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Florida Climate Activist Nicholas Vasquez Rallies in Gainesville During 800-Mile State-Wide Walk

Maia Botek
News Feed
Thursday, July 29, 2021

Embarking on an 800-mile walk across the state of Florida, Nicholas Vazquez is a 23-year-old climate activist using unconventional tactics to raise awareness for climate change.

Nicholas Vazquez leads and speaks to members of a symbolic ‘die-in’ at the Gainesville City Hall on July 27, 2021.

Embarking on an 800-mile walk across the state of Florida, Nicholas Vazquez is a 23-year-old climate activist using unconventional tactics to raise awareness for climate change. Vazquez arrived in Gainesville on July 27, one of nine stops on his journey to Tallahassee. He has just reached the two-month mark for the walk, which began on April 22 out of Miami, Florida. Upon his arrival to Gainesville, Vazquez organized and spoke to activists on the steps of the Hippodrome Theater before hosting a more demonstrative protest at the Gainesville City Hall.

Just after 6 p.m. on July 27, Vazquez stood at the steps of the theater in a woven pair of brown slippers reading off a black iPhone to a small, but enthusiastic, crowd of supporters. Vazquez spoke candidly about his experience with Extinction Rebellion, a UK-based climate organization that he represents, and his expectations for the walk across the state, including the need for Governor Ron DeSantis to declare a climate emergency. Among the issues Vazquez wanted to call attention to were crop failures, water shortages, sea level rise, increased carbon emissions, deforestation in the Amazon Rainforest and global temperature elevations, at one point exclaiming, “Siberia is on f—ing fire!”

Many of Vazquez’s words about the urgent need for climate action were met with affirmation and small chants from the group of around 15 supporters who had gathered around the steps of the theater. Following the conclusion of Vazquez’s statements, the group organized themselves with various signs and posters demanding action and marched for four blocks north on Southeast First Street until reaching the Gainesville City Hall. Many of these signs and materials were supplied by Anne Hemingway Feuer, a member of Extinction Rebellion who had driven to Gainesville from Miami in order to hear Vazquez speak. Feuer credits her environmental activism as one of the ways she overcame her depression about the environment and pointed toward the value of motivating others in the fight for climate awareness.

Later in the evening at the Gainesville City Hall, Vazquez and a handful of supporters partook in a symbolic ‘die-in’, collapsing on the steps and front lawn of the building after reading an imagined climate-change-related cause of death. Though only certain members of the group participated in the act of lying down and ‘dying’, others placed flowers to memorialize the symbolic deaths and outlined the bodies lying on cement in various sticks of chalk that were distributed. Although no city officials or the mayor of Gainesville appeared at the event, Vazquez remains hopeful that his tactics will create the necessary impressions across both local and state governments. In 2019, Vazquez and other Extinction Rebellion activists successfully convinced Miami Mayor Francis Suarez to declare a climate emergency, and Vazquez is expecting a large amount of publicity and coverage upon his arrival and hunger strike in Tallahassee.

To continue following Nicholas’ journey across the state please visit https://xramerica.org/walk-with-nick/, and make sure to follow Cinema Verde’s social media outlets! Nicholas will be in Gainesville until July 30 and is looking to connect with the people of Gainesville during his last few days. On August 10th, 2021, Nicholas will be in Jacksonville, Florida, beginning his March Against Treason to the state’s capital and hopes many people will join him on the trek along I-10.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of
Maia Botek
Maia Botek

Maia Botek is a third-year journalism major and Spanish minor student at the University of Florida who has grown up in South Florida throughout her entire life. As the daughter of a Jamaican father and part-Norwegian mother, an understanding of cultures, diversity and the world around her has always been an important facet in Maia's life which has resulted in a love of the environment, travel and education. She loves spending time outdoors and with friends, especially at the beach, which she loves. Maia is interested in utilizing journalism to educate others on the importance of the Earth's natural resources and ensuring a sustainable and equitable future for all.

Can we protect and profit from the oceans?

