’s response is determined by a number of different factors. First is the position of the perpetrator. If the perpetrator does not have access to wealth or to political power, the investigation and the judicial process happens in a timely way. But if the perpetrator has access to power and wealth, the entire process changes. The state’s behaviour in such cases is one of inaction. The state administration is driven by greed on such matters: how can the person in charge personally benefit from the case? It may be via money or by taking advantage of the political influence of the perpetrator.
In this way, our institutions are more perpetrator-centred than victim-centred. When the perpetrator has access to financial and political power, they are prioritised over the victim. Their statements are treated as truth without verification. Even when the case is sensitive and serious, the administration treats the incident as standard, undermining the gravity of the crime and focusing on resolving the case through a settlement instead of through the judicial process.
The reason that Nirmala Kurmi’s case has not reached the court is precisely that. The primary accused in her case is a man called Badshah Kurmi, who is a distant relative of the victim. He is also a member of the current ruling party and has served as a parliamentarian. He is an immensely powerful person. On the other hand, Nankunni Dhobi’s accused are not as powerful. They are not immensely rich. We still had to fight on her behalf, but eventually her case was filed and her accused are now in custody awaiting the court’s verdict.
Nirmala and Nankunni are very different from each other and so are their cases. Apart from both being women and powerless, there is little similarity between the two. Nirmala was wealthy, but Nankunni was not. The violence that Nirmala had to face was drastically more severe than that faced by Nankunni. Multiple different heinous crimes were committed against Nirmala.
It makes more sense for the state to be more serious about Nirmala’s case, but that has not happened. Nirmala’s perpetrators are powerful and that has hindered justice. Even during investigation, the District Public Attorney released Nirmala’s accused from custody under the pretext of age. And in other cases I’ve seen the Public Attorney take eighty-year old accused under custody. It is not the age of the accused, but rather his influence that has gotten him out of custody in this case.
At the same time, the police themselves have destroyed evidence in Nirmala’s case, planted false evidence, and are using evidence brought by the main accused as the primary evidence It is not that the involved authorities are incompetent: I’ve seen them work diligently to bring justice in other cases. But that has not happened in the current case. It is because the accused are using their financial and political power to manipulate the process. The District Police Office and the Public Attorney of Banke are gaining politically or financially from this case. The different treatment of the cases of Nankunni Dhobi and Nirmala Kurmi demonstrates the role that power plays in deciding justice for the general public.
What about the victims? How do they get treated in the investigation process?
In a twisted role reversal, the victim is treated as the culprit. Their statements and character are questioned much more than the perpetrator’s. They are told that the court process is very stressful and reminded of the stigma associated with it. Women are even told that it was in her best interests to have remained silent, and that being a woman, she should have tolerated a few slaps. They are also reminded of the perpetrator’s power. All of this destroys the victim’s courage: they begin to question their decision and even change their statements. They decide not to seek any further action, which is exactly what the perpetrator-centred institution wanted.
The situation would have been slightly different if the victim had been a male. A man’s words are not as easily dismissed as a woman’s. A woman is accused of backtracking on her statements, even though it is the police and society’s reaction that have forced her to do so, and then the police generalise that to all women. They start with the assumption that women are unreliable, and that’s the bias they hold throughout the entire process. This hampers the investigation process. A man cannot be as easily accused of being unreliable. When a man complains, his words are given a certain weight.
But there are class differences as well. If the victim is from a wealthy family, his complaint is immediately registered and the investigation process starts. However, if he is not wealthy and the perpetrator is, the victim may be pressured by the police to settle the issue. The victim goes through the same process of fear, regret and worry about social disgrace. He begins to justify the violence he faced in terms of class differences. The next time he faces violence, he does not try to file a complaint.
It seems to me that how the police deal with a case is entirely dependent on the power hierarchy. Violence by the powerful (male, wealthy, access to political power) against the powerless (female, poor, no political access) has been normalised in our society, and even law enforcement agencies accept this. However, violence by those without power against those with is not tolerated: immediate action is taken to punish the perpetrator and ensure the victim’s security. But immediate action to ensure the security of the victim should be the right of all, even if they are at the bottom of a power hierarchy.
When it comes to state action, the main questions are: what power does the perpetrator have and what power does the victim have? At the same time, we must remember that a powerful person cannot be victimised in the way a powerless person is. It is always the powerless who are victimised. Their human rights are violated. On the other hand, the perpetrator’s human rights – due to his greater access to power – are protected by both state and public institutions.
Class prejudices mean that a woman of a higher socioeconomic class is less victimised than a woman of a lower one. Her economic resources give her greater access to opportunities, including education.
Education itself creates another hierarchy. When a woman is educated, even if she is poor, she is aware of her rights. She knows the laws, and where to go if she becomes a victim. This gives her greater confidence. Statistics show that a lot of crimes are committed against the uneducated. This is because uneducated people lack information about their rights and about the steps that they could take should someone violate them. In this way, they are forced to tolerate whatever happens to them, and thus they are an easy target for the perpetrators.
Who were the 16 marchers who made the arduous journey?
