Something good in the wind

Yesterday morning, as Anis and I were making breakfast, Daryl Shoots In Sight from the Rosebud Reservation came and talked with us. A large man with a quiet presence, he stood by the stove and told us how he had been married for twenty nine years, how when he had had to go away to find work, his wife had found a new man. He said this without rancour or self pity, but I felt the sadness this had caused him. He asked if he might tell us a story as we worked, and we, of course, said yes. He told us the story of how the flute came into existence, a story of horses and travel, of a loving husband and a wife, of loss and of mourning. I won't attempt to tell it to you, as these stories need to be told in full, but know that he told it so well and with just the right amount of detail as to make me picture the people and the land, the bright stars shining down upon them in the black night, to see how the horses pricked up their ears as they lifted their heads from drinking at the Great Muddy River. Anis and I worked as quietly as possible, cracking eggs and slicing onions. We did not want to miss a word. 

Daryl plans to write a book of traditional stories, and I plan to read it when it comes out.

When I told him I thought it might be hard to leave this place, that I had met so many good people here, he smiled and said, 'it's like we're all a bunch of unicorns; pretty strange, but magical and good to hang out with.' We all laughed. Then he told me, 'as a woman, you've come here so that you can let people back home know that there is something else, that there's something good in the wind: a good ending.'

The evening before, I met a member of the Youth Council, a twenty two year old man, who preferred I didn't use his name. He came to the yurt for acupuncture and as Teresa placed needles in his back, she noticed some scars. He sat in a chair, with his long braid hanging down behind him, and talked about being a Sun Dancer. Sun Dancing is a traditional sacred ceremony belonging to some Native American tribes handed to the people by the White Buffalo Calf Woman. It involves praying, the use of the ceremonial pipe, fasting, singing, drumming and dancing to the sun for days. Some, although not all Sun Dancers pierce their bodies with hooks, attached to ropes fastened to a tree. This leaves scars on the body, and those scars are the marks of a spiritual warrior. The young man told me that at the end of the ceremony, 'the elders were tearing up. They had been present when it was illegal to sun dance, to have sweat lodges or to visit certain sacred sites. Some of them had been amongst those who walked to Washington in 1978 to petition and change the law to protect our traditions. They had thought maybe our ways were dying out. There used to be perhaps seven Sun Dancers and now they were looking at about seventy of them.' 

The traditional ways and ceremonies were very close to disappearing, but were kept alive underground and are now coming back with renewed vigour. I have heard other Lakota people talking about how the previous generations had been traumatised when they were ripped away from their families as young children and sent to boarding schools, where they were forbidden to speak Lakota, forced to cut off their long hair, and were punished for even referring to any of their ceremonial practices. Many of them never saw their parents or families again. No wonder there have been widespread problems with drugs and alcohol, when the whole Native American Nation was dealing not only with the trauma of losing their land, of being decimated to a fraction of their previous population, but had to endure the colonial, systemic and brutal beating down of their cultural heritage, and the pain of being kidnapped away from the heart of their families. No wonder the elders felt emotional to see those young warriors complete their ceremony. They represent hope and vision for the next seven generations.

I don't wish to romanticise how things are here. Egos bump up against each other every day, just like they do everywhere: not all the water protectors make actions completely peaceful, although most do; we have not yet figured out how to recycle the way we want to (although imaginative solutions are being dreamed up - North Dakota seems to actively discourage recycling, as far as I can make out); there have been serious issues with safety and sexual harassment for both women and men; there are are frustrations and delays concerning matching up resources and practical help with those who most need it, and I'm sure the list could go on. Last night, my throat was sore and my spirits a little dampened. The chaos can seem overwhelming at times, the nature of the obstacles we face in the camps, let alone in the world, momentous. It was time to rest and be gentle. Craig, the acupuncturist kindly gave me some Chinese herbs to give me a boost and later on in the evening, sweet Angela made me a tea for my throat. I drank it by the stove in the community hall, and llistened to some intelligent talk amongst the young ones; talk about practical solutions for modern problems, talk underpinned by open hearted compassion and understanding.

I felt my spirits gradually rise as the fire warmed me up. Despite the apparent chaos, despite the exhaustion and the set backs, I see a resilient, grateful and loving community, one that is willing to learn, to sacrifice and to work. People felt called here to protect the water, the earth and each other. 

Daryl is right. There is a something good in the wind, and it's something about a good ending.

Rosebud flag at Rosebud camp