Alaska Natives Offer a Herd Of Reasons to Block Oil Drilling

Kelvin Long, 29, a Navajo leader from Flagstaff, Ariz., follows James to the mike. He is one of the few volunteers who have traveled to Washington for the vigil, and says he is here out of solidarity and in recognition that the Arctic refuge is sacred. "It's a place where you can still drink out of the rivers -- good, clean water," he begins. "So tell Congress it's not okay, tell them no.

"Come to our little table, our humble little table. Come take a stand with us, fight the big fight with us. . . . After you go into the museum and learn about native culture, come here and find out what's going on with native people right now."

Then Long breaks into song about the Navajo "red path" and walking that path in beauty, over the beeping of a garbage truck. James sits on a white Igloo cooler, humming along while stapling protest handouts.

"Today's a little bit slow," Long acknowledges later. A security guard lounging on a park bench, smoking a cigarette, waved people toward the table. One tourist from Florida, 71-year-old Barbara Gerber, took a pamphlet and ranted at the Bush administration. "They can't stand it that there might be a place that hasn't been drilled yet," she fumed.

Others say, "Good luck on that," and every couple of hours a person might offer a dollar along with: "I'm with you a hundred percent. One hundred percent." An Alaskan family offers to call their state legislators, wink-wink, and James gets the joke. Sens. Ted Stevens and Lisa Murkowski are among the staunchest supporters of drilling in the refuge.

By 3:30 p.m., the donation vase contains $25. It clearly won't fly in another Gwich'in from the Arctic, but will reimburse Long for the McDonald's chicken sandwiches he bought for their lunch. One visitor, smiling, flashed a Sacagawea dollar before plunking it in.

The biggest crowds tend to come in the evening, says Long, reclining in a lawn chair. On most days, they hold the vigil till 6 p.m., just after the NMAI closes and a steady flow of tourists shuffle out. "I definitely wish more people would stop by," he notes. But Long, with kind eyes and a calm bearing, says he understands. "A lot of people in the museum are on a schedule."

At one point, museum volunteer Donna Brandes wanders by. She explains her native lineage, chats a while. Long informs her of the "Don't Drill, Storm Capitol Hill!" rally planned for today, which organizers from the Arctic Refuge Action coalition hope will attract tens of thousands of people.

"So, you think this will pay off," says Brandes, speaking of the pamphlets, of the native drums, of James making business calls on a park bench. Long is quiet. "Nothing stops this administration," Brandes says.

James gives another go at the microphone. "It's charged by solar panels," she reminds passersby, because that is how the Gwich'in live. But her words meet static as the battery powering the sound system loses its juice. Overcast sky. "Solar energy is clean energy. We need to learn how to use less oil ."

James pauses; her voice is no longer amplified. "I think I have to recharge batteries, so stay put and I'll be back!" And so people milled around, as the vigil drummed on.