This is the second of two parts. Part one appeared in the last issue.
KD: At this point you were on the run and would spend that night escaping through the desert. Can you go into exactly what happened?
PM: I hit the wash and brushed past some paloverde and got a thorn in my thigh. I was in a panic before that, but then I got real calm. I began to travel towards Wenden [a nearby town]. I followed a turn in the wash and all of a sudden lights came on and this humongous helicopter rose out of the desert in front of me. Then I heard people behind me and in front of me. They were on foot and all had flashlights and were in the direction I wanted to go. The helicopter started to hover pretty close to me so I got under a paloverde tree and didn't move. I thought about infrared lenses and all that, so I didn't move a muscle and buried my face in the dirt. The helicopter hovered over me for a while and eventually moved on. I waited until it was far enough away and got up from under the tree. That dang helicopter came back and hovered over me at least three times that night and each time I hid under a paloverde.
I began to walk closer to the road. I noticed some airplanes flying over, really low and slow, so again I stopped and got really still. When the planes were gone I started walking again. The people on foot were walking in a line towards me and flashing lights around so I stopped again. I decided it was time to be a saguaro cactus. So while these guys were shining their lights over my face and over my body I was a cactus. I tried my hardest to think like a cactus and to be invisible and they didn't see me.
KD: So you shapeshifted.
PM: I shapeshifted. Every time they moved forward they would shine the lights forward, but when they stopped they would shine them all around. When they stopped I would be a cactus. Then they would move again and I would move and eventually I was on the other side of them. It was pretty amazing.
There was still some cover between me and the road. I heard someone yell, "Come on Peg, we're going to be out here all night. Let's go, come on in." I swore it was Mark Davis' voice, but later Mark said it wasn't. They just threw him in the paddy wagon and took him away. So there was someone imitating his voice--I'm pretty sure of it. When I heard him say, "We're going to be out here all night," I was thinking, "That's the idea, pal." I could see Wenden and could also look down into the basin the way I had just come.
There were cars everywhere down there; people with megaphones were calling out. The helicopter was hovering and doing these big sweeping circles. Surveillance planes were above the helicopter flying circles above the whole mess. I'm standing there looking down on this, thinking, "Jesus Christ, is this all because of us?" I was blown away. They must've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars for all that. It just seemed all this mad, ridiculous running around was so absurd.
So I decided to leave them to their own devices down there and make my way to Wenden, which was about seven or eight miles. I figure I walked about 16 miles altogether that night.
I walked down the center of this great big open space which had been cleared so they could put the power lines in it. I was going parallel to the road to Wenden. These two trucks came barreling over the hill from the basin towards me and I thought, "Oh shit." I heard over the megaphone, "Peggy Millett, we have your identity. GIVE YOURSELF UP." They repeated it over and over again. Then a little tape of the patriarchal, cultural bullshit that I've been running all my life started going through my head, telling me that I was a bad girl--that I was making the authorities angry and I had no business doing that. That made me really despondent and I thought, "I should just turn myself in--I'll never be able to get away with this." But by the time I decided to turn myself in, the trucks were gone.
I decided there was no way I was going to backtrack for those bozos. I got to the road and I knelt down on the pavement and put my hands out in front of me. I was wearing black-- in fact, a long sleeve Defend the Wilderness t-shirt. A car drove by but it didn't stop. I waited. About five or six more cars went by but not a one saw me. I finally broke off the bad girl tape in my head, got up and thought, "This is ridiculous! I'm getting the hell out of here. I'll get a lawyer and turn myself in later if I decide I want to do that."
I walked into the nearest wash by the road. I really began to revel in the desert, to feel the brush of the plants as I was walking by and notice the color of the night and the stars and the silhouettes and feeling the presence of other animals. I knew I was in my element--I was feeling really, really safe and really good. I also knew that I wasn't going to be there for long and I wanted to remember every detail of the night.
It was kind of chilly. I was very tired even though my adrenaline was pumping. I went quite a ways, then decided to sit down to rest. I heard a little movement next to me and looked down to see a rabbit. The rabbit was very still. But as I was sitting there I started to talk to the rabbit in a low whisper, and the rabbit decided it was okay and began to eat. I thought, "Wow, this is cool. I'm among my kin." I really felt what the deer feels when it's being hunted and I felt that the animals felt it too and that there was a camaraderie between us. At some point when I got up from my rest I walked through a group of javelina. They stopped and snorted at me, so I slowed down and they went about their business.
I heard coyotes call, and I called back and they called back to me. I felt so much a part of the desert--it was wonderful. I remember watching the stars turn in the sky, knowing that I wanted to cherish that night forever. I wanted to remember every aspect because I knew I was probably going to jail. I was thinking about where I could go and who would harbor me if I went underground. But I had a husband--and horses and land and a commitment to the earth. So I decided to take responsibility for being an idiot and for letting Fain into my life.
