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This viral tweet about Thanksgiving and Native Americans deserves our attention.

A tweet that's gone viral days before Thanksgiving shows exactly why the indigenous communities of South Dakota didn't want oil pipelines on their lands.

"Just a reminder last year on Thanksgiving that Natives were being tortured with dogs, illegal scare tactics, being run over by angry white [people] all to protect our water," the tweet reads. "And this year on Thanksgiving they are now cleaning up 200,000 gallon oil spill on a South Dakota reservation."

The tweet, published on Nov. 16 by user @lilnativeboy, has amassed over 100,000 likes and tens of thousands of retweets because of its powerful — and entirely sobering — message.

The tweet is referencing 2016 protests on the Standing Rock Sioux reservation that turned violent.

Last fall, indigenous demonstrators — or self-identified "water protectors" — rallied to protect the local land and water from construction on the 1,172-mile-long Dakota Access Pipeline. In November that year, when officials became agitated with their ongoing presence, the demonstrators were sprayed with water and tear gas in freezing cold weather. That same fall, security dogs reportedly bit protesters on multiple occasions.

Between then and now, a lot has changed; most notably, an oil-friendly Trump administration took the reins in Washington, approving the final pipeline construction permit needed in February 2017.

Trump has opened the floodgates (so to speak) on a number of oil infrastructure projects; among them is the also controversial Keystone Pipeline, which is disrupting much of the same upper Midwest region as the Dakota Access.

One year later and with Thanksgiving upon us, demonstrators' fears and predictions have come true as the viral tweet alludes to.

Over 200,000 gallons of oil has leaked in South Dakota, Keystone pipeline creator TransCanada confirmed on Nov. 17. The leak, the largest in the state to date, follows another leak in April from the Dakota Access Pipeline that tainted the land with nearly 17,000 gallons.

"It is a below-ground pipeline, but some oil has surfaced above ground to the grass," Walsh said of the most recent environmental setback. "It will be a few days until they can excavate and get in borings to see if there is groundwater contamination."

A demonstrator protests Trump's executive order fast-tracking the Keystone XL and Dakota Access oil pipelines in Los Angeles. Photo by Mark Ralston/AFP/Getty Images.

David Flute, Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate tribal chairman, said his community is "keeping a watchful eye and an open ear" in the wake of the leak, according to the CBC. There's a real possibility the spill could pollute the area's aquifer and waterways. "The concern is at a high level, but there is really nothing we can do," Flute said.

But there is something you can do now.

TransCanada has proposed an extension of its Keystone pipeline system into neighboring Nebraska — a decision being weighed now by the Nebraska Public Service Commission. A vote to accept or deny TransCanada's proposal is set for Monday, Nov. 20.

Many environmental and activist groups are rallying support in hopes of keeping the pipeline out of the Cornhusker State. MoveOn, for instance, is encouraging supporters to sign a petition to say "no" to the project.

"If this spill had happened along the proposed route in Nebraska, it would be absolutely devastating," Brian Jorde, a lawyer representing Nebraska landowners opposed to Keystone XL, told Reuters. "Their proposed route is within a mile of thousands of water wells."

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I grew up next to Standing Rock. But this past year changed my life forever.

This story is from Cody Hall, a Lakota from the Cheyenne River Sioux Reservation and former media spokesperson for Red Warrior Camp, as told to Upworthy. It has been edited for content and clarity.

I was there during the siege on sacred ground, when the Dakota Access Pipeline workers came with their earthmovers.

They pushed the earth out, and they dug up rock effigies — what we know as sacred markers of our burial grounds. They pushed everything aside and erased our history. Those meant a lot to us in our Lakota culture, and it was devastating.

I’m a water protector from the Cheyenne River Sioux reservation, next to the Standing Rock Sioux. We are the descendants of Chief Spotted Elk, Crazy Horse, and Sitting Bull — great chiefs and warriors who weren't afraid to put their lives on the line. But my ancestors always walked with a chanupa (ceremonial pipe)in one hand and a skull cracker in the other. That meant "I’m gonna come to you in peace, in prayer, because I have my chanupa. But if you have to fight? I’ll fight."

