Sometimes something that happens to you affects you right away, and then you move on. But sometimes, something that doesn’t bother you much at first only grows in your mind as you begin to absorb what really happened. And from the time that I was hauled away from the Pendleton Building in a forklift to the time I write this article, I have only felt more and more betrayed by the administration of this college–indeed, by all of the administrators. When I locked my arm into a 900 pound concrete barrel, I knew very well that I could be suspended and arrested, and those were risks I was and still am willing to take. I love the Bernard Field Station; I love the Earth; I love life; I love democracy; these things are more important to me than any formal education. But it never had to come to this, and I am utterly sickened at how President Stanley and his colleagues have treated us all like dirt.

At 7 am on Tuesday morning, Liz Lindsley SC ’04 and I were locked into a barrel at the back entrance of Pendelton, with four friends around us. Someone came running to tell us that a dozen police cars had just pulled up and were threatening to arrest us in two minutes. Within a minute, four amazing people were surrounding us in a soft blockade, committed to defend the Bernard Field Station and our right to democracy even with their freedom. For Liz and myself there was no question; we never even considered unlocking. And as the dozens of police in full riot gear began to march towards us in military formation, with both an officer and Brenda Barham Hill reading notices that didn’t interest me in the slightest, without hesitation I raised my fist and shouted "Earth First! No Compromise!" The police hauled off nine students that day, four at my door. At least one male student was unnecessarily brutalized in my sight. He had gone limp, and the police began twisting his arms behind his back harshly, yelling at him to not resist as he merely lay there. Our four friends were dragged away, shouting in pain. Meanwhile, one student had been arrested without warning and was being held alone in a police van. One student from my door had her handcuffs so tight that she lost circulation to her hands. Pressure points were used to subdue others. After being warned that moving the barrels could possibly break our arms, the police hauled the barrel away from the door, set up a guard to keep us from the crowd and keep the media at a distance, and we were left to wait as another locked-down student was physically injured and isolated. We kept chanting as we waited, and I felt sickened that it had come to this. All we ever demanded was negotiation, all we asked for was to talk, to truly talk and be heard– and instead, they called in the goons.

I saw the forklift coming towards me, and I lay down in front of it, but the police were able to move me out of the way by rotating the barrel, thus twisting my arm painfully. The police warned us that this machinery could do us serious harm if we did not cooperate. We reminded them that the machinery could do us serious harm, because we had no intention of cooperating. All the time the police were around us, we tried to explain why we were there, how they were only harming themselves and their children. They pulled the barrel up onto its edge, twisting our arms painfully. Then they dropped it onto the front of the forklift. We went limp and shouted in pain as they lifted the barrel, and ten police officers came in to carry us out.

There was no need for any of this to happen. There was no need for me to find myself carried by five police officers and a forklift, shouting in pain as my wrist was pulled by a chain, my elbow bent backwards on a metal pipe. There was no need for 33 police in riot gear to come arrest nine non-violent students and remove six more. I wish I could say there had been no need for me to lock myself to a 900 pound barrel, but obviously that wasn’t true. It revolts me that the administration is so set to destroy that land that it called in armed enforcers to avoid a dialogue. It sickens me that CUC is so afraid of democracy that it resorts instead to military strong-arm tactics. It disgusts me that President Stanley ordered the brutal arrest of his own students.

You sold me out, Peter. I am appalled at your lack of conscience–for five years you’ve shown that you have no respect for 86 acres of living beings, no respect for the thousands of voices crying against destroying that land. And now you are so determined to enforce your autocratic rule and the power of trustee money that you call in thugs to haul me and my friends screaming from the only channel you allowed us to affect something that intimately concerns us all.

On Wednesday morning, six students gathered at your house to follow you to the Council of Presidents’ meeting. But you informed us that you had something more important to do than attend that meeting about BFS, that your shower and a dean’s candidate was "the most important" thing you could be doing that morning. Never mind that you ordered us hauled away screaming, never mind that some of us sustained enduring physical damage.

You can’t hide behind the guise of CUC, Peter, because I know who wears that mask. It sickens me that any of my tuition goes to pay your salary, for Brenda’s or Nancy’s – for that cushy office in the fortress you call Alexander Hall. You sold us out, and now I see that you don’t care about us at all. I didn’t want to believe when you told us point blank that your job was to represent trustees, not students. Well now I see, and I hope you understand why I have no respect left for you as a human being. I will never give money to this school, not as long as it goes to pay for dictators like you.

But betrayed as I am, Peter, you will never crush my spirit. The land gives me strength – my love for BFS, for Earth, for life. When Tim Ream spoke here last week, he said something that I have taken to heart: "Call the Presidents," he said, "make them hear your voices. And if they just can’t hear your voices, then ultimately, it doesn’t matter." Because that land is mine, Stanley, it belongs to all of us, not to CUC, not to you or Brenda, and not to the trustees that think they rule our lives. I will place my body in front of a bulldozer, I will place it front of your car or your feet, I will defend that land with my last breath. And I know that you cannot win. You have no passion, only power. But the true power is with the strength of the people, and that may be the one thing you don’t have.

So the deepest betrayal of my life has only made me stronger. I reject the administration, but my love for the students, faculty, community, and land has only grown. BFS is greater and stronger than you and your money, Peter, and it will be here far longer than you. I will see to that, and so will all those I want to take this time to thank: everyone who stood by my side as the forklift hauled me away, everyone who loves the earth, and everyone who will join with me to lay down in front of the machines of destruction, be they bulldozer or college decree. Earth First! No Compromise!