The marchers were mostly rural women from Terai, both Muslim and Madhesi women.[1] I’ve been involved in activism for about a decade, but most of the women involved in the march had had a very limited public life. They were mostly limited to their homes, their parents’ homes and the marketplace. Walking to Kathmandu was something that they had never expected to do: at times they were scared, and at times they were amazed by a world that was so different from theirs. In their daily lives, they would have had to ask permission from their husbands to visit their parents. They thanked me because their husbands would otherwise never have let them embark on this journey, and they were grateful for the different experiences.
There were only three men in our group. They were all rural men: they did not know a lot about the system or society. They had never left their village in their lives.
Three people joined us after we reached Kathmandu: they had not been able to walk with us due to various medical conditions. Five more joined us on our second journey.
Power and courage from the marchers
Five hundred kilometres is not a short journey. To inspire 15 others to make the journey by foot is an entirely different thing again. What difficulties did the group face during the march?
We started the march on Asoj 1 (September 17), and it lasted till Asoj 20 (October 6). Our march was one for justice. It was a very difficult journey, but it was also a journey of courage. Knowing what we suffer in the pursuit of justice and what women have to suffer strengthened our commitment and gave us the courage to tolerate hardships.
Our journey was not just difficult, it was risky as well. Before we left, I said to the group, “We are starting as 16 people, but we don’t know how many we will be by the time we arrive: we don’t know who among us will survive the march.”
We walked through landslide-prone areas; we heard rumours about tiger attacks; we were chased by snakes. We were scared.
For most of the journey, we walked on highways. The roads were never empty for even a minute. All kinds of vehicles sped past us. On one side of the road were big hills, and on the other was a deep fast-flowing river. One misstep in one direction and we would have fallen in the river; one misstep in the other direction and we would have been run over. Sometimes we cried from fear.
On top of that, we were also scared of being victims of violence ourselves. Our group were mostly women between 20 and 45 years old. We had to face all the fears that haunt women. We were scared somebody would attack us. Twice, some drunkards tried to talk to us and to walk with us. There were others who would offer us rides on their scooter, but we knew they were not trying to help us. They would not leave us when we refused. And we knew that they were behaving that way because we were mostly women.
And we didn’t have enough to eat. We remembered all the food that gets wasted every day. We learned the value of a single grain then. There were times when we had to miss two or three consecutive meals. We used to pray that we would meet someone the next day who would feed us till we were full. There were times when I told the group that whenever they got a chance to eat, they should eat as much as they can, because we just didn’t know where our next meal was going to come from.
There were times when we would be so thirsty that our lips would be so dry that they would stick together when we tried to speak. Occasionally, we would find streams of water flowing from the hills. Those streams were so precious to us. Even now, I can taste the water. Back home, we wouldn’t think twice before wasting water, but during the march, we realised how significant water actually was, and what happened when we didn’t have enough to drink.
Sometimes we had to sleep on the road, where we were at risk of being run over by passing vehicles. We were so tired by then that even the hard stones became soft mattresses for us. Sometimes we would cry, missing our mothers, who would have fed us and gotten us to sleep.
Given all this, how did the group find the courage to complete this journey?
We started the march due to our hunger for justice, which was stronger than our hunger for food. It was so strong that while we were walking, it seemed as if our legs were walking by themselves. That was true for all of us. No one said once that it was getting too difficult, that we should probably return. Our hunger for justice could not be satiated with food, money or anyone’s support. It could only be satisfied with the confidence that someone would protect us.
Even now, our hunger has not been satisfied: we are yet to see how the latest agreement will be implemented. After the agreement, some of our friends told us that hopefully, we would not have to return to Kathmandu again. We told them that until our hunger for justice is completely satisfied and the perpetrators are punished, we will keep returning. Justice is an experience. It’s not something you can see. It’s something you have to feel.
During our journey, we became so involved with Nirmala and Nankunni’s lives that we felt like the two of them were walking beside us. That feeling of being close to them inspired a hunger for justice. We knew that it would not come easily and that it required courage. To overcome our fear of big hills, we used to say that our courage was bigger than the hills in front of us. We held each other’s hands while we walked and sang to distract ourselves from hunger. Four or five of us were close to dying. Yet, we survived all of that. It was our sense of justice that gave us the courage to face all of that.
Some of the women in our group had medical issues. But during the march, they said that they felt their health was improving. We checked their vitals on the road sometimes, and they turned out to be in the normal range. It felt as though nature herself was supporting us.
We used to have long conversations while we rested. We would talk about our lives, our joys and our sorrows. We tried to understand each other’s lives. Some women cried during these conversations. They talked about things that they had never told anyone else, things they had kept to themselves for years. They felt understood for the first time in their lives and thanked us for this. Usually, nobody listens to women, not even their husbands. They would dismiss a woman’s feelings and thoughts. When the rest of the group actually listened to those women, it was a big deal for them. They felt supported. They felt understood.
No one ever complained that they wanted to return. In fact, some even offered to carry others when they seemed sick. This shows that if one wills it, anything can be done.
Ruby Khan and her team at the beginning of the march
The group met a lot of people on their journey. What responses did you receive?
We met different kinds of people. Some were very supportive of what we were doing. They would offer all the help that they could. Some told us to return: they said that Nirmala Kurmi and Nankunni Dhobi were dead and the state didn’t care. They added that the state wouldn’t care if we all died, and that we shouldn’t risk our lives for that. They even offered us the bus fare to return home. We could see that they were concerned for us. Some cried for us: it was too difficult for them to see our suffering. We were in pain. We had blisters all over our feet, and it was difficult for them to see.
