Sacred or Profane?

Standoff in Ward Valley escalates as protesters are asked to relocate

by Chris Ridder

March 5, 1998 -- Ward Valley Closure Area, Southeastern California

Flames reach up to 20 feet high in the fire pit, heating large rocks until they glow a brilliant red. As I cross an imaginary line between the sacred staff and the fire, I am warned that this path is reserved for our ancestors, not the living. The ancestors, the sweat leader explains, travel from the fire, to the staff, where a sacred drum and an offering of sage sit on either side, and into the sweat lodge. When the fire has died down and the rocks are ready, we will join our ancestors in the sweat lodge, suffer under the intense heat and humidity, sing songs and pray.

I am not the only non-Indian in this group of about 15 white environmental activists and a single Indian, Sam, who will enter the lodge. Sam has transferred to me the sacred honor of firetender -- I will ensure that the coals are properly heated, open the door, and refill the water. To these Indians, prayer takes many forms -- drumming, song, sweating -- all of this is sacred prayer, as the land is sacred.

This land, however, is particularly sacred. For Sam's tribe, the Fort Mojave, Ward Valley is the pathway traveled by newly deceased souls to their sacred mountain, Avi Kwa Ame. Also known as Spirit Mountain to non-Indians, Avi Kwa Ame is where the Creator came from, and is the final resting place for a number of tribes in the region. Ward Valley is further designated as some of the finest habitat for the threatened desert tortoise, an animal particularly revered by the Indians in the area. The desert tortoise taught the Indians how to survive in the desert. "We all have different stories, legends and spiritual beliefs," says Nora Helton, Chairperson of the Ft. Mojave Tribe, "But we all revere the area, and especially the spiritual pathway from Spirit Mountain."

You can imagine how upset the Indians in the region were, then, when the State of California selected the site as the ideal location for a low level radioactive waste (LLRW) disposal facility over 12 years ago. But these people didn't just get mad -- they used the legal and political systems to tremendous advantage, successfully blocking development of the site since then. It's been a long and often painful journey for these Indians, for numerous branches of the state and federal governments, and for a waste management company called US Ecology (a subsidiary of American Ecology).

People on all sides of this issue have taken strong positions, essentially turning the Ward Valley facility into a fight to the death. In a May, 1997 speech to the CalRad forum, Jack Lemley, Chairman and CEO of US Ecology said, "Those counting on killing Ward Valley by strangling American Ecology are making a major miscalculation. We are in this fight to win."

Similarly, the Colorado River Nations Alliance (CRNA), a coalition of five Indian tribes from the region (the Fort Mojave, Chemehuevi, Cocopah, Quechan and Colorado River Indian Tribes), has established a protest encampment on the site. "We intend to stay until the project is stopped," says Steve Lopez, a spokesperson for the Fort Mojave tribe, "We've been here since time immemorial, and there's nothing you can do to remove us from our land."

A 24-hour Vigil

Since October, 1995, the Alliance has maintained a 24 hour a day presence on the site -- 1000 acres owned by the federal Bureau of Land Management (BLM), that was to be transferred to the State of California for development of the facility. The tribes continue to occupy the land, denying access to all but supporters.

Situated in the southern Mojave desert about 22 miles West of Needles, CA, Ward Valley is a mere 18 miles West of the Colorado River. The proposed dump site is about a mile from I-40; it's a short drive down Water Road to the Red Pony checkpoint. "You understand that there's no drugs, alcohol or weapons allowed in the camp," the guard says. We agree, and after explaining that our party consists of a journalist and two nomadic enviro-anarchists here to spend some time in the camp, we're admitted. It's washboard dirt for the next 1/2 mile to Red Sky.

Both checkpoints are staffed by two people, a `security' person, and a `peacekeeper'. Security is trained by the American Indian Movement (AIM), which facilitates security and logistics at the camp at the request of Native Elders. AIM is committed to helping all indigenous Indians recover their culture, spirituality and traditions, and strengthening tribal rights to be recognized as sovereign nations. Peacekeepers are trained in traditional nonviolence and conflict resolution strategies, and serve to bring an additional measure of diplomacy should the need to deal with `authorities' (such as US Ecology personnel, Federal employees, or California police) arise.

