theintercept--2020-11-15--In the Mercenaries' Own Words: Documents Detail TigerSwan Infiltration of Standing Rock

Donald Trump was elected president in 2016 , a secret private security initiative called “ Operation Baratheon ” was scheduled to begin .
A PowerPoint presentation laid out the plan for Joel McCollough , a burly ex-Marine bearing a resemblance to “ Game of Thrones ” character King Robert Baratheon .
He had been posing as an opponent of the Dakota Access pipeline at protests in Iowa but was now assigned to travel to North Dakota to collect intelligence on the growing anti-pipeline movement .
There , near the Standing Rock Indian Reservation , thousands were camped out as part @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Access pipeline .
Energy Transfer , the venture ’ s parent company , had plans to run the Dakota Access pipeline under the Missouri River .
Calling themselves water protectors , the people in camp objected to the threat the pipeline would present to the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe ’ s primary drinking water source .
The effort to stop the pipeline had quickly become one of the most important Indigenous uprisings of the past century in the U.S. And McCollough , working for the mercenary security firm TigerSwan , was a key @ @ @ @ @ @ @ effort to defeat the resistance , newly released documents reveal .
TigerSwan took a militaristic approach : To McCollough and his colleagues , the anti-pipeline movement was akin to the insurgencies the veterans had confronted in Afghanistan and Iraq .
In line with that view , they deployed the same kinds of subversive tactics used in theaters of war .
One of these tactics was the use of spies to infiltrate so-called insurgents .
That was McCollough ’ s goal when , in November 2016 , he drove to North Dakota with an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ titled “ Mission ” described exactly what he would do once he arrived : “ infiltrate one of the Standing Rock camps.
” Another slide , titled “ Situation , ” listed his adversaries , under the heading of “ Belligerents ” : “ Native American activists , anti-establishment radicals , independent press , protester intelligence cells , camp security .
The newly revealed documents obtained by The Intercept show how security operations like McCollough ’ s infiltration were carefully orchestrated and managed by TigerSwan — describing in the security firm ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ denied ever took place .
The documents make clear just how far security companies hired by energy industry firms — in this case , TigerSwan and Energy Transfer — will go to protect their clients ’ business interests against a growing climate movement , and how much the energy companies are willing to spend for these aggressive defenses : An invoice from December 2017 said TigerSwan had billed Dakota Access LLC , a subsidiary of Energy Transfer , some $ 17 million up to that point .
For movements like the one at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ defenders , fighting for territory central to their identity and health , and climate activists , staving off a potential future of chaos and suffering — their actions are a matter of survival .
But the same can be said for the energy companies , evidenced by their willingness to deploy war-on-terror-style tactics .
Advocates for the activists , though , say the war-like tactics have created harmful conditions for those exercising their right to dissent .
“ This level of saturated , coordinated attack between private corporate interests , law enforcement , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ justice movement particularly in the United States is extremely dangerous , ” said Mara Verheyden-Hilliard , co-founder of the Partnership for Civil Justice Fund , which is working with the Water Protector Legal Collective to represent water protectors in a class-action lawsuit against North Dakota law enforcement officials for using high-pressure water hoses and other aggressive tactics at Standing Rock .
The suit notes TigerSwan ’ s close collaboration with the sheriffs ’ officials .
In his responses to the board ’ s allegations , Reese claimed misinformation was to blame for parts @ @ @ @ @ @ @ against TigerSwan , suggesting the culprit was a series of investigative stories from The Intercept : “ The board considers one sided news reports from an anti-energy on-line publication a sufficient basis for calling me a liar , ” Reese declared .
In the same affidavit , Reese claimed the operation involving McCollough had merely been proposed to the firm and , owing to its lack of a security license , not approved by TigerSwan .
( At the end of last summer , TigerSwan and Reese signed a settlement with the board @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no wrongdoing . )
TigerSwan ’ s own reports , however , offer rich detail about the company ’ s operations — better than any other source to date .
( Neither Reese nor TigerSwan responded to a detailed request for comment for this article .
Energy Transfer directed questions to TigerSwan and said , “ We have no knowledge of any of the alleged activities.
” McCollough suggested that some of the TigerSwan documents included as exhibits in the North Dakota board ’ s filing — which he incorrectly described as “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but declined to point to any specific fact he disputed or item he believed to be false . )
WhatsApp chats , invoices , operational plans , and organizational charts , all made public by the North Dakota security board , show how Reese and TigerSwan were making , according to the board , “ willfully false and misleading ” claims when they said that the company had not carried out private investigation , security work , or infiltration operations in North Dakota .
The company documents show instead that TigerSwan at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ operation as a driving element of its effort to fight pipeline resistance .
“ TS personnel have established eight months of relationships with activists , ” a presentation titled “ TigerSwan Intelligence ” stated .
The same slide noted that TigerSwan operatives had gotten to know “ Anti-pipeline groups in Iowa , Nebraska , Illinois , Missouri , and North Dakota ” and “ Maintain personal relationships with key leaders.
” “ No other company has infiltrated these activist groups on a long-term basis , ” another slide said .
“ Our personnel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ communities and groups that are international in their reach.
” The plan for Operation Baratheon describes how the company organized such activities .
In advance of McCollough ’ s election-week trip , TigerSwan meticulously plotted out the mission , compiling a slideshow with the weather forecast , the driving route from Iowa to North Dakota , and a detailed escape plan , including an option for a helicopter evacuation .
This calculated approach was new for the company , said the intelligence team member .
Recently , a company infiltrator had been hastily @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his cover was blown , and TigerSwan did not want to be caught unprepared again .
Once a day , McCollough was to use code phrases to check in with his handlers on a WhatsApp channel that included six other TigerSwan operatives , according to the documents .
The operation plan warned of certain types of people — referred to as “ belligerents ” — thought to be dangerous .
McCollough , for example , was to be wary of members of the independent press .
The former contractor explained the thinking : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” he said , “ and they ’ re basically an intelligence collection node for whatever movement they ’ re a part of.
” Framing journalists , camp security , and Native American activists as hostile aggressors was in line with TigerSwan ’ s view of the protests as an insurgency that must be quelled : “ TigerSwan ’ s counterinsurgency approach to the problem set is to identify and break down the activist network , ” the intelligence PowerPoint stated .
“ TS Intel understands anti-pipeline activists have developed cultural , religious @ @ @ @ @ @ @ uniquely capable of exploiting.
” Pipeline opponents have alleged that the counterinsurgency campaign led to civil rights violations .
Although the North Dakota security board signed the settlement agreement , at least one other lawsuit against the security firm is outstanding .
The suit , which alleges that the closure of the highway passing by the resistance camps infringed on pipeline opponents ’ First Amendment rights , says TigerSwan ’ s close collaboration with police and public officials makes the security firm liable for the abuses .
Water protectors believe that the paltry @ @ @ @ @ @ @ only a semblance/parody of justice .
“ TigerSwan has not yet been held meaningfully accountable for their actions at Standing Rock , ” said Noah Smith-Drelich , an attorney representing water protectors in the highway case .
“ We ’ re hoping to change that.
” Two bearded men wielding swords and wearing wolf skins illustrate the cover of a TigerSwan “ Daily HUMINT ” report for December 8 , 2016 .
The men represented in the TigerSwan document are úlfhéðnar , a type of elite Viking soldier that goes into a trance-like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The presentation slides in the HUMINT report offer intelligence on a variety of people , organizations , and other aspects of camp life .
The group Veterans for Peace is “ a very communist organization , ” said one slide .
Another , titled “ Red Warrior Camp Cell Leader , ” tracked the activities of a water protector named Tempeh , who was thought to be involved with a direct action-focused camp .
“ Tempeh has asked RO ” — coded initials for the infiltrator — “ to assist him in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ purposes of exploiting/sabotaging .
RO remained non-committal , ” one slide said .
“ Tempeh is also looking for someone to dig up dirt on sex trafficking involving DAPL workers.
” The infiltrators , according to the documents , volunteered to collect such information , in an effort to gain the trust of camp leaders .
The slide contained numerous inaccuracies , Tempeh told The Intercept .
Tempeh , for example , was close with members of Red Warrior , but he belonged to a separate camp called Heyoka .
He said much @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on rumor or on the kind of directionless brainstorming that occurred around campfires .
The PowerPoint was only the starting point for more than a month of documented spying .
The records provided by TigerSwan in discovery show that , the same day the report about Tempeh came in , a human intelligence team member named Logan Davis created a WhatsApp chat group with McCollough and a third member of the TigerSwan team , Zachary Perez , who were both getting ready to enter the North Dakota camps .
( Neither Davis nor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) “ Joel , first RFI for you , ” Davis wrote , using an acronym for request for information , “ who belongs to Red Warrior Group.
” He wanted the leadership structure , number of members , where they were staying , and a description of their vehicles .
He asked the same for Veterans for Peace .
Perez , meanwhile , would attempt to gain access to Sacred Stone camp .
“ RW is highly guarded , ” McCollough replied , referencing Red Warrior camp .
