This Is Our Land: Grassroots Environmentalism in the Late Twentieth Century

This Is Our Land

Nature, Society, and Culture

Scott Frickel, Series Editor

A sophisticated and wide-ranging sociological literature analyzing nature-society-culture interactions has blossomed in recent decades. This book series provides a platform for showcasing the best of that scholarship: carefully crafted empirical studies of socio-environmental change and the effects such change has on ecosystems, social institutions, historical processes, and cultural practices.

The series aims for topical and theoretical breadth. Anchored in sociological analyses of the environment, Nature, Society, and Culture is home to studies employing a range of disciplinary and interdisciplinary perspectives and investigating the pressing socio-environmental questions of our time—from environmental inequality and risk, to the science and politics of climate change and serial disaster, to the environmental causes and consequences of urbanization and war making, and beyond.

This Is Our Land

Grassroots Environmentalism in the Late Twentieth Century

Cody Ferguson

Rutgers University Press

New Brunswick, New Jersey, and London

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Ferguson, Cody.

This is our land : grassroots environmentalism in the late twentieth century / Cody Ferguson.

pages cm.—(Nature, society, and culture)

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978–0-8135–6563–7 (hardcover : alk. paper)—ISBN 978–0-8135–6562–0 (pbk. : alk. paper)—ISBN 978–0-8135–6564–4 (e-book (web pdf))

1. Environmentalism—United States—History—20th century. 2. Environmentalism—Montana—History—20th century. 3. Environmentalism—Arizona—History—20th century. 4. Environmentalism—Tennessee—History—20th century. I. Title.

GE197.F47 2015

363.70973'09049—dc23 2014040925

A British Cataloging-in-Publication record for this book is available from the British Library.

Copyright © 2015 by Cody Ferguson

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Please contact Rutgers University Press, 106 Somerset Street, New Brunswick, NJ 08901. The only exception to this prohibition is fair use as defined by U.S. copyright law.

Visit our website: http://rutgerspress.rutgers.edu

Dedicated to the thousands of activists around the globe working to make our communities and world more equitable and sustainable.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1. Introduction: Think Local, Act Local . . . Think Global

Chapter 2. Coal Boom on the Plains

Chapter 3. The Northern Plains Resource Council during the Environmental Decade

Chapter 4. Citizen Environmental Activism in the Southwest: Tucson’s Southwest Environmental Service

Chapter 5. Reining in the Smelters: The Fight for Clean Air in Southern Arizona

Chapter 6. Citizen Environmental Activism in Appalachia: Save Our Cumberland Mountains

Chapter 7. Dumping in Tennessee

Chapter 8. Conclusion: Participation, Perseverance, and Rethinking Environmentalism

Notes

Bibliography

Index

About the Author

Acknowledgments

In many ways, this is a book I began to write before I had even graduated college. It started as a senior seminar paper and honors thesis under the direction of Robert Swartout at Carroll College in Montana in 2000. My name is the only one that appears on the cover, but dozens of people had a hand in its production. Here, I would like to acknowledge some of the people, organizations, and institutions that encouraged and sustained me over this project’s long gestation.

This book would not have been possible without the help of the people involved with the Northern Plains Resource Council, Southwest Environmental Service, and Save Our Cumberland Mountains, who talked with me and generously allowed me to view the private collections of their organizations. Of special note are Teresa Erickson and Steve Paulson at the Northern Plains Resource Council and Pat Sweeney and John Smillie at the Western Organization of Resource Councils. In addition, thank you to veteran citizen activists in Montana: Wally McRae, Ellen Pfister, Nick Golder, Helen and Gordy Waller, Jeanie Alderson, Tom Breitbach, Charlie Yarger, Steve Charter, and his inspiring and powerful wife Jeanne, who was taken from us far too early. In Arizona, I wish to thank Barbara Tellman and the late Priscilla Robinson for sharing their memories of the Southwest Environmental Service and their extensive knowledge of southern Arizona politics and history. In Tennessee, thank you to SOCM stalwarts Maureen O’Connell, Charles Boomer Winfrey, Landon Medley, Franz Raetzer, Linda and Larry Smotherman, Mike and Wanda Hodge, and David Hardeman for taking the time to tell me your stories and to Amelia Parker, Ann League, and the whole staff of Statewide Organizing for Community eMpowerment (formerly Save Our Cumberland Mountains) for opening your office to me and showing me around the hills and hollows of eastern Tennessee.