KD: How did you get back to Prescott?
PM: I saw the sunrise in the desert, then hitchhiked to Prescott and went to a friend's who harbored me--gave me a shower and some clean clothes. I called my mother and told her I was in big trouble. I got names and numbers of lawyers in Phoenix. By that time the story had broken in the papers, so the lawyers I talked to were excited that I was calling them. It was hilarious.
Of course it didn't occur to me how serious it was until I realized how much effort they spent on me, on us, that night. They were treating us like we were dangerous--which we weren't. That's a twist the Feds put on it that I didn't understand for a long time.
KD: Why did you decide to go to work?
PM: Because I was still in denial. I was thinking that if I just went to work nobody would notice. Ilse came to work for me 'cause the Feds told her that I was already in jail. When she saw me she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. She said, "Oh my God, let's go. Let's get out of here." And I said I couldn't.
KD: Why didn't the Feds arrest Ilse the night before?
PM: They had no warrants for her house--she lived downstairs from Mark, and they didn't have a legal way to get her. All the stuff they had on her was gotten illegally. Also, Ron Frazier was trying to keep her out of it. Later he approached her and told her the whole story--much to the chagrin of the Feds. It was his plan--he wanted her to become an informant.
KD: Gee, that was thoughtful. So they spent a lot of money that night and a lot in court.
PM: They spent an awful lot of money before that night. It took them a couple of years to get where we were. They paid Ron Frazier $53,000 for his part--not to mention all the other people they had on the payroll.
KD: I understand that during the time leading up to the trial there was tension between Dave Foreman and Mark Davis. Davis wrote a two-part story for the Journal several years ago. (Samhain and Yule, 1993)
PM: Mark and Dave were on different ends of the spectrum. They have very different world views. Dave Foreman is a politician, while Mark Davis lives by a code of honor. There are flaws in both of those approaches. They both did what they felt they had to do.
Dave was ill a lot of the time--he had hepatitis. Mark was going through a lot of agony-- all of us were extremely stressed. I don't know if their disagreement on whether to plead out had that much of an effect on me personally. I was pretty much focusing on my own terror and not paying attention to Dave and Mark's relationship.
I can't say what was going on with Dave in his own guts and heart, but I observed that he was very tired and wanted to get out of the situation. I think the major thing is that Dave Foreman didn't want to continue with the trial and Mark Davis did. I'm glad we didn't continue--Mark would disagree with me. So we pleaded out. We were in court from around June 10 until September 19.
KD: That was in 1991.
PM: '91. I walked into jail on October 3. It was a difficult decision for all of us to make. I'm glad we stayed with solidarity. I'm really glad!
KD: You feel it was solidarity? Despite tensions between Foreman and Davis?
PM: Foreman was willing to accept five years of probation. That's no big deal. He had a misdemeanor--he walked. We all had felonies. They could have hung Foreman with what Mark might have said but Mark has a code of honor and he chose not to do that.
KD: From the time before the power lines action up to your jail time you decided to take a back seat in a lot of the decision making. How does that affect your outlook now?
PM: By that time I had given up my power sufficiently and significantly to Mike Fain and Mark Davis. I was pretty much pulling my energy out of the situation. The more he got involved the more I gave up my part in the whole scenario.
KD: At your sentencing you sang the Walkin' Jim Stoltz song, Forever Wild. That seems like an important moment for you.
PM: Yeah, I love that song! We all got to say something to the judge before sentencing. We were expected to say that we were really sorry and all that, but I wasn't sorry at all-- well, I was sorry I got caught. So I got up there and I talked about the discrepancy between our realityand what the Feds and the defense where portraying. The Feds portrayed us as egomaniac, grandiose, frothing at the mouth terrorists--that we were very dangerous-- which we weren't. Maybe we were grandiose but we weren't dangerous. And the defense was portraying us as the gang that couldn't shoot straight, a bunch of bumbling idiots. We certainly looked like it at times.
Nonetheless, we were there for the earth and for the desperate situation that we're all in. We were experimenting with actions that would be very costly and garner a lot of attention. We wanted attention brought to these issues. So I sang the song as my statement. It was a very powerful experience for me--really powerful. I know it was powerful for all the people that were there. We forget a lot of times when we're fighting, especially in a courtroom, that the status quo is devoid of all logic and reality--the reality we know--the earth. All that stuff gets lost in the courtroom, so I brought it back with a song. I think that was a really important thing.
KD: You were in jail for 24 months, including the halfway house. I know that singing and spirituality helped you get through that time.