‌Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.‌

I was there when a young person on a horse approached the police.

A cop shot the horse with rubber bullets. Then they shot the water protector too.

People were scuffling and shoving on both sides. Law enforcement were pushing some of the water protectors back, and then the water protectors were pushing the cops back. One police officer accidentally popped off a tear gas canister near me. It hit the ground at a 45-degree angle, then ricocheted off the road and bounced into the sky where it burst all over us. I also felt the shock wave from a flashbang, or stun grenade.It sent my body into a panic, a fight-or-flight state.

To me, these are strategies used to provoke us, to make us respond without reason so they can say, "Well, that person was fighting us!" Of course I'm fighting you after that.I'm fighting to protect my safety and the safety of others because we're human beings with feelings and fears and we're going to react, no matter how much we try to stay grounded.

The police force was something we predicted could have happened that day. We tried to prepare ourselves for that mentally. But it's not the same as when you actually go through it. That’s not something you can practice for.

Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

I even went to jail for the cause.

As a leader in the movement, I was an easy target at the beginning. Then I made myself a bigger target when I was seen on camera with Amy Goodman when they brought out the attack dogs on Labor Day weekend. People throughout the world saw the atrocities.

A few days later, I was driving a journalist back to Bismarck to catch their flight, and all of a sudden, the cops pulled me over and arrested me.

I sat in jail for four days. They eventually said it was for "criminal trespassing," but I think that's a bogus charge.

Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

When I look at most of these police officers, though, I can tell they’re listening.

I can see it in their eyes: They’re thinking about this work we’re doing. They hear our plight. They also have a job to do, and I empathize with that. You can tell some of them are stuck in a hard place: "Well, I've got to follow these orders but I'm not cool at all with this."

Unfortunately, you can't make them drop their gun and all their gear on the spot and suddenly say, "I can't do this to people. I’m going to go stand with them." But maybe they’ll go home and talk to their families and say, "Hey I’m not going to go back to that." If that happens, I've done my part. We've changed their minds.

‌Photo by David McNew/Getty Images.‌

After my arrest, I kept on doing what I always did: providing aid to people.

I stepped away from the action-oriented camp after their tone had changed to a more militant approach. And a lot of people weren't comfortable with that. So I said, "Best of luck to you guys, but I’m going to stay on my course."

Now, I run supplies. I bring in sleeping bags. I disperse volunteers. I help coordinate support from groups like Greenpeace or the veterans when they came in. Whatever people need. That, to me, is rewarding.

‌Photo by Jim Watson/AFP/Getty Images.‌

It’s been nine months since the camp first started filling up with supporters.

At that time, there was tall grass and it was green, and the Dakota Access Pipeline was first making headlines. I remember feeling a deep connection with people and the planet back in April. I remember knowing that this fight was the right thing to do.

The first people to make their homes there came from different reservations. But many, like me, were part of the Oceti Sakowin, the seven bands of the Lakota and the Dakota people. There was this feeling of, "We’re here. We’re going to assert our authority that these are our lands. We’re going to live off our own system. And we’re going to live just like how our ancestors did."

‌Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

Some people have said they've never felt more alive than they do here. That feeling still persists, even though there’s snow on the ground now.

Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

Recently, we won a small victory: There's a re-route planned.

It’s a small concession, but something to celebrate.

Still, we are not leaving this camp we've created. We need to stay on our guard. Energy Transfer Partners isn't going to move their equipment, and they released a statement that says they're not giving up. They’ll have to pay a reported $50,000 fine for every day they keep construction going, but I worry they'll do it anyway, so they can push the pipeline through.

Eventually that pipeline will burst. They always do. I wonder: Who's at fault when that happens? Who's at risk? The answer, for me, is: "All of us."