Joe Gough for Vox What the UN is missing with its plan to save the seas The ocean is home to most animal life on Earth. It’s also vital to human survival, regulating the climate, capturing 90 percent of the heat caused by carbon emissions, and producing 50 percent of the Earth’s oxygen. But most of the ocean is poorly regulated, amounting to a free-for-all of resource extraction — from commercial fishing to drilling for oil — that severely damages the marine ecosystems we all depend on. Now, world governments are inching closer to the most decisive step ever to safeguard the ocean’s future. The United Nations High Seas Treaty, which was drafted last March and will take effect once 60 countries ratify it, aims to protect 30 percent of the ocean by 2030. It particularly focuses on the part of the ocean that is currently least protected, the high seas, which make up about two-thirds of the ocean and are defined as any area beyond 200 nautical miles off of a country’s coast. The treaty intends to create “marine protected areas,” or MPAs, a legal designation that would regulate and limit the kinds of extractive activities that can happen within the high seas. Once ratified, participating governments would designate MPAs — ideally prioritizing protecting areas rich in biodiversity — and compliance would be monitored by a central body formed under the treaty. Yet MPAs are also highly limited. Though they sound like a kind of Yellowstone in the sea, they can perhaps be better thought of as “protected in name only,” as Vox’s Benji Jones put it last year, because commercial fishing, oil drilling, and mining will still happen in these areas. Instead, MPA regulations hope to prevent the worst injustices against humans and animals, while the revenue generated from permitted activities — which could range from recreational diving and fisheries to mining and drilling — would then partially pay the management fees for these zones. Another major goal of the UN High Seas Treaty is promoting the equitable sharing of ocean resources, such as new genetic discoveries that can help advance medicine, between high- and low-income countries. It also aims to create a more regulated ocean economy, with some nations able to pay off national debt if they agree to protect certain areas. Some management is better than the usual way of doing business in the high seas — a lawless place where nations do not have jurisdiction, horrors like slavery on industrial fishing vessels are common, and ocean trawlers catch and often kill billions of pounds of bycatch (unintentionally captured creatures like dolphins, whales, and turtles) every year. A deeper look, however, into the proposed management in Marine Protected Areas complicates its image as a conservation solution. The crux of it all is the trade-off between making a profit and fully protecting the ocean. We can’t have both. There’s a lot of money to be made in exploiting the ocean in the short term. But thinking solely of short-term profit will cost us more down the line, even in purely economic terms. The ocean economy — encompassing industries like fishing, maritime shipping, and oil drilling — generates nearly $3 trillion of global GDP every year, and its worth is estimated at $24 trillion. Its stability depends on making conservation a priority now, rather than extracting more from the ocean than it can bear. The High Seas Treaty’s 30 percent target for turning the ocean into protected areas is just a starting point if we want to conserve oceans and the future of life on Earth. But proposed regulation needs teeth. Figuring out what activities should and should not be allowed in MPAs is a broad and tough conversation about what we think the true value of the ocean is. What is a marine protected area? The concept of a marine protected area goes back centuries. “Taboo,” or tabu, as historically practiced in the Pacific Islands, has contemporary resonance as a conservation strategy. To this day, it keeps certain areas of the ocean off-limits to fishing. MPAs, as we think of them today, have been in the global conversation since at least 1962, when the limits of the ocean’s resources were discussed at the World Congress on National Parks, the international forum for creating protected natural areas. Then, at the UN’s 1992 Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro, world leaders agreed on a target to turn 10 percent of the ocean into MPAs by 2020, but this goal was not met. Today, just 2.9 percent of the ocean is fully or highly protected from fishing impacts. A shuffle of different targets and conversations then ensued, culminating in the 30 percent by 2030 goal set by the UN High Seas Treaty last year. Even that ambitious target represents the bare minimum needed to adequately protect the ocean, experts told me, and the agreement may take years to come into force. That’s time we do not have. Jenna Sullivan-Stack et al | Frontiers in Marine Science The size and scope of MPAs can vary widely: The largest is in the Ross Sea region near Antarctica, where 1.12 million square kilometers have been protected since 2016. The smallest MPA is Echo Bay Marine Provincial Park in Gilford Island, between Vancouver Island and British Columbia, which has just 1 acre of protection. The UN High Seas treaty, for the first time, sets out a process for states to set up marine protected areas in the high seas, outside of any nation’s direct jurisdiction. In their proposals, states must show what area they intend to protect, the threats it faces, and plans for its management. In exchange, countries could create a range of economic benefits from the ocean, like debt restructuring (as was the case with the Seychelles), benefiting fisheries, and even selling blue carbon credits. Beyond marine protected areas, the High Seas Treaty lays out a framework for the use of marine genetic resources and what fair and equitable sharing of the benefits from discovery would look like. Currently, developed nations are far outpacing developing nations in finding and commercializing marine genetic resources, such as the anti-cancer drug Halaven, which is derived from a Japanese sea sponge and has annual sales of $300 million. There’s still a lively debate in ocean politics over whether an MPA should fully protect a region of the ocean, or whether it can also be used for commercial purposes like fishing, mining, and oil extraction. Critics of the MPA approach go so far as to call them “paper parks” (or parks in name only) because, as they exist now, they allow a number of exploitative activities within protected areas. Groups like the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN), the world’s premier conservation organization, have proposed supplementary guidelines for MPAs that would ban extractive activities, especially at industrial scales. The UN High Seas Treaty as it stands now does not limit what existing fisheries, cargo ships, and deep-sea mining organizations can do in open waters. “We need to remove perverse incentives, and we need to rewire the world in a different way,” said Dan Laffoley, an ocean conservationist at the International Union for Conservation of Nature. The IUCN also advocates for an ecosystem-wide approach to conserving the ocean rather than single species protections, and for protecting species as they migrate across the ocean over time, rather than solely in one static location. Additionally, IUCN guidelines point to the fluctuating nature of the ocean and its inhabitants that travel across large distances; because of this, they suggest that there should be temporal protections