by William Bell
Jimmy gave his nephew a look of surprise. “You don’t think the protesters should get taken in by the cops?”
“I don’t know what to think any more. Not just because my mom is one of them, either. I hate to admit it, Jimmy, but the first time Mom got arrested, I felt like she had it coming. Don’t ever tell her I said that, okay? I’m not too proud about feeling that way. But when she was told she’d get six months, then I gradually changed my mind. And when I found out about the sabotage, and those two jerks you kicked out of here, I started thinking, what’s going on here when people like my mother get thrown in jail for sitting on a bridge? I mean, okay, maybe people think she’s wrong and being a pain in the neck for everybody — maybe I think that, too — but a thousand-buck fine? Six months in jail? For trying to get the government to protect our environment?”
Jimmy took a pull on his beer, frowning.
Bryan thought, Maybe I went too far, but Jimmy has always been the kind of person you can say what you want to. As long as you mean what you say, even if he thinks you’re full of it, he respects you. That’s the way he has always been. But now, his face was clouded.
Jimmy took out a cigarette and lit it with his big chrome-plated Zippo. “I’m with you,” was all he said.
“Really? You changed your mind, too?”
“No, not about the logging. I’m a tree-cutter, Bry, and most of my friends are. It’s what I’ve always been. But I’ve been thinking. There has to be a better way to work this out.”
“Mom says there isn’t. She says if people don’t do something now, the government and MFI will stall for ages. Meanwhile, they keep clear-cutting.”
“Yeah, well, between me and you, I’ve never been a big fan of clear-cutting. There’s other ways to harvest trees. I’ll tell you what bothers me about this whole damn set-up though,” Jimmy growled. “A bloody politician gets caught with his hand in the till, or gets nailed for what they call conflict of interest — which means he’s using his position to make a lot of bucks — and they get a nice hearing at our expense, then sometimes, sometimes, they have to clear out. That’s it. But my sister parks herself on a bridge in the backwoods of Vancouver Island and all of a sudden there’s a keen interest in upholding the law. I never finished high school so I’m no great scholar, but even a dope like me can see that something stinks.”
They were silent for a while, then Jimmy lit another cigarette. “I’m not so sure about this SAVE thing, either.”
“Your new job? It’s not working out?”
“Oh, I’m doing okay, I guess. It’s early days yet. But last time I talked to Tanaka I asked him where all the money was coming from. I got to thinking about that big spread they laid on for that meeting you and me went to. And my pay. And the big operating budget Tanaka gave me. I had to wring it out of him — you noticed how smooth the guy is. He finally admitted that all the funding comes from MFI.”
So much for ordinary people having a voice, Bryan mused.
“All I want to do is go back to work in the bush! Oh, well, nothing we can do.” Jimmy sighed. “At least there’s a good chance that Otto and Kevin will get sent up.”
“That’s not what Mom would say,” Bryan murmured.
“Pardon, Bry?”
“Mom would never say ‘There’s nothing we can do.’ ”
Jimmy laughed. “You’re right there, old buddy”
Later, when he was in bed, Bryan felt the burn of shame rush through him again. My girlfriend is taken away because of my family; I do nothing. Two frauds invade our house and use it as a base; I do nothing. If it hadn’t been for Elias, we wouldn’t have found out about them. When Jimmy was throwing them out, I just stood there. My uncle, one arm in a sling, took them both on and could have been beaten half to death, and I just stood by, watching.
My mother loses her job over something she believes in. And I criticize her.
Bryan lay in his bed, feeling like a straw man. And that was when he thought, if I can’t throw Otto and Kevin in jail myself, I can be there when it happens.
THIRTEEN
All night long the rain kept up a punishing tattoo on the roof, drumming Bryan from one nightmare to another. When his clock radio dragged him awake at six o’clock, he hauled himself out of bed and pulled on his clothing. After pouring down two glasses of orange juice, he grabbed a bagel from the fridge and left the house.
