Observations on a Cesspool

Taking a Stroll Past the Tar Pit

A First Hand Witness Account

by

Kristie Elgersma

This happened for me recently. And I want people to know.
I posted it last week but FB won't let me get back there to reshare it.
I think more people need to know..... Especially considering the Keystone XL and the Northern Gateway Pipeline Project as a current topic of conversation....
"...I wanted to see what Desmond Tutu saw. And James Cameron. And Neil Young.
I needed to see too
I haven't been to the Alberta Tar Sands since I was a young girl....
I have lived around industry for most of my life. An asbestos mining community in the early 90's, another community hosting a coal mine and a lumber mill later on in the 90's, Edmonton's East End Industrial in the 2000's... And in the most recent years another coal mine and numerous oil & gas installations.....
25 years later.... I went to see....
And absolutely nothing in my lifetime prepared me for what I witnessed a few kilometres north of Fort McMurray.
I have zero frame of reference to compare it to.
They are truly struggling to keep up with the amount of infrastructure required to accommodate the sheer number of travellers to and from Ft. McMurray.... The highways are being twinned slowly. But, it doesn't make up for the white crosses that line the ditches every few kms.... Some have flowers at their feet, some have hard hats hanging on them.... In one spot there are seven crosses in a row...
People have been saying for more than a decade how dangerous Highway 63 is. And they weren't embellishing the truth at all.
Oil & gas sites start a ways out before the city... Nothing that I am unused to....
What I'm not sure of is the haze..... Is it the Earth sweating because it was so hot? Is it mist? Is it smoke? Is there a fire down where? Is it smog? I never did find out......
The city of Ft. Mac itself is a beautiful city, lots of hills, forests and greenery surrounding it, with a river running through it.
Many people pressed into a small area and it shows with the diversity of housing in place and going up.
Suncor, Syncrude and Shell have taken up a competition of sorts to see who can out best the other at ass kissing to the community they are destroying.... A new arena, rec center blah blah blah..... Patting themselves on the back because they think they've done something fucking decent.
If you continue on North Bound, off to your right you'll see it for a moment: Flashes of metal, flame, smoke, no life, no green... And then it's hidden by hills.... They have screened themselves in very well for the first bit of the road.
If you keep driving, you'll pass boarding residences and tiny matchbox apartments put up by the companies to house their employees.... They reminded me of the jail north of Edmonton. So insane what we condition ourselves to.
Once you pass those, the road gets curvy and winding... You'll see a large beautiful lake in your right, and suddenly you hear the gunshots.... And then you realize that you're not looking at a lake, you're looking at a tailings pond and you realize you are surrounded by them, this toxic killy shit and the gunshots are to scare the birds away so they don't land on it, 2 million birds dead already and the pond liners are leaking and that's what is fucking up the waters up there, and 40 years of waste water byproduct from cleaning the tar sands and they don't know how to clean the water! they don't know how to clean the water! They.Don't.Know.How.To.Clean.The.Water. , and it is the whitest sand you've ever seeeeeeeeeeen....
All over the place in piles....
Because of our need for oil. That's why.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Automated guns firing to frighten nature to protect it.
So I continue on....
The haze is heavier... You can't see the sun. And the keening sound coming from the engine is not the engine. It's me. And by the time I hit the smoke stack you see in the pics below, I am sobbing openly and helplessly and entirely overtaken with grief.
Even in that place there are residences built. Humans live at the foot of that fucking monster.
I stopped at a little learning center. There is bucket there placed in the middle of the concrete. You could park four of my sized cars in that bucket. In the field this thing is attached to a huge crane.... This crane is not on a track. It's on triangular wheels that 'walk', 8 meters per side. 24 meters per complete rotation. The bucket thunders itself into the earth..

 Digging digging digging...

Because of our need for oil. That's why.
Next to it on my left is another machine. This thing looks like a 2D wheel with jagged grooves all the way around it. The grooves protrude outwards slightly, each groove is like a shovel....
Imagine a chainsaw taller than the back fin of a 747 airplane that you turn on and lower into the earth that digs for you and you MIGHT have an idea of the monstrosity I stood before..... 

