Editor’s Note: The natural world is dying and time is running out. DGR believes it is necessary to take any action possible to stop the destruction of the natural world. We believe sabotage of key infrastructures are more effective than social movements to bring the industrial civilization (and its death drive) down. In these dire times, we are glad to see increasing adoption of and advocacy for eco-sabotage. Fear that these actions will lead to further hostility from the powerful against the environmental movement are baseless. The powerful (including in UK) are already hostile to the environmental movement and the natural world. Any impact on hostility from the powerful is minimal.However, when it comes to tactics and strategy, context matters. No tactic can be judged as “effective” or “ineffective” in isolation. Goals, assumptions and political circumstances must be considered before selecting methods. As such, we think target selection is critical in evaluating an act of ecosabotage. Pipelines that transport oil are an example of strategic target selection. Windows of organizations linked to fossil fuels are not. Smashing windows or other similar small-scale acts of minor eco-sabotage may be useful for training and propaganda but it does little to challenge the power structure. Minor acts of eco-sabotage may be useful in drawing attention to the issue, by giving media attention to the issue (which is not guaranteed). DGR advocates to move beyond social-political goals and into physical material ones: challenging the power structure that enables destruction of nature through strategic dismantling of global industrial infrastructures.DGR also follows security culture. We maintain a strict firewall between underground action and aboveground organizing. That’s why, as an aboveground organization, we do not engage in any forms of underground action, nor do we know about any underground actions except through information published elsewhere. This article was originally published on opendemocracy.net
By Jack McGovan/Open Democracy UK climate activist group Pipe Busters first broke into the construction site for the Southampton to London Pipeline (SLP) in June. Using an array of carefully selected tools, from bolt cutters to a circular saw, they damaged several sections of uninstalled pipeline and a construction vehicle. This wasn’t a random act: the pipeline’s main function is to supply Heathrow with aviation fuel. “Aviation is a planet killer,” said Pipe Busters in an emailed statement. “Pipe Busters act to halt the expansion of flying that the SLP would make possible.” https://twitter.com/StopTheSLP/status/1539609635002400771 In a year in which heat records were smashed across the globe, a new wave of climate activists seems to have simultaneously begun its own campaign of breaking things. During the summer, Just Stop Oil activists destroyed several petrol pumps on the M25, while This Is Not a Drill smeared black paint on buildings and smashed the windows of organisations linked to fossil fuels. The disruption has continued into the autumn. Last week, Just Stop Oil threw black paint on Altcourse prison in Liverpool, in protest at one of their number being held in custody. On Monday, This Is Not a Drill’s website reported that campaigners had broken the front windows of the Schlumberger Cambridge Research Centre at Cambridge University, to draw attention to the recent disastrous flooding in Pakistan. Outside the UK, the French arm of Extinction Rebellion made the news for filling golf course holes with cement. Another group, the Tyre Extinguishers, have started a crusade against SUVs in urban environments across a number of countries by deflating their tyres. Not that long ago, climate activism made the headlines for school children skipping class to protest, so these more radical tactics seem to mark a turning point.
Losing patience
“I’ve tried all the conventional main means of creating change – I’ve had meetings with my MP, I’ve signed petitions, I’ve participated in public consultations, I’ve organised and taken part in marches,” says Indigo Rumbelow, a Just Stop Oil activist. “The conventional ways of making change are done.” Marion Walker, spokesperson for the Tyre Extinguishers, added: “We want to live in towns and cities with clean air and safe streets. Politely asking and protesting for these things has failed. “The only thing we can do is make it impossible or extremely inconvenient to own [an SUV].” The need for urgent action on the climate is not in doubt. These campaigners are frustrated by what they see as a lack of meaningful steps taken by governments to stem the flow of carbon into the atmosphere. Despite the need to move away from fossil fuels, for instance, the UK government recently opened up a new licensing round for North Sea oil and gas. Andreas Malm, associate professor in human ecology at Lund University in Sweden, made the case for sabotage as a legitimate form of climate activism in his provocative 2021 book ‘How to Blow Up a Pipeline’ – and he seems to have inspired others to follow his lead. Deflating SUV tyres, for example, is something Malm writes about and says he has done in the past. But is breaking stuff – temporarily or otherwise – really an effective form of action for a movement trying to communicate on such a serious issue? “Coordinated, sustained social movements that do destroy property tend to be pretty effective over the long term,” says Benjamin Sovacool, professor in energy policy at Sussex University. Sovacool highlights three global movements – the abolition of slavery, the prohibition of alcohol and the civil rights movement – that used violence, including destroying property, to achieve their goals. “Some work in sociology even suggests that violent social movements are actually more effective than non-violent ones,” he adds. In his own paper, Sovacool cites research from the late 20th century that looked into US social movements, and found that American activists in the 1980s who were willing to use violence were able to reach their objectives more quickly than those who weren’t. He goes on to describe a number of actions that could fall under the umbrella of violence, from destroying property through to assassinations and bombings. Others refer to property destruction as “unarmed violence”, and research suggests movements that adopt this specific style of violent tactic are more successful than others. Movements highlighted as having used unarmed violence include the Chuquisaca Revolution in 1809, and the overthrowing of the military dictatorship in Argentina in 1983. But there isn’t a consensus. Other research looking at similar kinds of movements comes to a different conclusion, indicating that violent tactics are less successful in specific cases, such as those seeking regime change. For any kind of action to have an impact, though, it has to be noticed. German climate movement Letzte Generation, part of the international A22 network that includes Just Stop Oil, sabotaged a number of fuel pipelines across Germany this spring – more than 30 times in total, the group claims. “We asked ourselves, what can we do to really put pressure on the government to give us a reaction towards our demands?” says Lars Werner, who was involved in the action. “We did it publicly – it wasn’t an action that we wanted to hide from.” But despite their enormous logistical efforts, the media coverage was underwhelming. The corporations targeted didn’t react publicly, either. “The government could ignore what we were doing because there wasn’t much attention,” says Werner. Following the action, the group reverted to its old tactics of blocking roads.
Accountability or anonymity?
