possibly repeating a mistake made the previous summer, when at a Greenpeace rally in Czechoslovakia “outsider” countries dominated. (Pro-nuclear advocates charged that domestic opposition was controlled by Germans and Austrians, the former occupants of the region — an especially sensitive charge since Moscow had more recently used similar tactics.) Finally, it was agreed that there would be no arrests, but theatrical actions at the plant and in the plaza of a nearby town where most of the workers lived. I also went to interview the director of the plant. When I walked into his office he showed me a rough drawing on the wall, above the pictures of his young children, who are artists. He made a point of showing me the extremely bright orange lone flower on the conference table — the only non-human living thing in the office. He seemed friendly and willing to speak about his work. Kozloduy is the only plant that the IAEA (an organization which monitors and supports nuclear power worldwide) has recommended for shutdown. When I asked him about this, he denied the existence of the recommendation. (I have since sent him a highlighted copy.) I brought up an official Bulgarian report which asserted that millions of liters of radioactive wastewater leak into the environment from this plant. He denied the existence of the problem, and the report. I had never encountered such a strong case of doublethink in my life, and it threw me a bit off balance. We left the director’s office to return to our fellow ecotopians, who were demonstrating outside the plant. At first I was angry and scared that this man was operating the most dangerous nuclear power plant in the world, and was completely comfortable lying to us, or believing it himself, which would be even more frightening. But as the day wore on I was able to redirect my anger into protest theater. We used pantomime to break the language barriers. Most of the performers formed a circle of life, holding hands around the other performers. Within the circle a number of people worked with solar panels (brought from the camp) and in the middle one white-suited technician worked on a computer with a nearby group of pulsing actors sporting atomic symbols. Our stereotypical western capitalist enters the circle: black suit and top hat, white face painted and handfuls of money. When he comes in, the solar folks try to get his attention, and fail. Instead, our capitalist heads for the nuclear operator. They greet enthusiastically, and the plant operator shows the capitalist the wonderful computer, the pulsing nuclear pile. The capitalist is so happy, he hands the nuclear operator a hunch of money — the operator takes it and asks for more — the capitalist digs in his pockets and passes it over — more is requested again. The capitalist gives over all his money and pulls out his empty pockets — the operator smiles, shakes hands with the capitalist and returns to his computer. The capitalist leaves the circle showing his empty pockets to the solar workers. A drum starts to beat. Slowly the work of the nuclear operator becomes more frantic and the dancers forming the reactor get more out of control. A siren sounds as the reactor dancers break free and begin their dance of death. First the plant operator dies. Then the outer circle, the chain of life, breaks — every link split by the whirling radioactive waltz. Finally, the solar workers perish and the deadly dancers leap off stage. There is silence in what looks to be a die-in. A few moments pass and there is a stir of life at the solar panels. These technicians slowly come back to life. Banners are produced in Bulgarian which say “solar power” and “solar energy”. The clean energy technicians join hands, reviving and relinking the circle of life. The circle gets to its feet and dances together for a while. Even the nuclear operator is revived in our happy ending, abandoning his computer console. After the play there were speeches about the problem not being this plant specifically, but nuclear power in general, and about solar energy as one solution. The small audience reaction was mixed. Some did not like it, others found it strange and out of place — still others were glad it happened and felt it showed an old message in a new way. The ecotopians, while disappointed that they outnumbered the audience, seemed more unified and strong in the end. I know few short-term social experiments as powerful as ecotopia. People talk about an eeotopian spirit that they try to hold onto after the event and pull into their “normal” lives. I’ve watched ecotopia change people as they discover new parts of themselves, and become more committed to action in their respective communities. It helps some to find a voice they did not know they had. And for this reason alone, ecotopia will continue. For more on ecotopia or EYFA write Postbus 566, 6130 AN Sittard, Netherlands. RAIN Spring 1993 Volume XIV, Number 3 Page 47
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