in migratory paths and spawning locations. The IUCN guidelines also call for greater protection of the entire water column, from the top to the bottom of the seafloor. The UN High Seas Treaty, on the other hand, would exempt deep-sea mining operators from submitting environmental impact assessments on their proposed activities on the ocean floor. Pallava Bagla/Corbis via Getty Images These black polymetallic sea nodules form naturally in the deep sea. There’s something fishy about extracting buckets of money from the ocean in order to save it Getting world leaders to agree to these terms is the challenge. Scientists and activists want full protection of the oceans now, while business interests argue that there’s too much money to be made by continuing extractive activities. The challenge for ocean advocates is to create economic incentives for conservation that can outweigh the enormous incentive to continue to allow business-as-usual pollution and exploitation of marine ecosystems. “Giving a different value to nature is one of our biggest challenges,” said marine biologist and explorer Sylvia Earle in a panel at the UN World Oceans Day conference last June. “Our continued existence — that needs to be on the balance sheet.” This conversation plugs into a long-running debate over whether economic incentives and market forces can promote effective stewardship of nature. The 1970s saw the emergence of the idea of “ecosystem services”: the benefits we get from functioning ecosystems. It started as a way for biologists to highlight the life support systems that keep the Earth habitable, but ecosystem services later started to be used by economists to create analyses of the monetary value of ecosystems. While these monetary valuations could be used in conservation advocacy by translating the benefits of ecosystems into the dollars-and-cents language of policy, they’re inherently incomplete and reductive. Critics of putting a price on nature have argued that this approach would put financial incentives before sound ecological measures. Environmental journalist George Monbiot has written that treating nature and its benefits as “ecosystem services” that can be paid for will make them seem fungible and make it easy for companies to destroy ecosystems by claiming they can build technological replacements that can do the same thing. And, by expressing the value of nature only in economic terms, the ecosystem services framework could consolidate decision-making power in the hands of those who have money. When it comes to conservation, practicality can be the cloak under which cynicism hides. We’re still in the early stages of knowing whether financial approaches to conservation can align with the well-being of oceans. There are some promising case studies: Following the example set by the Seychelles, for example, could let countries restructure their debt into protection of the ocean by creating MPAs. In 2015, the Seychelles sold $22 million of its debt to the Nature Conservancy, a nonprofit, in exchange for protecting its oceans by creating 13 marine protected areas across 30 percent of its national waters. The country has banned or restricted fishing, development, and oil exploration in these zones — regulations that are enforced with steep penalties, including imprisonment. The risks outweigh the rewards when the bait for conservation is money The High Seas Treaty’s vision of conserving 30 percent of global oceans would allocate more protection for marine ecosystems than the world has ever seen, but it has to be approached thoughtfully, conservationists say. Tessa Hempson — chief scientist at Mission Blue, a global coalition founded by Earle to support a network of global MPAs — thought of the questions we should first be asking. “Are we targeting the really essential areas that we need to be focusing on?” Hempson told Vox. “Do we know enough to make sure that we are targeting those areas correctly? And then also, you know, it’s all good and well having those areas demarcated on a map, but are they actually effectively conserved?” It’s not the first time these tensions (and their corollary benefits and consequences) have been highlighted. The idea of a “blue economy” first emerged at a 2012 UN conference, aiming to bridge the gap between conservation and treating marine ecosystems as a fungible asset. At the time, Pacific Island nations saw how the ocean could be their gateway to be included in global “green” development by highlighting the importance of the ocean and coasts to their livelihoods, culture, and economy. The blue economy, in turn, would help bolster equitable sharing of benefits between developed and developing countries. In the years that followed, the agenda of equity fell through the cracks. Framing of the blue economy turned to prioritizing growth and promoting “decoupling” — an idea that the economy can keep growing without consequences to the environment. Decoupling separates nature and economy in an intellectualized way in which the effects of capitalism and consumption can continue undeterred. Though the concept of the blue economy began with intentions of global equity and fair distribution of benefits from the use of ocean resources, we’ve landed in a wayward place where endless growth models don’t truly respect the limits of nature. The ocean stands to be mined for all it is worth unless MPAs start to guarantee meaningful protection. The high seas were long held as global commons; expressions like “plenty of fish in the sea” reflected the impression that the ocean held infinite resources for the taking. Now, it’s clearer than ever that this model won’t work anymore. If overfishing continues, we can expect a global collapse of all species currently fished by 2050 — though the lead author of the study, Boris Worm, wrote in 2021 that putting forth ocean protections could give us reason for hope. In any case, the collapse of fish stocks will have ecosystem-wide consequences, like the mass extinction of large ocean creatures, sharks, whales, dolphins, sea lions, and seals. Another major threat to the ocean looms on the horizon: mining. Deep-sea mining is not yet occurring on an industrial scale, but it’s a major issue of discussion in the marine space because of its implications for the global renewable energy transition. Firms are hoping to mine the ocean bed in search of polymetallic nodules containing cobalt and nickel for use in renewable car batteries. Last year, the International Seabed Authority, the body that regulates the ocean floor, postponed a decision on whether to start allowing mining, citing the need for more time to understand what science-backed guidelines should be in place before moving forward. But many believe it’s only a matter of time before companies are granted licenses to begin mining the ocean floor — unleashing a drilling bonanza that could have consequences we don’t yet understand because the deep ocean has barely been explored. Arguably, the only thing we should be extracting from the ocean is knowledge. Indeed, the knowledge we have of the ocean pales in comparison to the knowledge we have of outer space, with funding for space exploration exceeding that of ocean exploration more than 150-fold. People have been debating for a long time whether greed will be the end of humanity, or whether financial incentives can be used to create protections. When it comes to the oceans, the stakes couldn’t be higher. As Sylvia Earle said at the June UN conference, “The most important thing we take from the oceans is our existence. If you like to breathe, you’ll listen up.”

