But there was a little action at a construction site across from the Local 46 building. Five women--a massage therapist, a yoga instructor, two recent college grads, and a music teacher--were assembled at the base of a tall, red-and-white construction crane set up behind a half-finished condo building. The women hadn't slept much the night before. They had also skipped breakfast.
Lugging a 100-pound canvas bag (containing their secret weapon), the women started climbing the metal ladders to the top of the crane. Someone spotted them on top of the crane at about 7:00 a.m., and called the police.
That didn't matter to the women attached to the crane by safety harnesses. They were busy fussing with what they'd dragged to the top: a massive 60-by-40-foot banner with an alarm clock icon and the slogan "Wake up Weyerhaeuser, Protect Forests Now."
The fivesome were kicking off a campaign by the San Francisco-based Rainforest Action Network (RAN) to persuade Weyerhaeuser to stop logging in old-growth forests. The Belltown crane wasn't affiliated with Weyerhaeuser, but it was at least 100 feet high, making it a visible spot to launch a protest. RAN had been talking to Weyerhaeuser and its competitors since last fall about protecting old-growth forests, but face-to-face negotiations with the forestry giant weren't going anywhere.
Why was Federal Way-based Weyerhaeuser--ranked third in the forest and paper-products industry by the Fortune 500 with $19 billion in revenues for 2002--even talking to environmental activists from California? Because RAN is influential: It persuaded the Boise Cascade Corporation to stop using materials from old-growth forests last year. The organization has also been successful in urging other companies--like Lowe's and Home Depot--to follow more environmentally friendly business practices, usually through negotiations and in some cases, direct actions. The banner demonstration last week, says Jennifer Krill, RAN's old-growth campaign manager, is just the start of what could be a long movement to change Weyerhaeuser. "We do the high profile, and the low profile," explains Kate Woznow, one of the women who rappelled off the crane.
Thursday's protest was certainly high profile, and resulted in the arrest of the five on the crane, and four supporters on the ground, who were reportedly in radio contact with the crane crew. The group--a tight-knit bunch who act a bit like they're at a slumber party, doling out frequent hugs and pats on the knee, and bouncing off each others' thoughts--met me at Capitol Hill's bustling Espresso Vivace Roasteria on Saturday morning, February 21, to detail the event over coffee. They'd only been out of jail since the night before, after spending 32 hours locked up in King County Jail (which distributed meals in Weyerhaeuser-brand brown bags, 31-year-old Melissa O'Neil noted), and they were all due back in court in three days to face possible charges. Given the pending hearing, the women were cautious with details, especially about their activist backgrounds and training. But they were happy to talk about their campaign against Weyerhaeuser (citing RAN stats like the fact that 80 percent of old-growth forest is gone, and that Weyerhaeuser is North America's top logger and distributor of products from old-growth and endangered forests). They were also psyched to talk about their protest.
"It was beautiful up there," says Liz Guy. Guy, a 29-year-old who goes by "Sprout," lives in Seattle's Central Area. She got out of jail the night before the others, and helped coordinate bail for her cohorts. "It was high," offers Woznow, sitting next to Sprout. "And rather exposed," finishes Kate Berrigan from across the table.
Getting to the top of the crane with their heavy equipment was only half the battle, the group says. Once they reached the long, wide horizontal arm of the crane, the women set up ropes, safety gear, and pulleys to unfurl the banner. Due to the wind, and the enormous weight of the banner, it was difficult to get set up. ("It was a beast. Packing the banner in the bag [earlier] was a big deal," explains Berrigan.) Meanwhile, the crew that was slated to work on the building below the crane started reporting for duty. "One worker came up [to the top of the crane]," says Sprout. "He was really friendly, and very calm. We explained what we were doing, and he went back down to tell the others. After that, no one came up."
On the ground, though, cops and firefighters were gathering. Over loudspeakers, the cops announced every half hour that the group was under arrest. No one knew when they planned to come down (which is why the women skipped breakfast--they weren't sure how long they would be aloft, and there are no bathrooms on top of a crane).
Three hours after they'd reached the top of the crane, the banner was fully unfurled, and the action was nearly over: Woznow--a aoft-spoken 23-year-old from Vancouver, BC--and Hillary Hosta, 31, her long golden hair hidden under a white helmet, started methodically rappelling down from the crane on twin ropes. Sprout, who had stood lookout at the top of the crane's ladder, and Berrigan and O'Neil, who had assisted the rappellers from their spots on the crane's arm, made their way back down the ladder.
Hosta and Woznow touched down on the unfinished building just before noon. While she was unhooking her ropes, Hosta took her last few minutes of freedom to turn to the crowd below and yell over the First Avenue traffic: "Protect the forests!"
"You go, girl!" a woman on the street yelled back, from a crowd of several dozen people who were jostling for a clear view. Once the women made their way down to the street, the crowd burst into cheers.