The morning was overcast, warm and muggy. The heavy air seemed to drag at him as he pedalled out of town, his bike tires hissing on the wet blacktop. He headed for the bush road that led to the peace camp and the Big Bear River, and by the time he made it he was soaked in sweat. He bumped along the road, breathing in the damp heavy smell of the sodden bush, a lush odour sharpened by the tang of spruce. Other smells greeted him as he emerged into the huge wasteland: smoke from the campfires, the homey scent of hot soup from the café, the weighty odour of decaying vegetation from the ravaged slopes that flanked the road.
Cycling through the camp, weaving among activists and reporters, Bryan scanned the faces, searching for the two men he hoped to see behind the screened windows of a police van before the day was over. But Kevin and Otto were nowhere to be found. When he crested the hill that looked down to the bridge and the Big Bear, he stopped and surveyed the scene below him. Looks like I’m just in time to see some action, he thought.
The police van, three or four cruisers, a white compact with MFI painted in green on the door — all were parked at odd angles along the shoulder of the narrow dirt road. Just ahead of him, a knot of people blocked the way, lectured by a man with a megaphone. Three or four reporters, shouldering Betacams, panned the river valley. On the bridge, an eighteen-wheeler loaded with logs stood stationary, its engine grumbling over the rush of the river. Dwarfed by the big truck, a dozen seated figures silently dominated the scene. Except for the absence of yellow ribbons and counterprotesters, Bryan thought, things look pretty much like they did last time I was here. Well, more reporters, maybe.
Aware that he would get no farther along the crowded road, Bryan shoved his bike up the embankment, where he could get a better look at the goings-on. He pushed his bike into a thick wall of hemlock and spruce and then scanned the milling crowd — men, women, seniors, a middle-aged woman supporting herself with a cane. A few children. Some faces he recognized from town: a gallery owner; Mr. Gagnon, who taught phys. ed. at Bryan’s school; a gas-station attendant. Bryan caught sight of Zeke balanced on the rear bumper of a cruiser. Zeke lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes.
The electronic drone of the megaphone ceased, and the crowd, ebbing and flowing around the bridge the way shreds of mist float on the sea, took up the chant, “No more clear-cuts! Save Orca Sound!”
Bryan strained his eyes. There. Is it? Yeah, it’s Elias! At the end of the bridge, beside the concrete railing, Bryan’s friend stood draped in a torn poncho, a blue-and-white Toronto Maple Leafs cap on his head. He raised a placard, his lips moving. Brazil of the North, the sign read.
Bryan was stunned at finding sarcastic I-don’t-give-a-damn Elias in the middle of a demonstration. Why didn’t he tell me he was coming here, he thought, immediately knowing the answer. Because he knew I’d be against him. Bryan looked away. And that was the moment he saw Otto, right across from him on the other side of the road.
Bryan stepped back into the trees. Shielded by the wet skirts of a spruce, he watched. Otto was intent on the activity at the bridge. Bryan followed his line of sight and scrutinized the faces of those seated in front of the truck.
One of the protesters rose slowly until he stood with his back to the grille of the eighteen-wheeler. His wispy grey hair lifted in the gentle gusts that puffed through the noisy river valley. He crossed his arms on his chest and, looking neither right nor left, stood as immobile as a stump. Just the way he did the day they arrested my mother, Bryan thought. It was Walter.
As the chanting swelled around them, the bald man from MFI stepped up to the demonstrators. As he began to
read, the crowd fell silent. When he finished, the voices rose again, more fervently. “No more clear-cuts! Save Orca Sound!”
Otto was still lurking just inside the edge of the trees. He bent down, busy with something at his feet. He stood straight. He had something in his hand. Bryan thought, it’s a liquor bottle. And it’s on fire!
Otto hurled the bottle toward the bridge. Then he disappeared into the trees.
“Walter! Elias!” Bryan screamed as a ball of orange flame exploded on the grille of the lumber truck and spilled over Walter’s rigid form. He fell to the ground, engulfed in flames.
Bryan ran from the trees, stumbling down the embankment, plummeting full-length onto his face, rocks tearing his skin as he rolled onto the road. “Walter! Elias! Zeke! He’s in the trees!” he screamed as he scrabbled to his feet and barged through the crowd. He fought his way to the bridge.