When oil leaks onto land, suppose it takes about 1,000 years for the soil to be OK at top level, where the plants are OK for the animals to eat from again. I don’t know about you, but 1,000 years is a long time for us.

Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

We’ll stay here because the pressure is needed, and the fight isn’t over.

This struggle has brought global attention to Native American issues and the environment on a huge level. This moment in time will be a reminder that a group of people can stand up for change. A group of people can take a corporation on. Maybe that group of people can even win.

It’s unlikely that something like this will never happen again in my lifetime, and it’s really cool to be part of it. To witness it. To feel this vibe. The sleeping giant is awake now.

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A first-person account of the cultural renaissance happening at Standing Rock.

This story is from Tony Sorci, a member of the Navajo nation, about his time spent as a protester at the Oceti Sakowin camp in Cannon Ball, North Dakota, as told to Upworthy. It has been edited for content and clarity.

Every morning at 10 o'clock, I walk into the water and say my prayers.

Some people jump into the water, wash their faces, and come right out. It's cold. But I spend a lot of time in the water because that's how I was raised — to say my prayers in the water no matter how cold it got in North Dakota.

How long will I be able to get in that water and pray, when it's still safe?

A water protector goes out to the river for a swim. Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

I heard about Standing Rock at a tribal conference in Washington state last summer. I figured going there was my duty to my grandmother.

I'm half-Navajo and half-Italian-American, from Big Mountain Reservation, originally Black Mesa, in Arizona. My grandmother was Roberta Blackgoat, the renowned relocation resister — she never signed anything, never left the land. I've been living with her as my hero for a long time.

Native Americans usually follow their mother's side, so over the years I've become more traditional in that way. There's a direct correlation between how we treat our mother and what our children are doing to themselves.

The Colorado River in Arizona, near the Big Mountain Rez. Photo by Mladen Antonov/AFP/Getty Images.

For me, it's really sad that we've gotten to this point.

Our grandmas are out there praying for clean water, and the government is mistreating them.

There's a psychological war going on in Standing Rock: Just across the water, a couple hundred yards away, there are DAPLs (the term water protectors use for the private security and heavy machinery crews hired by the pipeline company) armed to the gills with itchy fingers waiting for some action.

But this isn't a game. It shouldn't be fun. What are they protecting? Who are they protecting? Who are they serving?

The DAPLs are obviously put in a predicament because they do have to feed their families. Obviously, if they're going to disobey orders, they're not going to be getting paid.

Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

For a lot of people, money is the driving force when it comes to the Dakota Access Pipeline.

So our goal, as protesters, is to hit their wallets with peaceful and nonviolent direct action. With each action, DAPLs will be forced to respond — which costs them money.

The organizers of the protest gather in the mornings at the the Big Camp and divide tasks, figuring out what will be the most beneficial. Many of us drink coffee around the fire in the morning with our gas masks already on, ready to go.

We aim to enact around 10 actions a day. Some people might go up to Bismarck, some stay at camp, some might protest on the bridge. My job has been canoeing on the water, trying to get the attention of the DAPLs and spreading them out a little. Then there are more covert ops, like gathering intel about where the police snipers are, or about the pipeline workers who try to disguise themselves as water protectors.

Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

When I know they have nonlethal weapons, I'm not afraid.

I'm a big guy, and things don't hurt me like they hurt other people.

I grew up playing lacrosse, and the closest thing to hand-to-hand combat is getting hit in the chest with a lacrosse ball at 100 mph. So I know they're gonna ding me up a little bit, but I'm here to protect the people. While I protest, I wear turquoise. I'm Navajo and we're supposed to wear our best jewelry when we travel.

Spiritually, I'm where I need to be: saying my prayers in the water, being loving and caring, and not letting fear creep in. Because if I do that, what about the other people who are anxious? Who are they going to look up to?

A Navajo veteran, wearing his protective turquoise. Photo by Saul Loeb/AFP/Getty Images.