Indigo Rumbelow is keen to highlight the importance of accountability – showing names and faces – to Just Stop Oil’s activism. Other groups, such as the Tyre Extinguishers, prefer to remain anonymous. “We’re trying to change the narrative around fossil fuels,” says Rumbelow. “We’re not trying to materially stop fossil fuels – we don’t have enough people, resources or power for that. “But by having our face attached to the action and being able to explain, ‘I did this and I believe that I am right because it’s the only right thing to do’ – that’s how we’re going to change the political story,” she says. Choosing to remain anonymous, and not being accountable for your actions, can also be risky. “If you put a mask on, there’s the danger of labelling those people in masks as terrorists,” says Laurence Delina, assistant professor in environment and sustainability at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology. He adds that this can be taken advantage of by others, such as fossil fuel interests, to demonise activists and undermine their message.
Indigenous communities
Those on the frontlines of resource extraction, however, don’t have the privilege of being able to decide whether they want to be accountable or not. Many Indigenous communities – such as the Wet’suwet’en, Pacheedaht, Ditidaht, Mapuche and Sioux peoples across the American continent – have used their bodies to obstruct pipelines, as well as logging and mining vehicles, that would otherwise destroy their lands. Some have resorted to arson to protect their way of life. Not only do these communities have fewer options; retaliation is usually more severe too, sometimes deadly. A Guardian investigation revealed in 2019 that Canadian police had discussed using lethal force against Wet’suwet’en activists blocking the construction of a gas pipeline. Last year, Global Witness reported that 277 land and environmental activists were murdered in 2020 for defending their land and the planet. Most of these incidents occurred in the Global South. Despite differences in opinion, there is a consensus among Malm, Walker and Rumbelow that sabotage, if used, would be most successful as part of a broader movement – that it is one tool in a wider arsenal, not the answer in itself. Delina thinks that sabotage is a legitimate tactic, but only in situations where all other avenues of action have been explored, emphasising that he thinks non-violent actions are preferable. Sovacool doesn’t advocate for sabotage, but agrees that a multiplicity of tactics is useful, and that it’s important for us to be able to talk about how successful sabotage has been in the past. “I think each person has to decide on their own threshold for action,” he says.
Featured image: Sabotage of a train in Copenhagen on March 27, 1945 by National Museum of Denmark via Picryl
Editor’s note: After months of aboveground organizing against the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) Ruby Montoya and Jessica Reznicek conducted a campaign of underground sabotage to stop the pipeline in 2017. When their action received no media attention, they decided to go public to promote the seriousness of the cause. In a public statement, they claimed responsibility for their actions and consequently became subject to lawsuits, including criminal liability and terrorism charges. Jessica was sentenced to eight years in prison in 2021 and Ruby was recently sentenced to six years in prison. We understand and respect the risks that Jessica and Ruby took to protect what they love.
We find it disturbing that Ruby Montoya collaborated with the law enforcement agencies to put the blame against her co-defendant and other people for a lighter sentence on her part. This type of behavior harms the entire movement. Therefore before engaging in any form of environmental action, aboveground or underground, it is necessary to study security culture. Understand the risks associated with one’s actions and make a conscious decision of whether to engage in the action or not.
In order to follow the rules of security culture, as an aboveground organization, DGR does not engage in or have knowledge of any form of underground action. This increases the security and effectiveness of our movement as a whole. Though we do believe in using any means necessary to stop the ongoing ecocide. We also believe in a coordination between aboveground organizing and underground action. The Deep Green Resistance News Service exists to publicize and normalize the use of militant and underground tactics in the fight for justice and sustainability of the natural world.
By Ryan Fatica, Contributor September 26, 2022 / Unicorn Riot
Des Moines, IA – Ruby Montoya, admitted Dakota Access Pipeline ecosaboteur, stepped out of a car Wednesday morning in front of the federal courthouse in Des Moines, Iowa, and walked quietly into the building. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low bun and her long, teal skirt blew in the wind. Her attorney, Maria Borbón, walked behind her.
The atmosphere outside the courthouse that morning was mundane, lacking the usual fanfare of a high-profile political sentencing. No family, friends, or supporters were present for the two-day hearing, which brought to close a legal battle spanning almost exactly three years to the day. Montoya was ordered to spend the next 72 months of her life in federal prison—a sentence imposed for her fierce participation in the protest movement against the pipeline project, which at its height attracted tens of thousands to the icy plains of rural North Dakota.
Montoya was also ordered to pay over $3 million in restitution to Energy Transfer Partners (ETP), the multi-billion dollar fossil fuel transport corporation primarily responsible for the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline, known as DAPL. She was ordered to pay the restitution jointly with her co-defendant Jessica Reznicek.
From her elevated platform, U.S. District Judge Rebecca Ebinger looked down on Montoya as she read aloud her sentence Thursday, stating in part that a long prison sentence was necessary to deter others from taking similar action. When the hearing was over, the judge nodded to the U.S. Marshals waiting in the back of the courtroom; they then approached Montoya and handcuffed her before leading her away.
It was a lonely end to Montoya’s yearslong journey from Mississippi Stand, the Iowa anti-pipeline encampment where she and Reznicek first met, to the most elaborate and successful campaign of sabotage to arise out of the No DAPL movement.
U.S. Marshals parked outside of the federal courthouse in Des Moines, Iowa during Ruby Montoya’s sentencing. After sentencing, the Marshals led her away in handcuffs. Photo by Ryan Fatica.
Between November 2016 and May 2017, Montoya and Reznicek attacked DAPL infrastructure in at least 10 locations, setting fire to construction equipment and using oxy-acetylene torches to cut holes in the pipeline’s steel walls. Prosecutors also alleged in court filings that two earlier acts of sabotage, for which the pair were not charged, matched the profile of their later actions.
According to the pipeline company, the attacks resulted not only in the $3,198,512.70 in damages Montoya and Reznicek were ordered to jointly pay in restitution, but cost ETP an additional $20 million in added security expenses as well.
In a dramatic press conference in July 2017, the two admitted to their direct action campaign before turning around and prying the letters off the sign in front of the Iowa Utilities Board Office of Consumer Advocacy, expressing no remorse for their actions. “If we have any regrets, it is that we did not act enough,”they wrote in a public statement at the time.
In June 2021, Reznicek was sentenced to eight years in prison, a term that included a domestic terrorism enhancement. Reznicek later 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.)
