The following is an anonymously submitted reportback on the action that took place at the rally against the Pinyon Plain Uranium Mine on 5/17.
A sense of anticipation hung in the air as we drove down the dusty forest road towards the highway. There were a half dozen of us in the truck bed, swaying with every bump under the oppressive sun. My friends and I had been joined by some indigenous comrades for the drive from camp to the action. We made some small talk on the way, trying to keep the mood light. One of them gave us some tobacco to offer in prayer to land, for protection and success in what we were about to do. We released the tobacco from our hands and it was swept away by the wind. In that moment, I felt a sense of connection to the land I had come to defend, something more profound than I had felt in any house of worship. My heart was filled up with burning determination, and I had never been more sure in my life about what needed to happen in that moment.
When we arrived to the intersection, there were already people gathered with signs along the side of the road. Initially we all stood along the side of the road, waving our signs and chanting “Łéétsoh Dooda,” and “Doom To The Mine!” while percussionists kept time. The winds were strong, and some of us had to cut holes in the banners to let the wind pass through and prevent them from being blown away. Several individual signs were whisked straight out of people’s hands by the heavy gusts.
The cops mostly kept their distance down the road, occasionally driving by to yell at us to stay behind the white lines marking the highway lanes. Despite this, the crowd slowly edged further and further into the road, pinching traffic down to one lane. A few of us decided to walk up the road to heckle the pigs. They seemed a bit unnerved by our numbers and boldness, and feigned concern that we could be in danger of being hit by a vehicle on the highway. After a few minutes of shit talking, they got in their vehicles, and drove away down to the other side of the rally. Traffic continued to slow as we came to occupy more and more of the road. Wide eyed tourists on the way to Grand Canyon filmed the spectacle through the windows of their buses, RVs and SUVs.
Then the truck arrived, crawling down the line of cars. A comrade cried out that it was the uranium hauling truck, headed to the mine, and we surged to place our bodies in front of it, fully blocking the road. Angry shouts rose from the crowd. We pounded on the windows, and chants of “Quit your job!” continued as the driver looked straight ahead, pretending to not see or hear us. The truck began to creep forward, as if intending to flatten us. Realizing the danger, quick thinking comrades seized large rocks, logs, pieces of the barbed wire fence and even a shovel, and wedged them into the wheels of the truck, preventing it from continuing forward. We defaced the truck with playful slogans and insurrectionary calls, and damaged the exterior. By all these bold actions of sabotage and more, the truck was rendered inoperable, and later had to be towed.
While this was happening, some comrades began to direct traffic down the second lane and around the blockaded truck. They walked up and down the creeping line of vehicles, explaining to the occupants that we were sorry to incovenience them, but that we were there in solidarity with the Havasupai, defending their sacred land against the destructive mining. Others formed a defensive line against the police, protecting the backs of those doing the blockading.
The pigs declared the assembly to be unlawful, and ordered us to immediately disperse or face force. They did not, however, act on these threats. The rural Coconino County Sheriff’s Department clearly had nowhere near enough officers to counter our numbers. For every one of them, there were 10 of us. They couldn’t do much but wait for backup from state troopers. We probably brought the whole damn department out that day.
Finally, they mustered the numbers and courage to advance on us. Slowly, we shifted our lines of confrontation off of the road and back towards the entrance to the forest road. The comrades at the front provided a barrier that bought time for the bulk of us to escape back to camp right then. Those remaining linked arms and sang revolutionary songs, daring the pigs to act. They backed off from the confrontation, and the last of the land defenders made their retreat to camp, piling rocks in the road to impede any possible pursuers.
This action was a resounding success. It was a burning moment of insurrection against the ecocidal empire and an example to others that this kind of action is not only possible, but can bring us success. It teaches us that action in defense of the sacred, in defense of the land and water that sustains all life, is integral to our struggles for liberation. May many new projects of autonomy, insurrection, and decolonization spring forth from this moment of rupture.