Apr 23

Liberation Day 2014: Lakota Resistance to the KXL Pipeline


A Four Directions walk to the mass grave of the Lakota ancestors in Wounded Knee, S.D. brings up recollections of past struggles as the present struggle to stop the KXL pipeline wages on 

Stand with the Lakota Resistance!

For more info go to: http://www.oweakuinternational.org/

Thanks to Reclaim Turtle Island for footage contribution

Music By:
Che Christ: http://chechrist.bandcamp.com/
INDIGENIZEtheworld: https://soundcloud.com/indigenize

Special thanks to
Owe Aku
Oyate Media Network: https://www.facebook.com/OyateOglalaY… 

For all they do!

This short film is dedicated to RESISTERS everywhere who fight to defend MOTHER EARTH and protect SACREDWATER


Mar 29

Come and take a walk with me…

Originally Posted on www.uneditedmedia.com

Come and Take a Walk with Me

               Finally, I bent over and picked a sprig of sage – whose ancestors in 1890 had                    been nourished by the blood of Red babies, ripped from their mothers dying                      grasp and bayonetted by the evil ones – As I washed myself with that sacred                      herb I became cold in my determination and cleansed of fear. I looked for Big                    Foot and YellowBird in the darkness and I said aloud —

               “We are back my relations, we are home”. Hoka-Hey

                    –Carter Camp: Remembering Wounded Knee

On Feburary 27th, 2014 I was on Pine Ridge reservation for, Liberation Day, the anniversary of the 1973 occupation of Wounded Knee. This was the 41st anniversary of the occupation and I stood outside of the Wounded Knee district school, holding a flyer for today’s“Four Directions Walk.” I stood with the northern part of the four directions. Three other walks from the east, west, and south were going to meet at Wounded Knee, the site of both the massacre of 1890 and the Occupation of 1973. I checked my GPS, “ten miles to Wounded Knee.” I stared at my feet. A member of the To’kala warrior society saw me staring at my brown hiking boots and suggested I bring a vehicle for our media team to rotate out of during the walk. The warrior walked off and joined other members of the warrior society. The men and women in camouflage talked amongst themselves, then spread out around the edges of the gathering people. I worried I’d be out of place with a vehicle, but saw a long convoy of cars,vans and trucks lining up behind everyone preparing for the walk. An elderly man pushed a walker between the children and teenagers gathered in front of the cars. The old man looked south towards Wounded Knee, placed the tennis balled walker in front of him, and pulled himself towards the site of the occupation. The school doors opened and children raced out and joined the walkers. A yellow school bus lined up in the convoy.

Some of the children ran onto the bus, then out, and took their place at the front of the walk, holding  flags and staffs as they led us south to Wounded Knee.

Liberation Day

We walked BIA road 28 and Vic Camp, an organizer for the event, walked beside me wearing a brown shirt with seven ribbons streaming in the wind, he pointed at the hills flanking the road. “My father lead the first warriors along these hills. We’re walking the way they first went in ’73.” I looked at the ridge of hills that flanked the road, and tried to imagine myself in that AIM and Ogala Lakota war party. “Is your father here?” I asked. Vic looked south and said that this was the first year his father wasn’t with them.

We walked a bit and I asked, “Why didn’t you call this a march? It says four directions walk on the flyer.”

“We’re not marching,” he said. “Today we walk. We walk together in prayer for those lost in 1890, and walk with our heads raised because of the occupation of ’73. We’re walking slowly with our families and children in prayer.”

We walked, and after five miles I’d already switched out of our media vehicle twice, but the kids in the front held their flags and staffs steady as they led the way. Vic walked beside me and looked towards the hills.

“This year’s different.” he said.

“What’s different?”

The colored flags snapped over the children.

Liberation Day

“They’re leading us now. The children are the ones taking the flags and leading our people back to Wounded Knee.”

He wiped a hand across his face.