The course of Montoya’s three-year grind through the federal court system took many turns. She went through four attorneys and went from cooperating with her co-defendant to cooperating with law enforcement. During this legal process, she and Reznicek were labeled terrorists by the government, an highly political accusation that dramatically increased their possible prison sentences and created increased repression on environmental movements across the country.
A “Harmless” Terrorism Enhancement
In October 2017, less than three months after Montoya and Reznicek’s public confession, a group of 84 members of Congress wrote a letter to then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions, asking the Department of Justice to consider whether 18 U.S.C. 2331(5), the federal criminal code governing domestic terrorism charges, applied to acts of sabotage committed against the DAPL project.
The application of terrorism enhancements at sentencing can add a decade or more to a defendant’s sentence, and the decision to apply them is highly politically charged. According to the federal statute, crimes can be considered “domestic terrorism” if they “involve acts dangerous to human life that are a violation of the criminal laws of the United States or of any State” and are “calculated to influence or affect the conduct of government by intimidation or coercion, or to retaliate against government conduct.”
Two security camera stills of one instance of sabotage to DAPL used as evidence in the prosecution against Montoya and Reznicek.
There is a longstanding precedent for terrorism enhancements being used against animal rights and environmental activists. According to a 2019 study by The Intercept, of the 70 federal prosecutions of animal and environmental activists they identified, the government sought terrorism enhancements in 20. Those cases include 12 of the defendants in Operation Backfire, the major FBI operation that targeted the Earth Liberation Front, also known as ELF.
However, it’s also notable when terrorism enhancements are not applied. As many have pointed out, participants in the January 6th Insurrection have not received terrorism enhancements, despite participating in a political attack on the heart of the U.S. government, an event which led to several deaths. Neither Dylan Roof, the white supremacist who murdered nine African Americans in 2015, nor James Fields, the neo-Nazi who intentionally drove his car into a crowd in Charlottesville, Virginia, killing Heather Heyer and injuring 35 others, received terrorism enhancements.
In Montoya’s case, Judge Ebinger calculated that according to federal sentencing guidelines Montoya’s sentence would have been 46-57 months without a terrorism enhancement. The terrorism enhancement elevated her sentencing range to 292-365 months—a possible sentence of 24 to 30 years in prison.
In November 2021, Reznicek appealed her case, arguing that the lower court had erred in applying the terrorism enhancement for several reasons. Reznicek’s actions, her attorneys argued, did not constitute terrorism in part because they did not primarily target government conduct. The pair’s public statements “decried perceived failures of the government but did not make express or implied threats and did not articulate any hoped-for effect of the offense on government conduct,” Reznicek’s attorneys wrote in the appeal. “The only purpose articulated in the statement was to ‘[get] this pipeline stopped,’” they continued.
The court of appeals upheld Reznicek’s conviction and the application of the terrorism enhancement, claiming that it was “harmless” because Judge Ebinger would have sentenced Reznicek to 96 months in prison regardless of the enhancement.
During Montoya’s sentencing hearing, the prosecutor seemed to anticipate the same arguments raised in Rezniceck’s appeal, arguing that Montoya’s actions were clearly intended as retaliation for the government’s approval of the DAPL project and to influence its decisions about the project’s future.
Maria Borbón, Montoya’s attorney, seemed ill-suited to the task of countering these arguments as well as many other arguments made by the prosecution during the two-day hearing. Her courtroom conduct frequently appeared to frustrate the judge, who repeatedly lectured her on procedural norms of federal court. When asked to speak, her comments were often off topic and occasionally incoherent.
Federal judges have discretion to deviate from sentencing calculations, and in Montoya’s case, Judge Ebinger explained that she decided to depart downward from the possible 24 years allowable under the guideline calculation. Her consideration included Montoya’s mental health and extensive history of childhood trauma, her good behavior on pretrial release, and her efforts to assist the government through four “proffer” interviews in 2021 (the contents of which remain sealed).
Violent Extremism Research Center Director Claims Iowa Catholic Workers Further “Terrorist Ideology”
At sentencing, the defense called Dr. Anne Speckhard, Director of the International Center for the Study of Violent Extremism (ICSVE), who claimed that Montoya had been manipulated by what she called the “terrorist ideology” of the Des Moines Catholic Worker and the environmental direct action movements she’d been a part of.
The Catholic Worker movement was founded in 1933 by anarchist journalist Dorothy Day and French-born Catholic social activist Peter Maurin. The movement, which is ongoing, focuses on redistributing wealth and resources through food pantries and shared housing, and uniting workers and intellectuals through educational discussions and joint activities.
While Speckhard testified in Montoya’s defense, claiming she had little to no responsibility for the actions she took while in a “dissociated state,” her testimony also insinuated that the actions taken by Montoya and Reznicek amounted to terrorism. She referred to the Des Moines Catholic Worker as “cult-like” and claimed that Montoya had been “recruited” and “elevated” by Reznicek who preyed upon her weakness.
Jessica Reznicek (L) and Ruby Montoya (R), as they participate in a vision quest led by Indigenous elders. Source: Ruby Montoya, Document 205, Supplement to Motion to Withdraw Guilty Plea, Exhibit 17, Filed November 24, 2021.
According to its website, ICSVE was founded in 2015 and works closely with both domestic government agencies like the Department of Homeland Security as well as military organizations like NATO.
ICSVE is one of several organizations and governmental bodies that promote an approach to domestic terrorism called “Countering Violent Extremism”(CVE). According to the nonpartisan think tank Brennan Center for Justice, CVE are a “destructive counterterrorism program” that is “bad policy.” The think tank also explains that CVE are “based on junk science, have proven to be ineffective, discriminatory, and divisive.”
After the Department of Homeland Security and Department of Justice named Boston as a CVE pilot program site in 2014, the ACLU of Massachusetts“raised serious concerns about the civil rights, civil liberties, and public safety implications of adopting this unproven and seemingly discriminatory approach to law enforcement.” Unicorn Riot spoke with an ex-FBI agent, Mike German, from the Brennan Center about CVE in 2017.
Since August 2021, activists and legal professionals have raised concerns that Montoya may have begun cooperating with law enforcement in an attempt to reduce her prison sentence by putting other activists at risk of prison instead.