The third gate is do-it-yourself; we park our car and drop off some food in the kitchens -- one Native kitchen, which offers refrigeration and primarily serves Native residents, and a vegan kitchen, a large army tent like the other, stocked with several weeks worth of food -- vegetables, canned goods, etc. On weekdays, the camp is sparsely populated with long-term residents. About 20 people are here, camped in tents ringing the `disturbed area', as the Bureau of Land Management prefers to call it. They are instantly friendly. On weekends, musical performances and ceremonies draw fairly large crowds, often exceeding 100 attendees, according to Save Ward Valley, the office in Needles that facilitates camp operations.

We walk through the desert with Bear and a small child named Taro. Survey poles have marked this area out as a grid, and large cylindrical structures, about 12 feet tall, cap wells drilled into groundwater during the original site suitability surveys. These are the wells, explains Bear, that will be used for further tritium study.

Evening in Ward Valley brings wind and authentic Native food. Extra wood is thrown on the sacred fire, which is never permitted to go out. Nothing is placed into the fire except wood and tobacco -- and no one touches the fire except the firetender, who keeps the coals neatly within the fire mound. We are warned that even a small bit of paper from a hand-rolled cigarette would desecrate the sacred fire.

There are three Indians here tonight: Sam, Newton and Helen, though I will meet many more before I leave. The opportunity to share native culture and participate in sacred ceremonies is part of an elegant symbiosis between Indians and other activist supporters. Activists provide people, and a large repertoire of skills ranging from nonviolence training, to interacting with government and industry beauracracies. The Indians are able to provide a rare glimpse into the culture, history and religion of a people that have long been absent from our daily awareness.

Everyone seems pleased that US Ecology's generator no longer drones constantly. The noise of the machinery proved quite distracting to those camped here; but the generator has recently run out of fuel, and the protesters won't let anyone in to refuel it.

Nor will they allow scientists in to perform the tritium testing required before construction on site can begin. In accordance with National Academy of Sciences (NAS) recommendations, BLM has ordered this testing to gauge the way in which radionucleides migrate through the soil. The tritium was dispersed over the soil during above-ground nuclear testing in the southwest deserts, and its migration through soil has been well-studied throughout the region. Knowing how the tritium has dispersed through the soil will allow engineers to further hone the design of the disposal facility, say government scientists.

In response to the need to do the testing, BLM closed the 1,000 acres about three weeks ago, ordering the encampment to relocate to a nearby airstrip. When the Indians refused to leave, BLM backed off and decided instead to open a series of negotiations with the tribes.

California and US Ecology vs. the Federal Government and Indians

While the federal Department of the Interior (DOI) sees itself as essentially a neutral party in this controversy, it has proven a valuable ally to the Indians in their fight to keep Ward Valley free of nuclear waste. "The federal government is not interested in forcing us off the land," says Lopez, "We have five federally-recognized tribes pushing DOI through the power of international treaties, and obligations created through acts of Congress." Jan Bedrojian, a BLM spokesperson, says that while negotiations with the tribes are continuing, "the Department of Interior and BLM plan to take no action on the site for law enforcement purposes."

While the federal government owes such consideration to the tribes, the State of California, to whom the land is supposed to be transferred to, does not. In fact, California appears to be chomping at the bit for a chance to forcibly remove the Indians and continue development of the facility -- but such action may be a long way off. Though BLM promised to transfer the land to California "within a reasonable time" over five years ago, it seems to have found renewed concern for the impact of the site on native culture.

Prior to the transfer, they want to conduct a second Supplemental Environmental Impact Statement to identify possible impacts on native culture, and identify mitigation measures, if any are available. Such a study could easily take over a year to complete. Governor Pete Wilson's administration contends that these issues were already properly addressed in previous studies and that political pressure has forced BLM to delay the transfer. They have filed two lawsuits against BLM regarding the transfer.

"We've got two cases in Federal Court," says Peter Baldridge, a staff attorney for the Department of Health Services, the state agency responsible for regulating nuclear waste, "One is in the Court of Federal Claims, to recover monetary damages for losses resulting from the delay. The other is in District Court and is designed to result in an actual land transfer." Motions for summary judgment in both cases will be heard in April.