“ I got extremely @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” He asked Davis to get the name of a pimp from law enforcement , so he could “ build bona fides ” with Tempeh .
( Asked about the report , Tempeh did not recall any conversation with McCollough . )
Davis delivered a name and then sent the operatives into action : “ Start reengaging your sources .
We don ’ t have the luxury of time.
” The infiltrators did just that , according to the TigerSwan documents attached to the Board ’ s filing .
They attended courthouse support @ @ @ @ @ @ @ direct actions , invited water protectors to crash in their hotel rooms , and provided them with gear .
They filed intelligence reports and details of their movements back to Davis , who at times mingled among water protectors himself , and later to other handlers , Nik McKinnon and Will Janisch .
( McKinnon and Janisch did not respond to requests for comment . )
The chat logs describe the role Reese , then TigerSwan ’ s CEO , played in managing the HUMINT operation .
“ When Jim Reese visited a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ — a term for intelligence collectors , including infiltrators — “ could have 1k in petty cash , ” McCollough told the group , explaining that he didn ’ t want to use his credit card in front of the pipeline opponents .
“ I told him 500 would be plenty.
” Throughout December 2016 , McCollough developed relationships with various water protectors .
According to the TigerSwan chat logs in the North Dakota security board ’ s filing , he repeatedly referred to them in the chats as “ muj , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Muslim religious fighters .
TigerSwan operatives exchanged crude banter about women and racist jokes , including about “ drunk Indians.
” The chat itself was titled “ Operation Maca Root 3 , ” a supplement known for increasing libido and fertility in men .
As the former member of the TigerSwan intelligence team put it , “ At some level you naturally dehumanize the enemy .
They do the same thing.
” He added , “ This isn ’ t a Brooklyn tech startup , it ’ s a bunch of mercs in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ water protectors noted that such dehumanizing language speaks to the mercenaries ’ militaristic approach .
“ It ’ s the same type of racism that ’ s employed by the military in other countries to dehumanize and demonize a population under attack or under occupation , ” said Verheyden-Hilliard .
At one point in the chats , Davis indicated ambitions to do more than just observe water protectors ’ activities .
He flagged the presence of an organization of veteran volunteers called The Mission Continues , telling the chat group , “ I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ develop and infiltrate rather easily , if not completely take over.
” On a different day , after noting that few supporters turned out at a trial for a water protector , Davis joked , “ It ’ s pretty bad , I ’ m gon na eat breakfast and think about how much we have destroyed a grass roots movement.
” The assessment of TigerSwan ’ s efficacy was shared by the former member of the intelligence team : “ Demoralization , destabilization , fake crisis , ideological subversion , active measures @ @ @ @ @ @ @ all taken their toll , ” he said .
The most active infiltrator in the chat group was McCollough , according to the logs made public in the security board filing .
Throughout December and January , he attempted to identify weapons in the camps .
He described interpersonal disputes between members of the camp security groups and drug and alcohol use among the pipeline opponents .
And he showed a special interest in violence against women .
Previous reporting by The Intercept shows that he asked two water protectors for names of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he was a journalist writing an article about it ; they declined .
The chat provides evidence of that approach .
“ Working on the pirs ” — priority intelligence requirements — “ with a muj who thinks I ’ m gon na write an article about the rapes in camp , ” he told the chat group at one point .
McCollough floated another idea for obtaining information that water protectors didn ’ t offer voluntarily .
“ Can we get micro recorders for a hotel room ?
If its legal , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( In fact , water protectors had found what appeared to be such a device at the hotel and casino back in October . )
“ Tempeh used the bathroom to have private discussions even when the room was full .
If i had had a recorder I could turn on remotely it would have been great.
” “ You can do it but can ’ t be used in court , ” the other infiltrator , Perez , responded .
“ Only with consent or in a ‘ public Setting.
’ ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ It would depend on ‘ who ’ s dwelling ’ it is .
And what Zach said.
” “ If i paid for the room , its mine , right ?
” McCollough asked .
They were mostly wrong .
In North Dakota , using recording devices , even in your own home , would amount to felony eavesdropping in a space like a bathroom , where there is a reasonable expectation of privacy — unless at least one person present agreed to the recording , according to North Dakota ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ remembered seeing McCollough that day in the hotel room , said that operational security was essential to planning nonviolent direct actions and likely prevented McCollough from getting much meaningful information .
“ If you weren ’ t in our family , we didn ’ t talk to you , ” he said .
“ We didn ’ t even talk around you.
” Vanessa Dundon , a plaintiff in the class-action lawsuit related to the water hoses , was also mentioned in the documents .
Dundon , who is Diné , lost vision @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a tear gas canister at Standing Rock .
In the chat logs filed by the security board , McCollough claimed to have spent a night in Dundon ’ s room , to which Davis replied that he hoped McCollough would “ make little martyrs ” with her .
“ Cyclops babies , ” Perez replied in the chats , a crass reference to Dundon ’ s lost eye .
Dundon said she didn ’ t remember McCollough .
“ It disappoints me how childish all of the security firms are and that they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” she said .
Even as she continues , four years later , to undergo surgeries on her eye , however , Dundon finds humor in the infiltrators ’ boorish exchange .
“ It ’ s funny in a way , ” she said .
“ Being Native , the way we take in hate or shaming — we turn those things to make them laughable.
” Ultimately , for Dundon and others , it ’ s their communities ’ health at stake .
Kandi Mossett , a member of the Mandan , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Fort Berthold reservation in the heart of North Dakota ’ s fracking region , developed cancer when she was 20 years old , which she believes was linked to pollution in her community .
Mossett , who was also mentioned in the WhatsApp chats filed by the security board , said the surveillance she and others experienced at Standing Rock has indelibly changed the Indigenous environmental justice movement .
“ It ’ s still affecting people four years later with PTSD , ” she said .
She and others have become more cautious @ @ @ @ @ @ @ use technology .
The surveillance , she added , “ is a form of trying to shut us up and shut us down .
And for most of us , it didn ’ t work.
” The WhatsApp chats continued into mid-January , though McCollough worked as an infiltrator through the spring , long after the camps closed down in February .
The documents obtained by The Intercept leave a paper trail of his work .
An invoice dated March 23 , 2017 , listed him as “ HUMINT ND ” — human @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2017 image of McCollough at a Chicago meeting of the nonprofit Food & Water Watch appeared in the PowerPoint titled “ TigerSwan Intelligence.
” Law enforcement was no match for pipeline opponents , the pitch began .
“ The activist mindset places them in at the same level as an insurgency , which is outside current law enforcement capabilities , ” a slide said .
It was TigerSwan ’ s human intelligence capabilities that truly set it apart from law enforcement , because police had to “ rely on warrants to obtain information @ @ @ @ @ @ @ freely provided by the activists themselves.
” Instead of “ turning ” activists , a slide said , “ We rely on elicitation primarily.
” Unlike law enforcement officers , private security operatives work outside of many constitutional restraints , such as those laid out in First Amendment law , said Verheyden-Hilliard .
“ When you start to bring in these private entities , they ’ re also often operating as an illegal proxy force to be a hidden hand to do what official law enforcement may be restricted from doing , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ re seeing here , ” she said .
“ The fact that you have law enforcement that is commissioned by the state with the authority to use lethal force and to deprive people of their liberty — that law enforcement is being informed in its actions by an entity whose pecuniary interest is in suppressing protest activity.
” Cooperation along those lines was evident in the TigerSwan presentation .
“ Advanced warning of protester movement allowed TigerSwan security to liaise with local Law Enforcement ( LE ) in a timely manner , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ set up to imitate military regional operations centers , ” analysts combined data from their 24-hour media monitoring with the human intelligence collected on the ground to create maps of networks and detailed profiles of activists .
The product TigerSwan could offer , the presentation said , was more than just former military members who know how to break into a movement .
“ Utilization of CI/HUMINT ” — counterintelligence/human intelligence — “ techniques and military fusion cells have allowed TigerSwan to develop proprietary databases on activists , ” the presentation stated @ @ @ @ @ @ @ : “ TigerSwan analysts now have a well-developed intelligence picture of key bad actors , the groups they belong to , how they are funded , and where they come from , ” the PowerPoint read .
“ This enormous amount of historical data is proprietary to TS.
” The former intelligence operative scoffed at the idea that TigerSwan ’ s database contained meaningful threat information .
“ So there ’ s a databases of people and things and events that ’ s so big it really doesn ’ t mean anything , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ claims : “ More threats made them more money .
It was just promo to get contracts.
” TigerSwan ’ s path to expansion , however , was obstructed after The Intercept ’ s investigations revealed the company ’ s invasive , militaristic tactics .
As its business suffered , TigerSwan fought to evade legal accountability .
Despite the internal company documents included in the security board filing , TigerSwan and Reese have continued to deny they provided private investigative and security services in North Dakota .
In June , in response to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ North Dakota Private Investigative and Security Board with their discovery request , Reese submitted a lengthy affidavit challenging accounts of TigerSwan ’ s activities .