In addition, I am indebted to the librarians and archival staffs at the Montana Historical Society in Helena, the University of Arizona Library Special Collections in Tucson, the Arizona State University Arizona Collection in Tempe, and the Tennessee State Library and Archives in Nashville. Your skilled assistance made my research incredibly productive and this project a success.

Various institutions supported this project including the University of Arizona Special Collections, the Morris K. Udall Scholarship and Excellence in National Environmental Policy Foundation, the Udall Center for Studies in Public Policy, and the Max Millett Family Scholarship. The Arizona State University (ASU) Graduate College and School of Historical, Philosophical, and Religious Studies provided crucial travel and dissertation completion funding. Finally, a two-year postdoctoral fellowship in environmental and public humanities at ASU’s School of Historical, Philosophical, and Religious Studies provided me vital time to revise the dissertation, continue research, and finish the book.

The staff and editors at Rutgers University Press deserve special recognition. I am grateful to Peter Mickulas for his faith in the project and for all of his help in guiding it through every step in the process. Michael Egan provided thoughtful and thorough reviews of the manuscript. Michael’s keen eye noticed nuances and potential in its arguments that, once brought to the surface, help make it a better book. Likewise, Scott Frickel contributed invaluable critiques and perspectives from sociology. I am honored that Scott chose to include This Is Our Land in the Nature, Society, and Culture series.

Throughout the project, many colleagues and friends have influenced my thinking and help to bring the book to fruition. First and foremost, I must recognize the dedication, guidance, and inspiration of my dissertation chair, mentor, and friend Paul Hirt. In Paul, I found an intellectual kindred spirit and scholar comrade. Paul challenged me to expand my conception of environmental activism and produce work that uses history to inform contemporary social and environmental problems. Through formal brainstorming sessions or casual conversations while hiking or over beers, this project emerged and grew. As we worked together, first as adviser and graduate student and then as colleagues, he taught me how to be a teacher, a scholar, a mentor, and a colleague. He and his wonderful wife, Linda Jakse, opened their home to Lauren and me and graciously shared themselves with us, making our years in Arizona a time we will cherish always. I cannot begin to express my gratitude, Paul. I only hope that I might emulate your enthusiasm for life, learning, and justice with my own students and in my career and life. I look forward to our continued collaboration and friendship for years to come.

Thank you to my other dissertation committee members who provided valuable direction for this project. Stephen Pyne contributed his considerable talent and experience to help me craft the narrative structure and tone of the project. Joni Adamson urged me to consider my case studies in relation to environmental justice. Susan Gray’s attentive and sometimes exacting critiques of my interpretations and arguments were invaluable in shaping the dissertation. Further, I am grateful for the energy, intellectual stimulation, and encouragement I received from my many fine colleagues at ASU in the School of Historical, Philosophical, and Religious Studies, Global Institute of Sustainability, and Institute for Humanities Research.

Finally, I could not have even begun this project without the loving support of my friends and family. My friends around the country and in Arizona were a constant source of inspiration and sometimes a needed distraction. Fellow graduate students at ASU or in other programs, activists working in other states, adventure partners—you always inspire me to dig deeper, ask tougher questions, appreciate what I have done, and look forward to the future.

To my parents, Roy and Phyllis Ferguson, my sister and brother-in-law, Rebecca and Ryan Brice, and second parents and sisters and brothers in Wisconsin, thank you for your unending optimism and faith in my abilities in this endeavor. Your laughter and almost daily encouragement kept me sane and continue to give me hope.

Lastly, thank you to my beautiful wife, Lauren, for your constant love and patience throughout this project. From beginning to end, you were there. When I struggled, you listened. You read and critiqued the entire manuscript. As I finished a chapter, and then another, and then the revisions, we celebrated together. I could not have done this without you. I love you.

1

Introduction

Think Local, Act Local . . . Think Global

I first met Helen Waller in the winter of 2003 when I was working my first session of the Montana legislature for the Northern Plains Resource Council.