Others would encourage us to carry on. They said that it was necessary. With all the violence that was going on, the rapes that were happening daily, the abuse, the domestic violence, it was necessary to take a drastic step. Women were getting murdered. They said that our step would force the previous generation to consider what was happening and the next generation to learn. They said that we were creating history, that our children would learn that women made this long and arduous march for justice, and that it would be a source of inspiration for generations to come.
There were many more who showed their support. People learned about us through the media. They waited in their homes for us. In today’s society, it is difficult to find people who are willing to do anything for others at their own expense. Yet here we met people who were doing exactly that. Near Galchhi, we met an elderly woman. She offered us food, but we had eaten not long before. When we told her that we couldn’t eat, she offered us water, saying that it was the least she could do.
Even the police showed their support. We know that there are police who wronged us, but not every police officer is like that. It pained them to see our struggle. There were some who walked with us for the short distance that they were allowed. Some urged us to request security from their seniors so that they could walk with us. They showed their support in so many ways that it was a source of courage for us.
How was the group’s experience in Kathmandu?
In Kathmandu, demonstrations were more difficult than in Banke. Few of us had been to Kathmandu before. The first time we arrived, we were not in a good state. We had blisters all over our feet. The second time, the weather was very cold and we had to walk in the rain for a couple of days. It was so cold that it was difficult for us to hold our banners. The wind was so strong that it felt as if with every step, the wind was pushing us backwards. All of us fell ill; 14 got extremely sick and we had to seek medical help.
Did the group receive any support in Kathmandu?
We received support from those who cared about justice. We didn’t even have to call them. They found out about us and came to support us of their own accord. Dr Govinda KC[2] is an example. He was working in Rukum, but he joined us, leaving his work until we achieved justice. He came to support us because he was moved by what we were going through. He is not even an advocate for women’s issues, but he could see we were fighting for a just cause and that we ourselves were being treated unfairly.
Advocate Mohana Ansari[3] is another example. She has supported us in both a personal and professional capacity. She repeatedly warned the government to stop harassing us. For that she has received multiple threats. When I found out about this and asked her about it, she said, “If the fight for justice had been as easy, you wouldn’t have to walk from Nepalgunj to Kathmandu. This is a very small thing compared to what you had to go through. What’s more important is that we cannot afford to lose any more Nirmala Kurmis and Nankunni Dhobis.”
The list is long. A lot of other civil rights activists came to support us. There were students who would come directly from their examination hall to our demonstration site. They would skip a meal or walk instead of taking the bus and donate that money to us. We know what value money has in a student’s life, particularly those students from different parts of the country who come to study in Kathmandu. This shows their commitment to justice, and that we don’t need to call people to our cause. They join the fight if they are really interested in justice.
But we failed to garner interest from those we were hoping for: women’s rights activists in Kathmandu. When we first reached here, I contacted many women’s rights organisations for support. There was so much they could have done. The day we reached here the second time was the first day of a 16-day campaign protesting violence against women, for which many organisations were organising 1-day events. The cost of their 1-day events could have covered our expenses for 41 days. If, like the students, they had used that money to support us, it would have been a great help. If they had organised their events near our demonstration site, instead of in expensive venues, it would have helped us gain a lot more attention from the public. Many of the organisations have a shelter here in Kathmandu. We asked if we would be able to stay there, but they made various excuses. If they had only let a few of us stay, it would have considerably reduced our expenses.
The way I see it, they are not interested in justice at all. I’ve seen their work here. They are more interested in events that can be shared on different platforms. It is not that publicly sharing what you do is wrong. But most are interested only in that. They don’t even care if their events are effective, let alone about justice. They are content with sharing pictures of their events on social media and getting news coverage. This helps their public relations and can be used to gain further donations for similar events. And so on it goes. Since what they are doing is not really challenging the status quo, they don’t have to face as many obstacles. Those who are actually demanding justice are questioning the status quo and they face many challenges.
The team in a meeting with the provincial government
What was the state’s response to their movement?
When we started marching, we had hopes that the state would address us before we finished. With every step we took, that hope faltered. Yet we still expected the state to address our issue because that’s their responsibility. When Dr KC went to meet the Prime Minister with his own demands, he included our cause. At that time, the Prime Minister very clearly acknowledged all the trouble we were going through and promised that we would be sent home very soon. But a week passed without any progress.
The state did not show any concern for our movement. We were rural women who came from marginalised groups. We didn’t have much power. Plus, the mainstream women’s rights activists – who had relatively more power in terms of reach to both national and international platforms – were not supporting the issue. We came from the hottest place in Nepal and the weather of Kathmandu was getting colder by the day. Therefore, the state did not expect us to last long. They thought we would soon tire and return home. In fact, they wanted to tire us. But then civil rights activists – who had greater access to national platforms – got involved. Dr Govinda KC got involved. The media covered us and this created pressure. It was only then that the state showed any concern. On the 39th day of the second demonstration, government officials came to our site to get clarity on the issue. We used to reach the demonstration site by 10 in the morning and leave after 5, but it took 39 long days of hardship on our side for the state to finally want to “get clarity” on the issue. And that was after the Prime Minister had already verbally promised Dr KC that our demands would be addressed.