“ Did any of OUR employees provide investigative or security services in North Dakota .
They did not .
Anyone inside the camp providing investigative services were hired by someone else , ” Reese wrote on June 24 .
“ HUMINT does not mean they were in the camp .
Those assigned as HUMINT were research/reports writers who focused on information from sources along the pipeline , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ HUMINT ” operatives discussed infiltrating North Dakota camps in real time over WhatsApp .
As for McCollough , Reese declared , “ The intercept article alleges he was in ND and spent a few days in the Casino .
We understand that he came on his own accord as he was writing an article .
Mr. McCullough has had several articles published over the years on a variety of veteran views and activities .
TigerSwan hired him for work in Iowa and North Carolina.
” Operation Baratheon was “ a PROPOSED idea @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It was disapproved because TigerSwan was not licensed to do this type of private investigator work and our former military intel analyst were looking at this from their experiences abroad and not domestically.
” As The Intercept has previously reported , McCollough did indeed follow the plan outlined in the document , and the new documents show that TigerSwan managers ran at least one similar operation .
( According to an invoice , McCollough billed $ 450 a day for his work as a human intelligence operative . )
The board ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ part of an attempt by TigerSwan “ to perpetuate a fraud on this court through their intentional misrepresentation and omissions related to Joel McCollough , Logan Davis , and Zach Perez.
” The judge agreed that sanctions would be necessary .
For failing to provide full responses to discovery requests , she declared TigerSwan and Reese in default and said the board should apply an administrative fee .
TigerSwan asked the board to reconsider , claiming that they had provided substantive answers to the requests and that they stood ready to provide additional @ @ @ @ @ @ @ legal battle in response to the judge ’ s ruling — the board suggested in a legal filing that “ TigerSwan seeks to win this action by attrition ” — the two sides reached a settlement in September of this year .
TigerSwan agreed to stay out of North Dakota and to pay a fine of $ 175,000 — a fraction of the standard fines for violations laid out in the North Dakota Private Investigative and Security Board ’ s complaint — in exchange for admitting no wrongdoing .
The settlement did not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ over 16,000 documents to the board about its activities at Standing Rock , putting them into the public record .
Energy Transfer is now suing TigerSwan and the security board , claiming that the security company breached its contract by providing the material and that the board should return the material .
A judge has granted a temporary straining order preventing North Dakota from providing citizens access to the material .
By the time the administrative case was settled , Reese had already moved on to new ventures .
After Trump ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s at the Washington Examiner published an op-ed suggesting the TigerSwan chief ought to be appointed FBI director .
At the same time , Reese fashioned himself into a right-wing pundit , commenting on relations with Russia , mass shootings , and the war in Syria — all through a contributor gig at Fox News , where Trump might see him speak .
Though the FBI job never materialized , this summer Reese obtained a U.S. government-approved contract to export oil from the Kurdish-controlled region of Northeast Syria , a deal the Syrian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ stealing ” Syrian oil .
Meanwhile , the idea that counterinsurgency tactics should be used to quell domestic uprisings has proliferated .
David Kilcullen , a top war-on-terror adviser to the U.S. government , recently wrote that the nationwide uprisings in the wake of George Floyd ’ s killing might be viewed as an “ incipient insurgency.
” What happened at Standing Rock reveals the results such logic can produce .
Last month , private security firm Atlas Aegis put out calls for special operations veterans to apply to defend Minneapolis businesses @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from “ antifas.
” In response , Minnesota voting rights advocates sued the company , and the state attorney general ’ s office launched its own investigation .
“ There has to be a crackdown , ” said Verheyden-Hilliard .
She said the big question would be whether legislatures would be willing to rein in security companies .
“ Or do they just want to endorse and support a sprawling paramilitary , law enforcement , surveillance industry that has tentacles throughout the country and can act at the whim of any private corporation @ @

The weekend before Donald Trump was elected president in 2016, a secret private security initiative called “Operation Baratheon” was scheduled to begin. A PowerPoint presentation laid out the plan for Joel McCollough, a burly ex-Marine bearing a resemblance to “Game of Thrones” character King Robert Baratheon. He had been posing as an opponent of the Dakota Access pipeline at protests in Iowa but was now assigned to travel to North Dakota to collect intelligence on the growing anti-pipeline movement.
There, near the Standing Rock Indian Reservation, thousands were camped out as part of the Indigenous-led resistance to the Dakota Access pipeline. Energy Transfer, the venture’s parent company, had plans to run the Dakota Access pipeline under the Missouri River. Calling themselves water protectors, the people in camp objected to the threat the pipeline would present to the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe’s primary drinking water source.
The effort to stop the pipeline had quickly become one of the most important Indigenous uprisings of the past century in the U.S. And McCollough, working for the mercenary security firm TigerSwan, was a key player in Energy Transfer’s multistate effort to defeat the resistance, newly released documents reveal. TigerSwan took a militaristic approach: To McCollough and his colleagues, the anti-pipeline movement was akin to the insurgencies the veterans had confronted in Afghanistan and Iraq. In line with that view, they deployed the same kinds of subversive tactics used in theaters of war.
One of these tactics was the use of spies to infiltrate so-called insurgents. That was McCollough’s goal when, in November 2016, he drove to North Dakota with an unwitting pipeline opponent. A PowerPoint slide titled “Mission” described exactly what he would do once he arrived: “infiltrate one of the Standing Rock camps.” Another slide, titled “Situation,” listed his adversaries, under the heading of “Belligerents”: “Native American activists, anti-establishment radicals, independent press, protester intelligence cells, camp security.”
TigerSwan’s “False” Denial
The newly revealed documents obtained by The Intercept show how security operations like McCollough’s infiltration were carefully orchestrated and managed by TigerSwan — describing in the security firm’s own words activities that it has repeatedly denied ever took place.
The documents make clear just how far security companies hired by energy industry firms — in this case, TigerSwan and Energy Transfer — will go to protect their clients’ business interests against a growing climate movement, and how much the energy companies are willing to spend for these aggressive defenses: An invoice from December 2017 said TigerSwan had billed Dakota Access LLC, a subsidiary of Energy Transfer, some $17 million up to that point.
For movements like the one at Standing Rock — Indigenous land and water defenders, fighting for territory central to their identity and health, and climate activists, staving off a potential future of chaos and suffering — their actions are a matter of survival. But the same can be said for the energy companies, evidenced by their willingness to deploy war-on-terror-style tactics.
Advocates for the activists, though, say the war-like tactics have created harmful conditions for those exercising their right to dissent. “This level of saturated, coordinated attack between private corporate interests, law enforcement, private security to shut down the climate justice movement particularly in the United States is extremely dangerous,” said Mara Verheyden-Hilliard, co-founder of the Partnership for Civil Justice Fund, which is working with the Water Protector Legal Collective to represent water protectors in a class-action lawsuit against North Dakota law enforcement officials for using high-pressure water hoses and other aggressive tactics at Standing Rock. The suit notes TigerSwan’s close collaboration with the sheriffs’ officials.
The new documents, which are being reported here for the first time, were turned over as discovery material to the North Dakota Private Investigation and Security Board. The board filed an administrative complaint against TigerSwan and its former CEO, James Reese, a retired commander of the elite special operations military unit Delta Force, for operating without a license in the state — alleging violations carrying more than $2 million in fines. TigerSwan responded to the claim in court by saying the firm only provided consultation for the operations.
The security board made the new material public as exhibits attached to a legal filing alleging that TigerSwan’s denials were “willfully false and misleading” and that the documents proved it.
“This level of saturated, coordinated attack between private corporate interests, law enforcement, private security to shut down the climate justice movement particularly in the United States is extremely dangerous.”
In his responses to the board’s allegations, Reese claimed misinformation was to blame for parts of the security board’s lawsuit against TigerSwan, suggesting the culprit was a series of investigative stories from The Intercept: “The board considers one sided news reports from an anti-energy on-line publication a sufficient basis for calling me a liar,” Reese declared. In the same affidavit, Reese claimed the operation involving McCollough had merely been proposed to the firm and, owing to its lack of a security license, not approved by TigerSwan. (At the end of last summer, TigerSwan and Reese signed a settlement with the board for less than $200,000, admitting no wrongdoing.)
TigerSwan’s own reports, however, offer rich detail about the company’s operations — better than any other source to date. (Neither Reese nor TigerSwan responded to a detailed request for comment for this article. Energy Transfer directed questions to TigerSwan and said, “We have no knowledge of any of the alleged activities.” McCollough suggested that some of the TigerSwan documents included as exhibits in the North Dakota board’s filing — which he incorrectly described as “leaked” — may contain inaccurate information, but declined to point to any specific fact he disputed or item he believed to be false.)
WhatsApp chats, invoices, operational plans, and organizational charts, all made public by the North Dakota security board, show how Reese and TigerSwan were making, according to the board, “willfully false and misleading” claims when they said that the company had not carried out private investigation, security work, or infiltration operations in North Dakota. The company documents show instead that TigerSwan at times promoted its “human intelligence” operation as a driving element of its effort to fight pipeline resistance.