“They’re claiming their identities. They’re acknowledging their past and leading us into the future.”

“The occupation of ’73?”

“No, that’s the thing that let today happen.”

He walked off as we arrived at one of the four planned stops along the walk. The people circled while the To’kala’s formed a perimeter. Drums played as prayers and remembrances were shared. After ten minutes or so, the walk continued on and the To’kala’s formed around the edges as we progressed. I talked to a women as we walked. I pointed at the camouflaged men and women and asked if we were in danger.

The women said, “no, but it’s their duty to protect us. So they’re here.”

“So, they’re soldiers?”

“No, no, they’re warriors. Each of them was given the honor to protect their people and lands.”

I watched the warriors walk past us.

“So, they’re like police?”

She looked at me and shook her head.

Toka'la Warriors

“They’re part of the To’kala warrior society. Their traditions and ceremonies date back hundreds of years. I can’t tell you all of it in our walk, but know that they’re reclaiming their warrior ways as well. Those children claim themselves, and these young men and women do as well.”

We grew closer to Wounded Knee and she approached me again.

“Did someone tell you who you are,” she asked.

“Well, no, I don’t think so.”

“Our people lived through that. Through being told who we were. Through forced religion, forced education, forced assimilation every day we were told who we were to the beat of teachers fists. There was no room for our culture in the time of boarding schools.”

“But here you are?”

She nodded. “These children don’t know that reality.”

She pulled me aside.

“Do you know how a people keep their culture and traditions when the mighty United States Government decides to try to eliminate them?”

A group of horses trotted past.

“I don’t know.”

“You resist. We resisted that garbage. The sexual assaults. The killings. We resisted it all and we made it. We are here. And because of that every Lakota has that in them. Resistance. Resistance is part of the Lakota identity.”

She started to walk away, and then came back.

“My mother was a red supremacist. She hated white people. I’m not like that, but, my mother had every right. If you knew all the things that white people did to her and our people in their boarding schools. You’d understand why she hated them. Today, we need to come together.”

I didn’t know enough about boarding schools to understand this, but the boarding schools would later be explained to me by an elderly woman missing her front teeth. We were in a small trailer heated by a wood stove. The woman sat next to a younger woman. Twenty or so men stood silently around them listening.

The old woman cleared her throat, “They used to beat me in school as a girl.” she said–everyone leaned in. “The teachers, the nuns, they asked me questions. I answered them.” The old women smiled. “I answered them in my first language Lakota.” She slapped the back of her hand. Slap. Slap. Slap. “Their rulers hit hard! I went home with the back of my hands bloody.” She took a deep breath. “My father he said, what’s wrong!? What’s wrong?! Why are you crying?” The old woman leans forward as the people try to cram closer. “I told them! I don’t know? They hit me when I speak Lakota. I don’t know why?” She looked around at the gathered people. “He told me to lie to save myself the pain and say I didn’t know the language.” Her chair creaked. “So I did. I lied, and any time someone spoke to me in Lakota. I said I didn’t know it. I hid my first tongue for years….to save myself from their beatings.” She smiled a huge toothless grin. “Then! In ’73! because of those people who came and occupied Wounded Knee.”

She took a deep breath,
“I could speak my language again.” She rocked forward, “I could speak Lakota! That’s what Liberation Day is, it’s the day I could speak again.”

Everyone in the room exhaled, and I’m back in front of my computer trying to tell you about my walk to Wounded Knee for Liberation Day. Liberation Day can’t be found in the words provided here, but in the feeling in the air as hundreds of people meet from the four directions. They come together led by Lakota children who hold in their hands, flags, and medicine staffs they’ve carried ten miles to the top of a small mound called Wounded Knee. Under their feet sits soil soaked with the blood of their ancestors who were massacred despite the promise of peace from the United States. Who after murdering the Lakota, forced them into schools and terrorized them for practicing their traditional ways. Under their feet vibrates the memory of the people who came back to make a stand against cultural annihilation.

