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info5420blog1and2 · 3 years

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We Are Water Protectors

by Carole Lindstrom, illus. by Michaela Goade

Entry: Caldecott Medal

Second picture included because it’s JUST SO PRETTY

Justification

In addition to filling the Caldecott Medal category, I also wanted to pick this for the list as it not only features a Native American character and uniquely Native American story, it also serves as a book about the disastrous Dakota Access Pipeline. I think in years past I had heard about books being published centered on the event and this seems like a likely choice. This book will also serve as a reminder to young readers that Native Americans are still fighting for their rights. Books they’ve read about cowboys and Indians are still going on today, except it’s people wanting to protect their sacred land and water and over-armed National Guard. The art also gave me chills.

Evaluation

1. As stated above, I cannot get enough of the art. The seamless transition and blending of a thriving pond filled with fish and lilly pads into the girl that will fight for them is breathtaking. The colors in this book are saturated just the right amount to make everything pop. You can feel the bonding of human and nature in the illustrations, something that is inherent in Native American culture as they are bonded to nature. I can tell that a child reading this would be gripped by the colors. I think the proper skin tone for the Native American cast has also been reached thanks to the author being Anishinabe/Metis and a proud member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Ojibwe Indians while the illustrator is of the Raven moiety and Kiks.ádi Clan from Sitka, Alaska. Sometimes white illustrators don’t take the time to care about skin tone that Native American/First Nations illustrators do.

2. Considering both the illustrator and author are Native American themselves, I can tell that this is something near and dear to them. The author is especially well within her rights to write about this as she is a member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Ojibwe, meaning that much of the Dakota Access Pipeline is right in her backyard. Rarely have I seen a book for children that talks about such a modern crisis with an author and illustrator that have a personal stake in the book. Usually as a student we read books by authors that were still alive about events that happened decades before we were born. Children that were learning to walk when Standing Rock happened can read this book now. As I’ve learned to say before the pandemic happened ‘Everything happens so much at once.’ Honestly in the last 20 years of my life it feels like I’ve been living 100 years of history.

3. The subject matter featured in the book will inform children about a crisis that effects a group of people that have been around long before most of the US. For Native Americans, this is a children’s book about another fight for their lives and for non-Native American children this could have been another event that was easily swept under the rug. Even though this is a personal event for the author, she doesn’t dwell too long on the tragedy and sadness of it and instead points out that so many tribes came together to stop this. They find triumph in banding together against the ‘black snake’, their common enemy. It’s hard to believe hundreds of years ago tribes fought each other for land and hunting rights but now they fight together against greed and disrespect of nature. The author also makes good use of a young girl as the hero of our story to show that young people will always carry on the fight of those that came before. The girl also serves as a connection point between the child reading and the subject matter. The child can see themselves in the girl and that makes her fight real.

Conclusion

I’m quite tempted to buy this book for the children I will have one day. I can say that I lived this event, tweeted about it, and even watched my favorite senator Bernie Sanders protest with protestors. More importantly, I can say that even though they might have learned about the Trail of Tears in school, greedy people are still finding ways to draw out more tears today. This book is a cute but solemn reminder of history that continues to unfold today.

Citation

Lindstrom, C., & Goade, M. (2020). We Are Water Protectors. Roaring Brook Press.

#blog part 1

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marblesarelost · 6 years

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Change Your Mind, Change Your Life

CHAPTER THREE

“Lord Protector Von Doom?” He looked up from the customs official to see a very…plain…gentleman coming toward him, dressed in a fairly decent, yet nondescript suit and tie. A receding hairline, worry lines around his eyes, he wore a professional smile as a mask. “I’m Director Philip Coulson. I spoke to your --“

“Seneschal,” Doom agreed. “Martin. Yes, I was informed you and your associates were to act as my escort.”

“Security detail, your Grace,” Director Coulson gently corrected. “Not that you need one, of course.”

“No. I don’t,” Victor replied. “But I am…loath to disrespect the hospitality and courtesy of the United States and the United Nations, and so I accept your gracious offer.”

“Thank you, your Grace. Did you bring an entourage?”

“No; I have no need of such things. The Latverian Embassy will see to my needs and desires,” Victor said, signing the last paper with a flourish. “I must wait for my baggage, Director, and then I will be ready to leave.”

“Of course. May I ask if you were wishing to do anything else during the time you’re here? I know your advisor told me you’d be in New York for a week, so…” Director Coulson let his sentence fade.

