ACCESS DENIED: East Parent Participates in Dakota Access Pipeline Protests

photos courtesy of Becky Fankhauser

“WE NEED ALL WARRIORS TO THE BRIDGE!”

The cry rose in the darkness outside on the night of Nov. 20. Becky Fankhauser, mother of seniors Kyra and Mackenzie Fankhauser, had been changing in her van to get on some fresh clothes. Once she finished and stepped out, almost everyone in her camp was gone.

That night the Dakota Access oil pipeline protests in Cannonball, ND finally found a foothold in mainstream media and social media feeds. At Backwater Bridge, the police used tear gas, pepper spray, rubber bullets and water hoses against the reportedly unarmed activists who had been camping at the site for months.

“They sprayed people in […] below-freezing temperatures,” Fankhauser said. “So basically to cause harm, to cause hypothermia to thousands of people who were there at that front line.”

The injustices Fankhauser witnessed at the camps shocked her, but closely tied are the bonds she formed with her own people and heritage. She’ll remember both for years to come, and she hopes Mackenzie and Kyra will as well.

“I would just describe [my experience] overall as the most horrific and beautiful thing at the same time, if you can use those two words together,” Fankhauser said.

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Becky Fankhauser’s family is a part of the Sioux tribe living on Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota. She grew up with her grandmother, learning to cook fried bread and other native foods. She first heard about the pipeline back in May, when media coverage was almost nonexistent.

“I heard stories, most recently about picturing a bulldozer just going through burial grounds,” Fankhauser said. “[They’re] disheartening to anyone, not just to a Native American but anyone, if you had your ancestors buried there. That was really the first thing that struck a nerve.”

As the activists, who prefer being called ‘water-protectors,’ grew in number and media coverage also increased, Fankhauser began preparing to head to the camps herself. She quit her job at Corporate America a month in advance and collected cash and food donations to bring with her.

Fankhauser set out with her father on Nov. 17. Along the way, they were caught in a blizzard at a truck stop and met a group of Objiwe from Minnesota; this was only the beginning of a very social journey.

Becky Fankhauser stands under a Rosebud Sioux Tribe flag. The two main roads entering the main camp are lined with flags of the 300 tribes represented among the protestors there, beyond just the Sioux. Her shirt here reads “peace, love, & clean water”, with the Lakota phrase “mni wiconi” written under: water is life.

Fankhauser discovered that the man running her camp, Clarence or “Curly,” was her grandmother’s cousin. Curly’s wife helped her find a position in the volunteer kitchens. Fankhauser also picked up a lost license from someone in Pittsburg. Later, while returning the ID, Fankhauser found out that the owner’s grandfather was her husband’s high school football coach.

“[The cool part] was just all the different people coming from all 50 states, the different walks of life,” Fankhauser said. “All those little things and little connections made.”

She brought back many such stories to her children. But among the chance meetings, busy kitchen work and nights of connecting with cousins, Fankhauser faced unexpected challenges: for example, the racism she felt firsthand from a Sam’s Club clerk as she shopped for supplies with a woman more obviously Native in appearance.

“I just feel like we were treated differently… like ‘we don’t want you here,’” Fankhauser said. “Everywhere I’ve lived, I’ve never witnessed that. I never even thought that anything like that even existed.”

Ultimately, the climax was the night of Nov. 20. Even weeks after returning home, Fankhauser fell silent as she prepared to describe it, eventually letting a few tears fall.

“It’s kind of hard because I’ve never really seen her cry,” explains her daughter Mackenzie, whose eyes reddened too.

After leaving her van and finding the camp empty, Becky Fankhauser tried to make her way to the midst of the conflict, but eventually headed back to camp, where she helped prepare to receive the wounded. She encountered a man who had been shot with a rubber bullet, right over the red medic’s cross taped on his jacket over his heart. The night was filled with such stories, from bullet bruises to hypothermia to a concussion grenade impact that may cost a 21-year-old her arm.

While social media blew up with videos of the violent clashes, reception was still spotty and Fankhauser’s sister and husband grew increasingly worried. Three states away, as she helped those left in the camp tend to the wounded, Fankhauser was equally anxious about her father, who was still on the front lines. Eventually she was able to make calls back home. Around midnight, her father returned with some injuries after being decontaminated from pepper spray and tear gas.

Fankhauser was proud to hear that he had been impressive on the front lines in keeping people calm – “a true warrior,” as the medic told her. Something to hold on to in the bleak morning after, the day after that and the day after that.

“I’m writing a story about it, so I’ve been trying to write a little bit each night, just so I can remember,” Fankhauser said. “For my kids and their kids, I think it’s a very historical moment.”

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Fankhauser takes a picture of the view upon waking up on her first morning at camp. It was cold, but the landscape also took her breath away. “The land is beautiful. As the sun is coming up in the mornings, it was just a beautiful piece of land,” Fankhauser said.

On Nov. 22, Fankhauser left Standing Rock to spend Thanksgiving with her family back home. The Memo app on her phone was filled with the names of people she hoped to catch up with on Facebook once she was back.

Instead of souvenirs, she brought back memories of violence and racism, but fonder moments too: standing with her people, finding a new interest in medicinal warming teas and looking over the Dakota land, the rolling hills under a broad blue sky.

Fankhauser wants to keep her children aware of this heritage that the Sioux and Native Americans from across the country are still fighting to keep alive. She has added a new element to the family’s Sunday breakfasts.

“I talk and give them updates and tell them realistically what’s going on, what I know,” Fankhauser said. “To keep them well-informed of what’s going on with current events and their family heritage.”