For native Americans, pipeline sparks climate awakening

In Ojibwa and other tribal cultures, a sweat lodge is a place one goes to for healing, prayer, and religious ceremonies. Joseph Hock wanted to use his for that – but also as a blockade.

Wielding a machete one frosty afternoon in late October, the Anishinabek Indian from Michigan whittled long poles from tree branches. Around him, a “frontline” camp was staking itself into the knuckled golden prairie directly between the Dakota Access pipeline and the Missouri River it seeks to cross. On the hills to the west, police and security watched the campers. A small plane and a helicopter circled periodically overhead.

Establishing the frontline camp – on private land claimed as unceded 1851 treaty land by the protesters – was both an expression of their burgeoning confidence and an indication of their urgency. While the pipeline was just a few miles from the river, Mr. Hock chipped away at the branches with confident swings and a confident tone.

“There’s an awakening happening now,” he said, “and First Nations around the world are leading that awakening.”

Two days later, police dismantled the camp. But while protesters, who prefer to be called “water protectors,” worry that time is running out, their months-long stand against the Dakota Access pipeline (DAPL) has already secured its place in First Nations history.

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