BIZARRE SEEMS ALMOST NORMAL AT OKA By Geoffrey York, Globe and Mail, Oka, Que. Thursday, September 20, 1990 After 17 days of military siege, the bizarre imagery of modern warfare is beginning to seem almost normal. We sit around our campfire, trying to warm ourselves, scarcely glancing up as the army's helicopters roar above the pine trees. "The choppers are low this morning," we murmur, as if we were discussing the weather. It is hard to remember that this is Canada, not a foreign country, and that this is a historic event - the first use of the army against domestic rebels since the October Crisis of 1970. The outside world has faded away. Every night, we blink at the television news, trying to comprehend a world without soldiers, searchlights, razor wire and armored personnel carriers. By day, it is a life of tedium and surreal images. Here is the ferocious Mohawk who calls himself Lasagne - the notorious symbol of the angry Warriors - but now he is meekly wielding a broom and sweeping the front steps of the Warrior headquarters. He bickers with the Mohawk children, pleading with them to bring him a garbage bag, then threatening to cut off their candy supply when they refuse. Here are the Mohawks painting landscapes on their back lawn, baking birthday cakes, playing volleyball and dancing to Motown tunes on their stereos - while the massive firepower of hundreds of soldiers and dozens of military vehicles is ranged against them on every side of their tiny territory. Despite the army's allegations, there is no sign of any massive arsenal of weapons at the Warrior headquarters. By now, reporters have been in almost every corner of the building and surrounding forest, and have visited every trench and bunker but no stockpile of armaments is visible. However, there are certainly enough semi-automatic weapons to arm each of the 25 Warriors. And the guns are supplemented by homemade grenades, napalm bombs and explosive-tipped arrows. At night, the mood turns savage. The darkness is pierced by the glare of army searchlights, transforming the peaceful woods into a nightmarish forest of silhouettes, strange shadows and blinding lights. The fear and tension come in waves. Most of the nights are calm but there is always the apprehension of battle. Every strange noise whether it is a shout from the front barricades or a loud bang from an army flare could be the first warning of a bloody clash. In the daylight, we tell ourselves that it could never happen. The Mohawks and the soldiers are under strict orders to hold their fire. They are acutely aware of the slaughter that would follow any exchange of gunfire. But by now, we have all witnessed the nerve-jangling confrontations that have already come close to sparking a bloodbath. There are hot tempers and reckless displays of machismo on both sides of this conflict. A violent ending might not be logical but the Oka standoff has gone far beyond logic on many occasions. For the 12 remaining journalists at the Warrior headquarters the siege has become an endurance test, a gruelling marathon of uncomfortable nights, cold mornings and fly-infested afternoons. For the first few nights of the siege, we slept out side on the soft pine needles of the forest. But now we spend our nights in the basement of the sprawling building that has been converted into the headquarters. In addition to the 25 Warriors, there are about 30 native women and children. The basement is considered the safest place in case of an army attack. It is also certainly the filthiest, despite our efforts to clean the layers of dirt from the floor and the tiny bathroom. I sleep on a battered sofa in the basement, where I am stabbed randomly by the broken springs. The building was once an alcohol-treatment centre and we are surrounded by anti-drinking posters and religious messages - such as Live and Let Live - that now seem rather ironic. We spend our days waiting for news of the negotiations with the army, watching the daily routine of the Warriors, monitoring the regular clashes between Mohawks and army patrols and trying to file our stories on the few working cellular phones. At night, we gather around the campfire and play cards to kill time. Because the army has prohibited any deliveries of food or supplies to the journalists, we must rely on the Mohawks for food. To ensure as much integrity as possible, we compensate the Mohawk food bank at nearby Kanesatake for the cost of the groceries we consume. The living conditions, even after 17 days, are tolerable. It is the isolation, the lack of freedom and the army's intimidation tactics that ultimately wear us down. The army has done everything it can to force us to leave. It has jammed our cellular phones, cut off all deliveries of journalistic equipment and prevented any film or videotape from leaving the Warrior encampment. It has repeatedly issued ominous warnings of what might happen if we stay, and it has promised to search and question those who leave. The Oka conflict has turned into psychological warfare. Every night, there is a different tactic by the army or the Warriors. Both sides throw rocks and shout insults at each other. The soldiers try to steal a Mohawk flag and the Mohawks grab a pair of smoke canisters from the army. But it is a war the Mohawks cannot win. The military hard-ware of the Canadian army is simply too awesome. When the Mohawks erect a cheap plastic sheet to shield themselves from searchlights, the army responds with a battery of tactics - secret patrols into Mohawk territory, a massive tower to raise the height of their spotlights and an endless series of low - altitude flights by helicopters with blinding searchlights. All of these psychological tactics affect the journalists as much as the Mohawks. We are trapped in the middle of the conflict, mistrusted by many of the Warriors, constantly pressured by the army and isolated from our colleagues on the outside. The army's flares and searchlights can be as intimidating to us as they are to the Mohawks. They say truth is the first casualty of war. When I see the nightly TV news, heavily influenced by the army's regular briefings to the outside media, I realize how difficult it will be to keep the truth alive. There are no full-time broadcasters (TV or radio) among the few remaining journalists inside the Mohawk lines. The army has gained almost complete control of the flow of news to the electronic media, the major source of information for most Canadians. Both sides, in fact, have lied to the media. The reporters inside the barricades have learned to trust only their eyes and ears. And what we have witnessed has been enough to cast a frightening new light on one of Canada's most important institutions. I knew, before the siege began, that many of the Mohawk Warriors were quick-tempered and violent. What I did not realize was that the Canadian military has soldiers with personalities that are just as dangerous. And I never imagined that the army could be as reckless as the Warriors in provoking tension between the two sides. The most eye-opening experience was what we called The Night of the Bayonets. That was the night, two weeks ago, that nearly led to gunfire. The clash was precipitated by soldiers who screamed obscene insults at Mohawk women. When the Warriors responded by throwing objects at the army, soldiers fixed their bayonets and began attacking a plastic sheet on the Mohawk side of the barricade. Within a few moments, people on both sides had loaded their weapons and were on the verge of shooting. The soldiers sparked that confrontation on the first night after they had forced the TV cameras outside the barricades to move a kilometre down the road. With no scrutiny of their actions, the army was free to do whatever it wanted. As the number of journalists inside the barricades slowly diminishes, there will be fewer and fewer witnesses to the conduct of both sides in their extraordinary conflict. (Geoffrey York has been at the standoff site at Oka, Quebec since September 1st.) ************************************************************************ For more information contact web:car by e-mail or in writing Aboriginal Rights Support Group Committee Against Racism P.O. Box 3085, Station B Calgary, Alberta T2M 4L6