Our hopes for a positive response from the state had already died, but we had never expected the state to be so insensitive to the case. The first guardian of the nation, our President, is a woman. She did not show any interest in our issue. Our second guardian – the Prime Minister – went back on his words to help us. Because of this, we were forced to take another fast unto death. All of the women were willing to take the fast, but many of them were taking regular medication. We therefore decided that only I would take the fast, but that we could reconsider it depending on how the situation developed.
News of our fast unto death attracted the state’s attention and constant pressure from other activists forced it to take action. We were called for a dialogue within the Ministry of Home Affairs. Even then, there seemed no real urgency on the state’s side to take any concrete action. It was only when Dr KC announced that he would join our fast unto death that the state finally agreed to ask the CBI to investigate the case. The most important aspect was that we got their statement in written form, which is very rare and holds the state more accountable. What had not happened in 40 days was completed within two hours. This shows that it is not the validity of a demand that brings action, but applying pressure in the right way.
Meanwhile the families of those involved in the movement are being threatened by the accused.
It is a very risky situation. We are not safe from the police, the accused or their relatives. Badshah Kurmi went to our homes to threaten our family that they would hurt, abduct, or frame us, as well as threatening our families themselves with violence. Since we are mostly women and, comparatively, women are more attached to their families, it is easier to threaten us by getting to our families. They have said that because we are not as wealthy as them, our voices will be lost.
Our relatives are calling us, pressuring us to end this. They believe that the accused could harm them. But we are not going to let this stop us at any cost. Since we are mostly women and comparatively, women are more attached to their families, it is easier to threaten us by getting to our families.
We have sent applications to the District Police Office and District Administration Office regarding those threats, and we also mentioned them during our discussion in MoHA. They have said that they will send a letter to related offices for our security. The letter has probably reached there by now.
Why did the movement create a division between women rights’ activists?
There is a division between women rights’ activists in Nepal. We are not mainstream activists; we are marginalised activists. Not only do we come from marginalised groups, but also, even in our activism we have had marginalised roles. Mainstream activists do not accept us as women’s rights activists. If Gita Chamar – a widow from a marginalised area – becomes the face of the women’s rights movement, it will hamper the reputation of those who are currently the face of the movement. Their authority as champions of women will be challenged, and this fear has stopped them from helping our movement.
Our point is that they need not have supported Ruby Khan’s movement. But as women’s rights activists, they should have supported justice for Nirmala Kurmi and Nankunni Dhobi. When we first arrived in Kathmandu, I asked them to take the lead in this movement. Because who leads the movement should never be the focus: it should always be about the cause. This movement was never my movement. It has always been for the justice of two women who were subjected to brutal violence.
On top of that, what the mainstream activists are currently doing does not challenge the status quo. They conduct token programmes and receive attention for that. My understanding is that – and I may be wrong here – if more people knew about our movement, they would have questioned the tokenistic actions of mainstream activists. In this way, they would have been held accountable for their inaction. That was another reason they did not want to support us. And this is something I have experienced from my hometown to Kathmandu.
One journalist also revealed to me that one of the so-called activists asked her why the journalist was focusing on Ruby Khan. That was very hurtful. A women’s rights activist questioning a journalist for focusing on women’s issues. What does it say about them that they spent that much energy on sabotaging a women’s rights movement?
Overall, what has the group’s experience been?
It is ironic that we came to fight violence against women: we ourselves were not safe from that same issue. We had to face violence from the police as well as from the accused. We know that this is not the end. We will have to face more violence once we reach home. But we are prepared for that. We went into this knowing what we might have to face.
Nankunni Dhobi and Nirmala Kurmi are just representative cases of a culture of violence against women. How would you describe your 10 years as a women’s rights activist? How did the community respond to your activism?
I come from a community where women are supposed to stay behind a veil and are expected to be limited to their home. If we wanted to be educated, or if we voiced our opinions, we were called names to shame us into silence. The elders from my community would question us. They would taunt our family members for living off a woman’s earnings. They would even get people beaten for that. That’s the culture that I was raised in.
Now, the very same people who used to shame me now refer women who face problems to me. They are my father’s or my grandfather’s age, yet they trust me to solve different problems. That is a big deal in a patriarchal society like ours.
To help support their communities, women and girls should be educated. We are working on that, and we are providing alternative education to those who have dropped out. We have very little financial support, but we are still working on formal education.
There also needs to be education for both women and men on women’s rights. Ultimately, in our society, a woman does not have sole authority over her life. She still seeks permission from the head of the family (usually a man) for major decisions in her life. Therefore, men also need to understand the importance of women’s education and of speaking for oneself. If my parents had forbidden me to work after facing taunts from the community, I would not have reached where I am today. This is a long process. It is true that we are becoming a little more progressive in regard to education. Nowadays, girls can go to school. Even so, there are only a handful of girls in Madhesi and Muslim communities who have attempted matriculation, and there are still some districts in Nepal where women have not yet passed matriculation.
These are serious challenges. Unless we face them, our dream of a safe society for women will never be fulfilled.
What needs to happen for violence against women to end?
