| AZTEC, N.M.–
Sometimes it takes a brawl to break down barriers and unite
former adversaries against a common threat. In fact, a good
fight can sometimes lead to positive change as much as any
collaboration or "common ground" peace process.
And a good fight is exactly what's happening on Tweeti and
Linn Blancett's ranch in the northwest corner of New Mexico.
The rumble isn't focused on water, cows, or endangered species,
for once. It's over oil and gas development, coalbed methane
exploration to be specific, and the damage it is causing to
the land and the people who live there.
The struggle has created an unlikely alliance of environmentalists,
sportsmen, and ranchers – with collateral effects that
have pleasantly surprised nearly everyone.
It only takes a minute to understand what is at stake in this
fight. Walking into the parlor room of the Step Back Inn recently,
which is owned and operated by the Blancetts, I saw a map
of their ranch projected onto a large screen. It looked like
it had the measles. Blue dots covered the ranch like a rash,
or a cancer.
"It's the West's next boom-and-bust.
"
They were drilling sites, not measles,
but the health metaphor is not far off the mark. Tweeti stood
in front of the screen and told her visitors that after six
generations on the same land, the Blancett Ranch had been
destroyed by the disease of oil and gas development. The ranch
was finished.
"We're down to eight cows," she said, "and
we only keep them to make the BLM clean the cattleguards and
do their job."
Making the BLM do its job has become a personal crusade for
the 5-foot-3-inch grandmother, who, with a sparkling laugh
and considerable charm, cuts an unusual image for an activist.
Add her political background into the mix – a lifelong
Republican, she served in the state Legislature, worked for
the re-election of Sen. Pete Domenici, and was San Juan County
chair for George Bush in 2000 – and you have a dynamic
recipe for action. Just ask the BLM, or the oil-and-gas industry.
For example, in the fall of 2001 Tweeti, her husband, and
two neighbors, made headlines when they locked oil and gas
workers out of their private land.
"We did it because we have a right to," she said.
"And if you don't exercise your rights, no one else is
going to do it for you."
It was action, among others, that landed them a major award
from the New Mexico Community Foundation in 2003.
It wasn't the first time Tweeti's combination of charisma,
drive and political heritage put her in the spotlight. She's
been on the NBC Nightly News, and featured in such diverse
publications as People Magazine, the New York Times, the Wall
Street Journal, and the monthly magazines of the Sierra Club
and the Audubon Society.
Recently, she made a brief appearance on cable's Comedy Central.
"They paired me with an industry representative,"
she said with a deadpan, "and believe you me, I was a
lot funnier."
It's not hard to believe. She worked the room that evening
like a pro – leavening slides of her ranch's devastation
with wry bits of humor and indefatigable good manners.
The destruction of the Blancett Ranch, however, is not something
she takes lightly.
Accountability
"This is not a Democrat issue, and it's not a Republican
issue," Tweeti told the gathering. "We in San Juan
county have been treated the same by both of them, and that
isn't good. Clinton drilled just as many wells. The difference
is, now we are standing toe-to-toe, arms locked, liberals
and conservatives, on this issue."
The next 20 slides were a catalog of abuse to land, animals
and people by an uncaring industry. According to Tweeti, more
than 1,000 miles of poorly designed and maintained roads crisscross
the 32,000-acre Blancett Ranch, 90 percent of which is BLM
land. That doesn't count the 1,550-plus miles of pipelines
in the ground. There are more than 500 active oil and gas
wells on the ranch, and each pad averages three acres in size.
That's 15,000 acres of disturbed land, at a minimum.
And what a disturbance it is. The catalog includes salt water
spills that sterilize the soil; a stinky black gunk that spews
from well sites, coating trees and grass; antifreeze spills
that can poison a cow to death within minutes; toxic lagoons
that are death traps for birds and other wildlife; airborne
pollutants that are contaminating the basin's air quality;
and a noxious weed infestation that has followed the roads
and pipelines like an invading army.
"This is the overgrazing of the 21st century," she
said of the damage. "It's the West's next boom-and-bust.
But this time, it's the boom that is really killing us."
What I'm trying to tell every one of you
But it didn't have to happen. "The
companies could have fixed all these problems if they wanted
to," said Tweeti, "but they didn't. They know how
to. I'll show you the 'model' well sites tomorrow, where they
take the VIPs when they want to whitewash what they're doing.