Montana's youth take a stand for environmental rights

In a significant legal battle over Montana's environmental policy, young plaintiffs push back against the state's Supreme Court appeal, defending their right to a cleaner future. Blair Miller reports for Daily Montanan.In short:Youth plaintiffs argue that Montana’s constitution mandates a clean environment, refuting the state's appeal against a ruling that favored environmental protections.They highlight the 1972 Constitution framers' intent to empower courts in safeguarding Montanans' environmental rights.The state's contention that local greenhouse gas emissions have a minimal global impact is challenged by the plaintiffs, emphasizing the importance of addressing local environmental degradation.Key quote:“As the trial record and District Court’s Order make clear, this case is about harm to Montana’s environment, natural resources and climate (and consequently its children) caused by [greenhouse gas] pollution and climate change.”— Attorneys for the plaintiffs in Held v. MontanaWhy this matters:Fueled by a sense of urgency and a demand for action on climate change, young climate activists are leveraging lawsuits to push for more aggressive environmental protections and policy reforms. The legal actions spearheaded by these young Americans are not just symbolic gestures but are grounded in the belief that current and future generations have the constitutional right to a stable climate and a healthy environment.

In a significant legal battle over Montana's environmental policy, young plaintiffs push back against the state's Supreme Court appeal, defending their right to a cleaner future. Blair Miller reports for Daily Montanan.In short:Youth plaintiffs argue that Montana’s constitution mandates a clean environment, refuting the state's appeal against a ruling that favored environmental protections.They highlight the 1972 Constitution framers' intent to empower courts in safeguarding Montanans' environmental rights.The state's contention that local greenhouse gas emissions have a minimal global impact is challenged by the plaintiffs, emphasizing the importance of addressing local environmental degradation.Key quote:“As the trial record and District Court’s Order make clear, this case is about harm to Montana’s environment, natural resources and climate (and consequently its children) caused by [greenhouse gas] pollution and climate change.”— Attorneys for the plaintiffs in Held v. MontanaWhy this matters:Fueled by a sense of urgency and a demand for action on climate change, young climate activists are leveraging lawsuits to push for more aggressive environmental protections and policy reforms. The legal actions spearheaded by these young Americans are not just symbolic gestures but are grounded in the belief that current and future generations have the constitutional right to a stable climate and a healthy environment.

‘I’ll run until there’s no sea left’: the gas-mask wearing ultramarathoner circling the Salton Sea

The California landmark is shrinking, exposing a toxic lakebed that threatens neighbors. ‘Irondad’ is running 92 miles to highlight the crisisOn an otherwise desolate horizon, a black dot materialized along the dramatic shoreline of California’s Salton Sea one recent Saturday afternoon. Beachgoers shielded their eyes against the midday glare and watched as the mirage became 49-year-old William Sinclair, an ultramarathon runner and activist who goes by the self-given nickname “Irondad”.The runner’s sudden appearance felt apocalyptic: he wore an ominous full-face gas mask to block out dust, and a pair of snowshoes strapped wing-like to his back, to traverse the area’s expansive mudflats. He dressed all in black, with the exception of neon orange sneakers that were already caked in dirt from running and hiking the past 16 miles, a remote stretch of both cracked and swampy earth that very rarely sees any other human activity. Continue reading...

