Ruddy Turnstone never found out who called the cops.
It was a quarter past 2 in the morning on July 29, and the 30-year-old Greenpeace organizer from South Florida stood 205 feet above the Willamette River, aside the emerald-painted steel trusses of the St. Johns Bridge.
TURNSTONE
Turnstone and 12 others, Greenpeace volunteers from San Francisco and Olympia and Denver, were busy fastening themselves to the 84-year-old bridge with ropes fed through autolock devices that allowed them to control how fast they would rappel off the side.
“It was a little disorienting,” Turnstone says. “I couldn’t see the water, and it was so dark out.”
Two weeks earlier, Greenpeace was presented with a unique opportunity in its five-year battle to interfere with Shell Oil’s drilling in the Arctic Ocean. That opportunity: A Finnish icebreaking boat, the MSV Fennica, had torn a hole in its hull, and a Portland ship-repair company was going to fix it.
The Fennica had arrived July 25 at the dry dock of Portland’s Vigor Industrial. When it was ready to leave, the 381-foot icebreaker would head north on the Willamette River, passing under three bridges to get to the Pacific Ocean and back to the Chukchi Sea. If Greenpeace could block one of those bridges, it could keep Shell’s contracted ship out of the Arctic.
According to conversations with three Greenpeace organizers, the world’s most visible environmental organization summoned a team of 26 activists—including 13 who volunteered to rappel off the bridge and hang there as long as they could.
But now, with minutes to go before the activists began their descent from the deck of Portland’s most beautiful bridge, Turnstone could see police cars arriving at the east end of the St. Johns Bridge.
Too late.
Turnstone and the others were already over the railing.
Above Turnstone, a cloudless night twinkled with stars. Below, the lights of kayaks in the water looked like a reflection of the Milky Way. Police flashlights shone along the bridge.
She took a breath, and plunged into darkness.
She dropped 100 feet. For the next 39 hours, Turnstone and the others dangled in midair—and Portland was held in suspense.
The rest of the world watched as well. It was audacious, simple and a photo op of optimal proportions. Unfurling red and yellow banners, the activists looked like an art installation. By refusing to budge from the sky, they made it impossible for the Finnish icebreaker to leave.
The protest also stretched taut the contradictions within Portland. This remains an industrial river city, one where thousands of jobs depend on the marine commerce that hums up and down the Willamette. It is also a place with a pulsing environmental conscience, and hundreds of activists eager to take a local stand to save a warming planet.
The standoff at the St. Johns Bridge pressed those two identities face to face—and forced Gov. Kate Brown and Mayor Charlie Hales to pick a side.
Within two days, the impasse was over, and all sides could claim victory. Shell got the boat to the Arctic, a mere 12 hours after its scheduled departure. Greenpeace and its local allies gained national attention for their cause. And local officials ended the protest quickly, without a significant injury and with just two arrests.
The resolution was so pacific that some observers wondered if it had been orchestrated from the start.
In fact, the players barely talked to each other. Shell and Greenpeace took their grievances to a federal court in Alaska. Neither side had a single phone conversation with Oregon’s elected officials. Brown and Hales were somewhat confused who was in charge, and ultimately deferred to the U.S. Coast Guard for an endgame. Greenpeace never even coordinated its movements with hometown activists, and left quickly: The organization removed most of its aerial team from Portland within 24 hours of leaving the bridge.
Despite the TV helicopters, drone cameras and real-time tweets, few of the people who took part in the bridge battle knew the full scope of its strategy. It took days for them to piece together the full story of what everyone saw in open air.
結果 (
日本語) 1:
[コピー]コピーしました!
キョウジョシギと呼ばれる人の警官が判明しなかった。7 月 29 日、朝、南フロリダから樹齢 30 年グリーン ピース主催者 2 立ってウィラメット川脇 205 フィート エメラルド塗装鋼トラス セントジョンズ ブリッジの四分の一の過去だった。キョウジョシギキョウジョシギと他の 12 は、San Francisco、オリンピア、デンバーからグリーン ピース ボランティア ロープがどのくらいの速彼らがサイドから懸垂下降を制御することができるオートロック デバイスを介して供給で 84 歳橋に彼ら自身を締めに忙しかった。"これは少し混乱は、「キョウジョシギは言います。「水を見ることできなかったし、暗かったのでアウト」2 週間前、グリーン ピースは、北極海のシェル石油の掘削と干渉する戦い、その 5 年でユニークな機会を提示されました。その機会: フィンランドの砕氷船、MSV フェニカは、その船体に穴が開いて破れて、ポートランドでの船舶修理会社は、それを修正するつもりだった。フェニカはポートランドの活力産業の乾ドックで 7 月 25 日に到着しました。残して準備され、381 フィート砕氷船は、太平洋とチュクチ海に戻るを取得する 3 つの橋を渡す、ウィラメット川沿いに北上でしょう。グリーン ピースはそれらの橋の一つをブロック可能性がある場合、は、北極からシェルの契約船を保つことができるそれ。3 グリーン ピース主催者との会話によると世界で最も目に見える環境組織召喚 26 活動家のチーム-13 橋から懸垂下降し、彼らができる限り、そこにハングアップする志願者を含みます。しかし、今、活動家は、ポートランドの最も美しい橋のデッキからの彼らの降下を開始する前に移動する分、キョウジョシギはセント ジョンズ橋の東の端に到着したパトカーを見ることができます。遅すぎます。キョウジョシギと他の人は、すでに手摺越しに。キョウジョシギ、上からりと晴れた夜は星と瞬いた。以下、水でカヤックのライトは天の川の反射のように見えた。橋に沿って警察懐中電燈が輝いていた。彼女は、息を取り、暗闇の中に飛び込んだ。彼女は、100 フィートを落とした。次の 39 時間、キョウジョシギなどが空中で揺れて、ポートランドはサスペンスで開催されました。世界の残りの部分をも見た。それは大胆なシンプルで最適なプロポーションの写真のオペアンプ。赤と黄色 unfurling、活動家、アート ・ インスタレーションのように見えた。フィンランドの砕氷船を残すことは不可能した彼らには、空から頑として拒否すること。抗議もピンと張った伸ばしてポートランド内部の矛盾。これは 1 つのジョブの数千人がウィラメット上下ハミング海洋商業に依存産業川市のまま。また、パルス環境の良心と地球温暖化を保存するローカル スタンドを取る熱心な活動家の何百ものある場所です。セント ジョンズ橋で押されたこれらの 2 つの id 顔-知事ケイト ブラウンと市長のチャーリー ・ ヘイルズ側を選ぶことを余儀なく。Within two days, the impasse was over, and all sides could claim victory. Shell got the boat to the Arctic, a mere 12 hours after its scheduled departure. Greenpeace and its local allies gained national attention for their cause. And local officials ended the protest quickly, without a significant injury and with just two arrests.The resolution was so pacific that some observers wondered if it had been orchestrated from the start.In fact, the players barely talked to each other. Shell and Greenpeace took their grievances to a federal court in Alaska. Neither side had a single phone conversation with Oregon’s elected officials. Brown and Hales were somewhat confused who was in charge, and ultimately deferred to the U.S. Coast Guard for an endgame. Greenpeace never even coordinated its movements with hometown activists, and left quickly: The organization removed most of its aerial team from Portland within 24 hours of leaving the bridge.Despite the TV helicopters, drone cameras and real-time tweets, few of the people who took part in the bridge battle knew the full scope of its strategy. It took days for them to piece together the full story of what everyone saw in open air.
翻訳されて、しばらくお待ちください..