“I do not know. I had hoped perhaps to have a word with Iron Man, and King Namor is to arrive tomorrow; we may wish to see a show. I have heard very good things about this Hamilton play.”

“Hamilton’s amazing,” Director Coulson said, his smile becoming larger and much more genuine. “Lin-Manuel Miranda is a national treasure.”

“Your President had made some noise of wishing to meet with me, but I really rather would not; I have dealt with Mr. Trump before in business matters, and found him to be boorish and inelegant. I rather doubt that attaining the presidency has changed matters.”

“President Trump is currently at Mar-A-Lago, your Grace. I’ll inform you if that changes,” the director offered, his mouth closing, lips becoming thin; ah. Victor could read between those lines very well; there was no love lost, but the man would say nothing against his ruler. Good.

Several more agents joined them as the Director led the way through a private hallway, two women, one whose very essence radiated danger, much as the Black Widow; the other was younger, but she moved with an efficiency close to the first. Probably her protégé. “Agent May, Agent Johnson,” the director introduced them. “Agent Mackenzie is waiting outside.”

“Excellent. One moment, if you would?” At the director’s nod, Victor gestured to the two diplomats waiting for him. “Have my luggage delivered to the embassy; the Director has come to collect me himself, and I do not wish to insult him.”

“Yes, Lord Protector,” came the expected answer, and a few minutes later, he was in the bulletproof limo with Agent May and Director Coulson. Agent Johnson was in the front passenger seat beside Agent Mckenzie. The ride passed pleasantly for some few minutes before Director Coulson cleared his throat, leaning forward from the rumble seat.

“I don’t mean to presume, Lord Protector, but I wonder if you’d be willing to talk about the incident last week? In the bay?”

“What is it you wish to know?” Victor answered pleasantly; the man was courteous and deferential enough, it was of no matter to speak to him about the occurrence.

“Dr. Richards’ actions,” Director Coulson began. “Iron Man described them as being dangerous. Would you agree with that assessment?”

“Reed is an obnoxious twit,” Victor replied. “We have been at odds for a very long time, and unfortunately, I do not see that set of circumstances ever changing.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of your common history,” Coulson nodded. “But Iron Man claims, and the footage bears it out, that he was willing to go through Iron Man to get to you.”

“That is Richards’ problem. Not mine. Not unless he makes it mine,” Victor said, closing his eyes at the sound of the edge to his voice. “Forgive me. We do have a great deal of agitated history between us, and it is easy to slip into old thought patterns and habits when speaking of him or his possible intentions.”

“Of course. I have the same reaction when it comes to certain people,” Coulson said easily. “I simply want to avoid any unpleasantness between you and the FF during your stay if we can at all.”

“I give you my word, Director Coulson. Any unpleasantness that arises will find the blame laid at their feet, not my own. I am…I dare not say a new man. But I am endeavoring to become a better man than I have been, and a large part of that change means that I do not begin physical altercations. I may well finish them,” he added, chuckling, “but I refuse to allow others the satisfaction of knowing that they provoked me into swinging first, as it were.”

“Fair enough,” Coulson agreed, nodding. “Okay.”

His heart, the heart he hid as best he could, fell as he saw the protestors outside the Latverian Embassy. Dozens of them, holding signs that protested his reign over his country. L.A.F.F., Latverian-Americans For Freedom. He knew of the group. Most of the time, they held non-violent protests, though his intelligence said that there had been a few altercations with his diplomats and the robots that guarded the embassy over the last few years.

“I hope that after tomorrow, they’ll be celebrating,” Director Coulson said softly as the gates of the embassy opened, the robot guardians keeping the protestors away.

“That is my hope as well, but I dare not count on it,” Victor sighed. “They will instead begin a conspiracy theory that I am doing this only for good publicity, and that I must have some sort of nefarious plot, that I am drawing the wool over the U.N.’s eyes. It is a fair assumption for them to come to.”

“You’ve never gone this far before,” Agent May spoke for the first time. “You’ve never come to the U.N. to ask for aid before in anything, not even after the earthquake several years ago.”

“No,” he agreed; that natural disaster had been horrible, especially in some of the mountain region villages. “No. Latveria takes care of its own.” Weeks of rescue efforts, then years of rebuilding. He had refused all offers of aid, setting the robots to find and rescue those trapped under rubble, had rushed doctors from the hospitals of Doomstadt, including his own personal doctors, to the sites where they were needed.