On an otherwise desolate horizon, a black dot materialized along the dramatic shoreline of California’s Salton Sea one recent Saturday afternoon. Beachgoers shielded their eyes against the midday glare and watched as the mirage became 49-year-old William Sinclair, an ultramarathon runner and activist who goes by the self-given nickname “Irondad”.The runner’s sudden appearance felt apocalyptic: he wore an ominous full-face gas mask to block out dust, and a pair of snowshoes strapped wing-like to his back, to traverse the area’s expansive mudflats. He dressed all in black, with the exception of neon orange sneakers that were already caked in dirt from running and hiking the past 16 miles, a remote stretch of both cracked and swampy earth that very rarely sees any other human activity.His girlfriend, Larissa Olenicoff, ran up to greet him, wielding a bag of snacks, water and sunscreen. “I don’t know what you need, but I have everything,” she promised.“I don’t know either, but I’m tapped,” he said, briefly stripping off his bulky mask.But after the short break, he still had roughly 76 more miles (or the equivalent of nearly three full marathons) and 38 hours to go: a grueling route spanning the entire circumference of the Salton Sea, which would also require a night of no sleep and the possibility of minor hallucinations from extreme fatigue. Irondad, who requested that he be referred to by his runner name, hopes that his unusual annual pilgrimage will rally people around the plight of the dwindling Salton Sea, an issue that has long been called an “environmental and public health crisis”.A former dock is seen on a Salton Sea beach, with the water much further away, in 2021. Photograph: Aude Guerrucci/ReutersThe runner-turned-activist’s effort may be the most unique advocacy attempt to save the sea yet, but it’s certainly not the first.The Golden state’s largest lake has been steadily receding for decades, exposing more and more of an underlying lakebed laced with arsenic, lead and pesticides from nearby agricultural runoff. As the mud dries, toxic dust rises into the air, leading to high rates of respiratory issues in surrounding communities, such as severe asthma and allergies. Over the years, hundreds of millions of dollars have been allocated towards cleanup and restoration work, to varying effect. Some past environmental projects are still littered around the sea’s edge, like seemingly endless rows of hay bales intended to suppress the dust, which stood symbolically on the dried lakebed next to the starting line of Irondad’s run.But for those who don’t live near the arid shoreline and choking dust of the Salton Sea, the scale of the problem can be easily forgotten – if they’re aware of it in the first place.“It’s absolutely shocking to me how many Californians have never heard of the Salton Sea,” Irondad said. “Much less have any idea about the ecological crisis that the locals here are facing.”By the end of this decade, the Salton Sea could lose more than half of its volume, some researchers have predicted. Irondad’s goal is to run around the sea’s entire perimeter annually and to capture specific data about the sea’s decline, including GPS coordinates in regular intervals to measure its approximate size, year over year.“The plan,” he said, “is to run until there’s no sea left to run around.”Living among environmental ruinTen hours after his first water break, Irondad plodded down the western side of the sea, passing ghostly clumps of dead trees, previously hidden under the water and now re-emerging as the water recedes. There was very little moonlight and the temperature had dropped by 20F overnight. The sea was still.“It’s a little eerie, to be honest,” he said over the phone, the sound of his footsteps on the salt-encrusted beach audible in the background. “And there’s something about that I really like.”The first time the activist laid eyes on the Salton Sea a few years ago, he didn’t know anything about it. He was struck by the giant desert lake’s sheer, otherworldly beauty – and the sense of abandonment. There wasn’t a single boat in the distance, nor any swimmers in the water.‘It’s a little eerie, to be honest,’ Irondad said as he took a break from his run. Photograph: Amanda UlrichHe quickly realized that “something terrible had happened here”. Irondad, like other activists who have taken on long runs to raise awareness about global water issues, decided that a physical feat of endurance might grab people’s attention. In the past, he’s run several Ironman triathlons and different ultramarathons around the world. Last year, he ran around the Salton Sea continuously for the first time.Irondad, whose day job is in software engineering in the Bay Area, now spends half the year in Bombay Beach, one of the tiny, tight-knit communities that sits on the periphery of the Salton Sea.And to live in Bombay Beach is to live among environmental ruin – and to create art from it. On the exposed lakebed (often called “the playa”) where Irondad started and finished his run, dozens of large-scale art installations made from found materials dot the landscape. One wooden sign, topped by a metal pelican, reads: “Bring us back!” Not far away, a giant fish made from rusted sheet metal and driftwood crests a wave of sand, its mouth agape. At the sea’s edge, big punched-out letters simply say “SOS”.In recent years, the town’s unique blend of renegade public art and environmental justice advocacy has drawn visitors from around the world, particularly through an annual arts festival called the Bombay Beach Biennale that takes place every spring – the exact dates of which are now only spread via word of mouth.“We have always had an ecological focus here, almost by necessity. With contextualized art, we’re actually saying things in a much more articulate way, because that is the unique voice the Bombay Beach has,” Irondad said. “This run itself is also intended to be a work of art and activism.”Art installations are spread across the lakebed. Photograph: Amanda UlrichThe runner plans to share data from this year’s journey around the sea at an upcoming Bombay Beach Environmental Day, where other activists, residents and members of environmental groups will gather to discuss the future of the region. Already, Irondad has found some interesting differences between his run this year and last, including changes in the shoreline and vegetation, and a four-mile reduction in the run’s total length – a sign of the shrinking lake, he said.But in a place like the Salton Sea, there are always unforeseen challenges.As Irondad neared the end of his 92-mile trip, the mud along the shore – typically a “pudding”-like consistency – got about thigh-deep. At another point, he was forced to swim across a narrow river and worried that he might be swept out into the wider sea. Eventually, his phone died and the battery of his headlamp waned. After a few hours of radio silence, Olenicoff, his girlfriend, and a friend had to track him down themselves. They eventually found him slowly trekking forward in the pitch dark.At 1.53am on Monday, nearly two full days after he first set out, Irondad finally crossed his makeshift finish line in Bombay Beach.“How do you feel?” Olenicoff asked him as he lightly staggered away from the route, his black clothes turned to light gray by a thick layer of mud.“I feel happy that this is over,” he said, smiling.