It was cold, but not unseasonably cold for Helena, Montana, in February. The wind whipped down Sixth Avenue in the dark before dawn, shaking the naked branches of the trees that lined my short walk to the Capitol. Like every morning that winter, I was thankful when I stepped into the moist heat and yellow lights of the building. I hung up the overcoat I had inherited from a veteran lobbyist on one of the free hangers on the ground floor and made my way to the mezzanine where Helen and I had scheduled to meet. Having talked to her over the phone for the past few weeks, I knew her only by her voice—soft and sometimes gravelly, encouraging and determined. I scanned for the plain dress of a wheat farmer and maybe a man who would be her husband. I heard a familiar voice behind me: Cody? I turned around to meet a short, solidly built, white-haired woman in a winter coat, bright eyes shining behind large glasses, and an inviting smile. A tall, balding man in plaid stood slightly hunched over by her side, also smiling. I’m Helen Waller; this is my husband, Gordy. Let’s get to work. It was 6:30 in the morning.

The work Helen referred to was lobbying. Specifically, citizen lobbying. The Wallers had traveled through snow and wind from their wheat farm in the rolling plains near Circle, Montana, 400 miles east of Helena, to talk to state legislators and to testify on behalf of a proposed law that would regulate genetically modified wheat in the state. The multinational chemical corporation Monsanto was preparing to introduce a new strain of wheat that would be resistant to broadleaf herbicides. The maker of the popular weed killer Roundup hoped that it could sell wheat farmers on their new product with the promise of simplified weed management. Because the wheat would be resistant to Roundup, farmers could simply spray their entire field with this one chemical. It would dramatically cut weed-control costs and the amount of fuel required since farmers no longer had to apply multiple applications of herbicides to their fields. To reap these benefits, farmers only had to agree to use Roundup Ready wheat exclusively, buy only Roundup brand herbicide, and promise not to save their seed.

Because Monsanto owned the intellectual property rights associated with this new, patented, genetically modified life-form, Roundup Ready wheat seeds and the offspring of those seeds were the property of the company. If Roundup Ready wheat seed or plants were found on a farmer’s property without the farmer having paid to use them, Monsanto could sue the farmer for patent infringement. The Wallers, like thousands of wheat farmers throughout the Great Plains, were concerned about Roundup Ready wheat. They had heard stories of Canadian canola farmers being sued by Monsanto and losing their farms. They worried about what would happen if a neighbor’s Roundup Ready crop cross-pollinated with their plants or if the genetically modified seeds or pollen were carried by the ubiquitous Montana winds onto their property. They worried about losing access to critical Asian markets that refused to buy genetically modified wheat. They worried about the long-term impact of spraying so much Roundup on the land, water, and wildlife. Most importantly, they worried about their ability to operate as independent farmers and maintain control over their lives.

This was Helen and Gordy’s first trip to Helena this legislative session, but they were no amateurs. Every other year when the Montana legislature was in session, for the better part of the past three decades, they had driven to the capital to lobby on behalf of their farm, their community, the environment, and their way of life. Gordy drove, Helen talked.

Who are our targets? Helen asked.

I showed her the possible swing votes in the legislative directory. They were mostly Republicans and a few Democrats from wheat-growing districts—from the towns of Shelby, Havre, Plentywood, Choteau, Fort Benton, Great Falls. Her lips pursed slightly and her eyes narrowed as she studied their photos. She circled names and made notes in the guide.

Okay, she said, let’s go.

Helen Waller had not always been an activist. At first sight, most people would not assume she was one. In good health at age seventy in 2003, she still carried the markers of age. Her posture was straight, eyes as sharp as her wit, but she had a grandmotherly quality about her. This worked to her advantage in dealing with politicians. Her voice and countenance made her inherently disarming. She could make you feel loved; just as easily, she could make you feel guilty and ashamed.