Four Directions March


The night after the walk we all gathered in the local elementary school for a feed to commemorate Carter Camp’s life. I sat and spoke to Vic about resistance, and the Lakota identity. He said that right now the battle is for the water. That pipelines like the Keystone XL are threatening their way of life.

“You know that we’re indigenous peoples. We’re of the land. It’s our duty to protect our mother. And Earth, she’s weeping right now.”

The drums shook the floorboards as people waited in line for their bowl of buffalo soup. The gym had “Warriors” in big red letters on the wall.

He leaned close to me.

“We’re the biggest threat to the United States Government. You know why?”

The people sat in bleachers eating and laughing. I shook my head.

“Because, we have another way to see the world,” he points east, “Out there, they only see the world through a financial lens. And that’s all they know. One way to see the world.”

He shrugged.

“They think they’re free, but that’s not freedom. We’re free because we know there’s another way to live, and that’s why we’re dangerous.”

He flattened his palms on the table and pushed himself up.

Wounded Knee Vets

The line for food was gone and the veterans of Wound Knee were asked to take the center of the gym. Drummers played and people filed around to shake the veterans hands and embrace them. An old hunched veteran shook the hand of a woman forty years his junior. She carried an infant on her shoulder. The veteran shook the woman’s hand in both of his and looked up at the baby. The Wounded Knee veteran reached his arms up, cradled the babies hands in his own, and shook them as well.

No KXL Pipeline on Turtle Island

Written by uneditedcamera

Our other piece on Pine Ridge.

Contact us uneditedmedia@gmail.com

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Video from Liberation Day 2014:


Jan 22

Unmitigated Disaster: A report from the oil wastes.

Posted on www.uneditedmedia.com

Unmitigated Disaster.

A report from the oil wastes.

DRC gieger counter

The Bakken oil boom in North Dakota came into sharp focus on Decemeber 30th, 2013 when a train carrying volatile bakken crude derailed and exploded near Cassleton, North Dakota. The story made national and world news, matching recent North Dakota headlines ranging from the recent uncovered not publicly disclosed 300 oils spills to a rise in sex trafficking. Now, as the fallout from the latest oil disaster clears in North Dakota, it is becoming increasingly difficult to hide the consequences of the oil industry’s effect on North Dakota’s land, air, and communities.

Unedited Media recently spoke about these consequences with Scott Skokos, a field organizer from the Dakota Resource Council. Skokos describes the oil boom as, “ground zero for the battle between agriculture and industry.” He spoke about the illegal dumping of radioactive waste into landfills like found in Williston, North dakota. He explained that “toxic oil industry waste” was appearing dumped across North Dakota. He punctuated his findings with photographs of water contaminated with radioactive material the DRC had measured with a Geiger Counter.

DRC checking for radioactive readings

Skokos explained, “What goes down must come up. There’s going to be [chemicals] coming up from these wells.” Not only are all the chemicals being pushed down the wells coming back up and some of the already radioactive chemicals are coming back out in the brine and produced water, but a concentration of NORM(Normally occurring radioactive material) is rising from where it was static, beneath the surface.

Skokos said we’re surrounded by NORM in low concentration and that these dangerous radioactive materials aren’t really accessible to humans, but become accessible when the oil industry comes in and fracks a well creating waste or TENORM, “Technologically enhanced normally occurring radioactive material”.

The EPA defines TENORM as:

‘“TENORM is material containing radionuclides that are present naturally in rocks, soils, water , and minerals and that have become concentrated and/or exposed to the accessible environment as a result of human activities such as manufacturing, water treatment or mining operations.”

DRC Used frack socks strewm about

According to Skokos, TENORM has appeared, by way of illegal dumping, in North Dakota. The DRC recently went out with Geiger counters and tested frack socks, pools of water near frack sites, mud cuttings and found many gieger readings above the 5 pCi/g state allowable radioactive levels. He explained that frack socks are what everyone seems focused on, but that “The mud that’s coming up from these wells is a mix of TENORM and chemicals.” some of which read as high as 190 pCi/g, far above state allowable limits.

