So much happened yesterday, so this will be a bit rambling all over. The man in the first photo, Garbanzo, came with a truckload of fresh vegetables from Minnesota, and regaled everyone with Oh Susanna on his fiddle, which put a smile on everyone’s face. Delegations kept coming in, from California and Canada, including Akwesasne (Mohawk), who have started AIM in Canada. Midnight Express, championship singers, were set up by the council fire, they were here to sing the runners in. Emmet, the 84 soon to be 85 year old runner, couldn’t stay down when they sang, he was up dancing every song. There were two women poets, very powerful, and a young woman who sang a beautiful song. I wish I had heard her name, but I missed it, but I did hear that a video she did on youtube had a million views. More people from Alberta, Canada came. One woman spoke, and her voice was a river of tears for what is happening in her homeland. A young man, a trader, came and spoke about the native traders who have been working very hard, and caused Energy Transfer and Dakota Access to lose over one billion dollars from their stock. Suicide Squad, Lunatic Fringe, and Bad Company traders in NY were largely responsible, and much thanks went out to them. Yesterday was Leonard Peltier’s birthday, and we all listened to an audio recording from him, 72 years old, and still in prison. This was, as always, great sadness, but Midnight Express sang a Happy Birthday drum song, with everyone joining in, and dancing a round dance for him, and that recording and video will be given to Leonard.
Everyone was waiting for the runners, from the Tohono O’odham. Seven of them, who ran 1500 miles to join us here. They were wearing sacred paint, and requested no video and no photos. The last part of this journey, they were facing heavy winds, which slowed them down a bit. When word came they were running into camp, followed by their singers, people lined the road to cheer them in. The elder spoke, then their singers sang several songs. It was serious cold by that time, so after supper and a while hugging the council fire, we headed off for the night. Today, we walked the 20 miles to the graves which were desecrated, and the 20 miles back, so a bit tired here. More tomorrow.
Click images for full size. © C. Ford, all rights reserved.
40 miles/64 km, wow. Getting up from the bed next day might take some doing. 1500 miles exceeds my commenting ability.
I tried searching the singer with Google image search (using the picture of the young woman singing in the white and blue shirt), but I found nothing.
This time the sky is brass or silver-alloyed gold coloured.
A big day. Thank you for the text and photos.
So much going on, such beautiful people all together. A wonderful sight to see.
That bubble-and-sky photo is such a metaphor for us and our world. It’s beautiful.
I love seeing all the flags, and most of all I love that there is dancing. I lurve dancing.
And finally, wow, what a walk, 40 miles! Those must have been some extremely emotional 40 miles. Hope you get some good rest, and may you always be warm! ♥
Rub your feet with Vodka, if you can get any.
Seeing all your wonderful photos I’m reminded how some idiot commented that the people giving the speeches and carrying the flags in their traditional clothing looked “like the stereotypical Indians” and all I can think is WTF? Do these people not have eyes? Can’t they see a massively diverse range of styles, patterns, colours, cuts?
No wonder those people think you’re “all the same”. They cannot even recognise diversity when confronted with it.
I read that comment. I still don’t know what to say to that. I’ve seen a lot of traditional wear, but nothing I would classify as stereotypical, unless they’re just dressing as your ordinary generic human being, in which case…
Anyway. I’ve been drinking in all the colours and designs and diversity, too. Makes me want to learn to pick out the regional differences as potential identifiers, rather than just sit around and enjoy the view.
rq
It’s a bit like “I just can’t tell black people apart”
I think you hit the nail on the head, Giliell.
rq, I wish I could read the styles and symbols, too. Clothing can carry so much information!
Caine, I am struck by how well represented all ages seem to be. It must be wonderful to have the playful energy of the children around, as well as the wisdom and experience of the elders. What a beautiful community you are creating together!
Giliell
Precisely.