The car stopped, the door opened by one of the robots, the ambassador to the United States, Aleksander, coming to greet him, dropping to one knee deferentially as he got out of the car. “Lord Protector.”

“Aleksander. You may rise,” he nodded graciously. “Have the rooms I ordered prepared for King Namor been so?”

“They have, my Lord.”

“Excellent. The salt-water pool?”

“Is ready for him.”

“Good. Director Coulson, I will expect you and your agents tomorrow morning at nine-thirty; my appointment with the Council is at ten-thirty.”

“Yes, your Grace. See you then.” An acceptable answer, as the car drove on to the circle to turn around he entered the embassy building, going directly to the throne awaiting him and taking his seat.

“Report.”

“The U.N. is curious, of course, and is already gathering the teams necessary for your request, my Lord. We have received several invitations for you from the Chernayan and Symkarian Embassies, and a request for an audience from Anthony Stark and Steven Rogers.”

“Iron Man and Captain America,” Victor said thoughtfully. “When did that arrive?”

“Yesterday evening, sire.”

“Inform the Chernayan and Symkarian Embassies that I would be happy to visit and renew my acquaintance with Lady Finitaz and Mr. Daru at their convenience, after tomorrow. Inform them I will ask King Namor to accompany me, but he may or may not do so. Do you have the number for Mr. Stark?”

“I do, sir.”

“Bring me a telephone.”

Darcy put her makeup on very, very carefully the next morning, trying to keep her hands from shaking too much as she applied her eyeliner. She was going to the U.N. to observe the meeting between Von Doom and the Elections Committee, along with Tony, Steve, Natasha and Clint, as the political liaison for the Avengers Initiative. Her navy blue suit still fit her like a glove, accentuating her hourglass figure, her wire rimmed glasses adding a hint of sophistication, her eyes looking just a hint bigger than usual thanks to a clever trick with her makeup.

The Avengers away team, as she was thinking of them this morning, were all in mufti; Tony in a divine cream colored suit with a sky blue tie, probably Italian, Natasha in a suit not unlike hers, though she was sure that ‘Tasha’s had special pockets for hidden weapons. Clint and Steve both wore suit pants and blazers, though they had both skipped the ties. ‘Tasha smiled when she saw Darcy coming, holding up a hand and twirling a finger; dutifully, Darcy slowly turned around. “Lovely. You are lovely and professional this morning,” Natasha began, then looked down at her feet. “And those are good shoes. Expensive enough to respect, cheap enough to leave behind if you have to run.” Darcy looked down at her Sandro Mary Janes with a sad smile.

“Yeah, that was kind of my thought,” she sighed in agreement. “But better to lose the shoes than my head, right?”

“Exactly,” Natasha nodded before turning on the men. “We will meet you all at the car.” Darcy took Natasha’s left arm, and the two women walked on toward the elevator, leaving the men slightly gobsmacked before they caught on and caught up with them.

They entered the building through a private underground garage, riding up in an elevator that smelled slightly of freesia. The floor they got off on could have been in any luxury office building, the carpet a soft muted gray, the walls fairly nondescript, a muted green wallpaper with a darker green zigzag line pattern. The art that was hung here and there were landscapes, for the most part, though they passed by more than one photograph study as well, again, landscapes. The Sahara. The Congo. Madripoor. The Alps.

They weren’t the first arrivals in the conference room they were led to; a few diplomats were already seated at the long oak table. They looked up as the group entered, but turned their attention back to the laptops and tablets in front of them when it was obvious they were observers rather than participants. Tony took a seat in one of the chairs lining the inner wall, and the rest followed suit, Darcy at the end farthest from the door and away from the windows at Clint’s insistence.

While they waited, Darcy took a selfie for her Instagram and Twitter, #U.N. #she blinded me with political science, then switched to her audio recorder app; she wanted to record what was said so she could go over it later. It was only about another five minutes before the room started filling up, other diplomats arriving both as more observers and the committee itself. And then they walked in.

Darcy had never met Namor or Doom, but the moment they entered, the room fell silent. Both men carried themselves with a regal presence, aware of their importance, aware of their stature, they both had a confidence in their body language that could easily be mistaken for cockiness. Doom was, of course, in his armor, but instead of the normal green cloak that he seemed to be so fond of, he wore a deep royal purple tunic and cape over it, the tunic belted at the waist, his metal boots and gloves trimmed in ermine. A heavy looking, thick linked golden chain hung around his neck, a medallion falling from it square in the midst of his chest; the crown jewel of Latveria, his chain of office.