The waste is being strewn across North Dakota as oil companies skirt the cost of disposing of these dangerous materials, according to Skokos.

DRC Stated Toxic waste near frack site

He said there is a proper way to dispose of this radioactive waste, “They’re supposed to be taking them to specific waste sites that are permitted to take high levels of TENORM,” the nearest waste site is in Colorado. Instead, oil companies are leaving the waste for communities and landowners to deal with the industry fallout.

This situation is finally coming to light in North Dakota. Skokos explained that people are realizing what’s happening around them. “Three years ago nobody knew what a frack sock was, or NORM.” Recently five counties banned frack waste sites on their land. Skokos explained that people need to listen to the farmers and ranchers of North Dakota. “They should have a voice in what happens to them.”

Skokos left us with a story of a warehouse with used frack socks piled against the walls.

DRC Piles of used frack socks

They spoke with the workers in their factory who told them that birds fell dead from the rafters and over time workers started to feel ill. These health effects will be long term, he said. Right now we are told that the Oil Industry is running unchecked and with little to no oversight is able to dispose of TENORM illegally and unnoticed. Skokos suggested regulating frack socks with a cradle to grave system. “If we know these are the most dangerous things, why wouldn’t we regulate them?” They should all be accountable for the waste they’re producing Skokos said. Regardless, he said that if the oil industry does not change today, Western North Dakota will be an “unmitigated disaster.”

DRC Radioactive socks chem fire

Dakota Resource Council Contact.

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Oct 22

Tesoro refuses to answer any questions about Tioga Oil Spill

(all Timestamps reference this recorded live video)
Tesoro refuses to answer any questions about Tioga Oil Spill
October 13, 2013
        Unedited Media heard about the Tioga oil spill just like everyone else–11 days after it happened.  .It took eleven days for the biggest inland oil spill to be known to the public.
        The spill was eight miles north of Tioga, North Dakota and the media collective hadn’t seen much in the way of  photographs or video. Unedited Media journalists decided to travel to Western North Dakota. They traveled along rutted dirt roads grooved by vehicles and flanked by frack wells. oil well site near Tioga, ND The journalists had the general location of the spill but  they smelled it before they saw it. The Unedited Media team followed the scent of oil to a wide open field of recently harvested wheat. The site was about 300  yards from the road where 3 excavators sat behind tall mounds of earth.  They arrived to site of the 20,600 barrel oil spill.

        October 13th, 2013 3:34pm:

The team Walked up to the site of the spill hoping to ask questions and take photos/video of the spill. When the journalists walked halfway through the field of wheat stalks 3 people appeared on the mounds of black soil and pointed at them.  The journalists declared themselves and waved to draw attention and walked toward where the Tesoro workers stood. oil spill site A gentlemen in a Tesoro helmet walked up to team. At this point the Tesoro worker started repeating, “Please get off the site, you’re not authorized to be on the site.”

