The Cardinal Divide (9 page)

Cole finished his coffee and put the cup on the kitchen counter. “Tell me about Dale.”

“Well,” sighed Peggy.

“Well, what?”

“Well, Dale is a bit of a renegade,” said Peggy quietly, leaning forward, echoing Jim Jones. “He's kind of a radical element.” She smiled.

“Radical means getting to the root,” Cole reminded her.

“Well, not that kind of radical.” Peggy sat back. “A few years ago Dale was under suspicion for blowing up a gas well.”

Cole was silent.

“Actually, two,” added Peggy.

Cole nodded solemnly.

“He had made some threatening statements about running the oil and gas companies off his land. A couple of weeks after he was quoted in the local paper, two well sites were blown up.
They weren't on Dale's land; they were a few miles away. Nobody was hurt, but there was a lot of damage to the equipment. Lots of time lost. The local community was in an uproar. Dale continued to inflame the situation by saying that he supported that sort of action, and was glad that someone else in the community felt as he did.”

Cole shook his head.

“It went on for a year, and the
RCMP
did a pretty thorough investigation. The Mounties couldn't make anything stick. I think it was probably disgruntled employees who blew up those wells. But Dale sure didn't help his own case by talking to the newspapers the way he did.”

They sat in silence. After a minute Cole said, “He's not an asset to your efforts, Peggy. He's a liability.”

“What can I do?” She sounded defensive. “Tell him not to get involved? Kick him out of my house? He's going to get involved anyway. He's going to say things. With him on the inside, on our side, maybe we can manage him. Control him.”

Cole shook his head again. “I don't think so, Peggy. I don't know this man, but I've seen others like him. British Columbia is full of crazies. People who are passionate about the places they live, but are motivated by other things – anger, jealousy, greed, ego, insecurity. Rage. They don't contribute much to the actual effort to protect nature. They just inflame the situation. Make a lot of noise. Polarize communities.”

“Well,” said Peggy, looking out the window over Cole's shoulder, “he's heading this way. Let's see how it goes today, and cut our losses later, if we can.”

The back door opened and Dale van Stempvort called, “Hey Peggy, I'm coming in!” He had a loud voice with a thick Dutch accent.

There was the rustle of a coat being hung and the sound of boots being kicked off, and then Dale van Stempvort entered the kitchen.

Cole stood to greet the large man, powerfully built, who walked with confidence and ease. “I'm Dale van Stempvort,” he said and extended a hand to Cole.

“Cole Blackwater,” he said, shaking the hand, his own nearly disappearing to the wrist in the big man's paw.

“You've come to help us stop those bastards from digging another hole in the ground. That's good,” grinned van Stempvort.

“I'm going to try,” smiled Blackwater.

“From what Peggy has told us, you could do it singlehandedly! Like David and Goliath!” The big man roared and slapped Cole on the shoulder.

Cole just smiled. “Where will we meet?” he asked Peggy, and she showed him to the living room.

Within fifteen minutes another dozen people arrived, and Peggy made sure they all had coffee and cinnamon buns and were comfortable in the large living room. Cole greeted each person as they entered, shook hands, and chatted about their background and interest in the mine.

Finally they were all seated and Peggy asked for everyone's attention. Cole looked at the eager faces. The majority of the group were middle-aged women. There was a handful of older men and two younger women. Where
are
all the young people, he wondered? Two of the men wore jackets and ties and Cole figured they were the business people Peggy had mentioned. That didn't bother him. He'd worn his share of ties to kitchen table meetings in the past. One of the young women was decked out in Mountain Equipment Co-op hiking clothing from head to foot. She looked as if she could fend for herself for a month in the woods if she had to. She had long, straight hair and a shiny, fresh face that made Cole envious. The other young woman wore blue jeans and a loose-fitting flower print sweater. The whole spectrum, from suit to flower power, was in the room. Cole grinned.

“Folks, let's get started.” Peggy McSorlie clapped her hands and the room fell silent. “We've asked Cole to help us develop a strategy to stop the McLeod River Mine. He's come a long way to do that.”

Cole found himself tuning out Peggy's introduction. While she extolled his virtues as a campaign strategist, leaving out his humiliating and career-interrupting departure from the Nation's Capital, his attention drifted to considering how far he was from where he hoped to be.

By this time in his five-year career plan, formulated on the long drive from Ottawa to Calgary and then updated on his slide across
BC
to Vancouver, he hoped to be a senior advisor to a
political party, if not the governing party then at least the official opposition. If not federally, then at least provincially. If not in
BC
or Ontario, then at least in Saskatchewan or Prince Edward Island. Half a dozen large nonprofit clients would retain him and his associates for on-the-spot advice on government relations, media, and communications strategies. One or two large corporate clients, alternative energy companies like Ballard Power or large communications or internet companies, would subsidize his probono work. The ridiculous amounts of money that he earned for his advice and insight would allow him to do free work for groups like Peggy McSorlie's ragged band of crusaders.

Instead here he was, three years into his solo fling, and the Eastern Slopes Conservation Group (
ESC
o
G
as they clumsily called themselves) was currently his second biggest client. His second client, period. And the only client that threatened to pay him.

Cole became aware of the silence and realized that Peggy McSorlie's introduction was complete. He focused and looked around the room, smiling faintly. He tried to appear as though the silence was planned.

Then he stood and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Peggy,” he said. “We have a tough job ahead of us.” He looked around the room, making eye contact with each person. “This will not be easy. It isn't a game. The stakes are high. A place we love is being threatened. Our opponents have huge resources: smart people, lots of money, the media, and the government in their pockets. This is going to be a long, tough fight. But that isn't going to be the hardest part,” he said. “The hardest part won't be facing down angry miners at a public hearing. It won't be the cold stares you get when you walk into the local diner or the Tim Hortons. It won't even be the crank calls you get at midnight. Or the threats from people you thought were your friends. No, the toughest part will be working together, staying together, bleeding together. Finding a strategy that you all believe in and then seeing it through. Not turning on each other. Not parting ways. Not stabbing each other in the back. Not running. Not leaving. Not giving up.”