In her August 2021 motion to withdraw her previous guilty plea, Montoya publicly cast blame on a slew of people and claimed she lacked the mens rea—the intention or knowledge of wrongdoing—to understand what she was doing. Montoya argued that her abusive father, her “coercive” co-defendant Reznicek, the Des Moines Catholic Worker, and possible undercover “government operative[s]” were each in part responsible for her actions.
In the months that followed, Montoya’s new attorney Daphne Silverman filed a series of sealed documents with the court, the contents of which are still unknown to the public. Filing sealed documents is a practice usually avoided by participants in political movements as it can raise suspicion within activist communities that a defendant may be attempting to cast blame elsewhere by informing on other activists.
Montoya and her attorneys have also continued to pursue the argument that some sort of government or private security operatives “influenced me” and “appear to be unlawfully pressuring me to engage in illegal acts,” as Montoya put it in a November 2021 affidavit to the court. The affidavit goes on to discuss three unnamed people Montoya says influenced her to use fire to damage construction equipment and even taught her how to weld.
According to Montoya, she and Reznicek traveled to Denver where the unnamed people taught them to use an oxy-acetylene torch and encouraged them to do so. “Inside Person 2’s house,” in Denver, Montoya wrote, “there were army training manuals of how to destroy infrastructure, and little else. They slept on sheepskin.”
In Montoya and Reznicek’s previous public statements, the pair claimed that they acted in secret without the knowledge or involvement of other activists. “It’s insulting on some level,” Reznicek said in a 2017 joint interview with Montoya, “but it needs to be cleared up. Ruby and I acted solely alone. Nobody else was involved in any of these actions. I think it’s hard for people to believe ― ‘How could these two women pull this off so easily?’”
Montoya’s testimony is the only evidence on record suggesting that the individuals she claims taught her to weld actually exist. If, indeed, they do exist, it is unclear whether they are actually government operatives or activists who believe in using direct action against the fossil fuel industry.
At sentencing, the federal prosecutor spoke of these assertions as though they were ridiculous, calling them “conspiracy theories” and even sought to increase Montoya’s prison sentence as a result of her implicating the government in her actions.
The historical record reveals that government operatives and informants, especially those employed by the FBI, pressuring activists into property destruction and even providing them the means to do so may be a conspiracy, but is much more than a theory. The fairly recent cases of Eric McDavid, in which a government informant concocted and lured him into a bomb plot and the Cleveland 4, in which a paid FBI informant sold fake C4 explosives to a group of young Occupy activists while also providing them drugs and resources, clearly document this reality. The history of FBI surveillance and entrapment of Muslim communities is even more extensive.
At sentencing, Montoya’s fourth attorney, Maria Borbón, argued that the courtroom should be closed during sentencing, referring to the “sensitive nature” of some of the topics discussed. The judge denied her request, saying that the public record in this case had already been “oversealed” in a manner that is “contrary to the public interest.”
On the morning of the first day of sentencing, federal prosecutors filed an unsealed document containing a list of more than 80 exhibits they intended to use at the hearing that day. Most of the items on the list are public statements made by Montoya about her actions as well as assessments and images of the damage her and Reznicek caused to fossil fuel infrastructure. At the end of the list, as seen below, are five exhibits titled Transcript of Proffer Interview and Grand Jury Testimony dated from November 2020 to July 2021.
A list of exhibits used by the prosecution at sentencing includes five documents attesting to Montoya’s cooperation with law enforcement. Source: United States v. Reznicek, Document 324, Filed 9/21/22.
Although transcripts of these interviews remain sealed, their contents were briefly mentioned by the attorneys throughout the proceedings, including a claim by Montoya that at one point she threw away $5,000 in cash in an effort to stop Reznicek from continuing the sabotage campaign. This claim was part of a relentless attempt by Montoya and her attorneys to deflect blame for her actions onto her co-defendant and the Des Moines Catholic Worker House, especially its founder and de facto leader, former priest Frank Cordero.
“At no time did Ms. Montoya lead,” said Borbón. She claimed instead that Montoya’s actions were “directed by the household,” referring to the Des Moines Catholic Worker House. “She remained in the vehicle,” Borbón explained when arguing Montoya’s alleged lack of participation.
“She was not the one who struck the matches, she was not the one who put together the funds to continue the vandalism.”
Maria Borbón, Montoya’s attorney
However, according to the federal prosecutor, Montoya said in her proffer interview that she was the one who lit the match during their election night attack on construction equipment in Buena Vista County, Iowa. The prosecutor also said that in those interviews, Montoya says that she, not Reznicek, was the author of the pair’s 2017 public statement claiming responsibility for the attacks.
The government’s exhibit list also contains a listing for a document titled Grand Jury Testimony of 1-21-21- Under seal. It was not previously known to the public that Montoya had testified before a federal grand jury, and the reason it was convened remains shrouded in mystery.
“Misguided, wrong and lawless”
In her closing statements, Judge Ebinger identified “three versions” of the events of 2016 and 2017, each as told by Montoya at different points in time. The first is the story she told during her public confession and in the pair’s public talk at the Iowa City Public Library in August 2017. In this version, the judge said, Montoya appeared as “an educated woman who speaks articulately” and “passionately” about the value of property destruction in furthering the aims of the environmental movement.
“I have a choice,” said Judge Ebinger as she quoted Montoya’s description of why she joined the No DAPL protests, “I knew I had to go there. And so I hit the road.”
The second version is the story told by Montoya in the proffer interviews with the government, in which she knew the facts of each attack and could recite them in great detail to the willing ears of law enforcement. In this version, Montoya said that she had limited contact with Des Moines Catholic Worker Frank Cordero, hearing his thoughts mostly from Reznicek.
The third version is the story told by Montoya to her mental health providers, which they relayed in court during the sentencing. In this version, Montoya is a deeply traumatized and mentally ill person who was “coached” and “manipulated” into taking action by Cordero and Reznicek. According to Montoya’s care providers, she suffers from such severe post-traumatic stress disorder that she committed her crimes “in a fog” and in a “dreamlike” and “childlike state” of dissociation that she hardly remembers them.
The Montoya represented in the third version of her story is deeply sorry for her actions and it was this Montoya who addressed the court during allocution, the defendant’s formal statement prior to sentencing.
U.S. Federal District Court, Des Moines, Iowa. Photo by Ryan Fatica.
