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“Nice to meet you,” he responds, retracting his hand after the handshake.
“Our communities’ very existence is at stake,” she begins, demonstrating an impressive command of the subject. “The proposed and established gas and oil pipelines violate our rights to coexist harmoniously with our land and families. It jeopardizes our safety and autonomy. We are forced to witness corporations installing pipelines through our communities, leaving Indigenous people to either accept the pipelines on their ancestral lands or relocate to places where we don't belong. The fact that we have no say in the placement of these pipelines on our properties sends a message that our rights can be taken away without repercussions.”
I observe Brando absorbing the weight of her words, and it seems like many more protesters are eager to engage with him. Despite being aware of his role as the head of the corporation responsible for their plight, they treat him with kindness.
Reassured that Brando is taken care of, I make my way back to my position on the milk crate and resume my chant. Glancing over at him, I suppress a smirk as I see him throwing glances in my direction while listening to the people that approach him. I can't help but wonder how he manages to hear anything amid the blaring noise of the bullhorn.
His body posture remains the same as at the office, but his face has changed. It's as if he's genuinely interested. After an hour, he’s still here.
Way to go, Boss Man!
CHAPTER12
BRANDO
As much asI desire to spearhead green initiatives within Sanders International, I am humbled by the vast amount of knowledge I still need to acquire. Engaging in conversation with Ana opened my mind and unveiled ideas that have the potential to simultaneously enhance corporate profits and improve the lives of future generations. Until today, I remained oblivious to the true impact of the pipeline on the communities residing nearby.
Thankfully, I had the foresight to change my clothes after lunch, opting for comfortable gray sweatpants, an NYU hoodie, and Nike running shoes. I arrived at the protest site thirty minutes later than Ana had told me to, and I could see the relief in her eyes as she spotted me.
“Thank you for joining us. You're more than welcome to stay and stand with us, if you'd like,” Ana offers, lightly touching my forearm.
Tell me you felt that spark!
I respond without hesitation, “How can I help?”
Surprisingly, seeing her dedication to something she's passionate about fills me with excitement. It ignites a newfound appreciation for her. This transformation in her demeanor reveals a quality that I deeply admire.
As I join the protest, I realize that I am undoubtedly stepping into unfamiliar and potentially hostile territory.
“This certainly surpasses the excitement of my lunch,” I remark before Ana can say anything.
“I wasn't sure if you were going to show up!” She chuckles nervously, scanning me from head to toe. “We could use some help with the heavy lifting,” she informs me nonchalantly. “And you look the part,” she adds with a smirk.
I find myself actively involved in assisting the protest organizers, aiding in the setup of barricades, and talking to them about my company's plans.
“Hey, rich boy! Come over here and lend a hand with these coolers!” A big, young man motions toward me. “Ana mentioned you're here to support us, so let's get this done!”
Spending the afternoon with the people affected by the project has allowed me to gain a deeper understanding of both Ana and the protesters. This knowledge will enable me to help them in their cause.
By early evening, I realize that not only do I relish the camaraderie among the protesters, but I also find solace in being close to Ana outside the confines of our office environment.
The plan for the protest is to break off into separate groups to disseminate our information. Ana grabs me by the hand and pulls me next to her in the center group. The shouters are responsible for yelling and chanting, providing the others with something to chant in return. On either side of us are the informers, who engage in one-on-one conversations with passersby. All the people who spoke with me earlier are among them, including the older woman who is now in a wheelchair.
My spirits are uplifted. I notice people taking pictures of the protest activities. It crosses my mind that my participation will be misconstrued, but I don’t give a fuck. I want to make a statement and am more than looking forward to seeing the scandalized faces of the board.
The protest persists. Eventually, there are individuals appearing at the site voicing their discontent against the protesters.
Unfortunately, some of the counter-protesters have turned violent, resorting to physical aggression against anyone in their path. This confrontation is heading toward a dangerous outcome as clashes are erupting between the two sides. It deeply troubles me that my company is the root cause of such anguish and suffering. If only I had fought harder against my father's demands, it wouldn't have escalated to the violence I am witnessing now.
Not only is Sanders International threatening to strip these people of their homes and well-being, but we are also exposing them to further harm. I step forward and assist in guiding as many protesters as possible away from the fights. Suddenly, our attention is drawn to a large group of police officers approaching us.
“They blame us for starting the fight,” Ana shouts over to me.
“Why would they think that?”
“We are the ones disrupting the peace in their eyes. It's how it always ends up.”
A police officer approaches us, with others surrounding the protesters. Some of them wield batons and pepper spray. Before anyone can react fully, the police start spraying water at us. Their aim is directed at those engaged in the clashes, but for the most part, our group isn't fighting back; we're simply trying to get away.
