Breed, half breed, mix blood. Just a couple of the not so attractive labels we live with. Discarded, forgotten, many unknown. Ignored and pushed aside by our own People; forced to conform to a society we don’t accept. Caught, somewhere between two worlds, and accepted in neither. We are the bastard children of a forgotten People. Descended from the boarding schools and Indian Relocation Act. For all intents and purposes, we don’t exist. But when I look in the mirror, there I am. And I'm not the only one.
No doubt, we are the largest disenfranchised group of people in this country. No voice, no leadership, no unity. Scattered like leaves in the wind, with small pockets making futile attempts at assisting our Relations trapped in the federal prison camps known euphemistically as reservations. Much too busy fighting each other over what scraps we can scrounge up to actually accomplish anything. Attacking each other, destroying whatever good we try to accomplish, because someone isn’t “Indian enough”. Doesn’t fit the stereotypical image. Doesn’t abide by made up or imagined ideologies of what “real Indians” are like. Most have never been to a reservation. Many have never left their hometowns. Yet, through the propaganda of literature and movies, they know how it is and never hesitate to shove their confused and twisted concepts down everyone’s throat. Then ostracize those who refuse to conform.
We have groups and individuals visiting schools and teaching some of the most outlandish of customs never before heard of. Speaking as those they are experts on First Nations culture, yet unable to differentiate between an eagle feather and vulture. Staging gatherings and dances in costumes that simply boggle the mind to witness. Perpetuating every stereotype known and along the way, creating a few new ones.
Then there are those who fall prey to the “leave the rez become a god” individuals. May as well face it, we are killing ourselves. Most reservations are horrible places to live, and many learned some time ago, there are fools out here. Like any good barker at the circus, they have learned how to say the right words, a little flash and slight of hand, and the urban confused are throwing coins, clapping hands and exalting how real it is. By the time they figure out whats happening, these predators are gone, taking everything that isn’t nailed to the floor. Burning through the mix bloods like dry grass in a prairie fire, leaving total destruction behind. Some recoup from this devastation. Many, most never do.
Yet, we remain. Waiting for that voice. That Leader to step out of Indian Country who will unite us, bring us into the fold, give us that opportunity to make a real difference. We are well aware of the conditions our Relatives are living in. Highest rate of Type 2 diabetes. Healthcare 60% less than the National Average. One in five homes with insufficient plumbing, 50% not connected to a sewer system. 30% in overcrowded housing, 18% in severely overcrowded, with 25 to 30 individuals in one home. Six times the National Average. 40% inadequate housing, 40% with no electricity, home loan denial 25%. Unemployment rate as much as 90%. Teen suicide 3 times the national average. Infant mortality 3 times the National Average, 40% with no prenatal care. Rape, murder, drugs, alcohol. Every kind of abuse imaginable. There simply isn’t enough room. We know this, and we so desperately want to do something, anything. These are our Relatives for Gods sake. Isolated, secluded from the rest of the population. With corrupt tribal governments and our own people feeding off each other. We are destroying ourselves at every turn.
Young women unable to walk alone anywhere, for fear of being wolf packed, jumped and raped by our young men. By the local townies, who cruise the reservations looking for that single girl, alone. Young men, no longer interested in becoming warriors for the people, now seek to be gangsters. A gangster steals grandmas check, so she starves. A warrior ensures she has food. A gangster preys on his relatives. A warrior prays with his relatives. A gangster tags his territory. A warrior paints his home.
Now add us to this pressure cooker. Once a year some travel to the reservations. In our nice cars, trunks packed with food. Strutting like peacocks without a thought to the display. Then whining and bitching when we aren’t accepted, are used and abused, stolen from, taken advantage of. Crying because they wont let us play in their sandbox. Would you? If a relative you didn’t know showed up at a family gathering in a chauffeured limo, flashing all they have, rubbing your face in all you don’t, how do you think it would make you feel? How do you think our relatives, living in poverty to rival that of third world countries feel?
We are well aware of the problems. We have the tools to fix it. We have the solutions to education, health, poverty, housing. All of the pieces exist for us, the forgotten, the discarded, the unwanted, to rectify the conditions of our relatives. We need a voice, someone to lead us. To unify, together, as one. That voice isn’t coming out of Indian Country. It isn’t coming from the reservation. The predators are in control. That voice must come from us. We have been waiting, biding our time, listening, watching for that individual who will lead us. Unify us, to assist our relatives, to end this destruction of our people, our culture. Then maybe, our relatives will welcome us home. When they see those of us who aren’t seeking casino handouts and government assistance with our minimal blood quotient. That there are those of us who remember respect, honor, integrity.
I am no longer waiting for that voice. There is no more time to wait. What needs done must be done now. Today. Yesterday. Hear my voice, know I am speaking for you. For every unknown existing in a society that doesn’t want us, refuses to recognize us, demands we conform to a system of self destruction. Together, the millions of us, separated by nothing more than our imaginations, finally together as one force. Building homes, meetings needs, providing a sustainable economic base. A future where we can flourish and become again what we should never have forgotten. All of us, joined together as one, rising from the ashes of the attempted destruction. Can you hear my voice?
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