We need to make the state and all its related institutions accountable. There is no use fighting with them; we need to do this tactfully. If we think an official is acting irresponsibly, we need to show that they might get into trouble if they don’t act responsibly. If that doesn’t work, we need to take action. It is not enough for a single person to be accountable: the entire institution should be accountable for its actions. In our case, when the government failed to complete its previous agreement, we had to start the second phase of our movement.
Right now, the situation is such that women in my locality (including those who were part of the movement) have to ask their husbands for transport costs even if they have to go to a police station. Their husbands, in turn, are daily wage labourers. They earn less than Rs. 500[4] a day. They have to choose between the fare for their wives and feeding the family that night.
If these women had a source of income themselves, they would not have to rely on their husbands for everything and would have greater autonomy in their lives, including their choice to fight for other women. I’ve seen cases where a woman wants to get involved in activism but is restricted due to her husband’s inability to spend that Rs. 30 on her travel. This is particularly important for women who have been the victims of domestic violence and who want to fight for their own justice.
That is also true on an organisational level. We had to ask for donations both in Nepalgunj and Kathmandu in order to cover our basic expenses. Right now, we are staying in a total of six rooms in a guest house. Thankfully, the owner did not ask us to pay anything till now. Now that we are leaving tomorrow, he is going to calculate the cost, and we are asking for donations to cover that. If we had secure funds as an organisation, we would be able to organise many more of these movements.
Lastly, we need to see every incident contextually. The oppression of one woman is very much related to the oppression of another. We organised this movement for two women, but we know that if justice is delivered in these two cases, it will serve as a motivation for all future movements and a deterrent for all perpetrators.
Ruby Khan is a member of Women’s Rights Forum and Muslim Community Development Awareness Center of Nepal (Nepal Muslim Samaj). Women’s Rights Forum is a network that advocates for marginalised and oppressed women. They focus on getting those women out of their oppressive situation by helping them gain independence in their lives. Nepal Muslim Samaj helps women gain access to economic resources so that they can live a dignified life.
Update: The CIB has already started the investigation on Nirmala Kurmi’s case. Ruby Khan’s team has returned to their hometown, where they are facing harassment from the primary accused and his relatives. One of the demonstrators was severely beaten in his own home. The local police has not officially filed a complaint. Currently, Ruby Khan and her team is seeking financial funds for the legal defense of Nirmala’s case for when the CIB finishes its investigation.
[1] Both Muslims and Madhesis are marginalised groups in Nepal.
[2] Dr Govinda KC is a medical doctor in Nepal, and a strong activist against the privatisation of medical colleges. He has taken multiple fast unto deaths for that cause.
[3] Adv. Mohana Ansari is a senior human rights activist in Nepal.
[4] Rs. 500 is a little over £3 GBP or $4.00 USD.
Editor’s note: Too often, activists fail to understand tactics and strategy, especially when we are matched against business people, law enforcement, and even military professionals. This makes us easy to out-think, outmaneuver, and defeat. It is essential that we remedy this discrepancy. This article is excerpted from Chapter 12, Introduction to Strategy, in the book Deep Green Resistance: Strategy to Save the Planet, by Lierre Keith, Derrick Jensen, and Aric McBay. The book aims to introduce readers to basic and intermediate strategic principles and is an essential manual for activists in the age of eco-collapse.
Strategy and tactics form a continuum; there’s no clear dividing line between them. So the tactics available, which will be discussed in the next chapter, guide strategy, and vice versa. But strategy forms the base. If resistance action is a tree, the tactics are spreading branches and leaves, finely divided and numerous, while the strategy is the trunk, providing stability, cohesion, and rootedness. If resisters ignore the necessity and value of strategy, as many would-be resistance groups do—they are all tactics, no strategy—then they don’t have a tree, they have loose branches, tumbleweeds blowing this way and that with changing winds.
Conceptually, strategy is simple. First understand the context: where are we, what are our problems? Then, develop the goal(s): where do we want to be? Identify the priorities. Now figure out what actions are needed to get from point A to point B. Finally, identify the resources, people, and specific operations needed to carry out those activities.
Here’s an example. Let’s say you love salmon. Here’s the context: salmon have been all but wiped out in North America, because of dams, industrial logging, industrial fishing, industrial agriculture, the murder of the oceans, and global warming. The goal is for the salmon population not only to stop declining, but to increase. The difference between a world in which salmon are being wiped out, and one in which they are thriving, comes down to those six obstacles. Overcoming them would be the priority in any successful strategy to save the salmon.
What actions must be taken to honor this priority? Remove the dams. Stop industrial forms of logging, fishing, and agriculture. Stop the massive production and dumping of plastics. Stop global warming, which means stop the burning of fossil fuels. In all these cases, existing structures and practices have to be demolished for salmon to survive, for the goal to be accomplished.
Now it’s time to proceed to the operational and tactical side of this strategy. According to the US Army field manual, all operations fit into one of three “all encompassing” categories: decisive, sustaining, or shaping.
Decisive
Decisive operations “are those that directly accomplish the task” or objective at hand. In our salmon example, a decisive operation might be taking out a dam or preventing a clear-cut above a salmon spawning stream. Decisive operations are the centerpiece of strategy.