It's not all organized, though. There are some young kids and gung-ho guys who wanna prove themselves as protesters and show how brave they are.

Not everyone sees as clearly as others. But that's what we're trying to get to.

One day, a white guy walked up to the communications tent all ready to go with two hoodies on and a big puffy jacket. He couldn't even put his backpack on; it was hanging down to his butt, and I just had to laugh. Is he using more resources than he brought here?

Another day, we were at the base of a sacred burial mound — they call it Turtle Mountain there. There's DAPLs on one side, and water protectors on the other, and then one white guy just ran into the cold water screaming: "Come on! Everybody follow me! I'll lead you!" And no one followed him. We were all like: "No! It's cold! Stay over there!" So he went over there and shook the DAPLs' hands, and they didn't even arrest him. Then he just ... stayed on the other side.

Looking back, it was kinda funny. Protesting is kind of funny.

Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

There are so many different walks of life on Earth, though.

A lot of non-Natives are really solid dudes who provide skills and are an asset to have in camp. Two kids from Seattle were staying with my camp, for example, and one was a leather worker. He actually made me a new medicine pouch, which was huge for me and a powerful thing for him to walk away from. He wasn't a pro at his skills, but he was an asset. He was there for a reason, and taking things from this in a positive manner.

I know that when he goes back to Seattle, he's just going to want to come back here to Standing Rock.

Photo by Jim Watson/AFP/Getty Images.

There's a joke around camp that the longer you've been here, the harder it is to tell who's who.

When you first arrive, you can tell who's from which nation. But after a while, people start adapting, exchanging, and engaging with all the other cultures. It's really cool and powerful.

I got really close with some descendants from Hawaii who were here. One night they sang a prayer for us at our camp, a chant, and it really gave me goosebumps. When you're out in the water there, you have to use different intonations and rhythms for sound to travel, so I'd never heard something like that. I was infatuated.

I learned a lot from those new experiences in and of themselves. Stuff like this can snowball and have a positive effect for the camp, and for all of us.

Water protectors use a "home pole" to show where they came from. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

One thing we're all doing is inviting people to camp every day.  

There's always something to do, whether it's chopping wood, emptying the garbage to bring to the deposit place, keeping the camp clean, setting up or breaking down someone's tent or campsite, or even getting water. Now that the water's starting to freeze, it's always a battle trying to get it warm.

Every morning I cook for as many people as I can. Cast-iron skillets, two of 'em, packed with potatoes, eggs, onions, and spinach — just mass amounts of food for people. You're also cooking for all the new people that come to camp, so usually there's a stew on, some sort of corn, so that people can grab a bowl if they need to throughout the day.

A lot of people think they're going to lose weight by going to camp. But Indians love their food — especially fried bread. And there are a lot of fried bread makers here.

Photo by Jim Watson/AFP/Getty Images.

When we leave, we smudge with sage. It cleanses the air and the people. It's purifying.

Right before a big fire hose attack, we were gearing up to leave for Bismarck that night. I didn't know what else was going down — a lot of direct actions kind of remain silent from one another — so I was by the car saging myself, like usual. We were waiting for my friend to leave, and they said, "Go ahead, and we'll leave in five or 10 minutes."

So we hit the road and figured they would follow.

A water protector holds a roll of burning sage for smudging. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

On my way out, we started seeing cop cars driving toward the camp. We turned around to try to go back and see what was going on, but it was blocked. It was hard to drive away from that. I wasn't able to drag anyone away or shield anybody or protect anybody that day. The timing of that really affected me.

Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Images.

Our fight is looking up right now. But we want to be a spark, to make this a tipping point for other pipelines to be stopped.

The story doesn't stop in North Dakota.

I don't know what's going to happen now. I can't see the future. But it's a very historic time that we're living in. We're getting this new civil rights movement with Native Americans, after we've been saddling it for so long. A new, strong network is being built. Connections are being made and new family is being found all the time.

