~This page is dedicated to the men and women in the Iron Houses of the INjustice system~
~WHISPERING SPIRIT~
~This page is dedicated to the men and women in the Iron Houses of the INjustice system~
"Pow-Wow Drum In The Chapel"
Dedicated to Native Americans in the Washington Reformatory, Monroe, Washington and other Burial Sites.
The pow-wow drum has been relocated to the chapel,
reenactments of past kidnappings,
children from families,
First Nations from land,
the procedure is frozen in cement,
rigid genocide that is unsatiable,
spirit of eagle feathers
executed with disdain
by the ancestors of Custer,
Chivington, Whiteside
and their presidential directors,
who swing their clubs
like hotchkiss guns,
there is respect
for songs of all religions,
except for prayers to Creator
and purification of a pain filled
heart,
the pow-wow drum
lives in the chapel,
like some alien reservation
of dust and starvation.
Phil Goldvarg
Hgol42734@aol.com
"COLUMBUS DAY MUSINGS FROM NIYA"
Date: Mon, Oct 9, 2000
Hau my brothers and sisters.....
For the last three days some of us from this list had the honor of participating in the demonstration and related activities in Denver. These were days of family. These were days of truths. These were days where pretty words were left to the internet and the blood and fire of our people was strong in our hearts and our walk.
It is an incredible thing when we come together. Illusions are left behind. Screen and mailing names of invention are left behind. Attacks are left behind. Talk is left behind . Spirit is born.. Spirit is realized.. Spirit is released.
As I sat here waiting for my sister Sandra Matchen to arrive , I found myself reflecting over what was about to transpire. As a writer and activist long in the trenches for our people, I have seen many things. With the advent of the internet....I have seen great accomplishments and I have seen great displays of shameful behavior. Because this medium is anonymity based...it provides a stage for exagerration.....imagination..... stagnation.... and confrontation.
Many times I have said this medium is not what our people should be doing. I felt we needed to be out there..we needed the mother under our feet...with our brothers and sisters...living the talk...not just typing it. Respect is something that is at the base of all Indian ways....yes in this land...it seemed a word that at times became more and more unfamiliar. Sage is burning and with it, burns the resolve that our people shall prevail. The sage is burning and with it is the promise that something very important is about to happen. The sage rose and blessed all of us here in Denver these days.
Sandra came and with her a precious gift to me..Harry Warbonnet, from my homeland, Pineridge. We jumped up and down and hugged and kissed and yes, I might even admit to a tear or two. This was a time where the advocates left the eagle feather staff behind a bit...so that we could just be family. With their arrival, came what would become the beginning of a very special time.
We went to the church and met David Walks With Cougar there and had more kisses and embraces. Our camp was growing. Our excitement at walking together was growing. Walking Eagle was becoming a reality...we were walking. Our determination that these events would only be the start to a new age of activism was becoming deeply seeded.
Glenn Morris greeted us, clearly delighted to see Eagle after so many years.I embraced Charles Two Bears...and shed a tear on his shoulder as he said welcome home. Sandra became more animated as people from her life began to appear. All of us at the Four Winds Church were unusually quiet..as many are the night before a protest. This was a time for prayer. This was a time for sharing what is to be.This was a time for thanks. This was a time of training...serious preparation for a serious cause- the end to a holiday honoring a butcher of our people.
As I listened to the instructions of surviving tear gas, many past times rushed to me. Wounded Knee, The BIA building, Alcatraz, White Clay...events that are beads in many of our storybelts. It had been a long time my brothers and sisters. It had been a long struggle. The frustrations of never being "heard" have accompanied us through many a battle. The sage was burning....the sage was burning.
We left the church and came home to the task of making posters for the demonstration. We listened to tapes that were part of our medicine...talked deep into the night...and waited...for the sunrise that would bring the day of unity.It was a long night. It was worth it.
The day of the march we woke
early...dressed quickly...and drove with great determination to the March. We came to the front of the Civic Center and found two parking places up front. Who says that Creator sleeps in on Saturdays?
Almost immediately after we all found each other, we were approached by a man who was from ABC and asked if he could interview us. Sandra started and her passion and words caught his attention. I followed, and the novelty of my being half italian and half Lakota...gave birth to his real interest at what I had to say. The interview grew. Eagle was last to be interviewed, and spoke deliberately...passionately. Walking Eagle had made its first mark. As the reporter finished, we asked who he represented at ABC..and he replied 20/20. You cannot know how excited we were to know that finally the voices of our people are being heard. Finally the news is covering us. The sage burns. The sage burns.
As I finished with 20/20, another reporter came to me and asked if he could interview me. This time he was from the Denver Post. I talked.. he listened..and he thanked me graciously for the time. He also let me know that he honored our people, greatly. It is so increidibly cold. Another coup...the sage is burning...the sage is burning.