Congressional delegates visit Portland’s Albina district, celebrate funding wins

Ron Wyden, Sen. Jeff Merkley, Rep. Earl Blumenauer and Rep. Suzanne Bonamici on Friday stopped by the offices of Albina Vision Trust.

An Oregon congressional delegation on Friday affirmed their commitment to rebuilding Lower Albina, promising to stick with the project for as long as it takes to redevelop the historically Black Portland neighborhood destroyed half a century ago by the construction of Interstate 5.“Let it go out far and wide that Oregon’s delegation is all in on this project, and we’ll stay on it until we reach every bit of potential,” said Sen. Ron Wyden, D-Oregon.Wyden, Sen. Jeff Merkley, Rep. Earl Blumenauer and Rep. Suzanne Bonamici on Friday stopped by the offices of Albina Vision Trust, the nonprofit that’s working to redevelop the community and return it to the residents who were once displaced from there.They celebrated the group’s recent successes, chief among them securing a $450 million grant to build freeway covers that would reconnect a portion of the neighborhood that was razed for the development of the freeway, destroying hundreds of home and taking generational wealth away from thousands of Black Portlanders.In addition to the federal funding and a $25 million state allocation, the Albina Vision Trust also in recent weeks has inked a tentative agreement with the Portland Public Schools board to buy the district’s headquarters. The nonprofit plans to eventually redevelop the property and build more than 1,000 homes there.The group on Thursday also made an agreement with the Oregon Department of Transportation to move toward obtaining the right to build on the future freeway covers.Blumenauer, D-Portland, talked about the long-term efforts to rebuild Albina and right historical injustices imposed upon the community.“I feel like I’ve been chasing the ghost of Robert Moses for 50 years,” he said, referring to the urban planner who in the 1940s the city of Portland commissioned to modernize the city’s infrastructure, and who was the primary architect of the plan to build what would become I-5.But amid the recent successes for Albina Vision Trust, questions remain about the future of the freeway project to which it’s linked.An expansion of Interstate 5 through Portland’s Rose Quarter has been paused as ODOT has said it doesn’t have the funds to move forward. The project would add lanes to the section of I-5 that connects to interstates 84 and 405. The cost of the project has steadily climbed and is now projected to cost nearly $2 billion.Congressional leaders visited Portland's Lower Albina neighborhood and affirmed their commitment to its redevelopment. From left: Sen. Jeff Merkley, Rep. Suzanne Bonamici, Rep. Earl Blumenauer, Sen. Ron Wyden, AVT Director Winta Yohannes, AVT board chair Mike Alexander.Jayati RamakrishnanThe federal lawmakers on Friday didn’t directly answer questions about what would happen to the Albina redevelopment project if ODOT doesn’t secure the funds to expand the freeway. But they said they’re searching for more ways to fund the project.“We’re not done yet,” Blumenauer said. “There will have to be a lot of work underneath, but I’m confident we can work on those extraneous pieces.”And Oregon state lawmakers present, including Sen. Lew Frederick, D-Portland, and Rep. Tawna Sanchez, D-Portland, said they plan to address Oregon’s transportation funding woes during the 2025 legislative session.Lawmakers also said they’ll prioritize environmental justice as part of the project, with Bonamici, a Democrat from Beaverton, citing record-breaking temperatures every summer and urban heat islands.But some have raised concerns that the project’s connection to a freeway expansion will negate those efforts.Some environmental activists, including the climate justice group No More Freeways, have pushed for the state to build the freeway covers without expanding the interstate, citing increased air pollution and congestion that would result from a wider freeway.“ODOT’s insistence on a costly project that doubles the width of the highway and likely violates environmental standards is delaying the opportunity to heal this neighborhood,” the group said in a statement on Monday.Two days earlier, however, the federal government announced that it had found that the proposed Rose Quarter freeway project would not have a “significant” negative impact on the environment.But the project’s future is still up in the air after Gov. Tina Kotek blocked one of the main anticipated sources of funding for the freeway expansion — tolling.Lawmakers also didn’t address the feasibility of building the freeway covers without expanding the freeway.Winta Yohannes, the executive director of Albina Vision Trust, said the organization has always been focused on one thing: the freeway covers.But she said she trusts that ODOT and the federal government will hold up their end of the bargain and secure the funds to make the rest of the project happen.“This project has always depended on everyone playing their best role,” Yohannes said.Yohannes and Michael Alexander, the chair of Albina Vision Trust’s board of directors, said they’re excited about building a community that doesn’t just focus on past traumas but reflects the joy and resilience of the people who once lived there.“The primary rule was that we weren’t going to be constrained by reality,” Alexander said. “And we were also going to be surrounded by folks who may have played a role in the destruction of this community.”He said he was heartened by the commitment of local, state and federal authorities.“We’re not where we used to be, and we’re not where we’re going to be. But we’re on the path,” he said.—Jayati Ramakrishnan reports on Oregonians’ access to housing, transportation and mental health care. Reach her at jramakrishnan@oregonian.com.Our journalism needs your support. Subscribe today.