Pandemonium. Walter lying in the shallow water of the ditch, smoke rising from the burned clothing on his back. Elias kneeling beside him, slapping at Walter’s burning shirt, his own hands blackened, his face creased and racked with pain. Voices shrieking “Police! Ambulance!” Lenses of video cameras poking through the wall of bodies surrounding Walter and Elias. Hands scratching at the road, hurling sand and dirt at the flames that engulfed the snout of the lumber truck.
Bryan Troupe, tears streaming down his face, useless. Once again.
FOURTEEN
Victoria News Packet
EXTREMISTS CELEBRATE WITH MOLOTOV COCKTAIL
ORCA SOUND — In a move that a Mackenzie Forest Industries spokesperson called “inevitable,” anti-logging extremists hurled a molotov cocktail — a bottle of flammable fluid using a rag as a fuse — at an MFI truck yesterday in a futile attempt to halt the legal harvest of trees in Orca Sound.
The incident occurred just as police were about to arrest more than 20 demonstrators blocking the Big River Bridge.
In motion since MFI was given the green light to begin the harvest in April, the daily demonstrations at the Big Bear River have lead to the arrests of more than 500 preservationists for defiance of an injunction prohibiting such actions.
Arsonists believed to be connected with the so-called Save Orca Sound organization have set fire to a truck, logging machinery and a trailer owned by MFI. “Luckily,” said MFI spokeswoman Linda Hobbs, “nobody was in the trailer at the time. It could have been a disaster. This latest tragedy is part of the Green preservationists’ campaign of violence.”
Vancouver Dispatch
INJURED ACTIVISTS RELEASED
NOOTKA SOUND — CanNews — A Nootka First Nation man identified only as Walter and 15-year-old Elias Wilson, both of Nootka Harbour, were released from hospital today after treatment for burn injuries sustained when a fire-bomb went off during a demonstration near this resort community two days ago.
The older man, burned on the head, back and legs, left the hospital against the advice of doctors. Wilson suffered superficial burns to the hands and arms as he came to the aid of the older man when a molotov cocktail blew up during a peaceful anti-logging demonstration on the Big Bear River.
Police say one or both of the men may yet be arrested, as they were on the bridge in defiance of a court injunction acquired by MFI that forbids blocking the bridge or road leading to the logging site.
The demonstrations have been going on since the British Columbia government, which has recently purchased a large block of shares in Mackenzie Forest Industries, announced the Orca Sound Ecological Preservation Plan in April. The plan allows MFI to log two-thirds of the temperate rainforest around Orca Sound.
Victoria News Packet
TWO ARRESTED IN WAKE OF BOMBING
VANCOUVER — CanNews — Two men were apprehended yesterday in connection with a fire-bombing incident last week during an anti-logging demonstration on Vancouver Island.
Oliver McCann and Kyle Canning, both of Vancouver, were arrested as they left their North Vancouver rooming house by city police, who had been alerted by Nootka Harbour RCMP. At the time of their arrest, both men wore Save Orca Sound sweatshirts sporting Greenpeace buttons.
Vancouver Dispatch
“HUSH MONEY” LINKED TO MFI
VANCOUVER — Money was paid to two former North Pacific Forestry Alliance employees, Kyle Canning and Oliver McCann, arrested here two days ago, to deny their connection to the corporation, a former RCMP constable claims.
Ezekiel Wilson, lately of the Nootka Harbour detachment, presented evidence to city police alleging that, when they fire-bombed an MFI truck during an anti-logging demonstration on Vancouver Island two weeks ago, Canning and McCann were employed by NPFA as “ecological consultants.” Wilson also charged that the two men are responsible for other acts of sabotage that destroyed unused equipment belonging to the company.
“They worked for NPFA,” Wilson alleged, “and their job was simple — to destroy the credibility of the peaceful groups who organize the demonstrations against logging Orca Sound. After they were arrested they demanded, and got, money from Mackenzie Forest Industries to keep their mouths shut. They were represented by a lawyer from a firm retained by MFI.”