“TS personnel have established eight months of relationships with activists,” a presentation titled “TigerSwan Intelligence” stated. The same slide noted that TigerSwan operatives had gotten to know “Anti-pipeline groups in Iowa, Nebraska, Illinois, Missouri, and North Dakota” and “Maintain personal relationships with key leaders.”
“No other company has infiltrated these activist groups on a long-term basis,” another slide said. “Our personnel even now develop deeper ties into activist communities and groups that are international in their reach.”
Far-Reaching Surveillance
TigerSwan organized its surveillance work like a full-fledged state intelligence agency but on a smaller scale. The company divided the intelligence operation into teams focused on human intelligence, imagery intelligence, signals intelligence (intercepting communications), and open-source intelligence based on news reports or other publicly available material like social media posts. The TigerSwan teams worked out of “fusion centers” — the same term state law enforcement agencies use to describe a network of post-9/11 information sharing offices — located in Bismarck, North Dakota; Des Moines, Iowa; and Sioux Falls, South Dakota, according to an organizational chart.
The imagery intelligence team included an operative who took photographs of the camps from a helicopter, while the signals intelligence team monitored water protectors’ radio communications. At times, on the radios, TigerSwan operatives would add their own disruptive messages, according to a former member of the intelligence team, who declined to be named out of fear of retribution.
Key to the security operation was the use of infiltrators. “Having TS CI/HUMINT infiltrators on the ground is critical in minimizing lost construction time,” the TigerSwan Intelligence PowerPoint noted, using acronyms for counterintelligence and human intelligence.
Joel McCollough, far right, at a climate march launch event in Chicago hosted by Food & Water Watch in April 2017. Photo: Courtesy of Gloria Araya
The plan for Operation Baratheon describes how the company organized such activities. In advance of McCollough’s election-week trip, TigerSwan meticulously plotted out the mission, compiling a slideshow with the weather forecast, the driving route from Iowa to North Dakota, and a detailed escape plan, including an option for a helicopter evacuation. This calculated approach was new for the company, said the intelligence team member. Recently, a company infiltrator had been hastily removed from the North Dakota camps after his cover was blown, and TigerSwan did not want to be caught unprepared again. Once a day, McCollough was to use code phrases to check in with his handlers on a WhatsApp channel that included six other TigerSwan operatives, according to the documents.
The operation plan warned of certain types of people — referred to as “belligerents” — thought to be dangerous. McCollough, for example, was to be wary of members of the independent press. The former contractor explained the thinking: Independent reporters are “not unbiased,” he said, “and they’re basically an intelligence collection node for whatever movement they’re a part of.”
Framing journalists, camp security, and Native American activists as hostile aggressors was in line with TigerSwan’s view of the protests as an insurgency that must be quelled: “TigerSwan’s counterinsurgency approach to the problem set is to identify and break down the activist network,” the intelligence PowerPoint stated. “TS Intel understands anti-pipeline activists have developed cultural, religious, and ethnic environments which we are uniquely capable of exploiting.”
Framing journalists, camp security, and Native American activists as hostile aggressors was in line with TigerSwan’s view of the protests as an insurgency that must be quelled.
Pipeline opponents have alleged that the counterinsurgency campaign led to civil rights violations. Although the North Dakota security board signed the settlement agreement, at least one other lawsuit against the security firm is outstanding. The suit, which alleges that the closure of the highway passing by the resistance camps infringed on pipeline opponents’ First Amendment rights, says TigerSwan’s close collaboration with police and public officials makes the security firm liable for the abuses.
Water protectors believe that the paltry fines imposed by the security board provide only a semblance/parody of justice. “TigerSwan has not yet been held meaningfully accountable for their actions at Standing Rock,” said Noah Smith-Drelich, an attorney representing water protectors in the highway case. “We’re hoping to change that.”
Infiltrator Chat Logs
Two bearded men wielding swords and wearing wolf skins illustrate the cover of a TigerSwan “Daily HUMINT” report for December 8, 2016. The men represented in the TigerSwan document are úlfhéðnar, a type of elite Viking soldier that goes into a trance-like state as they lead attacks on enemies.
The presentation slides in the HUMINT report offer intelligence on a variety of people, organizations, and other aspects of camp life. The group Veterans for Peace is “a very communist organization,” said one slide. Another, titled “Red Warrior Camp Cell Leader,” tracked the activities of a water protector named Tempeh, who was thought to be involved with a direct action-focused camp. “Tempeh has asked RO” — coded initials for the infiltrator — “to assist him in evaluating weaknesses in the systems for the purposes of exploiting/sabotaging. RO remained non-committal,” one slide said. “Tempeh is also looking for someone to dig up dirt on sex trafficking involving DAPL workers.” The infiltrators, according to the documents, volunteered to collect such information, in an effort to gain the trust of camp leaders.
The slide contained numerous inaccuracies, Tempeh told The Intercept. Tempeh, for example, was close with members of Red Warrior, but he belonged to a separate camp called Heyoka. He said much of the material seemed to be based on rumor or on the kind of directionless brainstorming that occurred around campfires.
The PowerPoint was only the starting point for more than a month of documented spying. The records provided by TigerSwan in discovery show that, the same day the report about Tempeh came in, a human intelligence team member named Logan Davis created a WhatsApp chat group with McCollough and a third member of the TigerSwan team, Zachary Perez, who were both getting ready to enter the North Dakota camps. (Neither Davis nor Perez responded to requests for comment.)
“Joel, first RFI for you,” Davis wrote, using an acronym for request for information, “who belongs to Red Warrior Group.” He wanted the leadership structure, number of members, where they were staying, and a description of their vehicles. He asked the same for Veterans for Peace. Perez, meanwhile, would attempt to gain access to Sacred Stone camp.
“RW is highly guarded,” McCollough replied, referencing Red Warrior camp. “I got extremely lucky meeting Tempeh the way i did.” He asked Davis to get the name of a pimp from law enforcement, so he could “build bona fides” with Tempeh. (Asked about the report, Tempeh did not recall any conversation with McCollough.)
Davis delivered a name and then sent the operatives into action: “Start reengaging your sources. We don’t have the luxury of time.”
The infiltrators did just that, according to the TigerSwan documents attached to the Board’s filing. They attended courthouse support protests, offered to be drivers for direct actions, invited water protectors to crash in their hotel rooms, and provided them with gear. They filed intelligence reports and details of their movements back to Davis, who at times mingled among water protectors himself, and later to other handlers, Nik McKinnon and Will Janisch. (McKinnon and Janisch did not respond to requests for comment.)
The chat logs describe the role Reese, then TigerSwan’s CEO, played in managing the HUMINT operation. “When Jim Reese visited a while ago he said the collectors” — a term for intelligence collectors, including infiltrators — “could have 1k in petty cash,” McCollough told the group, explaining that he didn’t want to use his credit card in front of the pipeline opponents. “I told him 500 would be plenty.”
McCollough’s Machinations
Throughout December 2016, McCollough developed relationships with various water protectors. According to the TigerSwan chat logs in the North Dakota security board’s filing, he repeatedly referred to them in the chats as “muj,” shorthand for mujahedeen, a reference to Muslim religious fighters. TigerSwan operatives exchanged crude banter about women and racist jokes, including about “drunk Indians.” The chat itself was titled “Operation Maca Root 3,” a supplement known for increasing libido and fertility in men.
As the former member of the TigerSwan intelligence team put it, “At some level you naturally dehumanize the enemy. They do the same thing.” He added, “This isn’t a Brooklyn tech startup, it’s a bunch of mercs in a private chat supposedly.”
Advocates for water protectors noted that such dehumanizing language speaks to the mercenaries’ militaristic approach. “It’s the same type of racism that’s employed by the military in other countries to dehumanize and demonize a population under attack or under occupation,” said Verheyden-Hilliard.
At one point in the chats, Davis indicated ambitions to do more than just observe water protectors’ activities. He flagged the presence of an organization of veteran volunteers called The Mission Continues, telling the chat group, “I can see this being something we can develop and infiltrate rather easily, if not completely take over.”
On a different day, after noting that few supporters turned out at a trial for a water protector, Davis joked, “It’s pretty bad, I’m gonna eat breakfast and think about how much we have destroyed a grass roots movement.”
The assessment of TigerSwan’s efficacy was shared by the former member of the intelligence team: “Demoralization, destabilization, fake crisis, ideological subversion, active measures, or psychological warfare — these had all taken their toll,” he said.
The most active infiltrator in the chat group was McCollough, according to the logs made public in the security board filing. Throughout December and January, he attempted to identify weapons in the camps. He described interpersonal disputes between members of the camp security groups and drug and alcohol use among the pipeline opponents. And he showed a special interest in violence against women. Previous reporting by The Intercept shows that he asked two water protectors for names of women who had been assaulted, claiming he was a journalist writing an article about it; they declined. The chat provides evidence of that approach. “Working on the pirs” — priority intelligence requirements — “with a muj who thinks I’m gonna write an article about the rapes in camp,” he told the chat group at one point.