The Buzz Saw

The build west for the Northern Gateway has already begun up there. They think they have already won.
I came to understand that seeing healthy coyotes was unheard of. Mangy, scraggly, missing fur, sickly looking... Knowing that they are scavenger creatures, preying upon the most vulnerable, the weakest, the sick... Just what are they eating?
I had no idea what the fuck I was walking into.
The rest stops were disturbing.... Women's phone numbers.... 'Emergency turban repair' scribbled above the toilet paper dispenser with an arrow pointing downwards.... 'Abandon all hope ye who enter the Mac'... Swastikas...
I had left all my OpHumanAngels gear at home stupid me coming in for a crash landing unprepared. I don't even know if I would have thought in those moments to reface their energy. Fuck.
I did for a moment see a huge 1.5 ft tall Guy Fawkes mask stenciled to the outside wall of a rest stop. There are those up there that get it. They
know.
It is how they have all said it is.
It is a monstrosity. A blight on the face of this living, breathing planet. Anyone who says it is making zero impact is lying to themselves...
I understand just how many people it is helping to survive, to live.... Every nation up there is surviving and living off of it. White, red, yellow, black. They are all there.
I needed to know what we are supposed to prepare for. I needed to know first hand what we speak out against. I plan to go back there once more. I hope to bring people with me. Emissaries. Reface that whole fucking place with chalk and notes.
As a side note, a friend that pays attention to MSM only, just let me know that Oklahoma has had 200 earthquakes so far this year.... They were stunned I already knew. Their first guess was fracking.
I had a hard time not flipping out.
I am losing my patience.
Maybe I just need to grieve for my mother. She is going to fuck us up right good the great equalizer that she is, I love her so..... </3
There is so much else on my mind but I've kept you long enough.
I love you. Thank you for listening and letting me share this with you...."

And that was a Song worth the Singing

Blaine Barrett

TheSmeeGoanGuy

Past and Future Comment from A Heroine

An Update from Jennifer Collett

May She Long Continue!

Take a Stroll With a Friend

My name is Jennifer Collett. Every year I walk 134 kms from Peterborough Ontario to Queens Park in Toronto. I do this to show the medical and political institutions a working model of cannabinoid therapy, that enables extreme levels of activity. I also do this to support those who wonder if it might work for them to show them how it can.

You may think, "so what, lots of people do that." The truth is, they don't. This has been an incredible effort and well worth the journey every year. I couldn't have achieved this before I was able to use cannabis medicines consistently. I am a mother of 5, a wife and a normal everyday gal. I am no athlete, and manage my own health issues in the best way I can. This is one reason it is so important for me to walk. It shows that normal people use this medicine and contradict the stigma.

Over the past three years of doing this, we have walked a stride for every registered patient in Canada, and more. Every year we walk for a particular issue also. This is our 4th year and we will be raising awareness for Pediatric Cannabis Therapies and the kids who cant afford to wait. We need this medicine covered under the provincial formulary to increase access to something that IS saving lives.

Some of you may know that I am also the Executive Director of the Canadian Medical Cannabis Partners. We are a National organization of patients and caregivers who volunteer our time to changing the ways patients are affected by the system. We lobby provincial and federal government to manage our medical cannabis program under healthcare, where it belongs, as the natural, efficacious and safe medicine that it is.
We bring forward the evidence needed to discuss provincial management, and offer effective inexpensive and healthier solutions that complement the transitioning federal program.

For those of you who don't know, The Medical Marihuana Production Regulations that came into effect on March 31 2014, removed the right by policy, of 40,000 patients on fixed incomes or in various stages of chronic illness or end of life care, to stop growing in their legal gardens. (They were expected to destroy what they feel is saving their life.) Thousands of people, some patients and some who are privately and compassionately growing for patients who cannot grow their own medicine, risk arrest in our communities. This will be paid for by our community policing budgets. It will create a burden on our local healthcare systems, as well as our Social services as families are put into distress.

The "System" is how we the people are informed of what is available to us. From human rights to dental coverage, to restrictions and barriers, we must learn to negotiate this in order to have our needs met. We pay our taxes, most attend regular doctor’s appointments, pay our bills, and do our best to put food on the tables for our families. We follow the set of regulations dictating conduct in our society, until it becomes dangerous to us. The law is not intended to put anyone in harm’s way. Laws are not created to do harm in themselves. So, we must learn to negotiate the legislation causing the harm and have it changed in a way that works for all, not some.

The inclusion of cannabis medicines in the Formulary would increase access for our entire population.

The continued personal production that is inspected and regulated is far less expensive than the new program.

Through education and research we have learned of the essential nature of our endocannabinoid system. We must recognize and train our medical practitioners and reflect that in our requirements for medical practice. We must ensure that patients best interests are protected in the development of policy around cannabis in front line care. We must ensure access to the ability to make our medicine into healthier and more effective forms of administration. We must provide protection from the ignorance of the traditional western medical establishment; recognize that cannabis is one of the oldest, most effective, and least invasive forms of treatment for many illnesses, while ensuring there is a regulated quality control.

