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| October 13, 2006 Red Alert by Soren Wuerth That bush below that dead tree
I listened to Bush’s press conference as I drove past the carcass of the old pulp mill. The Ketchikan Pulp Mill, closed down years ago, sits derelict and lonely in a cove dotted with rusting, decrepit barges. In the forest behind the mill, pale shards of dead trees poke from a misty canopy, like a black dog’s gray whiskers, evidence of the toxicity of smokestack emission. On the radio, Bush is complimenting a reporter on his outfit. “Thank you, sir,” the reporter tells him, “I’ll pass along the name of my tailor.” As Bush speaks I hear a father telling his adolescent boy and the boy’s friends, in a nasal tone, “that neighbor of ours just doesn’t want to choose a way forward for his family … a better way forward for his family! If he’s gonna be intrangigent (sic), we’re gonna have to break his windows out.” The boys look down and grin because the old man is pretty funny. But they know he’s full of shit. NPR distills Bush’s best sound bytes in a wrap-up following the conference. They give the impression that the president has a legitimate message. The war in Iraq is taking a toll, yes, but “by helping the Iraqis build a democracy, an Iraqi-style democracy, we’ll deal a major blow to terrorists and extremists.” Meanwhile, the Democrats, he says, are to blame for establishing “bipartisan” talks with North Korea. Bush’s plan calls for “multi-lateral talks.” NPR is a social studies teacher explaining why the boys should respect their commander in chief, even though. The boys look at their shoes and snicker. I swing around Ward Cove on my way to school. For decades, Ketchikan Pulp Company dumped toxic bleach into the cove, and in 2000 the EPA declared the cove a Superfund site. The ocean floor was dredged in a vain attempt to remove concentrated levels of ammonia, sulfides and 4-Methylphenol. Driving past the vacant mill, I hear the President complain about extreme forms of religion fighting for influence in the Middle East. He lauds his administration’s prescience. “... You begin to see an environment that would cause some later on in history to look back and say, How come they couldn’t see the problem? What happened to them in the year 2006? Why weren’t they able to see the problems now and deal with them before it came too late?” Up the road from Ward Cove, west into the mountains, lies an endless expanse of clearcuts. They drape the landscape, entire mountains shaved base to peak. The visible devastation understates the invisible harms: salmon streams defiled, habitat loss, and the ultimate cost, global warming. The President worries the history books will ask, “How come they couldn’t see the problem?” The man, in a sweater with an American flag on it, moves to the porch, following his son’s gang outside. The man’s had too much to drink, walks to edge of his lawn, into a waist-high bush, hands cupped around his mouth, screaming, “go home you chink bastards, you ...” falls forward into the hedge, rolls, the bush gives, clawing his cheek on the way down. The boys watch from the driveway, pointing and laughing hard, holding their guts. They leap into the family car and drive off. A block away, the radio fades. 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. |
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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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