“I am here to take responsibility for my actions,” Montoya told the court, “which were misguided, wrong and lawless.” Nonetheless, she said through tears, she was on a “journey of self-accountability” which included her attempts to “rectify” her actions through her “statements to the government and my grand jury testimony.”
Despite her pleas, it was primarily toward the Montoya represented in version number one that Judge Ebinger directed her sentence, saying that Montoya’s statements during “the conspiracy period” were entirely “inconsistent with someone who is in a fog or a dreamlike state.” The judge quoted repeatedly from Montoya’s public statements, arguing that she was cogent, articulate and proud of her actions.
Nonetheless, the judge said, “the court recognizes and credits the adverse childhood experiences” testified to by Montoya, her mental health providers, and several family members. “PTSD frequently rears its head in this courtroom,” Judge Ebinger said.
In recognition of these challenges, she recommended that the Bureau of Prisons designate Montoya to a facility in or close to Arizona and that she be allowed to participate in any available vocational trainings during her six years of life in a prison cell.
For more on DGR News Service coverage on the issue:
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.
Dividing the world into worthy and unworthy victims is a tactic used to justify our crimes and demonize our enemies. Conflicts will not be solved until all nations abide by international law and all victims are deemed worthy.
Rulers divide the world into worthy and unworthy victims, those we are allowed to pity, such as Ukrainians enduring the hell of modern warfare, and those whose suffering is minimized, dismissed, or ignored. The terror we and our allies carry out against Iraqi, Palestinian, Syrian, Libyan, Somali and Yemeni civilians is part of the regrettable cost of war. We, echoing the empty promises from Moscow, claim we do not target civilians. Rulers always paint their militaries as humane, there to serve and protect. Collateral damage happens, but it is regrettable.
This lie can only be sustained among those who are unfamiliar with the explosive ordinance and large kill zones of missiles, iron fragmentation bombs, mortar, artillery and tank shells, and belt-fed machine guns. This bifurcation into worthy and unworthy victims, as Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky point out in “Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media,” is a key component of propaganda, especially in war. The Russian-speaking population in Ukraine, to Moscow, are worthy victims. Russia is their savior: The 1.5 million refugees and the millions of Ukrainian families cowering in basements, car parks and subway stations, are unworthy “Nazis.”
Worthy victims allow citizens to see themselves as empathetic, compassionate, and just. Worthy victims are an effective tool to demonize the aggressor. They are used to obliterate nuance and ambiguity. Mention the provocations carried out by the western alliance with the expansion of NATO beyond the borders of a unified Germany, a violation of promises made to Moscow in 1990; the stationing of of NATO troops and missile batteries in Eastern Europe; the U.S. involvement in the ouster in 2014 of Ukraine President Viktor Yanukovych, which led to the civil war in the east of Ukraine between Russian-backed separatists and Ukraine’s army, a conflict that has claimed tens of thousands of lives, and you are dismissed as a Putin apologist.
It is to taint the sainthood of the worthy victims, and by extension ourselves. We are good. They are evil. Worthy victims are used not only to express sanctimonious outrage, but to stoke self-adulation and a poisonous nationalism. The cause becomes sacred, a religious crusade. Fact-based evidence is abandoned, as it was during the calls to invade Iraq. Charlatans, liars, con artists, fake defectors, and opportunists become experts, used to fuel the conflict.
Celebrities, who, like the powerful, carefully orchestrate their public image, pour out their hearts to worthy victims. Hollywood stars such as George Clooney made trips to Darfur to denounce the war crimes being committed by Khartoum at the same time the US was killing scores of civilians in Iraq and Afghanistan. The war in Iraq was as savage as the slaughter in Darfur, but to express outrage at what was happening to unworthy victims was to become branded as the enemy, who of course, like Putin or Saddam Hussein, is always the new Hitler.
Saddam Hussein’s attacks on the Kurds, considered worthy victims, saw an international outcry while Israeli persecution of the Palestinians, subjected to relentless bombing campaigns by the Israeli air force and its artillery and tank units, with hundreds of dead and wounded, was, at best, an afterthought. At the height of Stalin’s purges in the 1930s, worthy victims were the Republicans battling the fascists in the Spanish civil war. Soviet citizens were mobilized to send aid and assistance. Unworthy victims were the millions of people Stalin executed, sometimes after tawdry show trials, and sent to the gulags.
While I was reporting from El Salvador in 1984, the Catholic priest Jerzy Popiełuszko was murdered by the regime in Poland. His death was used to excoriate the Polish communist government, a stark contrast to the response of the Reagan administration to the rape and murder of four Catholic missionaries in 1980 in El Salvador by the Salvadorean National Guard. President Ronald Reagan’s administration sought to blame the three nuns and a lay worker for their own deaths. Jeane Kirkpatrick, Reagan’s Ambassador to the United Nations, said, “The nuns were not just nuns. The nuns were also political activists.” Secretary of State Alexander Haig speculated that “perhaps they ran a roadblock.”
For the Reagan administration, the murdered churchwomen were unworthy victims. The right-wing government in El Salvador, armed and backed by the United States, joked at the time, Haz patria, mata un cura (Be a patriot, kill a priest). Archbishop Óscar Romero had been assassinated in March of 1980. Nine years later it would gun down six Jesuits and two others at their residence on the campus of Central American University in San Salvador. Between 1977 and 1989, death squads and soldiers killed 13 priests in El Salvador.
It is not that worthy victims do not suffer, nor that they are not deserving of our support and compassion, it is that worthy victims alone are rendered human, people like us, and unworthy victims are not. It helps, of course, when, as in Ukraine, they are white. But the missionaries murdered in El Salvador were also white and American and yet it was not enough to shake US support for the country’s military dictatorship.
“The mass media never explain why Andrei Sakharov is worthy and Jose Luis Massera, in Uruguay, is unworthy,” Herman and Chomsky write. “The attention and general dichotomization occur ‘naturally’ as a result of the working of the filters, but the result is the same as if a commissar had instructed the media: ‘Concentrate on the victims of enemy powers and forget about the victims of friends.’ Reports of the abuses of worthy victims not only pass through the filters; they may also become the basis of sustained propaganda campaigns. If the government or corporate community and the media feel that a story is useful as well as dramatic, they focus on it intensively and use it to enlighten the public.”
