Letter to The Sun magazine|
When i was ninteen, I thought I could save the planet. Raised on anarchist punk rock, I set out to fight injustice and make the world a better place.
In a national forest near Eugene, Oregon, I climbed to a plywood tree stand two hundred feet up an ancient Douglas fir. (Julia Butterfly Hill had already been sitting in a redwood for more than four months.) For forty-five days I called the tree stand home. When I came down, another took my place.
The forest action grew, and I took many more turns up in the trees. I did my fair share of blocking bulldozers, and even had the opportunity to meet with some congresspeople.
After two years of struggle, though, I was fed up and frustrated with the system. I'd witnessed countless cases of police brutality, lying officials, and broken hearts as more and more forests were destroyed. I decided it was time for underground action.
A friend and I planned to set fire to three SUVs in a protest designed to raise awareness about global warming. We succeeded in our mission, and no one was hurt. That was three years ago. I've been in prison ever since. I'm doing twenty-two years for my idealism.
I've had a lot of time to think about the choices I made, and I'm proud of them. Maybe I didn't change the world, but from the letters I get, I know I helped open some people's eyes. We managed to save that old-growth forest, too.