Sustaining
Sustaining operations “are operations at any echelon that enable shaping and decisive operations” by offering direct support to those other operations. These supporting operations might include funding or logistical support, communications, security, or other aid and services. In the salmon example, this might mean providing transportation to people taking out a dam, bringing food to tree-sitters, or helping to research timber sale appeals. It might mean running an escape line or safehouse, or providing prisoner support.
Shaping
Shaping operations “create and preserve conditions for the success of the decisive operation.” They alter the circumstances of the conflict and help bring about the conditions required for victory. Shaping operations could include carrying out a campaign on the importance of removing dams, undermining a particular logging company, or helping to develop a culture of resistance that values effective action and refuses to collaborate. However, shaping operations are not necessarily broad-based or indirect. If an allied underground cell were to attack a nearby pipeline as a distraction, allowing the main group to take out a dam, that diversionary measure would be considered a shaping operation. The lobby effort that created the Clean Water Act could even be considered a shaping operation, because it helps to preserve the conditions necessary for victory.
If you look at the taxonomy of action chart on page 243, you’ll see that the actions on the left consist mostly of shaping operations, the actions along the center-right consist mostly of sustaining operations, and the right-most actions are generally decisive.
These categories are used for a reason. Every effective operation—and hence every effective tactic—must fall into one or more of these categories. It must do one of those things. If it doesn’t—if that operation’s or tactic’s contribution to the end goal is undefined or inexpressible—then successful resisters don’t waste time on that tactic.
Editor’s Note: Jane Anne Morris’ 2005 essay “Help! I’ve Been Colonized and I Can’t Get Up” is considered a classic text within the community rights movement. It criticizes the regulatory regime of environmental and public health protection, which has ultimately helped corporations standardize and de-risk investments, while failing to prevent ecological collapse. Instead of participating in this system, Morris proposes six legal changes which would substantially limit corporate power.
The problems described in this essay have only become even worse since 2005. Barriers to challenging corporate-friendly legal structures are numerous, deeply embedded, and well-defended by teams of lawyers, lobbyists, and politicians who are entrenched in government and other institutions like military units employing defense-in-depth. Seventeen years of anti-corporate-power organizing, since this essay was written, has yet to breach these barricades.
Morris’ essay today can be read in at least two ways: first, as calling for a populist effort to reign in corporate power, as she originally intended the piece; and second, as a historic account of advancing corporate power which calls for strategic and ethical escalation in defense of planet Earth.
Take a Lawyer and an Expert To a Hearing and Call Me In a Decade
By Jane Anne Morris
A third of your friends are locked down Reclaiming the Bill of Rights, Building a Movement in an old growth grove or at a corporate headquarters, with law enforcement officers rubbing pepper spray in their eyes. Another third are preparing testimony so you can be persuasive at a generic regulatory agency hearing while you’re begging them to enforce a tiny portion of our laws. The third third are trying to raise money to pay lawyers to get your friends out of jail (after they’ve been released from the hospital) or take the regulatory agency to court (after it declines to enforce the law).
The pepper spray, groveling and money-grubbing might not be so bad if we could honestly say that the earth is better off today than it was four years ago. I can’t honestly say that.
This diatribe is an effort to take a hard look at what we’re doing and insinuate some new elements into the debate. It’s not intended to belittle any of our efforts, point fingers, or assign blame, so don’t take it personally. We are all earthlings.
Our campaigns follow the gambling addiction model. The last bet didn’t pay off but the next one might if… if… if we just had a new, improved tripod, three more experts, more labor or church support, ten more elected officials on our side, a hundred more people at the demo, or a thousand more letters in the mail…. Who are we kidding? We are just doing the “same old thing” over and over again and fooling ourselves that it might work next time.
We are stuck in a feedback loop where our failures are interpreted as signs that we should repeat our failed tactics, but try harder. This is what it is to be colonized. The telltale sign is not that we’re failing, but that we’re fooling ourselves, and don’t see it as a feedback loop.
If our minds are not colonized, then how come almost every Earth First! Journal action piece starts with a banner or a lockdown and ends with a plea to write a letter to a white male bigshot? (Go ahead, look through back issues. It goes on for years and years.)
Over at corporate headquarters they have a steeper learning curve.
Despite the occasional bag of guts on the committee table or clever banner, it must be reassuring for corporate executives and those who serve them to sit back and smile at the success of their containment efforts, and the predictability of our campaigns.
The issue of whose minds are colonized is a delicate one. We all know people whose minds have been colonized. Who are they? They are other people — people out there. They are somebody else. Not us.
It’s time we did the unthinkable and asked ourselves if we have been colonized. What do we see when we compare our strategies to corporate strategies?
Many of our groups are organized to save wolves, butterflies, trees, prairie flowers, rivers, deserts, or estuaries. But corporation executives don’t organize to destroy the wolves, butterflies… flowers… estuaries. Nor do they organize to pollute the air, spoil the rivers, or promote five-legged frogs.
This asymmetry should give us pause as we try to understand why corporations are on a roll while we’re stuck in a feedback loop. Let’s look again.
Corporate strategy leverages their power; their efforts reinforce and magnify each other. Our strategy splits our resources and dissipates our power.
Corporate strategy aims to increase the power that corporations have over people. That means that when a single corporation gets a victory, it helps all other corporations, too. They are all stronger, they all have more power, and the people have less.
