| fresh ancient ground “Since 1978, over 14 billion dollars have been taken out of our traditional territory. Yet my family still goes without running water.” — Melina Laboucan Massimo, Lubicon Cree woman “When you can’t trust the water, it’s terrifying” — James Cameron visiting the tar sands can the water trust us? chasing temporary jobs that evaporate like so much acid rain drifting into Saskatchewan “overburden removal” leaves poisonous polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, pah the pahs stink – swallow them and die a slow cancerous death those who don’t respect the magic of ice are doomed to melt it for their descendants as miles of living medicines made by rivers over millennia are unceremoniously eradicated, annihilated, wasted everything leaking everywhere it wasn’t meant to go rainbow in the sky or on slick oil held captive by toxic water, undrinkable yet thinkable, blistering fish inside out, thirsty children sickened caribou killed by omnibus rampage, eliminating water from legislation in the federal abdication of responsibility what is the language of decay & how can we not afford to learn that dialect? 350, 398, 400, 450 as the outer count changes the inner one we walk for healing the scar sands, in a living pact with the bears, the eagles, the muzzled scientists, the beavers who’ve built dams you can see from outer space step by step, we conduct ceremony for those who don’t know any better or don’t care, broken whole, waiting for our sisters & brothers to catch up with wind, sun & water From 2010 to 2013, I committed to participate in the Healing Walk for the Tar Sands, as well as a fifth year helping to organize a solidarity healing walk in Montreal. I have no words big enough for the horror I feel when I see and smell the tar sands. Bearing witness to the devastation is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Alone, I would have curled into a fetal ball and sobbed for what has been lost and destroyed. Even now, when I think about the land up north, let myself feel the brutality that has been normalized through massive industry, my throat stops and my eyes fill with tears. In the company of the healing walkers, led by indomitable Cree and Dene elders and everyday people, determined Keepers of the Athabasca, mothers, fathers, aunties, uncles, concerned citizens, we reassert human responsibilities to land, water, life. These responsibilities can be fostered or ignored by the cultures we are raised in, but the responsibilities and relationships remain regardless of how we are socialized. They are embedded in each breath we take, each sip of water we swallow, each bite of food provided by the land, no matter how much humans manipulate, redirect, reshape or try to control what the earth provides. Whether or not we were taught these responsibilities by our families and education systems, we can still learn how to address them. We can remember that dignity and meaning comes from keeping the earth healthy for future generations for all living creatures, plants and animals, not just humans. We can look frankly at what is not going well—the destruction of natural habitat, the dangers posed by global warming, the inequities and violence in our own cultures—and do better. We are capable of it, if we care to try. |