McCollough floated another idea for obtaining information that water protectors didn’t offer voluntarily. “Can we get micro recorders for a hotel room? If its legal, of course,” he suggested. (In fact, water protectors had found what appeared to be such a device at the hotel and casino back in October.) “Tempeh used the bathroom to have private discussions even when the room was full. If i had had a recorder I could turn on remotely it would have been great.”
“You can do it but can’t be used in court,” the other infiltrator, Perez, responded. “Only with consent or in a ‘public Setting.’”
McKinnon, the handler, jumped in. “It would depend on ‘who’s dwelling’ it is. And what Zach said.”
“If i paid for the room, its mine, right?”McCollough asked.
“Correct,” McKinnon replied.
They were mostly wrong. In North Dakota, using recording devices, even in your own home, would amount to felony eavesdropping in a space like a bathroom, where there is a reasonable expectation of privacy — unless at least one person present agreed to the recording, according to North Dakota’s wiretapping laws.
Tempeh, who remembered seeing McCollough that day in the hotel room, said that operational security was essential to planning nonviolent direct actions and likely prevented McCollough from getting much meaningful information. “If you weren’t in our family, we didn’t talk to you,” he said. “We didn’t even talk around you.”
Vanessa Dundon, a plaintiff in the class-action lawsuit related to the water hoses, was also mentioned in the documents. Dundon, who is Diné, lost vision in one eye after being hit by a tear gas canister at Standing Rock. In the chat logs filed by the security board, McCollough claimed to have spent a night in Dundon’s room, to which Davis replied that he hoped McCollough would “make little martyrs” with her. “Cyclops babies,” Perez replied in the chats, a crass reference to Dundon’s lost eye.
Dundon said she didn’t remember McCollough. “It disappoints me how childish all of the security firms are and that they are in any position of power,” she said. Even as she continues, four years later, to undergo surgeries on her eye, however, Dundon finds humor in the infiltrators’ boorish exchange. “It’s funny in a way,” she said. “Being Native, the way we take in hate or shaming — we turn those things to make them laughable.”
Ultimately, for Dundon and others, it’s their communities’ health at stake. Kandi Mossett, a member of the Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara Nation from the Fort Berthold reservation in the heart of North Dakota’s fracking region, developed cancer when she was 20 years old, which she believes was linked to pollution in her community.
Mossett, who was also mentioned in the WhatsApp chats filed by the security board, said the surveillance she and others experienced at Standing Rock has indelibly changed the Indigenous environmental justice movement. “It’s still affecting people four years later with PTSD,” she said. She and others have become more cautious about who they trust and how they use technology. The surveillance, she added, “is a form of trying to shut us up and shut us down. And for most of us, it didn’t work.”
“Proprietary Databases on Activists”
The WhatsApp chats continued into mid-January, though McCollough worked as an infiltrator through the spring, long after the camps closed down in February. The documents obtained by The Intercept leave a paper trail of his work. An invoice dated March 23, 2017, listed him as “HUMINT ND” — human intelligence North Dakota — and an April 2017 image of McCollough at a Chicago meeting of the nonprofit Food & Water Watch appeared in the PowerPoint titled “TigerSwan Intelligence.”
TigerSwan saw opportunity on the horizon: anti-pipeline insurgency everywhere.
By then, the movement at Standing Rock had quieted down, and it was becoming increasingly clear that the counterinsurgency force envisioned by TigerSwan at Standing Rock was no longer needed, even on its own terms. TigerSwan, however, saw opportunity on the horizon: anti-pipeline insurgency everywhere. The internal company documents hint at plans to build out the firm’s own cottage industry of squelching pipeline protests. One presentation, which appears to be a pitch to fossil-fuel companies, lays out the services TigerSwan hoped to provide.
Law enforcement was no match for pipeline opponents, the pitch began. “The activist mindset places them in at the same level as an insurgency, which is outside current law enforcement capabilities,” a slide said. It was TigerSwan’s human intelligence capabilities that truly set it apart from law enforcement, because police had to “rely on warrants to obtain information rather than improvising and having the information freely provided by the activists themselves.” Instead of “turning” activists, a slide said, “We rely on elicitation primarily.”
Unlike law enforcement officers, private security operatives work outside of many constitutional restraints, such as those laid out in First Amendment law, said Verheyden-Hilliard. “When you start to bring in these private entities, they’re also often operating as an illegal proxy force to be a hidden hand to do what official law enforcement may be restricted from doing, which is a lot of what we’re seeing here,” she said. “The fact that you have law enforcement that is commissioned by the state with the authority to use lethal force and to deprive people of their liberty — that law enforcement is being informed in its actions by an entity whose pecuniary interest is in suppressing protest activity.”
Cooperation along those lines was evident in the TigerSwan presentation. “Advanced warning of protester movement allowed TigerSwan security to liaise with local Law Enforcement (LE) in a timely manner,” the documents said.
“They’re also often operating as an illegal proxy force to be a hidden hand to do what official law enforcement may be restricted from doing.”
At fusion cells “set up to imitate military regional operations centers,” analysts combined data from their 24-hour media monitoring with the human intelligence collected on the ground to create maps of networks and detailed profiles of activists.
The product TigerSwan could offer, the presentation said, was more than just former military members who know how to break into a movement. “Utilization of CI/HUMINT” — counterintelligence/human intelligence — “techniques and military fusion cells have allowed TigerSwan to develop proprietary databases on activists,” the presentation stated.
And the data could be reused: “TigerSwan analysts now have a well-developed intelligence picture of key bad actors, the groups they belong to, how they are funded, and where they come from,” the PowerPoint read. “This enormous amount of historical data is proprietary to TS.”
The former intelligence operative scoffed at the idea that TigerSwan’s database contained meaningful threat information. “So there’s a databases of people and things and events that’s so big it really doesn’t mean anything,” he said, but explained the claims: “More threats made them more money. It was just promo to get contracts.”
TigerSwan’s “Fraud”
TigerSwan’s path to expansion, however, was obstructed after The Intercept’s investigations revealed the company’s invasive, militaristic tactics. As its business suffered, TigerSwan fought to evade legal accountability.
Despite the internal company documents included in the security board filing, TigerSwan and Reese have continued to deny they provided private investigative and security services in North Dakota. In June, in response to a list of questions posed by the North Dakota Private Investigative and Security Board with their discovery request, Reese submitted a lengthy affidavit challenging accounts of TigerSwan’s activities. “Did any of OUR employees provide investigative or security services in North Dakota. They did not. Anyone inside the camp providing investigative services were hired by someone else,” Reese wrote on June 24. “HUMINT does not mean they were in the camp. Those assigned as HUMINT were research/reports writers who focused on information from sources along the pipeline,” Reese claimed, even though all three “HUMINT” operatives discussed infiltrating North Dakota camps in real time over WhatsApp.
As for McCollough, Reese declared, “The intercept article alleges he was in ND and spent a few days in the Casino. We understand that he came on his own accord as he was writing an article. Mr. McCullough has had several articles published over the years on a variety of veteran views and activities. TigerSwan hired him for work in Iowa and North Carolina.” Operation Baratheon was “a PROPOSED idea that was NOT APPROVED BY TigerSwan. It was disapproved because TigerSwan was not licensed to do this type of private investigator work and our former military intel analyst were looking at this from their experiences abroad and not domestically.”
As The Intercept has previously reported, McCollough did indeed follow the plan outlined in the document, and the new documents show that TigerSwan managers ran at least one similar operation. (According to an invoice, McCollough billed $450 a day for his work as a human intelligence operative.)
The board’s lawyer characterized Reese’s claims as part of an attempt by TigerSwan “to perpetuate a fraud on this court through their intentional misrepresentation and omissions related to Joel McCollough, Logan Davis, and Zach Perez.” The judge agreed that sanctions would be necessary. For failing to provide full responses to discovery requests, she declared TigerSwan and Reese in default and said the board should apply an administrative fee. TigerSwan asked the board to reconsider, claiming that they had provided substantive answers to the requests and that they stood ready to provide additional information.
With TigerSwan continuing a years-long legal battle in response to the judge’s ruling — the board suggested in a legal filing that “TigerSwan seeks to win this action by attrition” — the two sides reached a settlement in September of this year. TigerSwan agreed to stay out of North Dakota and to pay a fine of $175,000 — a fraction of the standard fines for violations laid out in the North Dakota Private Investigative and Security Board’s complaint — in exchange for admitting no wrongdoing.
The settlement did not, however, prevent TigerSwan from turning over 16,000 documents to the board about its activities at Standing Rock, putting them into the public record. Energy Transfer is now suing TigerSwan and the security board, claiming that the security company breached its contract by providing the material and that the board should return the material. A judge has granted a temporary restraining order preventing North Dakota from providing citizens access to the material.