“This was true, for example, of the shooting down by the Soviets of the Korean airliner KAL 007 in early September 1983, which permitted an extended campaign of denigration of an official enemy and greatly advanced Reagan administration arms plans,” Herman and Chomsky write. “As Bernard Gwertzman noted complacently in the New York Times of August 31, 1984, US officials ‘assert that worldwide criticism of the Soviet handling of the crisis has strengthened the United States in its relations with Moscow.’ In sharp contrast, the shooting down by Israel of a Libyan civilian airliner in February I973 led to no outcry in the West, no denunciations for ‘cold-blooded murder,’ and no boycott. This difference in treatment was explained by the New York Times precisely on the grounds of utility in a 1973 editorial: ‘No useful purpose is served by an acrimonious debate over the assignment of blame for the downing of a Libyan airliner in the Sinai Peninsula last week.’ There was a very ‘useful purpose’ served by focusing on the Soviet act, and a massive propaganda campaign ensued.”
It is impossible to hold those responsible for war crimes accountable if worthy victims are deserving of justice and unworthy victims are not. If Russia should be crippled with sanctions for invading Ukraine, which I believe it should, the United States should have been crippled with sanctions for invading Iraq, a war launched on the basis of lies and fabricated evidence.
Imagine if America’s largest banks, J.P Morgan Chase, Citibank, Bank of America and Wells Fargo were cut off from the international banking system. Imagine if our oligarchs, Jeff Bezos, Jamie Diamond, Bill Gates, and Elon Musk, as venal as Russian oligarchs, had their assets frozen and estates and luxury yachts seized. (Bezos’ yacht is the largest in the world, cost an estimated $500 million and is about 57 feet longer than a football field.) Imagine if leading political figures, such as George W. Bush and Dick Cheney and US “oligarchs” were blocked from traveling under visa restrictions. Imagine if the world’s biggest shipping lines suspended shipments to and from the United States. Imagine if US international media news outlets were forced off the air. Imagine if we were blocked from purchasing spare parts for our commercial airlines and our airliners were banned from European air space. Imagine if our athletes were barred from hosting or participating in international sporting events. Imagine if our symphony conductors and opera stars were forbidden from performing unless they denounced the Iraq war and, in a kind of perverted loyalty oath, condemned George W. Bush.
The rank hypocrisy is stunning. Some of the same officials that orchestrated the invasion of Iraq, who under international law are war criminals for carrying out a preemptive war, are now chastising Russia for its violation of international law. The US bombing campaign of Iraqi urban centers, called “Shock and Awe,” saw the dropping of 3,000 bombs on civilian areas that killed over 7,000 noncombatants in the first two months of the war. Russia has yet to go to this extreme.
“I have argued that when you invade a sovereign nation, that is a war crime,” a FOX News host said (with a straight face) recently to Condoleezza Rice, who served as Bush’s National Security adviser during the Iraq War.
“It is certainly against every principle of international law and international order and that is why throwing the book at them now in terms of economic sanctions and punishments is also a part of it,” Rice said. “And I think the world is there. Certainly, NATO is there. He’s managed to unite NATO in ways that I didn’t think I would ever see after the end of the Cold War.”
Rice inadvertently made a case for why she should be put on trial with the rest of Bush’s enablers. She famously justified the invasion of Iraq by stating: “The problem here is that there will always be some uncertainty about how quickly he can acquire nuclear weapons. But we don’t want the smoking gun to be a mushroom cloud.” Her rationale for preemptive war, which under post-Nuremberg laws is a criminal war of aggression, is no different than that peddled by Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov, who says the Russia invasion is being carried out to prevent Ukraine from obtaining nuclear weapons.
And this brings me to RT America, where I had a show called “On Contact.” RT America is now off the air after being deplatformed and unable to disseminate its content. This was long the plan of the US government. The invasion of Ukraine gave Washington the opening to shut RT down. The network had a tiny media footprint. But it gave a platform to American dissidents who challenged corporate capitalism, imperialism, war, and the American oligarchy.
My public denunciation of the invasion of Ukraine was treated very differently by RT America than my public denunciation of the Iraq war was treated by my former employer, The New York Times. RT America made no comment, publicly or privately, about my condemnation of the invasion of Ukraine in my ScheerPost column. Nor did RT comment about statements by Jesse Ventura, a Vietnam veteran and former Minnesota governor, who also had a show on RT America, and who wrote: “20 years ago, I lost my job because I opposed the Iraq War and the invasion of Iraq. Today, I still stand for peace. As I’ve said previously, I oppose this war, this invasion, and if standing up for peace costs me another job, so be it. I will always speak out against war.”
RT America was shut down six days after I denounced the invasion of Ukraine. If the network had continued, Ventura and I might have paid with our jobs, but at least for those six days they kept us on air.
The New York Times issued a formal written reprimand in 2003 that forbade me to speak about the war in Iraq, although I had been the newspaper’s Middle East Bureau Chief, had spent seven years in the Middle East and was an Arabic speaker. This reprimand set me up to be fired. If I violated the prohibition, under guild rules, the paper had grounds to terminate my employment. John Burns, another foreign correspondent at the paper, publicly supported the invasion of Iraq. He did not receive a reprimand.
My repeated warnings in public forums about the chaos and bloodbath the invasion of Iraq would trigger, which turned out to be correct, was not an opinion. It was an analysis based on years of experience in the region, including in Iraq, and an intimate understanding of the instrument of war those in the Bush White House lacked. But it challenged the dominant narrative and was silenced. This same censorship of anti-war sentiment is happening now in Russia, but we should remember it happened here during the inception and initial stages of the invasion of Iraq.
Those of us who opposed the Iraq war, no matter how much experience we had in the region, were attacked and vilified. Ventura, who had a three-year contract with MSNBC, saw his show canceled.
Those who were cheerleaders for the war, such as George Packer, Thomas Friedman, Paul Berman, Michael Ignatieff, Leon Wieseltier and Nick Kristof, who Tony Judt called “Bush’s useful idiots,” dominated the media landscape. They painted the Iraqis as oppressed, worthy victims, who the US military would set free. The plight of women under the Taliban was a rallying cry to bomb and occupy the country. These courtiers to power served the interests of the power elite and the war industry. They differentiated between worthy and unworthy victims. It was a good career move. And they knew it.