PM: By the time I went to prison I had gone through the wringer. My marriage had ended--I was officially divorced a week before entering prison. So singing and spirituality helped me turn jail into more of a monastic experience. It was also like I was in a harem in a certain way without all the luxuries of a harem--a non-gilded cage. I learned about my spiritual relationship with the earth and the universe. And singing is an integral part of that for me. Physically it's resting, 'cause when I sing, my whole body vibrates--I'm like a bell vibrating. The trees want us to thank them, they appreciate us thanking them, it's very important. One of the ways I thank the earth for my life is singing.
Singing is an exercise--it develops my lungs and has all these good physical things. Then there are non-physical things, non-tangible. There's the seeing world that we know and the unseen world. I believe that singing for me is a way to bridge that gap, to open communication so that when I stop singing I can hear--listen to the little voice. I cultivated a kind of interchange--dialogue--with the unseen forces of the earth, and life and sky.
Whenever I get on stage I bare my whole soul for the earth. I want people to learn something from my experience so they can free themselves to work. If we don't we won't have seven generations down the line. Every time I go to a conference and listen to activists talk about what they're doing, it's overwhelming! It's mind-boggling. So I guess my role is to help people access their energy and their power. Singing is one of the ways that I get it across. I also have lessons and stories. But the singing bypasses the brain stuff and gets right to the heart.
KD: When you were in jail you also performed what I know as magic.
PM: There are many different types of magic. Magic is like everything--it gets better if you practice it. It's powerful stuff and so should not be taken lightly. Anyone who's a shaman knows what that means. Everyyone has the capacity to do it and everyone in this movement has felt it. If you're going to do the work we're doing and you're willing to take the risks we're willing to take, then you must have some connection with magic.
Magic was something I consciously cultivated. I worked on different disciplines, different ways people do magic. I pretty much call myself a pagan these days and work magic from different peoples. The Celts and the Wicca people, the Druids--they're more or less my genetic heritage. I also work in the context of the land especially through native people's connection with magic. It's all the same energy and it's all pretty similar. Yes, I did magic-- I closed circles, I said prayers, I burned sage, I poured water on the sweats while I was in prison.
KD: You were allowed to do a sweat lodge because you signed up for Native American religion?
PM: Well yeah, they didn't have pagan. They had Native American religion and I said I'll take that one. The chaplain said I had to declare myself something. I had priests come to visit me and I went to mass and did communion because I'm a recovering Catholic. Catholicism has some ties to paganism, but I'm also very connected to the earth in a way that Catholicism doesn't address, so the Native American religion is what I chose. I had already learned how to pour water and tend the fire before I went to jail--although I never considered myself a sweat lodge leader.
KD: Do you think the FBI was successful? They didn't break EF!, but did they change Dave Foreman?
PM: Dave Foreman was headed in that direction already, and they just hastened it. That's all.
But EF! is still here. We're growing in knowledge and experience, we're moving away from being all white, middle class people and we're becoming more involved in coalition building, which I think is extremely important.
I think it [the bust] was very good for us--it was a reality check. We all needed to learn to hone our skills and clean up our closets and to become better equipped as warriors so that we don't miss the mark. For me it was very important to go through--it was a major educational experience that I could not have gotten any other way! I call it the ballpene hammer method of enlightenment. It sure isn't a very pleasant method but it was a good educational experience for me.
KD: If there's one thing you've learned from your experiences with the FBI what would it be?
PM: To take responsibility for my actions. I didn't take responsibility for myself and I gave my spiritual power to Davis and my physical power to Fain--that is, he physically took my place during the recon and planning of the action. It wasn't anything they did. It was me giving my power over.
Now I know it's important to pay attention when I feel the urge to give up responsibility for myself in relationships--I have to be honest with myself. I guess it's a co-dependent thing.
KD: So now what?
Right now I'm working on healing my relationship with myself and other people. I have 14 acres that I'm doing a restoration project on. I hope to build a house there. I want to build it in a way that won't be an encumbrance on the land--so that the land and I enhance each other. Of course I'm still doing activism and am still a part of the movement.
I'm looking for funding to pay someone to transcribe my prison notes. I'm also teaching singing and working with more musicians. I'd really like to do a roadshow--if people are out there who want to put one together, please, please, please get hold of me. I'm looking into the possibilities of following the range of the goshawk--from southern Alaska to northern Mexico--doing a roadshow around endangered species. Also I'm thinking about putting something together in the Northwest--I love the Northwest. I have a single act but I would like to be a part of something with other people.
What I sing can be applied to all of us--it can be used for any campaign that anyone's working on. Singing is my gift--I can do that. I'm a lousy monkeywrencher. If I was good at monkeywrenching I'd still be doing it, but I clearly had to stop. So I wanna be productive and monkeywrenching just isn't my bag. It's exciting and it's fun and it's very dangerous--but I got in with the wrong people. FBI agents don't usually make very good monkeywrenching partners.
KD: Get out!
PM: No, it's true!