Namor, on the other hand, was sin on two legs. His black hair was slicked back, and he smirked as he looked around the room, wearing a dark gray suit, Hugo Boss, if she wasn’t mistaken, though his feet were bare, as was his custom due to the wings that sprouted from his ankles. He took a chair just to Von Doom’s left, and Darcy noticed as he passed behind Doom that one hand rose, just a bit -- was he actually patting Doom on the back? Giving the man reassurance? Interesting. “Namor his friend? Patted his back maybe prior 2 conf. Consider later,” she scribbled on her notepad.

“I wish to thank the council for granting me an audience on such short notice,” Doom began, still standing at the head of the table, his voice rumbling and deep, and oh God maybe Namor was sex on LEGS, but Doom’s VOICE was sex for her ears. “I understand that this was very much an inconvenience, and I wish you to know that I personally, and the Latverian people, appreciate your time.” He took a seat beside Namor, and the committee began questioning him directly. What did he want to see happen? How long a time frame did he project from beginning to end? Would he allow investigational and educational teams into Latveria? Those questions and more in the same vein went on for about an hour, Doom answering them all patiently, sometimes taking a few seconds to consider his words before he responded, but never once becoming short or irritable so far as Darcy could tell.

When the meeting was officially over, some members of the committee lingered for a few minutes, speaking to Doom or Namor quietly before leaving the room with the other observers. Darcy gathered her things, but Clint brushed against her arm, flattened his palm and pushed out; wait, that motion meant, so she didn’t get up. Finally, the only people left in the room were Doom, Namor, and the Avengers group. Tony got up first, extending his hand. “Ruler Protector Von Doom.”

“Mr. Stark.” The two shook hands, and then Tony shook with Namor as well before Doom spoke again. “I was very glad to see you and your colleagues here. But I do not think I recognize the young lady beside Mr. Barton? Have the Avengers grown again?” Darcy’s mouth grew dry as Tony turned, jerking his head. Slowly, she rose and went to stand beside him, barely remembering to drop a discreet curtsy before the two kings; well, Doom was practically a king, wasn’t he?

“Our political analyst, Darcy Lewis,” Tony introduced her. “She’s a firecracker.”

“Indeed,” Namor murmured, his sea green eyes deep, but just a little cold, if she didn’t miss her guess. Aww, sexy, no. “You have a way of surrounding yourself with beautiful women, Anthony.”

“It’s a gift,” Tony smirked.

“An honor to meet you both, your Majesty, your Grace,” Darcy managed to say as Namor took the hand she extended, raising it gently as if to kiss the back, though he never actually did so. “I’m so glad to have the opportunity.” She offered her hand to Doom next; he didn’t affect the same flirtatiously courtly manner as Namor, however, only shaking firmly. He had brown eyes behind the mask, she noted, and they looked very tired.

“A pleasure, Miss Lewis.”

“So,” Tony clapped his hands and rubbed them together, “did you both get the invitations?”

“We did,” Namor replied, inclining his head. “I do not speak for Victor, but I for one would be happy to attend your soiree, Anthony. You always throw the best parties.”

“Awesome, show up anytime between eight and ten. How about you, Doom?”

“I…appreciate the invitation, though I must reluctantly decline; let us be frank, Mr. Stark, my presence might cause your other guests some discomfort.” Doom’s mask tilted downward just a fraction as he spoke, and Darcy could read between those lines. She could read between those lines all too well. He didn’t expect to be welcomed, and rightfully so; he had done horrible things. More, he knew he had done horrible things. And, she realized, he was ashamed.

“Lord Protector, perhaps just a token appearance?” She heard herself say before she thought. “At least amongst the main party. Tony’s penthouse is huge, surely we could find a quiet space for you to people watch, at least. And I would love to hear more about the changes you’re planning in Latveria.” His mask shot towards her, those tired brown eyes flaring, seeking, searching through her long enough that her lips parted, intending to apologize for the intrusion.

“Perhaps, Miss Lewis. I will at least consider it. And I do indeed appreciate the invitation, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony, Mr. Stark was my dad,” Tony said, a little flippantly. “You’ve got my number; if you plan on flying, call first so I can have the security measures turned off on the jetpad. See you tomorrow night.” He flipped his glasses back down, giving both men a grin, before taking Darcy’s arm and heading for the door, the rest of the group following them out of the conference room and toward the elevator. “Good job, Sparky,” he said lowly. “Did you see what I saw?”