Then I'll take you to what's really doing on."
"It's not like the industry doesn't have the money to
do the reclamation. Last year they took $4.1 billion, that's
right, billion, out of the county in royalities. And they
tell me they can't afford to clean things up. …"
She let the words hang in the air for a moment.
"Let me say quickly that I'm not opposed to the drilling,"
she said. "What I'm opposed to is the horrible damage
that's been caused. Back in the 1950s, '60s, and '70s, the
oil companies were our friends. They were good neighbors,
and we got along. It's only in the last 15 years or so, especially
with coalbed methane, that's it's become so bad."
She placed some of the blame on the culture of corporate greed
that has gripped the nation, but she also spread the blame
to the BLM.
"They have very specific regulations that protect the
land," she said. "They have noise controls, water
controls, erosion controls and they're good – as long
as they force the companies to follow them. But they don't.
There are 35,000 wells in the San Juan Basin, and only two
BLM inspectors who work on the ground. The industry knows
it can get away with murder – and it does."
Things, she said, are about to get worse. In 2003, the BLM
issued a Resource Management Plan for the basin that called
for 10,000 new wells on federal lands, with another 10,00
planned for state, tribal and private ground. The number of
roads will likely double, as will the overall deleterious
effects to the land.
"It's going to be approved despite the 12,000 negative
responses it received," says Tweeti. "I was proud.
It was the first time San Juan county ever stood up and said
"No more." Thank goodness."
Making Friends
We reassembled the next morning for a tour of the ranch. The
goal was not simply informational – Tweeti intended
to put us to work. Despairing of the BLM's lack of proper
oversight, Tweeti and a friend, Kris Dixon, had composed a
seven-page "Citizen's Monitoring Form" to be filled
out at each of the well sites we would visit. The idea is
to gather credible data on the wells and use the data to press
the companies and the government to do their jobs.
The day was a classic exercise in grassroots citizenship –
which might explain why so many people turned out to help
"test drive" the forms. Significantly, on the tour
were representatives from the San Juan Citizen's Alliance
(an environmental group), the New Mexico Wilderness Alliance,
the Oil and Gas Accountability Project, the Western Slope
Environmental Resource Council, the New Mexico Wildlife Federation,
Republicans for Environmental Protection, ranchers, retirees
and others.
A month or so earlier, Tweeti had electrified a theater full
of environmentalists in Albuquerque, gathered to stop oil
and gas development on Otero Mesa in the southeastern section
of the state, with a call to arms. In fact, the Otero Mesa
fight has prospered precisely because of an alliance between
former antagonists – ranchers and environmentalists.
Her message that day was the same one she delivered on our
tour: "What I'm trying to tell every one of you is that
the Rocky Mountain West is next. What happened to us is coming
your way."
Judging from what I saw as we drove from well site to well
site, taking notes and photographs, Tweeti's message needs
to be heeded. As do her methods.
"It was really hard the first time I went to D.C. and
sat in the office of the National Wildlife Federation with
people who had been, and probably still are, anti-ranching,"
she said. "But the thing we all learned was that we had
more in common than that which previously divided us. And
the other thing we decided was if we didn't start working
together, we wouldn't have anything to fight about. The land
was going to be gone.
"And you're talking to a member of a family that has
been ranching for six generations and has absolutely hated
environmentalists," she continued. "But here they
are today, and they're helping me. I'm involved with three
lawsuits against the industry, and environmentalists are on
my side on all three.
"What people have to understand is that ranchers are
the watchdogs of our public lands. We're the first line of
defense when the government is allowing damage to happen.
If we go, so goes our eyes and ears. It's something to think
about."
Near the end of the day, I asked Tweeti if she is bitter about
the destruction of the ranch. "I'm not," she replies,
"but my husband is getting there. Linn's family homesteaded
here in the 1870s, and so this is really hard for him. He's
slow to anger too, a lot slower than me. But now he's mad."
What keeps her going?
"Maybe I'm naïve and stupid enough to believe that
one person can make a difference. But each one of these 'one-persons'
must learn to think differently. And the key is to listen
to people who are different than you."
And then act.
"Don't hesitate to step up to the plate and say how you
feel," she concluded. "Don't hesitate to disagree
with the person next to you. And don't hesitate to try to
form alliances that can make it better for everyone."
|
Courtney
White writes