Gordon Friedman

(Salem, Ore.) Statesman Journal

BURNS, Ore. - Blaine Cooper, 36, is a watchman among rebels. An assault rifle sits propped up in the truck seat behind him.

“What makes me nervous is government," he says, wearing military fatigues and standing in the Oregon snow-covered sagebrush, his pale blue eyes shadowed by a wide-brimmed camo hat. "Government has been responsible for the greatest atrocities in the world.”

Cooper, from Humboldt, Ariz., stands guard at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge here, one of a small faction of armed anti-government protesters and vigilantes who say they won't back down until the U.S. recognizes their rights as landowners. It's a classic struggle borne right out of the Wild West, with deeply distrustful ranchers fearing their land - and their freedoms - are under siege.

Their message is not universally accepted, and many of the residents here resent their presence.

Oregon Governor Kate Brown said Thursday that the protesters need to leave - soon. "What started as a peaceful and legal protest has become unlawful," Brown said. "It was instigated by outsiders whose tactics we Oregonians don’t agree with. Those individuals illegally occupying the Malheur Wildlife Refuge need to decamp immediately and be held accountable.”

But like them or not, they have brought the national spotlight on the issue - and themselves. While Ammon and Ryan Bundy have been the face of the protests, there are many unusual characters here.

Cooper and the others are new Millennium Marlboro Men, dressed in cowboy hats, army fatigues and militia gear while keeping up with the news on handheld mobile devices. They tweet their land-rights rhetoric to reporters. iPhones protrude from the breast pockets on their flannel shirts. Cooper posts occasional videos to YouTube on his support for civilian patrols along the U.S. border and his defiance of federal land bureau practices.

Sipping a Pepsi while keeping watch in a truck, Cooper said he normally patrols the Arizona-Mexico border as a self-styled enforcer of sorts, unarmed, attempting to remove smugglers along drug routes.

He describes himself as a political activist, and a dirt bike hobbyist. He likens snowy Harney County, Ore. to the frozen planet Hoth from Star Wars. He says his aim is to “abolish Draconian laws that keep us enslaved.” He takes issue with money in politics, the two party system, civil forfeiture and the militarization of the police.

At the wildlife refuge, he stands lookout and occasionally delivers coffee to his compatriots. Undaunted by crumbling wooden stairs, he climbs up the refuge’s watch tower to bring cups of joe to three lookouts taking turns peering through a telescope at the landscape, watching for police. One has been up there for 32 hours straight, he says.

Others, like LaVoy Finicum, 55, are ranchers. They say they want to raise cattle in peace and without federal intervention.

Finicum says the land was created for man to be its steward. He wears a beige cowboy hat, camo jacket, glasses and has a wind weathered face. His web site says he has 11 children. He speaks nostalgically of his ranch in Mohave County, Ariz., where his days consist of riding on horseback, leading cows to graze.

“My dream is to ranch with my family and to live peacefully,” Finicum says.

When he gets up in the morning at home, he has breakfast with his wife before watering the cows.

“At the heart of the summer the heat pushes horse and rider to the max,” he said. “We are at the mercy of god with the rain.”

His ranching is being furloughed by participation in the armed standoff at the refuge, led by Nevada brothers Ammon and Ryan Bundy, who have staged similar protests with their father. The group’s central demand is that Dwight and Steven Hammond, a father and son in federal prison on arson convictions, be freed.

But the irony is his dream to live peacefully is being delayed by the armed standoff. It’s doubtful Bundy’s mission will ever be fulfilled. As he prolongs the would-be insurrection, federal agents are gathering in nearby Burns, waiting for his next move.

During a secret strategy meeting on Wednesday, the Bundy brothers and an advisory committee of Harney County residents couldn’t escape the buzz of technology. One committee member repeatedly looked down from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat and the ends of his curled moustache to silence an iPhone ringing in his flannel vest.

Armed men guarded the doors and listened to radio chatter through earpieces. Bundy told the committee he wants to “transfer power” to them and leave town before his men are arrested, or worse. The committee agreed to organize candidates for the next county elections. The plan is to gain power, reinstate historical land claims and auction off the unclaimed acreage.

But the likelihood of that ever happening is slim to none, according to Harney County Judge Steven Grasty. The county doesn’t have the resources to manage land alone. The cost of fighting wildfires would mean bankruptcy.

“I love the concept of it, if the land comes back to us. But when you run the numbers, it doesn’t work,” Grasty said.

Grasty has lived in the Burns area for more than 40 years and says “crick” instead of creek. He ran an auto parts store for decades and survived on three customers: The county, the loggers and the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge. In his office, Grasty offers donuts to visitors. A copy of the Oregonian, with his face on the cover, sits on his 15-foot-long desk. Although he wears a tie to work, he said he’s part of the local culture – hunting, fishing and shooting guns for fun.

He said he hopes the standoff ends soon.

“The Bundys aren’t a second coming,” the judge said. “They’re not our savior.”