He continued to repeat his command.
        Our team of journalists moved back off the excavated mounds of dirt that spilled onto the wheat field  and asked him a string of questions.
 “Where can we stand to document the spill?” 2 photos of our closest shots of oil spill site combined
he responded,
“You need to get off site, you’re not authorized to be on the site.”
Our media team complied and moved back with him some distance from the site.
“Can you let me know how to get authorization.., Is there  a phone number?”
“You need to get off the site, you’re not authorized to be on the site.”
At this point the team of journalists were pushed back nearly 100 yards from the site of the spill.
“Is there a press or PR person I could talk to?”
“You need to get off the site you’re not authorized to be on the site.”
        During the one-sided conversation the Tesoro worker was asked to calm down, because he seemed  agitated.  When the encounter began the United Media journalists did nothing but announce themselves as journalists, and comply with the commands of the worker.
The Tesoro worker demanded that the journalists go back toward the road, and gave them no information on how to contact a press or PR person. He gave  no information about how to access the site in order to document it even after both clearly stated that they are journalists. We stated our intentions to document the site for the public to see and we were given no information as to how to access the site to accomplish that goal. The worker even went so far as to step in front of the journalists cameras and use his hand to shield us from documenting the Tesoro oil spill. The Tesoro worker demanded that we “put our camera down and go off site.”
       Unedited Media brought their cameras to document the biggest oil spill on United States soil. The two journalists declared themselves, stated their intentions and Tesoro responded by forcing them away from the site of the spill.
     Tesoro’s behaviour on Saturday October 13th, 2013, demonstrated that Tesoro was uninterested in cooperating with Unedited Media’s journalists. Tesoro claims accountability, but accountability to whom? Tesoro still continues to hold spill information close and away from the public. A public who waited for eleven days to learn about the biggest inland oil spill in United States history. A spill that shows the real risks and consequences of  pipelines. Pipelines that companies like Tesoro continue to claim are safe, but overnight can burst destroying the land around them and when pipelines burst companies like Tesoro seem to make every attempt to hide the information from the public.

Tesoro worker

     Unedited Media
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Sep 22

They call it Liquid Genocide.

posted on www.uneditedmedia.com                                  

  A story about perspective on childhood:

                                     A friend I’ve known for over a decade, whose indigenous to the lands I now call home, saw                                            this high school kid  fall off his bicycle. The kid fell backwards, and his helmet slipped towards                                      his nose. My friend, whose recent birthday inched him towards forty, said he watched the                                                EMT’s lift this teenager into an ambulance and hoped he was ok. Later we learned the kid                                              died, and this big brown man’s voice quivered, “Oh no,” He tipped against the wall and started                                      sobbing. He wept  at this complete strangers death. I watched unsure of how to react and just                                        told him I was there for him. A few hours later he walked up and hugged me, said, “I’m sorry.                                        Where I’m from, so many young people die.”


I recently visited the Pine Ridge Reservation to witness and stand on the side of the Lakota people who’d invited us. They invited us as allies and to take part of an ongoing struggle against Whiteclay, NE. Before getting into the flesh of that struggle, there are things I need to share, things I think we must look and try to understand before reaching the actions. See, there are facts, little factoids you learn about a place when you’re there. Sometimes about death and addiction. Statistics, and they mean nothing. It’s hard to grasp a % of a thing, when you’re not in the thing. You’re not the one living it.

Pine Ridge Reservation statistics:

Lakota people have the lowest life expectancy in America.

*       Life expectancy for men 48, 52 for women. Lowest reported 45 years of length life.

USA= 77.5 years of average lifespan.

*       Teenage suicide rate is 150% higher than the U.S. average for teens.

*       The infant mortality rate is the highest on this continent

300% higher than the U.S. national average
*      Alcoholism affects 8 out of 10 families.

* The death rate from alcohol-related problems on the Reservation is 300% higher than the remaining US population.

We heard these numbers as we crossed onto the Pine Ridge reservation. These death and alcohol statistics became more comprehendible as we listened to uncountable stories of known and recently dead: Cousins and siblings– relative upon relative, from car accidents, and acts of drunk random violence. Liver cirrhosis. Died from alcohol. I listened while on Pine Ridge, and everyone had stories, and lists of their known dead. The pizza hut worker who hated Whiteclay, whose brother died of cirrhosis, of alcoholism. A 35 year old women, who lived the streets of Whiteclay, who’d slur at me that she knew it was bad. That Whiteclay had to go, that her father died there. But we ran into her after she’d made the 2 mile trek to Whiteclay, NE from the Pine Ridge Reservation. My trip to the reservation wasn’t only to learn about the history of Whiteclay, NE, but also to listen to stories from the people who struggle against Whiteclay, and called the Pine Ridge reservation home.
We arrived to the Lakota’s homelands by crossing an imaginary border out of Nebraska, into what I’d learn wasn’t the Pine Ridge Reservation to the Lakota who invited us, but was really POW camp 344. Untitled This name referencing the tribal identification number assigned them by the federal government. We were told that each reservation, and thus tribe was assigned a numeric sequence to attach them to the lands their people were now isolated too. While the story of POW camp 344 is far too large for this small article, let it be known that I heard stories of warriors that once fought the Unite States government, and won victories. The Lakota warriors even decimated one of United States armies in the field. Warriors vs Soldiers.