“I think so,” Darcy breathed. “He’s tired, Tony. And he’s lonely.”

“Everybody’s lonely, honey. In their heart of hearts.”

“Yeah. Yeah, but…but you’ve got Pepper now, and you’ve got us,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see how close the others were. Still about five feet back. “And you’re loved, Tony. You really are.” She couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses, but his lips and nose twitched, just a little, and his grip on her arm tightened.

“Thanks, Artoo.”

“No problem, Threepio.”

“Dammit, I’m Han,” Tony sighed as the others caught up. “Or maybe Lando.”

“You are so wrong about that. You’re a suave-ass con, all right, but you can’t pull off a cape.” Clint snickered, Natasha smirked, as they all boarded the elevator.

#The Darcy Lewis/Victor Von Doom story that nobody asked for #Darcyland #Darcy Lewis #Victor Von Doom #Namor The Sub-Mariner #Phil Coulson #Melinda May #Avengers #Marvel #fanfic #I love reblogs #@subsilvernight #Phil is being Agent Agent here #That's why Doom calls him plain

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cringeynews · 7 years

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New Post has been published on

New Post has been published on http://cringeynews.com/uncategorized/here-is-what-you-need-to-understand-about-the-protest-happening-at-standing-rock/

Here Is What You Need To Understand About The Protest Happening At Standing Rock

Revolution Messaging

The mainstream media lies; it is a tool used to steer the masses toward the goals of special interest groups and corporations; the voices of the majority are often disregarded in favor of profit for an elite minority who are desperate to keep in place a sadistic, toxic status quo, but, thanks to social media and the passion of the people, we can do something about it; here is but one way.

This Sunday, December 4th, over 1,500 Veterans will be gathering with the Standing Rock Sioux in North Dakota to protest the construction of the Dakota Access Oil Pipeline (or DAPL), which threatens to destroy ancestral Native American burial grounds and contaminate the drinking water for over 18,000,000 people downstream of the Missouri River.

By now this may be old news to you. Standing Rock has gone truly viral. Perhaps you are aware that DAPL was originally supposed to run just outside Bismarck, North Dakota, a predominantly white city, and was moved to Army Corps of Engineers Land bordering Sioux territory further north when the citizenry cited threats to their drinking water. When the Sioux made the same protests as the people of Biskmarck they were rebuffed.

Most of the news coming out of Standing Rock these days has to do with the violent clashes taking places between unarmed protestors and militarized police and security. What’s truly mind-boggling (even while it is totally in keeping with America’s rich tradition of state and federal governments serving as lapdogs for corporate interests) is that the police, who have sworn an oath to serve and protect the civilian populace, are acting as bodyguards for DAPL employees and are using barbaric tactics (spraying protestors with fire hoses in subfreezing weather, shooting them with rubber bullets and macing them) to force the protestors to back down.

As of this writing, President Obama has ordered a halt to the construction of the pipeline, and says that the Army Corps of Engineers is looking into ways of possibly rerouting the pipeline around Sioux land. The CEO of Energy Transfer Partners, which is owned by an amalgamation of banks and shady unknowns, says there is no alternative; the pipeline will continue as planned.

The Army Corps of Engineers served protestors at camp Oceti Sakowin with an eviction notice, giving them until the 5th of December to leave; after the 5th, anybody on the land is subject to prosecution for trespassing.

Tribal Elders believe that the letter was simply a way for the Army to forfeit liability for any injuries sustained by protestors, as many of them have never experienced weather as harsh as the Dakotas in winter.

So, the Sioux—and the more than 10,000 people who have gathered at Standing Rock in support of the water protectors—aren’t going anywhere. In fact, they’re still coming.

This brings me back to #VeteransStandWithStandingRock, and the meet-up scheduled for December 4th.

I’m a Veteran. I served four years in the Army as a Combat Medic. I did the brunt of my enlistment at Fort Campbell, KY (home of the 101st Airborne, Screaming Eagles, hooah!), but I also deployed to Afghanistan from September 2012 to June 2013. I know what it means to exist in a harsh environment, subject to hostile conditions, with nothing but your brothers and sisters in arms to keep you motivated. I also understand the oath I took the day I enlisted: to defend the constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Domestic enemies are poisoning our water and disregarding treaties forged with indigenous people over one hundred years ago, and if the Morton County Sheriff’s Department can’t find it within themselves to stand up to the politicians who make the calls and whose pockets are lined with fossil fuel money, then I am thankful we have the Veterans and their pledge of solidarity.