Helen was made into an activist by the fight to save her farm from strip mining. Before 1974, when coal company men visited the Wallers’ sprawling wheat ranch with plans to strip mine the land and promises of high-paying jobs and irrigation for farmers, she was far from a political activist. She served on the board of her local church and sang in the choir. She chaired the local Republican Party in McCone County. The fight to save her farm changed her. It was real troubling to me, she told me when I visited with her in 2010, after having farmed for as many years as we had, to think that we would not continue to preserve the land for agricultural use. She joined the Northern Plains Resource Council (NPRC), a grassroots organization formed in 1972 by ranchers and farmers from across eastern Montana who were similarly threatened by strip mining. She helped found a chapter of the group in her county. After repeated trips to Helena and Washington, DC, she stood beside other ranchers, farmers, and environmentalists as President Jimmy Carter signed the landmark Surface Mine Control and Reclamation Act into law in 1977. By the end of the decade, she served as NPRC’s chair. In the 1980s, as thousands of farms across the country succumbed to bank foreclosure, she steered NPRC toward working on family agriculture issues. In a comment now famous among NPRC members, she told the group’s board, I didn’t fight to save my farm from the coal company just to lose it to the bank. She helped start the National Family Farm Coalition and played a role in the creation of Farm Aid. In 1988, Frank Morrison Jr. tapped Waller as his running mate for his unsuccessful bid for the Democratic nomination for governor of Montana. That same year, she attended the Democratic National Convention as a delegate to cast her vote for Jesse Jackson. Despite the demands of farming, family, and church, she found time to spread her populist message of self-determination, responsibility, and justice across the country as a speaker to countless social change, family agriculture, and environmental organizations.¹

The degree of Helen’s activism is extraordinary, but her transformation was not. The group that Helen joined and came to lead, the Northern Plains Resource Council, was full of people like her: ranchers who, before their land was threatened by the designs of government bureaucrats and energy companies, had only ever served on the board of their local Stockgrowers Association or church or Parent Teacher Association. Within months, they were driving their neighbors in convoys through snowstorms to testify in Forsyth, Miles City, and Helena. Schoolteachers in Billings wrote letters to the editors of local newspapers. Farmers mobbed hearings. As members were transformed, so was NPRC. By the 1980s, it had chapters across the state of Montana and worked on issues ranging from mining to alternative energy to promoting family agriculture. Groups in other states followed a similar trajectory. By the time I came to NPRC in 2002, it had branded itself as a grassroots conservation and family agriculture organization that worked to protect Montana’s land, air, water, and unique quality of life. In 2012, members celebrated its fortieth anniversary.

The Northern Plains Resource Council was a unique hodgepodge of ranchers, farmers, and environmentalists, but it was not so different from other groups that coalesced around the country during the early 1970s whose efforts we might classify as grassroots environmentalism. Individuals, feeling their property or way of life threatened by industrial development, organized to fight back. Sometimes they harbored what might be recognized as environmental values. Usually, their primary concern was their property and a sense of being victims of injustice.² The solutions they sought were immediate: take away the right of coal companies to condemn farms and ranches for strip mining and give local residents the ability to participate in decisions regarding the land, water, and air. Over time, many began to link their local issue with the struggles of others fighting similar kinds of industrial development. They began to understand threats to their environment as intertwined with threats to their communities, health, and ways of life. Observers of the environmental movement often quote the maxim think global, act local. In the case of grassroots environmentalism, a more accurate description might be think local, act local, and then, in many cases, think global. Giving citizens the ability to participate in the decisions that affected their communities, livelihoods, environment, and health became a primary means of achieving their goals—in fact, participation often became a goal in and of itself. Citizen activists—the people who made up and continue to comprise the grassroots of the modern environmental and environmental justice movements—will probably recognize much in Helen’s story and the stories that unfold in the pages that follow.

These are stories of common people who, confronting perceived threats to their property, the health and safety of their families and communities, or their way of life, bonded together to protect their interests. They include successes and failures as citizens learned how to participate in their democracy and redefined what participation meant. These stories stress how individual activists became reformers and self-trained environmental experts. They demonstrate how citizen activists came to connect their local and personal interests and struggles to larger systems of power and injustice and the struggles of others fighting to protect themselves in other parts of the nation and world. They show how grassroots groups evolved with their members. Finally, they reveal how citizen activists understood environmental issues not merely as matters of science but of justice and good governance and saw expanding citizens’ abilities to participate in environmental decision-making as a primary remedy to threats to air, water, land, and public health. This is a familiar story to citizen activists, but for those studying the environmental movement or theorizing a sustainable global future, these pages will hold much that is new.

