Tea, Coal, Busses and Bollards
      In 1773, a special interest group—Britain’s East India Company—was sitting on large stocks of tea that it could not sell in England. It was on the verge of bankruptcy. Being well connected politically, they were able to get the government to pass the Tea Act of 1773, which gave the company the right to export its merchandise directly to the colonies without paying any of the regular taxes that were imposed on the colonial merchants, who had traditionally served as the middlemen in such transactions. With these privileges, the company could undersell American merchants and monopolize the colonial tea trade.
      Various colonies made plans to prevent the East India Company from landing its cargoes in colonial ports. In ports other than Boston, agents of the company were “persuaded” to resign, and new shipments of tea were either returned to England or warehoused. In Boston, the agents refused to resign and, with the support of the royal governor, preparations were made to land incoming cargoes regardless of opposition. After failing to turn back the three ships in the harbor, local patriots led by  Samuel Adams staged a spectacular drama. On the evening of December 16, 1773, three companies of fifty men each, masquerading as Mohawk Indians, passed through a tremendous crowd of spectators, went aboard the three ships, broke open the tea chests, and heaved them into the harbor. As the electrifying news of the Boston “tea party” spread, other seaports followed the example and staged similar acts of resistance of their own.
      On May 4, 1911, the citizens of Cordova had their own party, but this time it was tons of coal rather than tea that was dumped into the harbor. The Cordova Coal Party was carefully planned by local businessmen to protest special interest groups in Washington who had been successful in closing down the Bering River coal fields, requiring coal to be imported from Canada. Several hundred local residents had secreted shovels in a dockside warehouse and arranged for all federal law enforcement officials to be called away from town on business.
      While the ban on Bering River coal was not lifted, this action did focus nationwide attention on the Prince William Sound community and on the dilemma that closure of the coal fields was causing in Alaska. Sentiment in Congress began to swing toward giving Alaskans more voice in the governing of their country.    
      When Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white man on December 1, 1955, she was tired and weary from a long day of work.
      At least that’s how the event has been retold countless times and recorded in our history books. But, there’s a misconception here that does not do justice to the woman whose act of courage began turning the wheels of the civil rights movement on that fateful day.
      Rosa Parks was physically tired, but no more than you or me after a long day’s work. In fact, under other circumstances, she would have probably given up her seat willingly to a child or elderly person. But this time Parks was tired of the treatment she and other African Americans received every day of their lives, what with the racism, segregation, and Jim Crow laws of the time.
      “Our mistreatment was just not right, and I was tired of it,” writes Parks in her recent book, Quiet Strength. “I kept thinking about my mother and my grandparents, and how strong they were. I knew there was a possibility of being mistreated, but an opportunity was being given to me to do what I had asked of others.”
      The rest of Parks’ story is American history . . . her arrest and trial, a 381day Montgomery bus boycott, and, finally, the Supreme Court’s ruling in1956 that segregation on transportation is unconstitutional.
      Two years ago, a local McCarthy resident needed to get across the Kennicott River but the way had been blocked by “bollards,” installed by the state at the request of a special interest group. Like the tea in 1773, and the coal in 1911, the bollards were dumped into the river. The state replaced the bollards a number of times, and each time a growing number of citizens joined forces to remove them. Currently the total stands at something like 14 bollards installed and removed. While public sentiment may have indicated a preference for limited access in years gone by, that is no longer true. A clear majority of residents have shown their preference to keep the bridge open to ATV and snowmachine traffic, as evidenced by the results of the “Issues and Options” questionnaire sent out by the state when seeking solutions to the parking problem at both ends of the bridge, as well as several petitions sent to the Department of Transportation’s Regional Director Ralph Swarthout. Mr. Swarthout likes to call the bollard removers vandals. Some call them patriots. It depends on your viewpoint.