FBI sent several informants to Standing Rock protests, court documents show

Until now, only one other federal informant was known to be in the camps.

Up to 10 informants managed by the FBI were embedded in anti-pipeline resistance camps near the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation at the height of mass protests against the Dakota Access pipeline in 2016. The new details about federal law enforcement surveillance of an Indigenous environmental movement were released as part of a legal fight between North Dakota and the federal government over who should pay for policing the pipeline fight. Until now, the existence of only one other federal informant in the camps had been confirmed.  The FBI also regularly sent agents wearing civilian clothing into the camps, one former agent told Grist in an interview. Meanwhile, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, or BIA, operated undercover narcotics officers out of the reservation’s Prairie Knights Casino, where many pipeline opponents rented rooms, according to one of the depositions.  The operations were part of a wider surveillance strategy that included drones, social media monitoring, and radio eavesdropping by an array of state, local, and federal agencies, according to attorneys’ interviews with law enforcement. The FBI infiltration fits into a longer history in the region. In the 1970s, the FBI infiltrated the highest levels of the American Indian Movement, or AIM.  The Indigenous-led uprising against Energy Transfer Partners’ Dakota Access oil pipeline drew thousands of people seeking to protect water, the climate, and Indigenous sovereignty. For seven months, participants protested to stop construction of the pipeline and were met by militarized law enforcement, at times facing tear gas, rubber bullets, and water hoses in below-freezing weather. Read Next How the US government began its decade-long campaign against the anti-pipeline movement Adam Federman After the pipeline was completed and demonstrators left, North Dakota sued the federal government for more than $38 million — the cost the state claims to have spent on police and other emergency responders, and for property and environmental damage. Central to North Dakota’s complaints are the existence of anti-pipeline camps on federal land managed by the Army Corps of Engineers. The state argues that by failing to enforce trespass laws on that land, the Army Corps allowed the camps to grow to up to 8,000 people and serve as a “safe haven” for those who participated in illegal activity during protests and caused property damage.  In an effort to prove that the federal government failed to provide sufficient support, attorneys deposed officials leading several law enforcement agencies during the protests. The depositions provide unusually detailed information about the way that federal security agencies intervene in climate and Indigenous movements.  Until the lawsuit, the existence of only one federal informant in the camps was known: Heath Harmon was working as an FBI informant when he entered into a romantic relationship with water protector Red Fawn Fallis. A judge eventually sentenced Fallis to nearly five years in prison after a gun went off when she was tackled by police during a protest. The gun belonged to Harmon.  Manape LaMere, a member of the Bdewakantowan Isanti and Ihanktowan bands, who is also Winnebago Ho-chunk and spent months in the camps, said he and others anticipated the presence of FBI agents, because of the agency’s history. Camp security kicked out several suspected infiltrators. “We were already cynical, because we’ve had our heart broke before by our own relatives,” he explained. “The culture of paranoia and fear created around informants and infiltration is so deleterious to social movements, because these movements for Indigenous people are typically based on kinship networks and forms of relationality,” said Nick Estes, a historian and member of the Lower Brule Sioux Tribe who spent time at the Standing Rock resistance camps and has extensively researched the infiltration of the AIM movement by the FBI. Beyond his relationship with Fallis, Harmon had close familial ties with community leaders and had participated in important ceremonies. Infiltration, Estes said, “turns relatives against relatives.” Less widely known than the FBI’s undercover operations are those of the BIA, which serves as the primary police force on Standing Rock and other reservations. During the NoDAPL movement, the BIA had “a couple” of narcotics officers operating undercover at the Prairie Knights Casino, according to the deposition of Darren Cruzan, a member of the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma who was the director of the BIA’s Office of Justice Services at the time.   It’s not unusual for the BIA to use undercover officers in its drug busts. However, the intelligence collected by the Standing Rock undercovers went beyond narcotics. “It was part of our effort to gather intel on, you know, what was happening within the boundaries of the reservation and if there were any plans to move camps or add camps or those sorts of things,” Cruzan said. A spokesperson for Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, who oversees the BIA, also declined to comment.  