By the time the administrative case was settled, Reese had already moved on to new ventures. After Trump’s election, a friend of Reese’s at the Washington Examiner published an op-ed suggesting the TigerSwan chief ought to be appointed FBI director. At the same time, Reese fashioned himself into a right-wing pundit, commenting on relations with Russia, mass shootings, and the war in Syria — all through a contributor gig at Fox News, where Trump might see him speak. Though the FBI job never materialized, this summer Reese obtained a U.S. government-approved contract to export oil from the Kurdish-controlled region of Northeast Syria, a deal the Syrian foreign ministry said amounts to the U.S. “stealing” Syrian oil.
Meanwhile, the idea that counterinsurgency tactics should be used to quell domestic uprisings has proliferated. David Kilcullen, a top war-on-terror adviser to the U.S. government, recently wrote that the nationwide uprisings in the wake of George Floyd’s killing might be viewed as an “incipient insurgency.” What happened at Standing Rock reveals the results such logic can produce.
Last month, private security firm Atlas Aegis put out calls for special operations veterans to apply to defend Minneapolis businesses and polling places during the November election from “antifas.” In response, Minnesota voting rights advocates sued the company, and the state attorney general’s office launched its own investigation.
“There has to be a crackdown,” said Verheyden-Hilliard. She said the big question would be whether legislatures would be willing to rein in security companies. “Or do they just want to endorse and support a sprawling paramilitary, law enforcement, surveillance industry that has tentacles throughout the country and can act at the whim of any private corporation?”


theintercept--2020-11-16--Latino Organizers Work to Mobilize Georgia Voters Ahead of Senate Runoffs

on Georgia and its upcoming U.S. Senate runoffs , races that will clarify which party will control the chamber for Joe Biden ’ s first two years as president .
For Democrats interested in flipping the Senate blue , organizers stress that there is no viable path without mobilizing Latino voters , who now make up a decisive 5 percent of the state ’ s electorate and were key to running up Democratic margins in the presidential race .
Biden won Georgia by about 14,000 votes , and exit poll data showed that Latinos there voted for him over Donald @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Latinos broke for Democratic Senate candidates , too , though exit poll data suggests the split was more narrow than in the presidential contest , with about 52 percent of Latinos breaking for Democratic candidate Jon Ossoff , and a combined 57 percent of Latinos breaking for Democratic candidates Raphael Warnock and Matt Lieberman .
Though Latinos represent a significant portion of the electorate , they have rarely been targeted with the same focused energy that candidates have dedicated to mobilizing other groups , a price Democrats might pay in the upcoming runoffs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ do outreach , they don ’ t have Spanish-speaking mailers or ads that are resonant with our community , ” said Susi Durán , the Georgia state director for Poder Latinx , a group focused on building Latino political power .
“ They ’ ll throw in a few Spanish key words , maybe a few Spanish-speaking hit songs and Latin artists , but they don ’ t give us anything of substance or anything to vote for.
” Durán ’ s group made 219,000 calls to Latino voters in Georgia leading up @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that every phone-banking session was 100 percent bilingual .
“ Language accessibility is one of the biggest things to focus on , and you ’ d think that would be common sense across the political world , but it just doesn ’ t happen , ” she said .
“ It makes such a big difference , and Latino voters are often really surprised and appreciative to get information from one of their own.
” Durán said Poder Latinx is planning to make 300,000 more calls for the January runoffs .
Jerry Gonzalez @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of Latino Elected Officials , noted that Latino turnout has been rapidly increasing and even outperforming national Latino participation rates in 2016 and 2018 .
Yet while much attention has been given to the efforts led by 2018 gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams in helping to register more than 800,000 new voters in Georgia , and more than 240,000 Latinos were registered to vote in Georgia leading up to the general election , about 137,000 eligible Latinos were not registered .
Organizers and activists are grappling with some of the more unique challenges of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ released on November 4 found that 47 percent of Latinos in the U.S. said they were neither contacted by any Democratic or Republican party representative during the 2020 cycle nor by any independent community organization .
On election night , Democrats were caught off guard by the surge in Latino turnout for Trump in South Texas and Florida .
Maria del Rosario Palacios , an organizer in Georgia and chair of the state Democratic Party ’ s Latino caucus , said one obstacle to reaching potential voters has been a deprioritization of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ likely to be using .
“ Who is doing WhatsApp electoral outreach ?
” she asked .
“ Nobody .
WhatsApp is a big deal for Latinos.
” Palacios also noted that many Latinos are more likely to have pay-as-you-go phone plans compared to other voters , and so may be less likely to answer calls from unknown numbers .
She also critiqued national pollsters for not asking Latinos questions in conversational , accessible language that could better gauge where voters stand .
One of Palacios ’ s main mobilization strategies has been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ outreach in partnership with major businesses , grocery stores , and laundromats that Latinos regularly frequent .
“ There hasn ’ t been a lot of centralized efforts historically , ” she said , though she acknowledged that things have been evolving since the surge in voter registrations over the last few years .
“ 2018 really changed how we did politics in Georgia , so we ’ ve been working on it.
” Overlapping with the U.S Senate runoffs are other races in Georgia where Latino activists have been getting galvanized .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ a Democrat , is facing a runoff for district attorney in the Western Judicial Circuit , which includes Athens-Clarke County — where the University of Georgia is — and Oconee County .
Gonzalez would be the first Latino DA in Georgia history and is running on a platform of criminal justice reform , including ending death penalty prosecutions , declining to prosecute low-level marijuana possession , and reducing the use of cash bail .
She is running against James Chafin , a nonpartisan candidate .
“ I can remember the first time I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ told , you ’ re not Black , you ’ re not white , you can ’ t win here , ” recalled Gonzalez , who formerly served in the state legislature .
She said she ’ s proud of the diverse coalition her campaign has built and that her candidacy has been backed by the Latino Victory Fund and Galeo .
One challenge for Georgia organizers is that unlike in the general election , voters can ’ t cast their runoff votes for district attorney or the state legislature and the U.S. @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be frustrating how even with all the national Democratic money and energy being funneled into Georgia for Ossoff ’ s and Warnock ’ s campaigns , little has been trickling down to races like hers .
“ When people say all eyes are on Georgia , well , we ’ re not getting that attention , and sometimes there ’ s a little shortsightedness , ” she said .
“ We don ’ t need the millions .
We can do a lot with $ 10 , 20 , 30,000 , and that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ them.
” Gonzalez emphasized that there need to be Democrats as district attorneys , public service commissioners , and state legislators , and the party shouldn ’ t discount the momentum that can come from winning those races .
“ Democrats need wins , it makes people feel good , ” she said .
“ You want those wins heading into January .
[ The party ] tends to only think about the big goal , but underneath those are the down-ballot races that make important local decisions and keep those people on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , one of the most important issues to Latino voters is Covid-19 relief aid .
Latinos are falling ill and dying from the coronavirus at disproportionate rates , and in Georgia , Latino poultry workers have gotten sick at much faster rates than other workers .
Moreover , the federal government denied stimulus checks to families in which at least one member of the household was undocumented .
In Georgia , that affected 488,000 residents living in so called mixed-status families , including 176,000 children and spouses who are U.S citizens or green @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Latino Alliance for Human Rights , Galeo , Mijente , the Latin American Association , and Latino Community Fund have been pressing political leaders to take Latinos ’ needs more seriously for years .
Activists and organizers are focusing now on mobilizing Latino voters to cast their ballots again in the runoff , to combat misinformation from the right , and to register the thousands of Latino voters who are turning 18 between November 4 and December 7 .
According to exit polls , young Latino voters broke even harder for Biden , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trump 74 to 25 percent .
A spokesperson from the Warnock campaign said it has been working to ensure that its website ’ s issue pages are available in Spanish , as well as developing “ talking points tailored to Latino communities.
” In addition , the Warnock campaign said it hired a Latinx coordinator , purchased ads in the Latino print market , and hosted a single Latinos for Warnock meet-and-greet and a text/phone-bank volunteer event for Spanish speakers .
The Ossoff campaign did not return a request for comment .
Palacios @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ have been getting a lot of love ” since the election .
“ I ’ ve seen Google Doc after Google Doc listing some of the amazing on-the-ground work of Latino organizers , even beyond electoral politics , ” she said .
What Palacios worries about are Latino voters who might be deterred from voting by mail again due to issues with their absentee ballots during the general election .
According to the U.S. Election Project , 34,676 Latinos in Georgia voted by mail , and 71,176 Latinos voted early in-person .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ was getting on Election Day was from Latinos who had to cure their ballot because they got notices that their signature on their absentee ballot was off or something else , ” Palacios said .
( Just 71 Latino absentee ballots were ultimately rejected in Georgia , according to the U.S. Election Project . )
Durán said some of her phone bankers have had to focus on addressing misinformation , like voters who say they were told that they were only eligible to vote in one election and not in the runoff .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Georgia are no monolith , it ’ s important to recognize that many Latinos see voting as a collective act : a ballot cast not just for themselves but also for their family and community .