We work on separate harms. When we lock down to one old growth stand, others go unprotected. When we protest about one chemical, others go unprotested. When we testify to preserve one watershed, others are not spoken for.
We have whole campaigns directed at one chemical, one corporation, one species, one grove of trees, one article of clothing.
In doing so, we fracture our resources. While we’re out working on a “Chlorine is Bad” or “Wolves are Good” campaign, we’re not working on all of the other chemicals, animals, trees, etc., that also need attention.
Some of us argue that this fracturing is inevitable, because there’s so much wrong in the world. (Declaring a problem to be inevitable is a great way to justify not talking about it. Another gift to the corporate world view.)
Others of us think that the fracturing results from not being organized enough, or not being organized right. This opens the door for endless bickering about whether we should organize by bioregion or by article of clothing, by species or by chemical, by issue or by occupation. Either way, we’re still fractured.
Being fractured is another way of being colonized.
Another sure sign of being colonized is when you censor yourselves, and don’t even wait for others to do it. Some of our self-imposed limitations are right off of a corporate wish list.
We have a strange “but it’s the law” syndrome. Why can’t we bring up important issues at EPA hearings? It’s regulatory (administrative) law. Why can’t we get our views accurately presented on TV? It’s (corporate) private property law and FCC regulations. Why can’t we imprison corporate executives for what their corporations do? It’s liability law.
So what do we do? We toe the line at the EPA hearing. We dress up as animals to get a moment on TV. We let lying corporate executives lie.
That is, we work around the defining laws that are the groundwork for a rigged system. We’re looking for favors, lucky breaks. We don’t even dream of control, yet we call this a democracy.
This is being colonized.
Corporation representatives do not feel constrained in this way. Nothing is too destructive, too audacious, too outrageous for them to attempt. After all, they have most of us believing and not even objecting to the idea that corporations have “rights.” In early 1998 an association of corporations (itself a corporation that supposedly has “free speech” rights, according to prevailing legal opinion) sued a talk show host in Texas for saying that she’s going to stop eating hamburgers.[1]
Then there’s the Zen of “Describing The Problem.”
We need our storytellers, we need our scribes, we need our analysts, we need our own human fonts of crazy ideas. We needed Silent Spring.[2] By now we have the equivalent of Son of Silent Spring, Daughter of Silent Spring, Second Cousin Once Removed of Silent Spring. But habitat destruction continues as fast as we can describe it, if not faster. Our compulsion to Describe The Problem (something we do really well) serves a purpose, especially for people who think there’s no problem, but the people who need to hear it the most aren’t hearing it. We’re Describing The Problem to each other in lavish detail, which crowds out efforts to rethink our whole strategy.
Are we doing anything other than lurching back and forth between Describing The Problem and then buckling the seatbelt on our feedback loop? I for one think I’ve heard enough “Bad Things About Corporations,” and I’m pretty tired of working on campaigns that will not only fail, but fail in predictable ways.
How have we been colonized? Let me count the ways. We interpret failures as signals to do the same things over again. We are predictable. Our strategies and styles of organizing fracture and dilute our resources. We either accept this dilution as inevitable, or blame each other for not organizing right. We censor ourselves, in thought and action. We act as though if we Describe The Problem to each other enough, it might go away.
And now, we can argue about whether we’ve been colonized or not. Corporate management is popping extra popcorn for this one.
But enough of what we do. What do corporations do? (The question should be, “What do people do behind the fiction of corporations?” One of the signs of our being colonized is that we personify corporations. I’ve been trying to avoid that in this piece but… help, I’ve been colonized and I need help getting up….)
Corporate management figured out a hundred years ago that fighting against each other, competing and diluting their resources was weakening them and limiting their power. So they don’t do that any more.
So what do people do while hiding behind the corporate shield? The short version is that they write a script for us, and we follow it. Then they write a script for themselves, and we don’t even read it.
A big part of the script written for us involves Regulatory Law (including environmental and administrative law). It assumes that corporations have the rights of constitutional “persons.”
It outlines procedures for what We the People can do (not much); what government can do (a little more); and what corporations can do (a lot).
At regulatory agencies, corporate “persons” (that is, corporations) have constitutional rights to due process and equal protection that human persons, affected citizens, do not have. For non-corporate human citizens there’s a “Democracy Theme Park” where we can pull levers on voting machines and talk into microphones at hearings. But don’t worry, they’re not connected to anything and nobody’s listening ‘cept us.
What Regulatory Law regulates is citizen input, not corporate behavior. So when we cooperate in regulatory law proceedings, we are following the script that corporation representatives wrote for us. We’re either colonized, or we’re collaborators. That the regulatory agencies fail to protect the public is clear. Why they fail is another matter.
One reason is that they were set up with the cooperation of and sometimes at the urging of big corporations. Today regulatory agencies and trade associations work together to do the work that the “trusts” of the last century were set up to do.
A second reason for regulatory failure concerns the nature of the corporation, to which we turn briefly.
Corporations are not natural entities, like karner blue butterflies or white pines. Corporations are artificial creations that are set up by state corporation codes. These state laws, plus a bunch of court cases, form the basis for the notion that corporations have powers and “rights.”