I’m glad I didn’t see that comment, these ignorant asses, they don’t even realize. I would ask, what is a stereotypical Indian? Because I know what a stereotypical Indian is, even if they don’t -- a Hollywood Indian. So, either an Indian in Plains headdress, or an Indian wearing a headband, everyone in buckskin, and a buncha ‘braves’ half naked somewhere.
Then I would ask them, well, since you recognize Indian stereotypes, you must be really happy to see actual Indians in traditional clothing then, hey? Because anyone complaining about a stereotype doesn’t recognize anything except that stereotype, and they are so ignorant and oblivious, they can’t work that out themselves. These are people who deserve to be called the negative version of wasichu.
That kind of talk is also steeped colonialism, it’s code for “Indians need to stop being Indians. No more of this culture, language and tradition stuff, they need to be regular wasichu people!” The same old assimilation song.
Stellatree:
It’s fabulous. One thing that is very rare to hear at the camps is a child crying. I heard two young children cry in a week and a half, and it didn’t last long. Indian children are taught to respect their elders, always, and that includes deciding to make a fuss when out and about, but it was also the atmosphere, people are happy there. The elders are always taken care of, by everyone. I found myself in that group, more than once, young people making sure I was warm, or ready to bring me supper.
I’ll write more about this later, but when we were out at the site of the desecration earlier, one of the elders was speaking, and turned about and asked “is there a baby here, a young one? Bring them up” Several people got up and took their very young children to the center of the circle. The elder held one baby girl, and said to everyone there “remember this -- today, you are standing in this girl’s past. She will remember this, and she will tell the story of this day, this time, all you standing here. She will tell this story, and her children, and grandchildren will tell this story. We stand in the children’s past, and we must stand strong and right, we are the history of their future.”
Tohono O’odham represent! Good to see some SW region in the house (I assume they are from Az?).
I loved the time I spent with many young Tohono O’odham students, as a math a writing tutor for a special program to help prepare them for college. Ambitious, smart, dedicated, very respectful, and with quite a wry sense of humor. It took me the entire summer just to learn to correctly pronounce Tohono O’odham, while I was teaching them all kinds of things. It was a fun, ongoing joke that lasted the entire summer. Several of them got together and made me an ‘award’ plaque that showed a bunch of terms crossed out (that approximated all my horrible attempts at pronunciation) and gave it to me at the end of the summer. :)
I wish I had been better about keeping in touch with a lot of those young adults, but that was back before the days of the internet.
CC:
Yes, in what’s now called Phoenix, that area. I couldn’t catch the proper name of it, I am not at all familiar with the language. The elder was a very powerful speaker, and often spoke of how the Tohono O’odham have been broken by the government, how the rez is kept poor because of what was done to the Gila river, and when it was first dammed and dried up, how Roosevelt told them they could be generously “moved” to Oklahoma (meaning: walk there), but the elders refused, they wanted to stay on their land, and thousands of them died for no water.
He also spoke about the rabid assholes manning the border, and that they have no border, and it’s supposed to be on their land. They shelter those who make it across the border, as do other tribes, they offer sanctuary. He also talked about how he personally goes across the border all the time, for medicine or water, and he’s always stopped, and he speaks in his language, and they give up and let him go, every time.
*tears*
Caine
I’m pretty sure my kids would call it heaven. Music, food, people and horses. Yes, that would probably sum up their vision of “happily ever after”
Giliell:
That seems to sum up most kids there. Your girls would also go to school and learn the Lakota language, and how to sing and drum, among other things. There are warriors in the camp who are allowing the children to ride their horses, so there’s that, too. All during the day, until dark, kids are allowed to run all over the place, it’s probably about the safest place ever now. Everyone looks out for the children. In Lakota, the word for children, wakanyeja, means sacred beings.
I first wanted to make the bitter joke “don’t tell the pipeline company, they’ll buldoze them” and then I realised that it’s not a joke at all. Destroying the land and making it uninhabitable is bulldozing their future.