As more people embrace kayaktivism, the potential to create longstanding, positive change grows
As the co-founder and director of the Backbone Campaign, I have the honor to work with an incredible array of people who practice what we call artful activism. We are autonomous, a sort of nonviolent guerrila force with the improvisational sensibility of a free jazz ensemble. Whether using puppets, shining messages onto buildings or deploying a flash mob, we strive to transform protests into cultural events that touch people’s minds and hearts. Though we work on many causes, we frame them as a battle between two mindsets: one that considers everything for sale and one that considers people, the planet and future generations sacred. Together, we are Team Backbone.
If someone would have asked me last year, “Could Team Backbone throw together a protest on Lake Washington with a few dozen kayaks, a couple motor boats and some giant banners off shore from the mansion of the world’s richest man? Oh, and by the way, how about in two weeks?” I would have probably said, “No freaking way.”
Actually, some did ask, but the request came this past October. When it did, I didn’t give it a second thought. We staged an on-water protest to get the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation to divest from fossil fuels. After what we’d been through this past spring and summer, our team was practiced. We had adapted our methods to the water and found our groove with kayaktivism: the use of kayaks for nonviolent action.
Staging a protest with kayaks is not entirely new to Backbone. In 2009, kayaks were part of a community campaign to stop an industrial gravel mine on the shores of Maury Island, just off Vashon Island. During that campaign we trained a rapid response team of volunteers for an on-water blockade of a construction barge. After months of action and preparation for the flotilla, the politics shifted and victory was won in court. The mining company had to go back to the drawing board. So, instead of mobilizing the blockade, we threw a party. But that experience gave Backbone members confidence.
So this past winter, when Royal Dutch Shell planned a layover for an Artic-bound oil-drilling rig in the Port of Seattle, and Port Commissioner Bill Bryant joked the port was ready to take on a “flotilla of kayaks,” we still felt confident. On April 2, we called for people to “Join the Flotilla!” And our deep dive into kayaktivism began.
With the blessing of Duwamish Tribal Chair Cecile Hansen, upon whose land and waters these protests would take place, and the essential collaboration of Alki Kayak Tours, we embarked on an aggressive training schedule. As part of what became known as the sHellNo Action Council, Backbone took on the task of ensuring water-borne protesters had the skills and equipment to safely hit the water. Our team trained hundreds of people. Over the course of four months, we hit the water in seven towns, from Port Angeles to Portland, Ore. We helped execute 14 on-water actions, most during the day but some at night.
Of all the tactics I’ve been involved with, kayaktivism is inherently the most beautiful. It’s powerful to be on the water, where the collection of colorful kayaks creates a mosaic, a giant, floating piece of art. There’s the experience of people paddling together; there’s the opportunity to participate in nighttime actions with luminary objects attached to paddles; there’s the music — ranging from hip hop to Coastal Salish drumming — echoing off the waves; there’s the ability to witness people looking out for each other. Some of these events left people transformed.
These protests also changed people who didn’t make it on the water. They resulted in unprecedented news coverage of Arctic drilling, and the previously remote issues of Arctic drilling and climate change became rapidly and inextricably linked in people’s minds here in the Pacific Northwest and across the globe. Photos from the events continue to inspire, but kayaktivism is more than mere spectacle.
While there are places and settings where kayaks are not appropriate, kayaktivism is unique in its strategic value. It offers a way to expand alliances, increase cohesion and deepen resolve. We found that bringing protests onto the water brought people into our movement who otherwise would never have shown up. The protest’s visual scale — a clear image that invokes David vs. Goliath — creates an inherently sympathetic scenario, even when escalation pushes people beyond their usual boundaries, including evading law enforcement. I repeatedly found that I had the courage to challenge the U.S. Coast Guard, and I saw Coast Guard officials doubt their own orders and actions.
Kayaktivism is still on the rise. It is being used to force removal of derelict dams, to resist pipelines and liquefied natural gas terminals and even to pressure billionaires to divest from fossil fuel. We are exploring new terrain in moral conflict. The potential is unknown, but could be vast. Police are less likely to use lethal force on the water, because people are more vulnerable on the waves than on land.
But make no mistake: Kayaktivism is very challenging. Coordination of and communication during an on-water protest is difficult. But it’s worth it. By facing these challenges, our team grew in numbers and experience, learning, struggling, paddling, celebrating and grieving together when a ship passed through a blockade of kayaks. I found that the combination of being on the water alone, yet joined with others, connected me with the deepest reasons for doing this work. Using my body on the water reinforced a sense of place.
In late July, as I returned from the Portland blockade, I was reeling with emotions about the four-month campaign. I had a clear sense that despite Shell vessels getting to the Arctic, everyday citizens — the people — had actually won. The roaring sound of hundreds of people on the shore chanting, “Stop that boat!” was felt, then and now, by oil executives and politicians. Shell executives probably worried they would face 10 more years of such a response before they could hope to sell a drop of oil from their Arctic ventures in the Chukchi Sea. Together, we created the momentum for a resistance that could only grow.
Because of what we had created on the water, particularly with the supporters in Portland, it was no surprise to me when Shell made its September announcement abandoning its Arctic drilling plans. So when Shell says that it stopped due to “the challenging and unpredictable regulatory environment,” what I hear is they could sense that everyday people were not going to allow them to drill for oil and endanger our environment. Nor was it a surprise in October when President Obama, who is jonesing to leave a positive environmental legacy, cancelled Arctic leases for the foreseeable future.
Today, we are undaunted by the prospect of an on-water action in front of the Gates estate. We know what’s needed to take care of each other, from experienced kayaktivists to those who are getting their paddles wet for the first time. This leap in capacity feels freaking miraculous. And yet, it all seems so natural, flowing out of our shared journey.
So now, the momentum is ours. Now is the time for a great pivot toward a world that sustains us all in body and spirit, one that honors our sacred obligation to deliver something beautiful to future generations.
Paddles ready? Forward, together.
Bill Moyer is the executive director and co-founder of the Backbone Campaign. He lives on Vashon Island. To contact Backbone about trainings and support for actions, visit BackboneCampaign.org. To learn more about kayaktivism, check out kayaktivism.org
Editor’s note: On Nov. 17, the Seattle Times reported the Gates Foundation partially divested from fossil-fuel holdings, including Royal Dutch Shell.