This law is Defining Law. This law is the script that corporate lawyers write for corporations. This law is the law that we don’t even read.
It’s right there in the law books in black and white, just like the “regs” that we spend so much time on. But this Defining Law is invisible to us because we’ve been colonized and have accepted it as a given. We leave this defining law — in corporation codes, bankruptcy law, insurance law, etc. — to corporation lawyers, who rewrite it every few years without so much as a whimper from citizen activists. Then we wonder why the parts-per-million regulations aren’t enforced.
So, the second reason that regulatory agencies fail to protect the public is that we have allowed corporate lawyers to write the Defining Law of corporations. This law bestows upon corporations powers and rights that exceed those of human persons and sometimes of government as well. It seems pretty obvious, then, that we need to rewrite the Defining Law.
Sooner or later we come up against the claim that all this stuff about “rights” and so on is just too legalistic. None of us wants to be involved in narrow and excessively legalistic strategies.
However, a glance through any Earth First! journal will confirm that we’re constantly dealing with The Law, whether we’re filing testimony or engaged in direct action. As long as we’re in the legal arena, we might as well be dealing with Defining Law, and not the regulatory frufru that we’ve allowed to distract us.
If the civil rights movement had been afraid to touch the deep defining “law of the land” we’d still be laboring under “separate but equal.” For as long as we stick with Regulatory Law and leave Defining Law to corporate lawyers, we’ll have corporate government.
What are we going to do tomorrow morning?
We could keep doing what hasn’t worked in case it works next time; we could denounce people who suggest that what we’re doing isn’t working; we could declare victory so our folks won’t get so depressed and discouraged. I’d like to steer clear of those options.
I’d also like to avoid “negotiating” with corporations as though they were persons with a role in a democratic system, and avoid doing anything else that accepts that corporations have the constitutional rights of human persons.
Here is one cluster of ideas for rewriting the Defining Law of corporations. It’s not a 3-point plan, and it’s not the beginning of a twenty point plan — just some ideas to think about.
1. Prohibit corporations from owning stock in other corporations. Owning stock in other corporations enables corporations to control huge markets and shift responsibility, liability, resources, assets and taxes back and forth among parent corporations, subsidiaries and other members of their unholy families. By defining corporations in such a way to prohibit such ownership, much of the anti-trust regulatory law becomes unnecessary and superfluous.
2. Prohibit corporations from being able to choose when to go out of business (in legalese, no voluntary dissolution). This would prevent corporations from dissolving themselves when it came time to pay taxes, repay government loans, pay creditors, pay pensions, pay for health care, and pay for toxic cleanups.
3. Make stockholders liable for a corporation’s debts. People who want to be stockholders would reallocate their resources to corporations that they knew something about, that weren’t engaged in risky, toxic projects. (This would encourage local, sustainable businesses and healthy local economies. Imagine that.)
These three measures might seem “unrealistic” to some, but it beats the heck out of a voluntary code of conduct, or a wasted decade at a regulatory agency. All three of these provisions were once common features of state corporation codes. No wonder corporate apologists prefer that we hang around in the regulatory agencies with our heads spinning with parts per million and habitat conservation plans.
These three measures were quite effective, which is why corporation lawyers worked so hard to get rid of them. But they address only a tiny portion of what needs to be done.
Here’s another cluster of ideas for ways to shape a democratic process that is about people. (The idea that corporations have “rights” would seem nonsensical to any but a colonized mind.)
1. No corporate participation in the democratic process. Democracy is for and about human beings. Corporations should be prohibited from paying for any political advertisements, making any campaign contributions, or seeking to influence the democratic process in any way.
2. Corporations have no constitutional rights.
A corporation is an artificial creation set up to serve a public need, not an independent entity with intrinsic “rights.”
3. Corporations should be prohibited from making any civic, charitable, or educational donations. Such donations are used to warp the entire social and economic fabric of society, and make people afraid to speak out against corporations.
These probably seem even more “unrealistic” than the first batch. Imagine how good it is for corporate executives that we find these ideas “impractical.” And by the way, these were all once law, too.
The final objection to be raised is that we’ll never get anywhere as long as the “news media” are against us, refuse to cover our issues, and distort our views. Agreed.
But the “news media” are corporations, key players in a system of propaganda that encompasses not only television, radio and newspapers, but also the entire educational system. The “airwaves” belong to the public.
Why have we allowed a puppet federal agency to “lease” the public airwaves to huge corporations? Ya wanna lock down? Lock down to a TV or radio station and make the public airwaves public again. Not for a day but for a lifetime.
Ya like boycotts? What if a regulatory agency gave a hearing and nobody came? The outcome would be the same but we wouldn’t have wasted all the time and resources, nor would we have helped grant an aura of legitimacy to a sham proceeding.
What could we do instead? We could get together with the lawyer and the expert and begin to figure out how to stop being collaborators.
Jane Anne Morris was a corporate anthropologist who lived in Madison, Wisconsin. She was the author of Not in My Backyard: The Handbook, and a member of POCLAD, the program on Corporations, Law and Democracy. Some of her work has appeared previously in Rachel’s (#488, #489, and #502). In its present form, this essay originally appeared in Defying Corporations, Defining Democracy. This article originally appeared on POCLAD.