Know that the stories shared with us came from a people that the United States government practiced “Total War” against, as they practiced against all tribes. Total War is what Germany did as it bombed London into rumble. It’s what the United States did when it vaporized Hiroshima with the atom bomb. Total War means that United States soldiers openly and purposely killed everyone. Infant, to elder, no limit to where to aim a bullet, but only to aim it at whatever breathed, that looked indigenous, that was brown. The Lakota’s experience with the United States government echoes at Wounded Knee located 18 miles north east of Whiteclay, NE.
Feather at Wound Knee
Where, the United State continued its practice of unfettered lies to indigenous people, and gathered them under a peace flag, and massacred the Lakota around their cooking fires. It’s reported that after the gunfire died down the soldiers called to the children who hid amongst their recently massacred families. The United States promised the children safety through voiced promises of the uniformed US soldiers. The children eventually came out of their hiding places. The United States shot the children dead.

This is part of the history of the Lakota people imprisoned in POW camp 344. See, if I understand it correctly, the Lakota people were a real threat to the United States, the Lakota warriors and leaders fighting for their way of life. Understand that after the United States confined the Lakota into POW camp 344, they tore the children from their families. The United States forced them into schools to learn how to be white, or western, or whatever you want to call it. These schools did their best to beat out the Lakota’s culture and traditions. The history of boarding schools is also one too deep and dark for me to be able to work through here, but it must be understood that, not only did the United States murder these people, but also did it’s best to destroy their cultures and traditions, and it seems the United States did it out of fear and while there learned this process of elimination continues through Whiteclay, NE.

What I witnessed in against Whiteclay, NE, was a moment of a struggle in a struggle that’s continued for centuries. It’s a struggle against the US government that fears a people, for their abilities to fight back, so much so, that it’s done everything to decimate them. We were told that this place of Whiteclay, NE was placed there on purpose, by the United States government, the same government who massacred the Lakota, who tore children out of their families and forced these kidnapped children into reeducation schools. The Lakota stated simply that Whiteclay, NE’s sole purpose for existing was to ensure that the Lakota never came together. It poisoned them. That Whiteclay’s sole purpose was to funnel alcohol into Pine Ridge. The Lakota aren’t the only one who believes so, the chair of the US Commissioner on Civil rights Mary Frances Berry said that Whiteclay, NE “only exists to sell beer to the Oglala Lakota,” on Pine Ridge

Whiteclay, NE, sits 2 miles south of POW camp 344′s biggest city of Pine Ridge. Pine ridge’s population 3,308. Whiteclay’s population sits at 14. Whiteclay was created in1904 by an illegal executive order by President Theodore Roosevelt. Roosevelt’s feelings towards indigenous peoples are summed by this quote, “I don’t go so far as to think that the only good Indians are dead Indians, but I believe nine out of ten are, and I shouldn’t like to inquire too closely into the case of the tenth.” Before that Roosevelt’s illegal executive order a 50 mile buffer zone between POW camp 344 and the United States had been negotiated with Lakota elders. This buffers sole purpose was to create a barrier between the people, and illegal alcohol peddlers.  Roosevelt eliminated that barrier, breaking treaties by not consulting tribal elders and leaders, of that buffer zone. Whiteclay, NE was created. The first businesses that moved onto these stolen lands were liquor stores. Four of which operate today.