According to the deposition of Jacob O’Connell, the FBI’s supervisor for the western half of North Dakota during the Standing Rock protests, the FBI was infiltrating the NoDAPL movement weeks before the protests gained international media attention and attracted thousands. By August 16, 2016, the FBI had tasked at least one “confidential human source” with gathering information. The FBI eventually had five to 10 informants in the protest camps — “probably closer to 10,” said Bob Perry, assistant special agent in charge of the FBI’s Minneapolis field office, which oversees operations in the Dakotas, in another deposition. The number of FBI informants at Standing Rock was first reported by the North Dakota Monitor. According to Perry, FBI agents told recruits what to collect and what not to collect, saying, “We don’t want to know about constitutionally protected activity.” Perry added, “We would give them essentially a list: ‘Violence, potential violence, criminal activity.’ To some point it was health and safety as well, because, you know, we had an informant placed and in position where they could report on that.”  The deposition of U.S. Marshal Paul Ward said that the FBI also sent agents into the camps undercover. O’Connell denied the claim. “There were no undercover agents used at all, ever.” He confirmed, however, that he and other agents did visit the camps routinely. For the first couple months of the protests, O’Connell himself arrived at the camps soon after dawn most days, wearing outdoorsy clothing from REI or Dick’s Sporting Goods. “Being plainclothes, we could kind of slink around and, you know, do what we had to do,” he said. O’Connell would chat with whomever he ran into. Although he sometimes handed out his card, he didn’t always identify himself as FBI. “If people didn’t ask, I didn’t tell them,” he said.   He said two of the agents he worked with avoided confrontations with protesters, and Ward’s deposition indicates that the pair raised concerns with the U.S. marshal about the safety of entering the camps without local police knowing. Despite its efforts, the FBI uncovered no widespread criminal activity beyond personal drug use and “misdemeanor-type activity,” O’Connell said in his deposition.  The U.S. Marshals Service, as well as Ward, declined to comment, citing ongoing litigation. A spokesperson for the FBI said the press office does not comment on litigation. Infiltration wasn’t the only activity carried out by federal law enforcement. Customs and Border Protection responded to the protests with its MQ-9 Reaper drone, a model best known for remote airstrikes in Iraq and Afghanistan, which was flying above the encampments by August 22, supplying video footage known as the “Bigpipe Feed.” The drone flew nearly 281 hours over six months, costing the agency $1.5 million. Customs and Border Protection declined a request for comment, citing the litigation. The biggest beneficiary of federal law enforcement’s spending was Energy Transfer Partners. In fact, the company donated $15 million to North Dakota to help foot the bill for the state’s parallel efforts to quell the disruptions. During the protests, the company’s private security contractor, TigerSwan, coordinated with local law enforcement and passed along information collected by its own undercover and eavesdropping operations. Read Next After infiltrating Standing Rock, TigerSwan pitched its ‘counterinsurgency’ playbook to other oil companies Alleen Brown & Naveena Sadasivam Energy Transfer Partners also sought to influence the FBI. It was the FBI, however, that initiated its relationship with the company. In his deposition, O’Connell said he showed up at Energy Transfer Partners’ office within a day or two of beginning to investigate the movement and was soon meeting and communicating with executive vice president Joey Mahmoud. At one point, Mahmoud pointed the FBI toward Indigenous activist and actor Dallas Goldtooth, saying that “he’s the ring leader making this violent,” according to an email an attorney described. Throughout the protests, federal law enforcement officials pushed to obtain more resources to police the anti-pipeline movement. Perry wanted drones that could zoom in on faces and license plates, and O’Connell thought the FBI should investigate crowd-sourced funding, which could have ties to North Korea, he claimed in his deposition. Both requests were denied. O’Connell clarified that he was more concerned about China or Russia than North Korea, and it was not just state actors that worried him. “If somebody like George Soros or some of these other well-heeled activists are trying to disrupt things in my turf, I want to know what’s going on,” he explained, referring to the billionaire philanthropist, who conspiracists theorize controls progressive causes. To the federal law enforcement officials working on the ground at Standing Rock, there was no reason they shouldn’t be able to use all the resources at the federal government’s disposal to confront this latest Indigenous uprising. “That shit should have been crushed like immediately,” O’Connell said. This story was originally published by Grist with the headline FBI sent several informants to Standing Rock protests, court documents show on Mar 15, 2024.

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