There was very little dispute about the folly of invading Iraq among reporters in the Middle East, but most did not want to jeopardize their positions by speaking publicly. They did not want my fate to become their own, especially after I was booed off a commencement stage in Rockford, Illinois for delivering an antiwar speech and became a punching bag for right-wing media. I would walk through the newsroom and reporters I had known for years looked down or turned their heads, as if I had leprosy. My career was finished. And not just at The New York Times but any major media organization, which is where I was, orphaned, when Robert Scheer recruited me to write for Truthdig, which he then edited.
What Russia is doing militarily in Ukraine, at least up to now, was more than matched by our own savagery in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Libya and Vietnam. This is an inconvenient fact the press, awash in moral posturing, will not address.
No one has mastered the art of technowar and wholesale slaughter like the US military. When atrocities leak out, such as the My Lai massacre of Vietnamese civilians or the prisoners in Abu Ghraib, the press does its duty by branding them aberrations. The truth is that these killings and abuse are deliberate. They are orchestrated at the senior levels of the military. Infantry units, assisted by long ranger artillery, fighter jets, heavy bombers, missiles, drones, and helicopters level vast swaths of “enemy” territory killing most of the inhabitants. The US military during the invasion of Iraq from Kuwait created a six-mile-wide free-fire zone that killed hundreds if not thousands of Iraqis. The indiscriminate killing ignited the Iraqi insurgency.
When I entered southern Iraq in the first Gulf War it was flattened. Villages and towns were smoldering ruins. Bodies, including women and children, lay scattered on the ground. Water purification systems had been bombed. Power stations had been bombed. Schools and hospitals had been bombed. Bridges had been bombed. The United States military always wages war by “overkill,” which is why it dropped the equivalent of 640 Hiroshima-sized atomic bombs on Vietnam, most actually falling on the south where our purported Vietnamese allies resided. It unloaded in Vietnam more than 70 million tons of herbicidal agents, three million white phosphorus rockets — white phosphorus will burn its way entirely through a body — and an estimated 400,000 tons of jellied incendiary napalm.
“Thirty-five percent of the victims,” Nick Turse writes of the war in Vietnam, “died within 15 to 20 minutes.” Death from the skies, like death on the ground, was often unleashed capriciously. “It was not out of the ordinary for US troops in Vietnam to blast a whole village or bombard a wide area in an effort to kill a single sniper.”
Vietnamese villagers, including women, children, and the elderly, were often herded into tiny, barbed wire enclosures known as “cow cages.” They were subjected to electric shocks, gang raped and tortured by being hung upside down and beaten, euphemistically called “the plane ride,” until unconscious. Fingernails were ripped out. Fingers were dismembered. Detainees were slashed with knives. They were beaten senseless with baseball bats and waterboarded. Targeted assassinations, orchestrated by CIA death squads, were ubiquitous.
Wholesale destruction, including of human beings, to the US military, perhaps any military, is orgiastic. The ability to unleash sheets of automatic rifle fire, hundreds of rounds of belt-fed machine-gun fire, 90 mm tank rounds, endless grenades, mortars, and artillery shells on a village, sometimes supplemented by gigantic 2,700-pound explosive projectiles fired from battleships along the coast, was a perverted form of entertainment in Vietnam, as it became later in the Middle East. US troops litter the countryside with claymore mines. Canisters of napalm, daisy-cutter bombs, anti-personnel rockets, high-explosive rockets, incendiary rockets, cluster bombs, high-explosive shells, and iron fragmentation bombs — including the 40,000-pound bomb loads dropped by giant B-52 Strarofortress bombers — along with chemical defoliants and chemical gases dropped from the sky are our calling cards. Vast areas are designated free fire zones — a term later changed by the military to the more neutral sounding “specified strike zone” — where everyone in those zones is considered the enemy, even the elderly, women, and children.
Soldiers and marines who attempt to report the war crimes they witness can face a fate worse than being pressured, discredited, or ignored. On Sept. 12, 1969, Nick Turse writes in his book “Kill Anything That Moves: The Real American War in Vietnam,” George Chunko sent a letter to his parents explaining how his unit had entered a home that had a young Vietnamese woman, four young children, an elderly man, and a military-age male. It appeared the younger man was AWOL from the South Vietnamese army. The young man was stripped naked and tied to a tree. His wife fell to her knees and begged the soldiers for mercy. The prisoner, Chunko wrote, was “ridiculed, slapped around and [had] mud rubbed into this face.” He was then executed.
A day after he wrote the letter, Chunko was killed. Chunko’s parents, Turse writes, “suspected that their son had been murdered to cover up the crime.”
All of this remains unspoken as we express our anguish for the people of Ukraine and revel in our moral superiority. The life of a Palestinian or an Iraqi child is as precious as the life of a Ukrainian child. No one should live in fear and terror. No one should be sacrificed on the altar of Mars. But until all victims are worthy, until all who wage war are held accountable and brought to justice, this hypocritical game of life and death will continue. Some human beings will be worthy of life. Others will not. Drag Putin off to the International Criminal Court and put him on trial. But make sure George W. Bush is in the cell next to him. If we can’t see ourselves, we can’t see anyone else. And this blindness leads to catastrophe.
Chris Hedges is a Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist who was a foreign correspondent for fifteen years for The New York Times, where he served as the Middle East Bureau Chief and Balkan Bureau Chief for the paper. He previously worked overseas for The Dallas Morning News, The Christian Science Monitor, and NPR. He was the host of the Emmy Award-nominated show On Contact. You can find his columns on ScheerPost and his new show at chrishedges.substack.com.
The following is an extract from Derrick Jensen’s 2016 book The Myth of Human Supremacy. From the book jacket: “In this impassioned polemic, radical environmental philosopher Derrick Jensen debunks the near-universal belief in a hierarchy of nature and the superiority of humans. Vast and underappreciated complexities of nonhuman life are explored in detail—from the cultures of pigs and prairie dogs, to the creative use of tools by elephants and fish, to the acumen of caterpillars and fungi. The paralysis of the scientific establishment on moral and ethical issues is confronted and a radical new framework for assessing the intelligence and sentience of nonhuman life is put forth.” Visit Derrick’s website to buy the book.
