greatest ecological disturbance ever experienced in Canada.â
The sun behind her highlighted the silver in Joanâs otherwise long loose black hair. âThe price you are paying for your cheap gas, and some of you might not think your gas is cheap at over five Ameros a litre, but it is â the price you are paying does not come close to the cost to the environment. Tons of sulphur and nitrogen are pumped into the atmosphere every day through those stacks, tons that precipitate out over what we used to call Saskatchewan and Manitoba all the way to Labrador. We once had viable fisheries in the north. Well, viable for the families who fished, maybe not so viable when we had to sell through government-run marketing agencies, but viable for many families.
Joan spoke quickly, though not out of any nervousness. She spoke at the speed her mind worked, the way her mind worked, all in a tumble, a rush. Her hands flashed around her body, indicating directions, wind patterns, and precipitation âWhen sulphur connects with moisture, and there is still moisture coming over the mountains, it might not seem like it on days like today, but there is still moisture up there. The sulphur connects with H 2 O, add a little heat and we have H 2 SO 4 , sulphuric acid. Itâs not so much what comes out the exhaust pipe of your car as you burn their product, though thatâs still a problem, itâs what comes out the stacks at Fort McMurray. Those refineries, and I donât care that they cost billions of Ameros each, I donât care that Wright makes a big deal out of their investments in the North Division, I donât care about the employment lies â Fort Mac is automated to the point where there arenât that many jobs anyway. With the unions broken, those jobs donât pay more than subsistence.
âI donât believe I am about to say this.â Joan touched her face, ran dry fingers across her cheek, âI have spent my life caring about the Earth, about peaceful co-existence; I have never advocated violence. But when I see the pine trees all turning red, when I see withered birch, when I see mushroom pickers walking for miles looking for what used to be abundant, when I see fishers hang up their nets because there is nothing left to catch or going out on snow machines to spread lime on their lakes trying to counter the acidity, when we have winters without enough ice to go out on the lakes, then I have to side with the people who are fighting to stop the oil companies. Every day that production is stopped is a day when tons of sulphur are not pumped out onto the land.
âKeep it up, you guys, keep up the fight, keep hindering them.â Her hands were clenched into fists. âIt might not seem like it, but every truck that you slow down, every person that you take out of production, everything that you do that slows them down has a very real effect on the land. Some days it might seem like weâre losing. When we look at the McKenzie River and see the sheen of oil all the way to the Arctic, it might seem like it is too late, When we see the bare rocks of the Precambrian Shield, without even moss, let alone trees, you might think itâs too late. But we have to do something, anything.â Joanâs hands stopped, she stood outlined in the sunlight of the doors, solid, straight, her dark eyes stared ahead into the group, looked into their eyes, tried to look into their hearts. âAnything,â she concluded.
Ben took his coffee to the big doors that were open to the prairie, and just stood there and looked to a hazy horizon and let his thoughts flow outward across a parched earth. What was he going to say to this group? His lecture notes on supremacy were leftovers from a university and a life from before this rampant insanity.
A car rolled off the grid road and through the wire gate into the yard, crunched gravel in the drive and into the open space between the barn and the
The sun behind her highlighted the silver in Joanâs otherwise long loose black hair. âThe price you are paying for your cheap gas, and some of you might not think your gas is cheap at over five Ameros a litre, but it is â the price you are paying does not come close to the cost to the environment. Tons of sulphur and nitrogen are pumped into the atmosphere every day through those stacks, tons that precipitate out over what we used to call Saskatchewan and Manitoba all the way to Labrador. We once had viable fisheries in the north. Well, viable for the families who fished, maybe not so viable when we had to sell through government-run marketing agencies, but viable for many families.
Joan spoke quickly, though not out of any nervousness. She spoke at the speed her mind worked, the way her mind worked, all in a tumble, a rush. Her hands flashed around her body, indicating directions, wind patterns, and precipitation âWhen sulphur connects with moisture, and there is still moisture coming over the mountains, it might not seem like it on days like today, but there is still moisture up there. The sulphur connects with H 2 O, add a little heat and we have H 2 SO 4 , sulphuric acid. Itâs not so much what comes out the exhaust pipe of your car as you burn their product, though thatâs still a problem, itâs what comes out the stacks at Fort McMurray. Those refineries, and I donât care that they cost billions of Ameros each, I donât care that Wright makes a big deal out of their investments in the North Division, I donât care about the employment lies â Fort Mac is automated to the point where there arenât that many jobs anyway. With the unions broken, those jobs donât pay more than subsistence.
âI donât believe I am about to say this.â Joan touched her face, ran dry fingers across her cheek, âI have spent my life caring about the Earth, about peaceful co-existence; I have never advocated violence. But when I see the pine trees all turning red, when I see withered birch, when I see mushroom pickers walking for miles looking for what used to be abundant, when I see fishers hang up their nets because there is nothing left to catch or going out on snow machines to spread lime on their lakes trying to counter the acidity, when we have winters without enough ice to go out on the lakes, then I have to side with the people who are fighting to stop the oil companies. Every day that production is stopped is a day when tons of sulphur are not pumped out onto the land.
âKeep it up, you guys, keep up the fight, keep hindering them.â Her hands were clenched into fists. âIt might not seem like it, but every truck that you slow down, every person that you take out of production, everything that you do that slows them down has a very real effect on the land. Some days it might seem like weâre losing. When we look at the McKenzie River and see the sheen of oil all the way to the Arctic, it might seem like it is too late, When we see the bare rocks of the Precambrian Shield, without even moss, let alone trees, you might think itâs too late. But we have to do something, anything.â Joanâs hands stopped, she stood outlined in the sunlight of the doors, solid, straight, her dark eyes stared ahead into the group, looked into their eyes, tried to look into their hearts. âAnything,â she concluded.
Ben took his coffee to the big doors that were open to the prairie, and just stood there and looked to a hazy horizon and let his thoughts flow outward across a parched earth. What was he going to say to this group? His lecture notes on supremacy were leftovers from a university and a life from before this rampant insanity.
A car rolled off the grid road and through the wire gate into the yard, crunched gravel in the drive and into the open space between the barn and the
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