“ Whether the voters were formerly undocumented or their parents were or their friends , I think for us , when we go out to vote , more uniquely than other folks , we don ’ t just vote for ourselves , ” said Palacios .

All eyes are on Georgia and its upcoming U.S. Senate runoffs, races that will clarify which party will control the chamber for Joe Biden’s first two years as president. For Democrats interested in flipping the Senate blue, organizers stress that there is no viable path without mobilizing Latino voters, who now make up a decisive 5 percent of the state’s electorate and were key to running up Democratic margins in the presidential race. Biden won Georgia by about 14,000 votes, and exit poll data showed that Latinos there voted for him over Donald Trump, 62 to 37 percent.
Latinos broke for Democratic Senate candidates, too, though exit poll data suggests the split was more narrow than in the presidential contest, with about 52 percent of Latinos breaking for Democratic candidate Jon Ossoff, and a combined 57 percent of Latinos breaking for Democratic candidates Raphael Warnock and Matt Lieberman. Though Latinos represent a significant portion of the electorate, they have rarely been targeted with the same focused energy that candidates have dedicated to mobilizing other groups, a price Democrats might pay in the upcoming runoffs.
Political leaders “don’t do outreach, they don’t have Spanish-speaking mailers or ads that are resonant with our community,” said Susi Durán, the Georgia state director for Poder Latinx, a group focused on building Latino political power. “They’ll throw in a few Spanish key words, maybe a few Spanish-speaking hit songs and Latin artists, but they don’t give us anything of substance or anything to vote for.”
Durán’s group made 219,000 calls to Latino voters in Georgia leading up to the November 3 election and ensured that every phone-banking session was 100 percent bilingual. “Language accessibility is one of the biggest things to focus on, and you’d think that would be common sense across the political world, but it just doesn’t happen,” she said. “It makes such a big difference, and Latino voters are often really surprised and appreciative to get information from one of their own.” Durán said Poder Latinx is planning to make 300,000 more calls for the January runoffs.
Jerry Gonzalez, executive director of the Georgia Association of Latino Elected Officials, noted that Latino turnout has been rapidly increasing and even outperforming national Latino participation rates in 2016 and 2018. Yet while much attention has been given to the efforts led by 2018 gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams in helping to register more than 800,000 new voters in Georgia, and more than 240,000 Latinos were registered to vote in Georgia leading up to the general election, about 137,000 eligible Latinos were not registered.
Organizers and activists are grappling with some of the more unique challenges of reaching Latino voters. One national survey released on November 4 found that 47 percent of Latinos in the U.S. said they were neither contacted by any Democratic or Republican party representative during the 2020 cycle nor by any independent community organization. On election night, Democrats were caught off guard by the surge in Latino turnout for Trump in South Texas and Florida.
Maria del Rosario Palacios, an organizer in Georgia and chair of the state Democratic Party’s Latino caucus, said one obstacle to reaching potential voters has been a deprioritization of the kinds of digital platforms Latinos are most likely to be using. “Who is doing WhatsApp electoral outreach?” she asked. “Nobody. WhatsApp is a big deal for Latinos.” Palacios also noted that many Latinos are more likely to have pay-as-you-go phone plans compared to other voters, and so may be less likely to answer calls from unknown numbers. She also critiqued national pollsters for not asking Latinos questions in conversational, accessible language that could better gauge where voters stand.
“Who is doing WhatsApp electoral outreach? Nobody. WhatsApp is a big deal for Latinos.”
One of Palacios’s main mobilization strategies has been to distribute political literature and organize voter outreach in partnership with major businesses, grocery stores, and laundromats that Latinos regularly frequent. “There hasn’t been a lot of centralized efforts historically,” she said, though she acknowledged that things have been evolving since the surge in voter registrations over the last few years. “2018 really changed how we did politics in Georgia, so we’ve been working on it.”
Overlapping with the U.S Senate runoffs are other races in Georgia where Latino activists have been getting galvanized. On December 1, Deborah Gonzalez, a Democrat, is facing a runoff for district attorney in the Western Judicial Circuit, which includes Athens-Clarke County — where the University of Georgia is — and Oconee County. Gonzalez would be the first Latino DA in Georgia history and is running on a platform of criminal justice reform, including ending death penalty prosecutions, declining to prosecute low-level marijuana possession, and reducing the use of cash bail. She is running against James Chafin, a nonpartisan candidate.
“I can remember the first time I ever ran for office, I was told, you’re not Black, you’re not white, you can’t win here,” recalled Gonzalez, who formerly served in the state legislature. She said she’s proud of the diverse coalition her campaign has built and that her candidacy has been backed by the Latino Victory Fund and Galeo.
One challenge for Georgia organizers is that unlike in the general election, voters can’t cast their runoff votes for district attorney or the state legislature and the U.S. Senate together. Gonzalez said it can be frustrating how even with all the national Democratic money and energy being funneled into Georgia for Ossoff’s and Warnock’s campaigns, little has been trickling down to races like hers.
“When people say all eyes are on Georgia, well, we’re not getting that attention, and sometimes there’s a little shortsightedness,” she said. “We don’t need the millions. We can do a lot with $10, 20, 30,000, and that wouldn’t take away anything from them.” Gonzalez emphasized that there need to be Democrats as district attorneys, public service commissioners, and state legislators, and the party shouldn’t discount the momentum that can come from winning those races. “Democrats need wins, it makes people feel good,” she said. “You want those wins heading into January. [The party] tends to only think about the big goal, but underneath those are the down-ballot races that make important local decisions and keep those people on top.”
Both nationally and in Georgia, one of the most important issues to Latino voters is Covid-19 relief aid. Latinos are falling ill and dying from the coronavirus at disproportionate rates, and in Georgia, Latino poultry workers have gotten sick at much faster rates than other workers. Moreover, the federal government denied stimulus checks to families in which at least one member of the household was undocumented. In Georgia, that affected 488,000 residents living in so called mixed-status families, including 176,000 children and spouses who are U.S citizens or green card holders.
Local groups like Georgia Latino Alliance for Human Rights, Galeo, Mijente, the Latin American Association, and Latino Community Fund have been pressing political leaders to take Latinos’ needs more seriously for years. Activists and organizers are focusing now on mobilizing Latino voters to cast their ballots again in the runoff, to combat misinformation from the right, and to register the thousands of Latino voters who are turning 18 between November 4 and December 7. According to exit polls, young Latino voters broke even harder for Biden, with 18 to 29-year-olds backing him over Trump 74 to 25 percent.
“[The party] tends to only think about the big goal, but underneath those are the down-ballot races that make important local decisions and keep those people on top.”
A spokesperson from the Warnock campaign said it has been working to ensure that its website’s issue pages are available in Spanish, as well as developing “talking points tailored to Latino communities.” In addition, the Warnock campaign said it hired a Latinx coordinator, purchased ads in the Latino print market, and hosted a single Latinos for Warnock meet-and-greet and a text/phone-bank volunteer event for Spanish speakers. The Ossoff campaign did not return a request for comment.
Palacios said she believes the Latino grassroots organizations “have been getting a lot of love” since the election. “I’ve seen Google Doc after Google Doc listing some of the amazing on-the-ground work of Latino organizers, even beyond electoral politics,” she said. What Palacios worries about are Latino voters who might be deterred from voting by mail again due to issues with their absentee ballots during the general election. According to the U.S. Election Project, 34,676 Latinos in Georgia voted by mail, and 71,176 Latinos voted early in-person.
“The No. 1 outreach I was getting on Election Day was from Latinos who had to cure their ballot because they got notices that their signature on their absentee ballot was off or something else,” Palacios said. (Just 71 Latino absentee ballots were ultimately rejected in Georgia, according to the U.S. Election Project.) Durán said some of her phone bankers have had to focus on addressing misinformation, like voters who say they were told that they were only eligible to vote in one election and not in the runoff.
Activists and organizers stress that while Latinos in Georgia are no monolith, it’s important to recognize that many Latinos see voting as a collective act: a ballot cast not just for themselves but also for their family and community. “Whether the voters were formerly undocumented or their parents were or their friends, I think for us, when we go out to vote, more uniquely than other folks, we don’t just vote for ourselves,” said Palacios.


theintercept--2020-11-16--Anti-Nuclear Pacifists Get Federal Prison Terms for Nonviolent Protest

New York City ’ s East Village packs into sidewalk tables for brunch , activist Carmen Trotta leads a vigil for ending the U.S.-backed war in Yemen in Tompkins Square Park .
He only has a few more Saturday mornings before he must report to federal prison , along with fellow activists from Plowshares , the anti-nuclear , Christian pacifist movement .
Despite a lethal pandemic ravaging prison populations , Trotta , Martha Hennessy , Clare Grady , and Patrick O ’ Neill are due to report to prison within the next few months for activism against a suspected nuclear @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ago , Trotta and Hennessy , two of seven activists known as the Kings Bay Plowshares Seven , peacefully broke into the naval base in Brunswick , Georgia — risking their own lives to protest the suspected nuclear arsenal housed within .
