My life is like a movie.
Some days it’s Indiana Jones and people would pay $9 to get in and watch, other days they want their money back and walk out, bored to tears.
But one day in my life people would have jumped out of their seats and cheered. It was the day I got stuck in quicksand at the Puna Geothermal Plant. They were deep mud pools and I was sinking down in the poison sludge, yelling away.
How I was saved from the quicksand would touch your heart. Here’s the whole movie.
Puna was once a peaceful place with untouched jungles and strolling hippies. It was so quiet even the crickets could hear crickets. There were black sand beaches, a red road and a sacred mountain that everyone respected.
All was fine until the big, iron monster rolled into town, known as Puna Geothermal Venture. It was the Death Star come to Puna, Darth Vader and the storm troopers, otherwise known as geothermal workers. It felt like an invasion.
What everyone was in a snit about was a gnarly, mile-long drill that would bore into the sacred mountain for geothermal energy, and besides stirring up noxious gasses — killing birds, mongooses and geckos for miles around — it made Puna residents sick.
Adding to the deadly gasses was the continuous clanging of the mechanical hammer pounding the drill into the mountain, heard for miles around. It was too much to bear.
We had to protest and strike a blow against the empire.
The protest was at 10 a.m. sometime in 1993. About 50 of us gathered at the chain link gate outside the geothermal plant area. I was nervous but felt good inside being the little guy standing up to the big powerful bully. The same good, nervous feeling felt by every small band that ever stood against oppression, even in a parking lot in Pahoa.
It was a sneak attack to get in before the droves of cops arrived. A spy had left the gate open and at the signal we streamed into the grounds. My heart was pounding away. Fifty protesters running around the geo grounds and the big, gnarly drill, causing trouble.
The burly geothermal workers were waiting inside, grinning wide. Chasing hippies around was their delight, and they couldn’t wait to overly assist the cops.
Then came the cops. About 10 of Puna’s Finest, in dark blue uniforms, showed up and started grabbing up protesters. It was chaos, cops and geothermal workers grabbing people, hippie guys and girls running around yelling, “No geothermal!”
I was standing on what I thought was solid ground, I looked across and saw the police arresting my friends. I ran toward them and with each step I sank deeper and deeper in the sludge till I was almost up to my waist in geothermal waste, and sinking fast.
I was freaking out and felt kind of stupid, the noble protester stuck in the mud, flailing around like an idiot.
Suddenly everything stopped, everyone on the bank turned toward me sinking into the mire. Cops in blue, hippies, and bearded geoworkers stood there gazing at me.
Right then a protester, geothermal worker and a policeman sloshed down into the muck and, working together, pulled me out. It was priceless.
For one brief, shining moment they forgot their differences to help someone. Now that’s aloha.
Dennis Gregory is an artist, teacher and writer who mixes truth and aloha in his biweekly column. He can be reached at makewavess@yahoo.com.
