Free Durango by Gary Hart Page B

project as a public issue migrated from an issue for civil discourse, to disagreement, to a matter where minds hardened. And as animosities grew, hardened minds became hardened hearts. When communities fall out over such matters, antagonisms often last for lifetimes and beyond. Thus, what started out as a fairly modest proposal to develop water for farmers in the area became a larger undertaking with implications for energy development and tourism expansion, then migrated into a debate over winners and losers, and finally became a kind of metaphor for human values. What kind of a community do we want? What kind of a world do we want?
    And, as with most undertakings of any consequences, two very distinct points of view emerged. What is enough? Haven’t we got a pretty good life here already? Why do we want to jeopardize a kind of community Eden? That’s all well and good, others would say, but a lot of us haven’t made it yet. Why can’t we have the same opportunities as you rich folks? What’s wrong with letting this area grow and expand and bring in new money and new people? Isn’t that the way to make everybody better off?
    During this period, back in the day when Daniel Sheridan was still chairman of the county commission, the Monday and Friday coffee club was not immune.
    By and large its regulars, who had distinctive points of view on the matters just like everyone else, kept the discussion on a friendly and even keel. Everyone understood where everyone else stood. But as the controversy intensified, subtle frictions emerged.
    Mr. Murphy said, Look, this thing’s going to be built. We all ought to figure out how we do it best.
    Bill Van Ness laughed. As if we have anything to do with it. The big guys are going to build this thing. And they’ll decide who gets what. The way it always happens.
    The professor said, What “big guys”?
    The big guys, Van Ness said. The government, the bankers, the big shots. They don’t give a damn what people like us think.
    What about all these meetings the city and the county have had over this? the professor asked. Dan and the other commissioners seem to take the opinions from around here pretty seriously.
    Ha, Mr. Murphy snorted. Then what? I think Bill’s right. The government and the banks are gonna do whatever they want. That’s why I say just build the damn thing and let’s get on with it. It’s gonna happen anyway. So what’s all the fuss about? I’m getting tired of all this political football! That’s my opinion.
    Sam Maynard had listened to all this. Then he said, You’re all forgetting one thing: the Indians. They’ve got a stake in this. And all that energy they’ve got can’t be developed without water. There are some experts now promoting a coal slurry technology.
    What’s that? someone asked.
    You build a big pipeline, Sam said, holding his arms up to form a four- or five-foot diameter. You mine the coal and crush it. Then you mix it with water—a lot of water—and you pump it down the pipeline to where the power plants are. He pointed westward. Then they drain the water off at the power plant and burn the coal in the boilers. Electricity for Phoenix and Los Angeles.
    Wait a minute, Bill Van Ness said. That’s our water. What happens to the water?
    Sam laughed. Bye, bye. You think those people in the desert are going to send it back to us? He laughed again at the thought.
    None of this makes sense, the professor said. My conservation group and a lot of outdoors people and hunters and so forth are going to the town meeting tomorrow night with the senator and tell him to quit financing this project. He needs to hear from the other side, our side.
    Why in hell would you do a thing like that? Mr. Murphy said. The thing is confused enough already. You’ll just make a lot of the folks around here angry.
    Tom, the professor said, people who’re against the project are