Activism
Mi casa es su casa es nuestra casa "My home is your home is our home" -Photo credit to Sithara Reddy
This past Wednesday, I decided to stay in the Science Center for a talk being given on the Future of Energy in America. I arrived a few minutes early, and I chose a spot on the side towards the front. Professors, undergraduates, affiliates filed in, but there was still a comfortable amount of room for everyone. I sit down, take off my coat and hat, place them in the chair next to me, pull out my cookies to pull me through, and I wait for the start of the lecture. I notice to my right a man with dredlocks sitting in a worn plaid collared shirt, vaguely smelling of a few showerless days. He was muttering to his friend sitting in the row in front of us and humming the tune to the “Grapes of Wrath.” (…and the truth goes marching on… is all I caught). In my head I tried to put all the pieces together, their demeanor, their clothing, their music, and concluded that they must be in some type of band and were trying to figure out the best key and lyrics to sing the song in.
2 minutes passed, and we all clapped to welcome the speaker, the founder of the nation’s second largest natural gas company. The man sitting to my right did not clap, but boo-ed quietly. I was somewhat confused, but I thought that he was just trying to add to the raucous in a more sonorous manner.
I was wrong. Every time the speaker would mention the environmental benefits of natural gas drilling, the vast number of pros in comparison to coal power, and the impenetrable safety measures being taken, a vast number of the audience began to cough loudly, including the man sitting next to me. Sometimes they would mutter things in their coughs, other times they were more brash and just blurted out protesting complaints. At times they were shouting over the speaker. A professor had to get up and tell them to be respectful of the space and that they would have time to ask questions afterwards. The non-activist half of the crowd applauded him, and the protesters quieted down considerably for the rest of the talk.
Then Q&A began. Some of the protesters lined up with other students to ask questions, but their questions were clearly very pointed, as you can imagine. The moderators certainly had their hands full, and they even had to bring in the police. The speaker was surprisingly calm, perhaps he deals with this type of situations often, but sitting right between two of the protesters, I felt incredible uncomfortable and vulnerable. They claimed that their water was being poisoned by the chemicals being used to pump out the natural gas. They claimed that their families have had first-hand experience with the health and environmental damages. How could the natural gas company ignore these egregious issues? The founder responded with his own knowledge saying that more than a million people willingly sign contracts with his company for their land permission. He continually pitted natural gas against coal.
More of them began to stand up. One of the moderators of the microphones saw someone get out of their seat with a banner rolled up in their hands. She was a rather small female staff member probably of the Center for the Environment here. But she ran after the person, grabbed the banner, and demanded that the protester (also a female) sit back down. The policeman continued to stand in front of the room with his broad shoulders monitoring the scene. A photographer for the event began walking around with her camera. I saw many of the activists cover their faces and turn their heads whenever she approached. She was not even close to being in the photographic position, but they were clearly uncomfortable with her. Who knows if this what they were expecting when they came all the way from Pennsylvania, New York, or wherever. They did not seem to be an organized environmental activist group that I could name.
So who’s environment is this exactly? Who is doing the right thing? Who am I supposed to listen to? How are you feeling now?
to be continued
~Sam Go~