Affordability is a factor we cannot get around. So either we pay for it in our healthcare, or we request a section 56 for the province of Ontario to accept the download of the medical cannabis program. The alternative to not pre-emptively managing this situation is paying for it through our taxes with policing, housing inmates, court expense, social services, as well as the destruction of lives of thousands of people and their families.
This is how it becomes downloaded to the municipalities also. Every city has tax paying citizens, who pay for a large percentage of the local policing budget. Our taxes go up to the top and trickle back down through transfers. What the police require to do their jobs, is based on current legislation, whether harmful or not.

Current legislation is based on political relationships and aren’t always in the best interests of the people paying for them. Current policies around cannabis are an example of this.

Personal beliefs remain the right of the holder, however one must recognize that others also have personal beliefs, therefor they must also be considered. Speaking to the belief that cannabis should be accessible as medicine for those who need it, we continue to work to educate government, healthcare providers and our communities of the benefits of this medicine.

Please join us September 26-29th for the Cannabian FreedomWalk 2014, as we take strides to further Cannabis Education in our shared community.

Thank You and I will see you on the fly!!
Jennifer

Chief Seattle's 1854 Oration

 

Chief Seattle's 1854 Oration

".. all things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man ... the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports."

Chief Seattle, Dwamish

Now why the hell would I want to publish a speech some Indian made away the hell back 160 years ago in Washington.

Because it is one of the best speeches I have ever read!

It was delivered by a master orator and spokesman and its lesson

is applicable today as it was then. In just under 2000 words this perceptive genius perfectly described the basis for the division between the White Man and Native Americans. Culture clash he foresees and the differences between our two societies.

From

His Native Eloquence, Etc., Etc. by Henry A. Smith

Scraps from a Diary: Chief Seattle - A gentleman By Instinct

10th article in the series Early Reminiscences

Seattle Sunday Star, October 29, 1887

Old Chief Seattle was the largest Indian I ever saw, and by far the noblest-looking. He stood 6 feet full in his moccasins, was broad-shouldered, deep-chested, and finely proportioned. His eyes were large, intelligent, expressive and friendly when in repose, and faithfully mirrored the varying moods of the great soul that looked through them. He was usually solemn, silent, and dignified, but on great occasions moved among assembled multitudes like a Titan among Lilliputians, and his lightest word was law.

When rising to speak in council or to tender advice, all eyes were turned upon him, and deep-toned, sonorous, and eloquent sentences rolled from his lips like the ceaseless thunders of cataracts flowing from exhaustless fountains, and his magnificent bearing was as noble as that of the most cultivated military chieftain in command of the forces of a continent. Neither his eloquence, his dignity, or his grace were acquired. They were as native to his manhood as leaves and blossoms are to a flowering almond.

His influence was marvellous. He might have been an emperor but all his instincts were democratic, and he ruled his loyal subjects with kindness and paternal benignity. 

He was always flattered by marked attention from white men, and never so much as when seated at their tables, and on such occasions he manifested more than anywhere else the genuine instincts of a gentleman.

When Governor Stevens first arrived in Seattle and told the natives he had been appointed commissioner of Indian affairs for Washington Territory, they gave him a demonstrative reception in front of Dr. Maynard's office, near the waterfront on Main Street. The bay swarmed with canoes and the shore was lined with a living mass of swaying, writhing, dusky humanity, until old Chief Seattle's trumpet-toned voice rolled over the immense multitude, like the startling reveille of a bass drum, when silence became as instantaneous and perfect as that which follows a clap of thunder from a clear sky.

The governor was then introduced to the native multitude by Dr. Maynard, and at once commenced, in a conversational, plain, and straightforward style, an explanation of his mission among them, which is too well understood to require capitulation.

When he sat down, Chief Seattle arose with all the dignity of a senator, who carries the responsibilities of a great nation on his shoulders. Placing one hand on the, governor's head and slowly pointing heavenward with the index finger of the other, he commenced his memorable address in solemn and impressive tones.

"Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion on our fathers for centuries untold, and which, to us, looks eternal, may change. Today it is fair, tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like stars that never set. What Seattle says, the great chief, Washington [1], can rely upon, with as much certainty as our paleface brothers can rely upon the return of the seasons.

"The son of the white chief says his father sends us greetings of friendship and good will. This is kind, for we know he has little need of our friendship in return, because his people are many. They are like the grass that covers the vast prairies, while my people are few, and resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain.

"The great and I presume also good, white chief sends us word that he wants to buy our lands but is willing to allow us to reserve enough to live on comfortably. This indeed appears generous, for the red man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, for we are no longer in need of a great country.

"There was a time when our people covered the whole land, as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor. But that time has long since passed away with the greatness of tribes now almost forgotten. I will not mourn over our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers for hastening it, for we, too, may have been somewhat to blame.

