Madonna Antoine Eagle Hawk of the Rosebud Sioux tribe who, with her husband, Curly, leads the daily operations of the Rosebud prayer camp.

Back in New York, I message with people who are still at camp and monitor the live feeds. I recognize familiar faces being maced as they walk into a freezing river; according to accounts, they were praying at the time. I watch people I met in Standing Rock describe being arrested for misdemeanor charges, strip-searched, held for hours in dog kennels.



The election of Donald Trump, investor in the Energy Transfer Partners and a denier of climate change, would seem to spell doom for the pipeline resistance. As a January 1 deadline to complete construction draws near, Dakota Access drills are now poised at the river. A phalanx of construction lights shines over camp all night—“the airport,” people call it, or “the football stadium”—brighter than the Northern Lights. On Sunday night, police used water as a weapon against the water protectors, blasting them with cannons in 25-degree weather.



But there are signs that the resistance will have repercussions that will long outlast the North Dakota winter. Last week, Energy Transfer Partners said that the protests have caused nearly $100 million in construction delays, Democracy Now! reported. DNB, the largest bank in Norway, pulled out its investments in the pipeline, worth $3 million. And on the eve of November 15—a nationwide NoDAPL day of action with 300 events across the country—the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers issued a statement acknowledging “additional discussion and analysis is warranted in light of the history of the Great Sioux Nation’s dispossessions of lands.”



Earlier this month, camp united again, with a ceremony that had not taken place since the days of Abraham Lincoln. “It was a warm day, the helicopters seemed quieter, it was the first day in a long time that we didn’t feel under attack,” Eryn Wise of the Youth Council told me by phone. Completing a relay run from Arizona to Standing Rock, the youth runners ran down the road of flags to a finish line. A band of horse riders led by Sioux spiritual leader Chief Nac’a Arvol Looking Horse, in a feathered headdress and fringed jacket, rode into camp. By a row of seven tepees raised for this purpose, the Seven Council fires were relighted.



Later that evening, after speeches and prayers, the ceremony gave way to music—a singer, drummers. “They were feeding one song into another,” said Wise. She joined the circle dance. “I kept my eyes closed for what felt like forever. It had been daylight when I started and when I opened them again, it was dark out. I asked my friend Joseph, ‘How long have we been dancing?’ ”