Wilson is presently suspended without pay from the RCMP for conducting “unauthorized investigations.”
MFI spokesperson Linda Hobbs, also a member of the board of North Pacific Forestry Alliance, claimed after the arrest of McCann and Canning that Wilson’s “wild accusations” were prompted by revenge because his younger brother, Elias, a “typical activist hoodlum,” was injured when McCann’s fire-bomb exploded.
When information about the hush money came to light, Hobbs could not be reached for comment.
Vancouver Dispatch
LINK PROBED BETWEEN MFI AND NPFA
VANCOUVER — The North Pacific Forestry Alliance, which styles itself a moderate environmental organization dedicated to “taking a middle ground between extremist preservationists and the unfortunate practices of the forestry industry in the past, and promoting sustainable growth through preservation of the land base,” is entirely funded by the forestry industry, the Dispatch has learned.
Set up in Vancouver five years ago, the Alliance’s board of directors is drawn from Vancouver-area municipal politicians, academics and businesspeople — many of whom have ties to the industry.
In a move to counter a negative image that extended far beyond the borders of Canada into the U.S. and Europe, key players in the forestry industry hired the public relations firm Equivoc, which has made its reputation acting for multinational corporations at the root of ecological disasters ranging from oil spills off Alaska to chemical explosions as far away as India. Equivoc set up NPFA, and the chairperson of the board of NPFA, Nathan Epstein, is an Equivoc employee. Other key members of the board are hand-picked by Mackenzie Forest Industries.
Established to win the support of urban voters for the industry, NPFA has produced two television documentaries, “The Forests and You” and “North Pacific, Land of Plenty,” both of which defend clear-cut logging while at the same time arguing that the industry has changed its ways.
Epstein, when queried about the source of funding for NPFA, stated, “We operate at arm’s length from the industry. Our view is entirely objective. The fact that the Alliance was set up by a public relations firm is entirely irrelevant.” Asked about the recent arrest of Kyle Canning and Oliver McCann, both NPFA employees, and subsequent revelations about hush money paid to them by Mackenzie Forest Industries, Epstein said, “I’ve never heard of those men, and allegations of hush money are ridiculous.”
Vancouver Dispatch
ENVIRONMENTALISTS CRITICIZE MFI “SWEET-HEART DEAL”
VANCOUVER — CanNews — Environmentalists all across Canada are outraged that the British Columbia government has bought a large block of shares in Mackenzie Forest Industries.
The purchase came to light weeks before the government’s April announcement of the Orca Sound Ecological Preservation Plan, which allows MFI to log tw
o-thirds of the temperate rainforest around Orca Sound. Critics point out that the remaining one-third of the area is either beaches and swamps or was already preserved in parks.
Minister of Finance Charles Riker has said that the buy reflects “sound fiscal practice to which the government is dedicated and which was a major plank in the election platform.”
“How can the government oversee a safe ecological use of our natural resources,” Save Orca Sound spokesperson Iris Troupe asked, “when it profits from the misuse of our forests? How can the government police the company when the government is the company?”
Troupe spoke from the minimum-security jail in Nanaimo, where she is serving a 90-day sentence for contempt of court.
FIFTEEN
For the third time, and with a curse even louder than on the first two tries, Elias dropped his hamburger. The halves of the bun parted and rolled onto the café table, leaving the mustard-slathered pattie and a limp slice of tomato resting on a bed of soggy fries-and-gravy.
“Dammit!” Elias hissed, earning a few stares from nearby diners.
“You said that already,” Bryan pointed out, laying down a folded newspaper and biting into his chicken burger.
“Sure, make fun of an invalid, why don’t you.” Elias took up a fork in one heavily bandaged hand and, with an awkward stab, vengefully skewered the burger. Both arms were swathed in white from elbow to fingertips.
“You’re not an invalid. An invalid would be home in bed. You’re here, so that would make you, if anything, a valid.”
“Valid, my butt. Ever since Ellen got you reading you’ve turned into a word snob. What’s with the newspapers, anyway? How desperate are you for something to do?”