"When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, their hearts also are disfigured and turn black, and then their cruelty is relentless and knows no bounds, and our old men are not able to restrain them.

"But let us hope that hostilities between the red man and his paleface brothers may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain.

"True it is that revenge, with our young braves, is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives. But old men who stay at home in times of war, and old women, who have sons to lose, know better.

"Our great father Washington, for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since George has moved his boundaries to the north; our great and good father, I say, sends us word by his son, who, no doubt, is a great chief among his people, that if we do as he desires, he will protect us. His brave armies will be to us a bristling wall of strength, and his great ships of war will fill our harbours so that our ancient enemies far to the northward, the Simsiams and Hydas, will no longer frighten our women and old men. Then he will be our father and we will be his children.

"But can this ever be? Your God loves your people and hates mine; he folds his strong arms lovingly around the white man and leads him as a father leads his infant son, but he has forsaken his red children; he makes your people wax strong every day, and soon they will fill the land; while my people are ebbing away like a fast-receding tide, that will never flow again. The white man's God cannot love his red children or he would protect them. They seem to be orphans and can look nowhere for help. How then can we become brothers? How can your father become our father and bring us prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness?

"Your God seems to us to be partial. He came to the white man. We never saw Him; never even heard His voice; He gave the white man laws but He had no word for His red children whose teeming millions filled this vast continent as the stars fill the firmament. No, we are two distinct races and must ever remain so. There is little in common between us. The ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their final resting place is hallowed ground, while you wander away from the tombs of your fathers seemingly without regret.

"Your religion was written on tables of stone by the iron finger of an angry God, lest you might forget it, the red man could never remember nor comprehend it.

"Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors, the dream of our old men, given them by the Great Spirit, and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.

"Your dead cease to love you and the homes of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb. They wander far off beyond the stars, are soon forgotten, and never return. Our dead never forget the beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its winding rivers, its great mountains and its sequestered vales, and they ever yearn in tenderest affection over the lonely hearted living and often return to visit and comfort them.

"Day and night cannot dwell together. The red man has ever fled the approach of the white man, as the changing mists on the mountainside flee before the blazing morning sun.

"However, your proposition seems a just one, and I think my folks will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them, and we will dwell apart and in peace, for the words of the great white chief seem to be the voice of nature speaking to my people out of the thick darkness that is fast gathering around them like a dense fog floating inward from a midnight sea.

"It matters but little where we pass the remainder of our days. They are not many.

"The Indian's night promises to be dark. No bright star hovers about the horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Some grim Nemesis of our race is on the red man's trail, and wherever he goes he will still hear the sure approaching footsteps of the fell destroyer and prepare to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter. A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of all the mighty hosts that once filled this broad land or that now roam in fragmentary bands through these vast solitudes will remain to weep over the tombs of a people once as powerful and as hopeful as your own.

"But why should we repine? Why should I murmur at the fate of my people? Tribes are made up of individuals and are no better than they. Men come and go like the waves of the sea. A tear, a tamanawus, a dirge, and they are gone from our longing eyes forever. Even the white man, whose God walked and talked with him, as friend to friend, is not exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see.

"We will ponder your proposition, and when we have decided we will tell you. But should we accept it, I here and now make this the first condition: That we will not be denied the privilege, without molestation, of visiting at will the graves of our ancestors and friends. Every part of this country is sacred to my people. Every hillside, every valley, ever plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my tribe,

"Even the rocks that seem to lie dumb as they swelter in the sun along the silent seashore in solemn grandeur thrill with memories of past events connected with the fate of my people, and the very dust under your feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is the ashes of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred.

"The sable braves, and fond mothers, and glad-hearted maidens, and the little children who lived and rejoiced here, and whose very names are now forgotten, still love these solitudes, and their deep fastness at eventide grow shadowy with the presence of dusky spirits. And when the last red man shall have perished from the earth and his memory among white men shall have become a myth, these shores shall swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children shall think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway or in the silence of the woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night, when the streets of your cities and villages shall be silent, and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land. The white man will never be alone. Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not altogether powerless."

Other speakers followed, but I took no notes. Governor Stevens' reply was brief. He merely promised to meet them in general council on some future occasion to discuss the proposed treaty. Chief Seattle's promise to adhere to the treaty, should one be ratified, was observed to the letter, for he was ever the unswerving and faithful friend of the white man. The above is but a fragment of his speech, and lacks all the charm lent by the grace and earnestness of the sable old orator, and the occasion. - H.A. Smith.



Well said:
Blaine Barrett

TheSmeeGoanGuy