The liquor stores which serve the 14 person population of Whiteclay sell an average of 13,000 cans of beer a day, most of which gets bootlegged north to Pine Ridge. I went there before the march and days of actions wearing a small yellow flower on my lapel. I was warned to bring something from a good place . I was told I should leave the item there as a way to protect myself. I’m not spiritual or religious, but when I rolled into that town I wore a small yellow flower on my lapel. I brought the flower from a place we camped, where the owner of the land told us he hated Whiteclay. His father’s last words as he succumbed to liver cirrhosis were used only to beg to be taken back to Whiteclay, NE for a drink. I picked that yellow flower from what I was told was a good place.
The town itself seemed out of place and I reflected later that it seemed lost. I wore my yellow flower and was approached by the local street folk, a gathering of Lakota who spent their days begging for change, and hoping for alcohol. They rose up and screamed at me. I watched my Lakota allies talk to them and it was hard to watch as they tried to interact with this group of their own people, who drunkenly begged at the doors of these liquor stores. The drunks said for us to get out, that there was no more warriors left. It was their land, and that all they wanted was change for another can. One of our Lakota allies looked down, angry or sad, it was hard to tell, but I heard him say, “No, no we’re, right here. The warriors are coming back. ” I left the flower attached to the pole of a street sign.
Yellow Flower

The warriors did come back in the following days with the allies they’d invited. We walked Whiteclay, NE with Lakota warriors for two consecutive days. The warriors armed with their bodies and strong hearts. Lakota warriors stepped in front of Police officers as the officers tried to break up people blockading liquor store doors.
The warriors intercepted drunks who tried to approach, or attack their allies who come to support them. The Warriors turned a corner and 2 beer trucks made quick U-turns and retreated out of the town. For 2 days Whiteclay’s alcohol sales were disrupted. The bar owners turned to recruiting drunks off the street for protection, the police walked us out on the last day intermingled with a line of Lakota alcoholics. Our allies told us, that people need to understand that Alcoholism was a sickness, and never was it so apparent to me than seeing that line of intermingled police and drunks urging us back across the line.

I’ve left POW camp 344, but the Lakota live on there in their struggle. I’m left with the stories and memories resounding in my head and heart. A young women in fatigues telling me that she had been forced into the role of a warrior. That all the men were alcoholics now and so that she had to fight. I’m left with the words of one of the Lakota organizers of the Women’s Peace March. She said that Whiteclay, NE was created to funnel alcohol to the Lakota people”. That the United States government was still waging war on the Lakota through liquid genocide.” That for her people the epicenter for this battle continues to be Whiteclay, NE.

Whiteclay NE, sit’s 200 yards from POW camp 344. A camp ravaged by alcohol, by alcohol related death. Two hundred yards from a peoples’ land who the United States government feared so much, they lied to them under peace flags, and slaughtered them with bullets and cannon. Massacred them with uncountable broken promises. Feared them so much that they tried to organize a way to beat the Lakota out of these people, to break their connections to their history, and traditions. The United States feared the Lakota so much that they broke treaties and promises to elders and took away an agreed on buffer zone to funnel liquid genocide onto the reservation. The Lakota have faced generations of these continued assaults.

The day I left I was taken aside by one of the women organizers of the first days peace march. She looked at me and said, “the first generation is coming of age to not be forced into boarding schools.”The second generation removed from these forced reeducation camps is up and coming.” I stood side by side these generations of Lakota warriors, who unarmed, were able to disrupt the poisoning of their people for two days. I think back to a sign I saw on the edge of Whiteclay, NE which stated, “A sober Lakota is a dangerous Lakota.” Dangerous only to the forces trying to make sure they can’t fight back. Because when they do, like those few days. They win.

A sober Lakota is a dangerous Lakota


written by @uneditedcamera


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