"US Ecology has $80 million in development costs, and the State of California has spent $10-$12 million in administrative costs, not even counting attorney's fees," says Baldridge. If the state won the case now, he estimates, total damages would be in the $40-$50 million range -- if delayed, the total damages could be, "in the hundreds of millions," he says.

Each side feels strongly that it is certain to win on summary judgment -- the state because they believe this was a clear breach of contract; and the feds because they believe they have a duty to collect all the evidence before the transfer takes place. If the cases go to trial, the issue could take years to iron out.

Songs and Stories

The second night in Ward Valley we have Indian tacos for dinner -- frybread topped with beans, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese -- and for the non-Indian activists, TVP, textured vegetable protein. Two Indians from the Chemehuevi tribe have come to the valley, and are sitting alone by the sacred fire, listening to Chemehuevi songs -- ancient tales, passed on by their ancestors for thousands of years. As night falls, Sonja, the head chef of the vegan kitchen, juggles fire. And Nora tells stories.

Nora's tribe lives on a reservation south of Ward Valley, beyond the Old Woman Mountains. She remembers when her grandmother, in second grade, walked to school over 20 miles of wild desert. She would walk home for the weekends, collecting medicinal plants and salt from a local salt flat on the way back. They used to trade the salt for other goods, using the remainder as a preservative for meat.

She remembers over 300 songs her uncle taught her. Some songs are sacred, and can't be sung. Some songs are sacred to other tribes, as the Bird Song which, while not sacred to the Chemehuevi, is sacred to the Fort Mojave, and should not be sung in their presence. She sings us a bit of the laughing song, recounting that it was once used in a movie, though the subject matter was not revealed to Hollywood producers -- it depicts Indians scalping white people and laughing, scalps in hand.

Nora also knows a large number of songs that, taken together, describe a route circling Ward Valley along the ridgetops of the local mountains. And she won't be spending the night, for among her people, Ward Valley is a place of immensely strong spirituality -- so strong that to sleep there is to risk being invaded by an evil spirit that will stay with you forever. As she and her mother leave, they stop to hug each person who stayed to listen.

Who Represents the Indians?

The spirituality of the Ward Valley experience is awe-inspiring; the history, legends and beliefs of the Indians who hold this place sacred are powerfully moving. But in their rush to glean information about potential impacts the site would have on the Indians, the authors of the first SEIS may have missed out. "There are five tribes," says Lopez, who believes the first environmental impact studies don't accurately represent the depth of the Indians' feelings about the site, "but they took information from just a couple individuals who don't even represent any tribal governments."

Others disagree. "The position they're taking today is the same position they took eight years ago," says Baldridge, "The Indians insisted that these lands within their ancestral range had spiritual significance to them, but there's nothing of particular significance to the site where the dump is located." Baldridge adds that the "entire length and breadth of Ward Valley" was suitable as a siting area, but that the tribe identified the current one as having the least impact.

"The tribes opposed the site no matter what the shape or location", he adds, "We've done whatever we can to take those concerns into account, and mitigate those concerns consistent with our public health responsibility to establish a facility." Indeed, given the tribes' statements, it seems unlikely that any plan to site a LLRW facility within their ancestral range would prove acceptable to the tribes; unlikely that any negotiations conducted by BLM to relocate the encampment will meet with any success.

Scientific Concerns

The tribes have further concerns about siting an LLRW facility in Ward Valley. "There are more concerns beyond sacredness," says Lopez, "There are significant environmental concerns, especially the risk of contamination." The tribes are significant holders of water rights in the region, having been the first people to use the Colorado River. They fear that contamination would result if radionucleides migrated into the water table, then flowed underground into the Colorado River. (See map.)

Carl Lischeske, Manager of the Department of Health Services' Low Level Radioactive Waster Program, feels such concerns are unreasonable. "We analyzed a lot of doomsday scenarios," he says, "Like what would happen if we completely abandoned the area and a lake were established on site. There would be a certain amount of migration under those conditions, but even the amount under the doomsday scenarios is extremely minor."