The Aztec group is here now..and prayers begin. The spirit is here. It surrounds all of us. As their spiritual leader plays the calling of the shell we sing and pray with them. We know the words..we sing the songs. We have never met before. We know all of the words. We know all of the tunes. The sage is burning . The sage is burning.
Russel comes and Eagle visits with him. It has been a long time for these warriors.Vastly different people...but today joined for the good of our people. I am introduced to his wife Pearl. The camp is growing. Hundreds and hundreds of indians are now around us... Many tribes...many tongues...many hearts...one soul. The Soul of the Indian. Helicopters whirl above us...we begin to move....police are around us...the news media is everywhere...they are with us..not the Italians...the sage is burning. The sage is burning. Drum beats, the smoke is thick. I find another friend from Pine Ridge..here for this day and the camp is growing. Another reporter asks for an interview. Never have we had so much press in our history of advocacy.Hundreds of heads....chanting now...walls of conviction....moving. We are the oyate. We walk not knowing what we are to see. We walk strong.
We are one. Hundreds and hundreds of people...thousands now...and one footstep. the sage is burning. The sage is burning.
Eagle cuts through the bands holding the blockade and we enter the street to block the parade. Women take the front. We are honored. The sage is strong. The drummers and singers dance. Our feet move. Our feet move. Hours...our feet move...we are singing. The police begin the arrests. We war whoop as each is brought to the highest honor....civil disobedience for our people. The numbers grow. A woman I had befriended earlier...Blackfoot...was in the trenches. I honored her that day. I watched her in her wheelchair and tears came to me. THIS is the walk. She has the bands put around her wrist...we cheer. Thunder of our being. The sage is burning. The sage is burning. It is thick. The sage wraps its blanket around us.
There is resistance..but there is peace.Russel is arrested. Glenn is arrested. One set of handcuffs. Symbolic brothers bound by the same oppression. We are doing what we have to do.There is no room for teargas here. The sage does not allow it. More arrests. We split as the police close in...Eagle and I and Shiloh move to where the arrested are being taken. Sandra and Harry and the others move to the drum. We cheer and honor those as the pictures are taken. The last to be arrested is Mike Graham from our camp. We go crazy in warwhoops to honor him. A young man gives his name. Is he the son of one of our own? It feels like he is. The sage is burning . The sage is burning.
The parade is now delayed over an hour. The police honor us with their overlooking many of our disobediences. We look and wonder..."is that all there is?"... like the song of the seventies. We cannot believe a parade consisting of motorcycles...limos that look like armed camps...trucks filled with bales of hay...and people waving as they sat on them....politicians with their usual saliva dripping from easy grins. That was it. 15 minutes of parade. Over an hour of protest. The sage is burning . The sage is burning.
We walk back to the Civic Center. We are heartened. Another reporter asks to interview Eagle. Cameras are everywhere. Helicopters are everywhere. The crowd assembles. The energy is incredible. Eagle even finds his challenge of maintaining his calm while a woman "enforcer" of AIM security decided he does not have the right to speak with someone who is carrying a sign saying "Habitat for Honkies". The man is Wasichu. Go figure. The woman is grabbing Eagle's jacket. He is respectful.He is a warrior. She is wrong.
The drums pound...the cold is getting colder...our warriors are returning home after yet another battle. We are hugging each other now. Wikenala is here. How I love that woman's fire !!! We are victorious. Spirit is high. The message is here. The press are listening.The drums are loud..the speeches are strong.... Mike is back...such a gracious strong spirit.
This, my brothers and sisters is real. This is why we do what we do. This is the gift of the sage. We look into each others eyes. We all drink deep from each others strengths. The energy is high. It is time to leave. We have done all we can do here.
We arrive home and spend another night talking of the spirit of the day....deeply bound by the day we see possibilities...not defeat. Music pounds throughout the house. We know that what we have witnessed, was a gift from Wakan tan ka. The sage is burning.
Wikenala joins us the next morning.She and I can do some talking, I might add. Frybread is piled high on the table( oh yes, I cook too and my frybread is legend..laughing) We talk and laugh...we share and we are all warriors.
THIS is real. No wrecking crew...no goon squads....no barbs of empty words....just pride. We are ferociously proud. Sandra and I are feeling the sadness. The day is growing....and it is time to go. We have spoken since an hour after we met, that we would get together again. I know I will see all of these friends. It is an incredible experience. The car is now pulling away. I walk back to the house....open the door,,,,breathe deep... The sage is burning.
I am most honored to
have walked with
you all beside me in
the protest....
Niya WI
