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| March 7, 2007 Red Alert by Soren Wuerth, insurgent49 Testify!
Maybe I shouldn’t have drank those extra glasses of wine … maybe I should have quit after two and gone home. But I lingered at the bar, my glass refilled with an aromatic red, talking with a guy who lost a finger, a garrulous steel driving man. He waved his hand nonchalantly, a gap above a knuckle, when I wondered out loud if his job is dangerous. He didn’t think so. He sits in a bucket seat and drills into rock with machine so powerful, it makes rock give like butter. He plants dynamite with a 50-foot fuse. I gulped down a shot of Jagermeister with him. I knew I could stand a snifter or two before the Forest Service hearing on the Tongass Land Management Plan. After so many pointless government hearings and testimony, I’ve come to expect that bureaucrats will follow a premeditated line of action, no matter how overwhelming the testimony to the contrary. Our local conservation group had planned on having a party with wine following the assembly. “Maybe we should have the wine beforehand this time,” someone joked at a meeting. “Might as well,” someone else remarked. “They didn’t listen to us last time when we were sober.” I was the only one to try the new alternative. So, I sauntered over from the bar, sat in the fourth row of an auditorium, scribbled some testimony, and walked triumphantly forward when my name was called. Here it goes: When I look across all these maps of alternatives, I can only think that this is mentality of a one-eyed ogre. The ogre, thrashing through the forest, blindly, with a tree trunk stabbed through it only eye, is blind to the fact that 50 million board feet is all the companies at present need to prosper, is blind to the science of global warming, is blind to the record of knowledge that massive clearcutting kills salmon, kills deer habitat, kills ecosystems. I just spent some time with a guy who risks his life for his job. He digs into the earth to plant explosives, lost his finger when his bulldozer turned over, he makes his living off the forest. But people, the good folk who work the land, are not to blame for its abuse, its exploitation. These are people who are part of our community. Rather, it is the Forest Service that is dividing our communities. Lord knows, we can reconcile the interests of our communities through dialogue, through democratic policy and through constructive negotiation. But the blind ogre thrashes on oblivious to our communities, our local economies, and our fragile social relationships. Here we have seven maps, none of which reflect the values of the people of Ketchikan, but are the product of a group of bureaucrats who spend their time dealing more with numbers than they do with people. I don’t want to advocate for one of the Forest Service’s alternatives. Instead, I want the Forest Service to ask the people of Ketchikan for our alternatives, to create a true alternative for our forests, one that comes from a place of reconciliation, resolve and restoration. We can solve our issues without the meddling of the Forest Service. Leave! Go home, ogre! We know that the ogre is fed by giant corporations, with influence in Washington D.C., that dictates not only demand for volume, but, ultimately what type of jobs we have in Southeast. Do we, then, bow down to this ogre? We need to reclaim this process. Instead of relying on a roundtable of politicians who represent no one but those at the table, we need a democratic process that includes the voices of everyone, the logger with wood shavings on his face, the fisherman coated with scales, the dynamite man, the one missing his finger. Your alternatives, your maps with blues, greens, and tans, are meaningless down here. We are human. We are a community. Forest Service: treat us as if you care. Needless to say, the Forest Service, with its prepackaged process of “stakeholder” groups, workshops, and hearings, will consider my comments “beyond the scope” of its planning document. I wondered, walking home, hands in my pockets, if I wouldn’t have been better off back in the bar, telling stories, laughing, and learning more from the locals. Soren Wuerth is perhaps Alaska's best known community activist, and is the winner of the Alaska Press Club's 2006 'Best Columnist' award. He resides in an undisclosed location in rural Alaska and can be reached at soren@insurgent49.com. 'Red Alert' appears on insurgent49.com every Wednesday. |
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February 28, 2007 February 21, 2007 February 14, 2007 February 7, 2007 January 31, 2007 January 24, 2007 January 17, 2007 January 10, 2007 January 3, 2007 December 27, 2006 December 20, 2006 December 13, 2006 December 6, 2006 November 29, 2006 November 21, 2006 November 10, 2006 November 3, 2006 October 27, 2006 October 20, 2006 October 13, 2006 October 6, 2006 September 29, 2006 September 22, 2006 September 15, 2006 September 8, 2006 September 1, 2006 August 25, 2006 August 18, 2006 August 11, 2006 August 4, 2006 July 28, 2006 July 21, 2006 July 14, 2006 June 30, 2006 June 23, 2006 June 16, 2006 June 9, 2006 June 2, 2006 May 26, 2006 May 12, 2006 May 5, 2006 April 28, 2006 April 21, 2006 April 14, 2006 April 7, 2006 March 31, 2006 March 24, 2006 March 17, 2006 March 3, 2006 February 24, 2006 February 17, 2006 February 10, 2006 February 3, 2006 January 27, 2006 January 20, 2006 January 13, 2006 January 6, 2006 December 30, 2005 December 23, 2005 December 16, 2005 December 10, 2005 December 2, 2005 November 25, 2005 November 18, 2005 November 11, 2005 November 4, 2005 October 28, 2005 October 21, 2005 October 14, 2005 October 7, 2005 September 30, 2005 September 23, 2005 September 16, 2005 September 9, 2005 September 2, 2005 August 26, 2005 August 19, 2005 August 12, 2005 August 5, 2005 July 29, 2005 July 22, 2005 July 15, 2005 July 8, 2005 July 1, 2005 June 24, 2005 June 17, 2005 June 10, 2005 June 3, 2005 May 27, 2005 May 20, 2005 May 13, 2005 May 6, 2005 April 29, 2005 April 21, 2005 |
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Reserved. in-sur-gent (in sur'jent), n. 1. a member of a group which revolts against the policies of its leadership. |
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