Armed only with vials of their own blood , hammers , GoPro cameras , spray paint , protest banners , and whistleblower Daniel Ellsberg ’ s book , the activists symbolically attempted to disarm the nuclear weapons located on the Trident submarines at the base .
The nonviolent direct action took @ @ @ @ @ @ @ assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Far out of the spotlight of major media coverage , all but one of the activists have quietly been sentenced in their faith-based battle with the U.S. government over the “ immoral ” possession of nuclear weapons .
The activists were charged with three felonies — conspiracy , destruction of government property , depredation — and misdemeanor trespassing .
The sentencing — sending aging activists to federal prisons amid the coronavirus pandemic — fits squarely within the long history of the U.S. government throwing the book at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
President Donald Trump ’ s acceleration of heavy-handed federal charges against protesters have drawn critical media attention .
Yet activists like those in the Plowshares community , whose protests garner less attention , are suffering at the hands of a bipartisan consensus on harsh crackdowns related to direct action against so-called defense policies .
Under the rubric of national security , the persecutions of figures like Chelsea Manning , Daniel Everette Hale , or Reality Winner become polarized or fail to raise public ire , when they are noticed at all .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ when few took note of the latest Plowshares sentences .
Trotta , 58 ; Hennessy , 65 ; along with Grady , 62 , were sentenced by Judge Lisa Godbey Wood in individual virtual court sessions .
Trotta got 14 months , Grady was given 12 months and one day , and Hennessy was sentenced to 10 months ; all were ordered to pay restitution and were given years of supervised release .
As cases of Covid-19 engulfed Georgia , the defendants reluctantly agreed to proceed with their sentencing without appearing in person @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has yet to be sentenced .
Colville refuses to travel to Georgia because of the coronavirus and will not give up his constitutional right to an in-person sentencing before the court .
Prison is a barbaric punishment , and the possibility of death and major illness from Covid-19 has only made incarceration all the more brutal .
The U.S. surpassed 11 million cases of coronavirus just last week , and officials continue to mishandle containing the pandemic in prisons across the country .
These activists , though , accepted the length of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ less fortunate .
“ I ’ m hoping that with the amount of time that I ’ ve been given , that I will be there only briefly and then I hopefully will be sent either to a halfway house or home confinement , ” Hennessy told The Intercept — though halfway homes have also suffered deadly coronavirus outbreaks .
“ But there are millions of people who are trapped and contracting Covid-19 and dying in the prison system , ” she said .
“ Ninety percent of prisoners are people dealing with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , neglect , abuse in childhood — and this is how we ’ re treating them ?
” The sentencing statements allowed for the activists to address the court in a way they felt they were unable to do at their trial , which took place last year .
“ I feel like the sentencing contained a victory of some sort , ” Hennessy said .
“ The judge and the prosecutor had to hear some very significant things that we ’ re not necessarily allowed in during trial.
” On Thursday , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ laid out how each of his prior arrests had been “ a reaction to an American war crime.
” In a powerful admonishment of the violence committed abroad by the U.S. , Trotta told the court , “ [ I ] deeply believe that what our country needs , desperately , is a great deal more resistance to its ongoing foreign policy , which is a threat to the globe , not merely for nuclear weapons , but even through , simply , the ongoing war.
” “ The trident at Kings Bay @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” Grady told the judge .
“ To be clear , these weapons are not private property , they belong to the people of the United States .
They belong to me , to you , to us.
” Attorney Matthew Daloisio , a coordinator for the Kings Bay Plowshare Seven legal team , thinks that the defendants have been punished enough , and warns that some of the defendants have previous health conditions that make them more susceptible to serious harm from the pandemic .
He also questions why prison would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ It shouldn ’ t be that the court is trying to deter people from acting according to their sincerely held religious beliefs , ” Daloisio told The Intercept .
“ In terms of rehabilitation , I think everyone agrees that there ’ s no rehabilitating people from the position that human beings have the right to live , not under the threat of nuclear annihilation , not under the threat of the destruction of the whole planet .
”

Each weekend, while New York City’s East Village packs into sidewalk tables for brunch, activist Carmen Trotta leads a vigil for ending the U.S.-backed war in Yemen in Tompkins Square Park. He only has a few more Saturday mornings before he must report to federal prison, along with fellow activists from Plowshares, the anti-nuclear, Christian pacifist movement. Despite a lethal pandemic ravaging prison populations, Trotta, Martha Hennessy, Clare Grady, and Patrick O’Neill are due to report to prison within the next few months for activism against a suspected nuclear weapons depot.
More than two years ago, Trotta and Hennessy, two of seven activists known as the Kings Bay Plowshares Seven, peacefully broke into the naval base in Brunswick, Georgia — risking their own lives to protest the suspected nuclear arsenal housed within. Armed only with vials of their own blood, hammers, GoPro cameras, spray paint, protest banners, and whistleblower Daniel Ellsberg’s book, the activists symbolically attempted to disarm the nuclear weapons located on the Trident submarines at the base.
Photo: Elise Swain/The Intercept
The nonviolent direct action took place on the 50th anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Far out of the spotlight of major media coverage, all but one of the activists have quietly been sentenced in their faith-based battle with the U.S. government over the “immoral” possession of nuclear weapons. The activists were charged with three felonies — conspiracy, destruction of government property, depredation — and misdemeanor trespassing.
The sentencing — sending aging activists to federal prisons amid the coronavirus pandemic — fits squarely within the long history of the U.S. government throwing the book at people of conscience who dare to dissent. President Donald Trump’s acceleration of heavy-handed federal charges against protesters have drawn critical media attention.
Photo: Elise Swain/ The Intercept
Yet activists like those in the Plowshares community, whose protests garner less attention, are suffering at the hands of a bipartisan consensus on harsh crackdowns related to direct action against so-called defense policies. Under the rubric of national security, the persecutions of figures like Chelsea Manning, Daniel Everette Hale, or Reality Winner become polarized or fail to raise public ire, when they are noticed at all.
That was the case last week, when few took note of the latest Plowshares sentences. Trotta, 58; Hennessy, 65; along with Grady, 62, were sentenced by Judge Lisa Godbey Wood in individual virtual court sessions. Trotta got 14 months, Grady was given 12 months and one day, and Hennessy was sentenced to 10 months; all were ordered to pay restitution and were given years of supervised release. As cases of Covid-19 engulfed Georgia, the defendants reluctantly agreed to proceed with their sentencing without appearing in person. Only Mark Colville, 59, has yet to be sentenced. Colville refuses to travel to Georgia because of the coronavirus and will not give up his constitutional right to an in-person sentencing before the court.
Highlighting Others’ Plights
Prison is a barbaric punishment, and the possibility of death and major illness from Covid-19 has only made incarceration all the more brutal. The U.S. surpassed 11 million cases of coronavirus just last week, and officials continue to mishandle containing the pandemic in prisons across the country.
These activists, though, accepted the length of the sentences with grace and compassion for the less fortunate. “I’m hoping that with the amount of time that I’ve been given, that I will be there only briefly and then I hopefully will be sent either to a halfway house or home confinement,” Hennessy told The Intercept — though halfway homes have also suffered deadly coronavirus outbreaks. “But there are millions of people who are trapped and contracting Covid-19 and dying in the prison system,” she said. “Ninety percent of prisoners are people dealing with violence, trauma, poverty, addiction, neglect, abuse in childhood — and this is how we’re treating them?”
“Ninety percent of prisoners are people dealing with violence, trauma, poverty, addiction, neglect, abuse in childhood — and this is how we’re treating them?”
The sentencing statements allowed for the activists to address the court in a way they felt they were unable to do at their trial, which took place last year. “I feel like the sentencing contained a victory of some sort,” Hennessy said. “The judge and the prosecutor had to hear some very significant things that we’re not necessarily allowed in during trial.”
On Thursday, during a fiery sentencing statement, Trotta laid out how each of his prior arrests had been “a reaction to an American war crime.” In a powerful admonishment of the violence committed abroad by the U.S., Trotta told the court, “[I] deeply believe that what our country needs, desperately, is a great deal more resistance to its ongoing foreign policy, which is a threat to the globe, not merely for nuclear weapons, but even through, simply, the ongoing war.”
“The trident at Kings Bay is killing and harming in my name,” Grady told the judge. “To be clear, these weapons are not private property, they belong to the people of the United States. They belong to me, to you, to us.”
Attorney Matthew Daloisio, a coordinator for the Kings Bay Plowshare Seven legal team, thinks that the defendants have been punished enough, and warns that some of the defendants have previous health conditions that make them more susceptible to serious harm from the pandemic. He also questions why prison would be applicable to the activists at all.
“It shouldn’t be that the court is trying to deter people from acting according to their sincerely held religious beliefs,” Daloisio told The Intercept. “In terms of rehabilitation, I think everyone agrees that there’s no rehabilitating people from the position that human beings have the right to live, not under the threat of nuclear annihilation, not under the threat of the destruction of the whole planet.”