He let his words sink in and looked around the room. “That will be the hardest part. If someone here is not a team player – ” he let his dark eyes fall on Dale van Stempvort a second longer
than the others, “this is your chance to leave. This is your chance to walk. Nobody will think less of you. In fact, we'll thank you for your honesty. You'll have our blessing to do what you feel you must. But from this point on, we are a team. There is no room for heroes, for all-stars, for lone wolves.” Again his eyes met van Stempvort's. “If we develop a plan together, and execute it together, then we can win
together
. That's why I am here. To win. My grandfather said that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. I believe that. Aiming to come close will not stop this mine, and it will not save the Cardinal Divide. It won't save grizzly bears, wolves, or cougars. It won't save harlequin ducks. I'm here to help you stop this thing once and for all. Stop it so it stays stopped. But we're going to have to work together. That's the only way we will win.”

Cole thought his sermon sounded pretty good. But that was the easy part. The consultant had it easy. The real work, the work that mattered, was up to these volunteers. Still, he would do his best, over the next two weeks, to give them what they needed to win.

The morning went as expected, with the group excitedly outlining all the myriad opportunities that they had to put the kibosh on the mine, and ranking them against a scale they devised to decide on which tactic they would use to start. Cole finished early for lunch. The group had made excellent progress, he thought, and he didn't want to enter into the next phase, which he knew would be harder, until they had been fed and had a little stretch outside in the sunshine.

Peggy retreated to the kitchen to work with two local volunteers who had brought soup, sandwiches, and a veggie platter for lunch. The rest of the group stood and talked, reluctant to stop when they were flying high. Cole shuffled them toward the kitchen where they fixed sandwiches and bowls of soup, then headed outside to eat, standing in the midday sunlight.

Cole stood alone to collect his thoughts and looked out across the fields and the turned soil of the vegetable garden, eating an egg salad sandwich. The noon sun was strong and he stretched his arms forward and back.

“I know you were talking to me,” said a thickly accented voice. Cole knew it was Dale van Stempvort.

He finished his stretch, turned, and smiled at the big man.

“I know you were talking to me when you said we got to be team players,” said van Stempvort again, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“I was talking to the whole group,” replied Blackwater.

“But mostly to me,” said Dale, holding up his hand to cut off further objection from Blackwater. “It's
OK
, really. It's
OK
. I know what my reputation is.”

Cole said nothing. He noticed how Dale's eyes couldn't hold Cole's gaze, and how he shuffled his feet.

“I got it coming to me,” he said with a smile, pushing dirt back and forth with the toe of his boot. “In the past, I have not been the best at playing as a team.”

“Do you think this time will be different, Dale?” asked Cole, and watched him closely.

“I don't know. It's hard to teach new tricks to an old dog. But I want to stop this thing, and if you think sticking together is the way to do it, then it's worth a try. I just hate sitting on my hands while those bastards get away with raping places like Cardinal Divide.”

“Well, I don't aim to have anybody sitting on their hands,” said Cole quietly.

“I suppose you don't. But you don't know these people,” said Dale, looking around him. Then he leaned closer. “They don't like conflict too much. They are afraid of it.”

“Can you blame them? I mean, they are going up against their neighbours, their customers, their friends.”

“Well damn it all,” said Dale; his voice rose and his head bobbed. “They have got to put all that aside if they want to win. They can't be afraid to do what it takes. If that means making a few enemies, then that's what they will have to do.” He spoke quickly, his accent thick.

Dale went on. “Sooner or later somebody is going to have to draw a line in the sand and say: this far and no farther. Sooner or later somebody is going to have to say: we're going to stop these bastards at all cost.”

The two men stared at each other in the noonhour sunlight. Cole Blackwater's face was impassive. Dale van Stempvort's was agitated.

“Have you seen Cardinal Divide?” Cole asked.

“Of course I have,” said Dale, slightly perturbed by the inference. “It's beautiful.”

“Do you think that the people who plan to mine there, build roads over it, and bring the outside world to it are motivated by hate, greed, power, fear?”

“I don't know what motivates them. It's not the same thing as you and me. I don't even think they are people.”

Cole raised his eyebrows. In fifteen years of activism Cole had heard this line of thinking many times, and he rejected it. When we stop thinking the people we disagree with are worth the same dignity we insist on for ourselves, and for wild creatures, we head down a slippery slope. The way Dale spat out those words, so full of anger, worried Cole.

“And what motivates you?” Cole queried.

Dale was silent. He looked back down at his feet and rearranged a ridge of sand he had built there. “I don't know ...” he said after a minute. Then he looked around at the woods bordering the McSorlie spread, as if seeking inspiration. Would Dale explain that love of nature inspired him? He doubted it. When polled, ninety percent of Canadians said they loved nature. Few of them ever lifted a finger in its defence.

Finally Dale looked up and said, “I hate to see those bastards get away with destroying another beautiful place.”

The two men regarded each other. Cole nodded his head. “I hate it too,” he said, in genuine agreement. “But what worries me, quite frankly, is that I think you hate the people more than you hate what they are planning to do, and that's trouble. That blinds you to the fact that they
are
people, like you and me, with children they love, and passions of their own. To win, we have to treat them as people, capable of love and worthy of our respect. If we don't, we're not better off than they are.”

The look of disdain on Dale's face showed that he didn't agree. He shook his head and repeated, “They aren't people. Not like you and me. Not like Peggy.”