That's because at Ward Valley, Lischeske says, water tends to carry particles about six feet into the soil, then evaporate, leaving the materials just below the surface of the ground -- hence the decision to store waste in unlined trenches, as liners could trap liquid water underneath, allowing further downward migration. Only solid waste will be permitted, and will be further contained in large drums before being buried in the trenches.

Most of the waste at the site will be short-lived -- isotopes like Carbon-60 and tritium have short half-lives (5 and 12 years, respectively), though some longer-lived waste, like Carbon-14 (with a half-life of about 1400 years), will be buried as well. Waste would include solidified liquids, some solid waste, and other materials that have come into contact with waste, like gloves and clothing. The facility is designed to operate for 30 years, accepting a total of 55 million cubic feet of waste, followed by a 5-year site closure period to stabilize the site, followed by a 100-year institutional control period. At the end of the control period, says Baldridge, "there will be very little radioactivity left in the waste."

"The Ward Valley site is ideal for all intents and purposes," says Lischeske, noting that tests for geological stability, depth to groundwater and other characteristics were twice as good as the next-best site, located at Silurian Valley, near Baker.

Lischeske predicts that the tritium testing will confirm the site's suitability. "If testing were allowed to proceed, we'd find that infiltration proceeds down to about six feet and is returned to the air via evaporation," he says. The preponderance of evidence at the site, from the root depth of the creosote bushes, to a layer of soluble salts at that depth, suggests this.

But opponents of the dump are quick to point out that numerous other chemical and radioactive waste sites were carefully designed and built in the past as well. Due to unanticipated factors ranging from poor site design to abuse of the sites, many have resulted in large migrations of toxic materials. Why should things be any different this time? "We haven't built an LLRW site since the `70s," says Lischeske, "The track record established by earlier facilities provided the basis for the regulations [governing] new facilities."

Another concern is that the contractor for the site, US Ecology, has built a lot of sites that have since seen migration -- one, Maxey Flats in Kentucky, was severe enough to be placed on the EPA's Superfund list. While US Ecology's Peyron claims that, "US Ecology has always been within regulatory limits on all our sites," activists charge that this is a mere technicality. Maxey Flats' ownership had been transferred to the state of Kentucky prior to its listing.

Whether or not Ward Valley's design is sound or not can't be known until it's actually operating, perhaps not for generations. But the problem of storing radioactive waste is a pressing one. LLRW is currently stored in over 800 separate locations around California, with varying degrees of safety. In Los Angeles, facilities as diverse as UCLA, Cedar's Sinai Medical Center, and the San Onofre nuclear plant are storing LLRW on-site. Many of these sites, say people in the industry, are exposed to risks of break-in, earthquake, and other risks of accidental release. Generators of nuclear waste would understandably like to store it off-site, in a single location whose safety is more certain.

Dump opponents would prefer a system of above-ground, monitored, retrievable storage. "There are methods for storing the waste on-site, in already-disturbed areas, with better monitoring and provisions for replacing containers should they leak," says Lopez, "as opposed to natural places like Ward Valley." This solution is expensive, however, and unlikely to be greeted warmly by nuclear waste generators.

No Nuclear Risk is Acceptable

As the Indians are with their sacred fire, so with their sacred land. While they are not against nuclear power or nuclear medicine in principle, they stand firmly opposed to the desecration of their land that the Ward Valley site would involve, and to the risks of migration. Any risk of migration into the water table, regardless of its size, is unacceptable to them.

US Ecology, which has in large part staked its financial future on development of the site, shows no signs of backing down. "Few companies I'm familiar with can absorb a $50 million investment in a contract that, for political reasons, is prevented from proceeding," says Peyron, "So it's very important from a financial standpoint to our company. We're doing everything we can to state the tremendous need for a system of licensed disposal facilities in the U.S. -- that there's already a system in law that should be allowed to work."

But the question remains -- which system in law will govern Ward Valley in the end -- a federal law that says states have a responsibility to arrange for disposal of their nuclear waste; or laws governing the relationship of our country to sovereign Indian Nations, and our responsibility to account for the impact of our projects on surrounding communities? While time will surely provide the answer, it could be a long way off. One thing is sure, however: the protest encampment will not relocate willingly until the project is scrapped.