By Derrick Jensen
You’ve probably noticed I haven’t talked about the origins of human supremacism. Some say it began with the domestication of nonhuman animals, as we came to think of these as our dependent inferiors, as our slaves, our beasts of burden. Some say it began with agriculture, where the entire landbase was converted to human use. Some say the model for human supremacism is male supremacism: women are physically differentiable from men, and some men decided that differentiability meant inferiority, and validated their own superiority by repeatedly violating and controlling women; this model was then applied across racial, cultural, and species differences. Some say human supremacism really got its start with the creation of a monotheistic sky god and the consequent removal of meaning from the material earth.
These questions of origins, while interesting and on some levels important, are not vital to the current discussion. Right now this narcissistic, sociopathic human supremacist culture is killing the planet, and we need to stop it. Asking where it started feels a bit to me like wondering about the childhood traumas of the axe murderer who is tearing apart your loved ones. Sure, it’s a discussion to be had, but can we please stop the murderer first?
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Because human supremacism—like other supremacisms—is not based on fact, but rather on pre-existing bigotry (and the narcissism and tangible self-interest on which all bigotries are based), I don’t expect this book will cause many human supremacists to reconsider their supremacism, just as books on male or white supremacism don’t generally cause male or white supremacists to reconsider theirs. The book isn’t written for them. This book is written to give support to the people—and there are a lot of us—who are not human supremacists, and who are disgusted with the attitudes and behaviors of the supremacists, who are attempting to stop the supremacists from killing all that lives. It is written for those who are appalled by nonhumans being tortured, displaced, destroyed, exterminated by supremacists in service to authoritarian technics. It is written for those who are tired of the incessant—I would say obsessive—propaganda required to prop up human supremacism. It is written for those who recognize the self-serving stupidity and selective blindness of the supremacist position.
It is written for those who prefer a living planet to authoritarian technics. It is written for those who prefer democratic decision-making processes to authoritarian technics. It is written for those who prefer life to machines.
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I’m sitting again by the pond. The wind still plays gently among the reeds, plays also with the surface of the water.
This time I do not hear the sound of a family of jays softly talking amongst themselves. This time I hear the sound of chainsaws.
The forests on both sides of where I live are being clearcut. I don’t know why. Or rather, on a superficial level I do. The people who “own” both pieces of land had a “problem” they needed to “solve.” “Problem”? They needed money. Or they wanted money. Or they craved money. It doesn’t matter. “Solution”? Cut the trees and sell them.
Never mind those who live there.
So for weeks now I’ve been hearing the whine of chainsaws and the screams of trees as they fall. For weeks now I’ve been feeling the shock waves when the trees hit the ground.
Such is life at the end of the world.
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We end on the plains of eastern Colorado, where as I write this a friend is trying desperately to protect prairie dogs. A “developer” wants to put in a mall on top of one of the largest extant prairie dog villages along Colorado’s Front Range. The village has 3,000 to 8,000 burrows.
Prior to this human supremacist culture moving into the Great Plains, the largest prairie dog community in the world, which was in Texas, covered 25,000 square miles, and was home to perhaps 400 million prairie dogs. The total range for prairie dogs was about 150,000 to 200,000 square miles, and population was well over a billion.
Now, prairie dogs have been reduced to about five percent of their range and two percent of their population.
Yet because yet another rich person wants to build yet another mall (in this economy, with so many empty stores already?), much of this prairie dog community will be poisoned. That community includes the twenty or more other species who live with and depend upon prairie dogs. The prairie dogs (and some others) who are not poisoned will be buried alive by the bulldozers, then covered with concrete. This includes the pregnant females, who prefer not to leave their dens.
If you recall, prairie dogs have complex languages, with words for many threats. They have language to describe hawks, and to describe snakes, and to describe coyotes. They have language to describe a woman wearing a yellow shirt, and different language for a woman wearing a blue shirt. They have had to come up with language to describe a man with a gun.
Do they, I wonder, have language to describe a bulldozer? Do they have language to describe the pregnant females of their community being buried alive?
And do they have language to describe the murderous insatiability of human supremacists? And do others? Do blue whales and the few remaining tigers? Do the last three northern white rhinos, all that’s left because some human supremacists believe their horns are aphrodisiacs? Do elephants? Did the black-skinned pink-tusked elephants of China? Did the Mesopotamian elephants? And what about others? What about the disappearing fireflies? What about the dammed and re-dammed and re-dammed Mississippi? What about the once-mighty Columbia? What about the once-free Amazon? Do they have language to describe this murderous insatiability?
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And perhaps more to the point, do we?
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By the time you read this, the prairie dogs my friend is fighting to protect will probably be dead, killed so someone can build yet another cathedral to human supremacism. And by the time you read this, yet another dam will have been built on the Mekong, on the upper reaches of the Amazon, on the upper Nile. By the time you read this there will be 7,000 to 10,000 more dams in the world. By the time you read this there will be more dead zones in the oceans. By the time you read this there will be another 100,000 species driven extinct.
And all for what?
To serve authoritarian technics, to serve an obsession to validate and re-validate a self-perceived superiority that is so fragile that each new other we encounter must be violated, and then violated, and then violated, till there is nothing left and we move on to violate another.
This is not the future I want. This is not the future I will accept.
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What I want from this book is for readers to begin to remember what it is to be human, to begin to remember what it is to be a member of a larger biotic community. What I want is for you—and me, and all of us—to fall back into the world into which you—and me, and all of us—were born, before you, too, like all of us were taught to become a bigot, before you, too, like all of us were taught to become a human supremacist, before you, too, like all of us were turned into a servant of this machine culture like your and my parents and their parents before them. I want for you—and me, and all of us—to fall into a world where you—like all of us—are one among many, a world of speaking subjects, a world of infinite complexity, a world where we each depend on the others, all of us understanding that the health of the real world is primary.
The world is being murdered. It is being murdered by actions that are perpetrated to support and perpetuate a worldview. Those actions must be stopped. Given what is at stake, failure is no longer an option. The truth is that it never was an option.
So where do we begin? We begin by questioning the unquestioned beliefs that are the real authorities of this culture, and then we move out from there. And once you’ve begun that questioning, my job is done, because once those questions start they never stop. From that point on, what you do is up to you.