Big Camp is basically a communication center, and a spiritual one, that we all carry with us. Now it's going to spiderweb out from there.

How fast will this ripple effect grow? I don't know. Only time will tell. But I'm trying to do everything in my power to expedite the situation.

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Meet the former Army officer who rallied thousands of veterans to Standing Rock.

Wes Clark Jr. is about as close as it gets to U.S. Army royalty.

The son of a renowned four-star general, Clark was born while his father was still fighting in Vietnam. He grew up at various Army bases all across the country before attending Georgetown University's School of Foreign Service, followed by four years of active duty as a cavalry officer.

Wes Clark Jr. (left) with his father on the Democratic primary campaign trail in 2003. Photo by Michael Springer/Getty Images.

When 9/11 happened, Clark was living in New York City. He was eager to re-enlist, but his father talked him out of it. Since then, Clark has looked to other ways of making the world better. Now he's a writer, a climate activist, and a co-host of the popular political web series "The Young Turks."

Clark had been following the ongoing Dakota Access Pipeline conflict for months. As he watched the news, he became more and more enraged.

To Clark, this wasn't just a violation of human rights. It was an insult to veterans like him and his family.

Why? Because despite their continued mistreatment by the U.S. government, Native Americans have been fighting in the American armed forces for 200 years at very high enlistment rates.

Yankton Sioux veterans received the Congressional Medal of Honor in 2013 on behalf of their tribe's contributions as code talkers during World War I. Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

"First Americans have served in the United States Military, defending the soil of our homelands, at a greater percentage than any other group of Americans," Clark wrote. "There is no other people more deserving of veteran support."

Clark took an oath when he joined the Army. He swore to "support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic." And by that oath, he believes he and his fellow veterans should be defending the Standing Rock Sioux from the human rights violations perpetrated against them in the past months, both from police departments and private security forces.

Clark put his uniform back on and organized the movement Veterans Stand for Standing Rock. On Dec. 3, 2016, he and his troops left for North Dakota.

The veterans made a plan to join the Standing Rock Sioux in ceremony and prayer at the Oceti Sakowin camp, then form a human shield around the water protectors in direct nonviolent action against the pipeline construction.

"We are there to put our bodies on the line, no matter the physical cost, in complete non-violence to provide a clear representation to all Americans of where evil resides," the co-organizers wrote in the group's official mission briefing.

"We’re not going out there to get in a fight with anyone. They can feel free to beat us up, but we’re 100% nonviolence," Clark added in an interview with Task & Purpose.

The Oceti Sakowin Camp near Cannon Ball, ND after a snowfall. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

More than 2,000 veterans joined the cause — many more than the 500 they had originally had hoped for.

Photo by Jim Watson/AFP/Getty Images.

The veterans arrived on Dec. 4, and everything went according to plan. There were sage cleansings...

Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

...and a human barricade to protect people from a police line.

Photo by Jim Watson/AFP/Getty Images.

By evening, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers had denied an easement for the pipeline's construction, putting its future in doubt.

Of course, the main credit for this victory should stand with the steadfast water protectors who have been camped out for months and who struggled for decades before that, too. But the massive veteran presence certainly helped.

Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

Last night, on the veterans' first day at camp, there was celebration — but the battle isn't over.

Energy Transfer Partners, the main company behind the pipeline, is still refusing to back down — and given recent violence in pursuit of ETP's goals, it would be foolish for the water protectors to turn their backs just yet. Which means that both the camp and the veterans will remain in place, perhaps indefinitely.

The men and women who serve this country in uniform have always understood the "American experiment" is a work in a progress — and our Native American brothers and sisters have always been intimately aware of just how fragile that experiment can be. But they can all agree that environmental destruction and state-sponsored violence are not compatible with the ideal of freedom on which the country was founded.

As one tribal elder said during Sunday's celebration: "Tomorrow we fight, tonight we dance."

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