Not only is this a huge chance for us to make (an admittedly miniscule, microscopic) amends to the Native American peoples whose cultures Western settlers destroyed, but it is an opportunity to tell them we don’t agree with our government and that their lives matter.

An emission-free world is possible, but we as a people have to tell the fossil fuel industry and the United States government that we are ready to kick our addiction to oil. It’s time to get clean. That’s the number on reason I want to go Standing Rock.

Number two is I’m wary of the mainstream media. If you read reports on Standing Rock on sites like earthjustice.org, you get an image in your mind of a peaceful, sustainable, almost-village, where prayer is the priority, along with love and kindness. But the mainstream media, which until now has been nearly silent in its coverage of Standing Rock, is finally reporting, and they are painting a grim picture. As one letter to the Boston Globe points out, the Globe has essentially neglected to touch upon the seriousness of the DAPL’s threat to water, instead choosing to write a story on how the people in these camps are living like dirty hoboes. Where is the dignity? Where is the evidence that people in authority—and the media—are taking Standing Rock as seriously as it needs to be, and are calling it what it is? Bill McKibben says Standing Rock is the moral center of the universe. Senator Bernie Sanders says that the fossil fuel companies pushing for more dependence on oil is totally insane. There was a #NODAPL rally in Washington DC on Sunday, which received little media coverage. Why are the concerned voices being blatantly ignored? What is the point of working hard for an education in a world that shows zero indication of turning from a path which science clearly shows spells damnation for the planet?

I emailed the photographer Dan Tapahe who wrote this article for The Huffington Post, to ask him what his advice would be for someone wanting to go Standing Rock and lend a body to the struggle. Within twelve hours Mr. Tapahe wrote me back with this sage advice:

When you’re there go to the volunteer tent and let them know what your [sic] willing to do and for how long. It’s a very peaceful camp so be open and willing to help where it’s needed. The more service you do the more willing people will be to help you in return. You don’t have to go to the frontline to help if you’re not comfortable to do so.

The power of the Internet to spur on revolutions and topple tyrants has been experimented with in the United States, but its abilities are still being realized. This is a chance to take back our future. If you want to argue that this paper has devolved from critical analyses to something more closely resembling a completely subjective, emotional spew, then please recognize this essay for what it is: a passion project in the truest sense of the phrase. My NREMT certification is still valid until March 2018, and as Dan Tapahe told me:

They could use your skills, medics are slim and anyone willing to volunteer would be appreciated. My advice if you go is dress really warm and be as self sufficient as possible. If you’re there for a long duration of weeks, you can eat at the kitchens, especially if you’re helping with the medics.

Do I not have an obligation to stand with the Veterans this Sunday? I feel in my heart that I do. I have cash, I have gas. I have a medic bag. I still have uniforms issued to me by the Army, which I wore as part of a promise to stand up for what is right. And Standing Rock is right. The only thing stopping me is inertia, and that is incorrigible.

We are at an unprecedented time and place in American (nay, global) history. Like never before, the Internet and social media has placed resources and connectivity at our fingertips, which it is our responsibility to use for the betterment of our planet. No longer can we live frivolously, watching cable news and scripted programming while ignoring our brothers and sisters. We can no longer destroy the homes of our nonhuman relatives.

If Standing Rock reallyis the moral center of the universe, then I want to be able to look back and remember that I made a stand.

That even if the oil company wins and the world my grandchildren inherit is a Mad Max-ian hellscape, at least I can say I didn’t sit idly by. And I can credit the Internet and citizen journalists for sparking this fire. I can only imagine that if we had had Twitter way back when the Rockefellers dismantled the cable car system, we may very well be living in a different present. Media has the power to cause shifts in culture and alter the collective consciousness, and now is the only time in history that the masses have had so much control over the media. That is the mantle that has been placed upon the people of the twenty-first century: we have the power to shape the landscape of the world. Will we lick the Cheetos dust from our fingertips and do so, or will we drop the ball?

Via

#NoDapl #Dakota Access Pipeline #News #North Dakota #Sioux #Standing Rock Sioux

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