Thread by @zhaabowekwe

15 days ago I was shot by police with rubber bullets, mace, pepper balls paid for by Enbridge. I heard shouts, cries and gasping coughing punctuated by the sound of munitions firing and a huge drill out of a sci-fi movie boring thru the river we were there to protect. #StopLine3

I heard a woman paid to organize against Line 3 screaming at us that we were violent, that we needed to stop. I heard a woman screaming who had blood pouring down her face from the rubber bullet that had hit her. I heard the sound of my own breath rattling in my respirator.

4 of us jumped into a wall of police. I figured I might be injured, but the sound of the drill filled my head. It was all I could hear, at the end. In our handcuffs & zip ties, the 4 rounds that hit me & chemicals all over burned as some cops laughed at us, others looked uneasy.

I was put in solitary for 4 days after, after a quick trip to the hospital because the back of my left knee was concerning even to cops. My mind played young people being shot at under a smoky sky with a red sun next to a nearly-empty river being drilled under on an endless loop.

Pennington County refused me anything to read or write on until the last night, when I got a Bible. I read the New Testament that night, reflected on Jesus the human being, the revolutionary. When I stepped out into sunshine, the smiles and songs of land defenders greeted.

I was handed my phone, full of rumors, anger, and vicious messages over the course of my time in jail. Those messages kept pouring in while I tried to eat, shower, rest.

As I sat intaking stories of media stints, of needing to apologize for being screamed at, of how I should’ve worn armor, of how I was gossiping from solitary, of what I should’ve done, my bruised body wondered if I counted as a Native woman who just experienced intense violence.

Many times over the 7 years I’ve fought back against Line 3, my own personhood has felt absent; I’ve been nothing but a means to an end for so many at different times. A workhorse, a rival, a scapegoat, a stonewall, an outsider, an insider, a radical, a liberal, it goes on.

The manoomin and nibi are never present in these definitions.

That drill filling the air. Filling the world.

The machines are just south of our camp now, these woods I’ve lived in for 3 years. The night after getting out of solitary, Line 3 construction kept on shaking the earth, relentless and desperate to finish.

7 days ago, I went home. I spent time with my family & dearest ones. Gojijiing-zaaga’igan is powerful. The sun danced on waves, my phone stayed off, the seagulls cried, the concrete walls felt further away, the young faces twisted in pain were held by the water, by the cedar.

*TRIGGER* 3 days ago, I left the lake that holds my ancestors to meet with the Army Corps of Engineers. Another non-answer. We are owed yes or no. Pics of bruised, lacerated flesh & chemical spills in rivers. Native people demanding the respect & dignity mandated by law.

One of my wounds seems to be permanent, with hard scar tissue underneath. Hubbard County used pain compliance techniques on the fearless defenders who stopped Enbridge’s machines 2 days ago. Police brutality on behalf of a foreign corporation.

But the beauty of young people smiling and determined is here again in these woods. The sounds of the machines continue on past the trees.

Pray for us. Stand with us, if you can: @GiniwCollective. Find your bravery. Our Mother needs us, so badly.

Never forget the humanity inside every human being on earth.

With love and respect,
Zhaabowekwe