I came to this project from my personal experience working as a young organizer and lobbyist for the Northern Plains Resource Council in Montana from 2002 to 2005 and confronting the realities of environmental activism and decision-making on the ground. I had barely started the job when I realized that the environmental movement in which I now worked looked very different from the one I had read about in books. These environmentalists—farmers I met lobbying in Helena and ranchers who welcomed me into their homes and gave me tours of their ranches in the coal mining country of southeastern Montana, concerned residents from Billings, Bozeman, and Missoula who organized to promote local agriculture and alternative energy—mixed self-interest and local interest with pragmatism and the ideal that informed citizens were the people most capable of making decisions regarding the public good. They had faith that, if kept accountable to the people, government could work and could right environmental wrongs. As I met more of these citizen activists, I began to notice coherence in how they understood environmental issues, the function of government, and the proper role of citizens in a democracy. I wondered if this was specific to the northern Great Plains and Rocky Mountain regions or if citizen activists in other parts of the country held similar views and organized themselves in a similar fashion. Dozens of interviews, countless hours in archives, and thousands of miles of driving between the northern Plains, the Southwest, and Appalachia over the next five years revealed the answer.

What I found holds important insights for how we understand the history of the environmental movement and the role of citizen activists in American civil society in the late twentieth century. In their victories and defeats, their ability to adapt to changing social and political landscapes, and their perseverance, the histories of the three groups I profile here—the Northern Plains Resource Council in Montana, the Southwest Environmental Service in Arizona, and Save Our Cumberland Mountains in Tennessee—teach us valuable and unexpected lessons about how everyday people understand and work to remedy environmental problems. These stories emphasize the importance of the 1970s as the beginning of the modern environmental regulatory movement and illuminate common connections between the mainstream environmental movement and the environmental justice movement. They also change our perspective on the history of the environmental movement and beg us to consider grassroots environmental activism as an integral component of evolving American political culture. In addition, they force us to recognize how environmental and democratic reforms were intertwined in the late twentieth century. The history of these three groups provides context for understanding grassroots organizing in the twenty-first century to promote environmental and food justice, to stop fracking and the Keystone XL pipeline, and to address climate change. The stories of the Northern Plains Resource Council, the Southwest Environmental Service, and the Save Our Cumberland Mountains offer pathways for affecting change, and they inspire.

A quiet revolution occurred in the United States during the 1970s. Far from Woodstock and the antiwar protests that marked the cultural upheaval of the late 1960s and far even from the hundreds of thousands of people who gathered to celebrate the first Earth Day in April of 1970, change silently coursed its way through the country. General rising economic prosperity and consumption after World War II and increased democratization of American society blossomed by the 1960s into a popular critique of American affluence, the economic and political gap between the rich and privileged and the poor and disenfranchised, America’s place in the world, and the human and environmental costs of industrial production and mass consumption. From this critique manifested a series of social movements including the civil rights movement, the women’s movement, the New Left, the counterculture, the Black Power movement, the Chicano movement, the gay rights movement, the environmental and consumer rights movements, and, in response, the New Right. This is the story usually told about the 1960s. From within these movements, at the intersection of popular politics and governance, emerged a populist-driven regulatory revolution. Played out not so much in the streets as in government institutions—legislatures, city councils, planning and zoning commissions, and federal and state regulatory agencies—it moved slowly and was not as obvious or sexy as the other revolutions of the 1960s, but it was just as significant.³

One of the outgrowths of the 1960s was the popular call for participatory democracy. Couched as a continuation of America’s founding democratic ideals, the New Left’s demand for participatory democracy was a challenge to government secrecy and a perceived disconnect between the people and government during the postwar era. Progressives argued that the solution to this divide—and its resulting injustices—was to allow citizens increased access to the political process by making the workings of government more transparent and allowing citizens to more directly take part in the decisions that affected their lives. As progressives and journalists argued for more transparency in government, participants in the nascent environmental movement argued for more access to information and public involvement in decisions affecting the environment and public health.⁴ After more than a decade of political wrangling and congressional hearings, President Lyndon Johnson begrudgingly signed