An article in today's (March 30th) New York Times, pages 11 and 12, brought back vivid memories of my time (1970 - 1971) working on the Oglala Sioux Reservation in Wounded Knee, South Dakota, as part of the Mountain View Center's education program.
Our aim, unsuccessful, unfortunately, at the time, was to run workshops for Native Americans in the Pine Ridge Reservation who were wanting to be teacher aids in the local BIA school.
Anger Over Plan to Sell Site of Wounded Knee Massacre
By JOHN ELIGON
WOUNDED KNEE, S.D. — Ever since American soldiers massacred men, women and children here more than a century ago in the last major bloodshed of the American Indian wars, this haunted patch of rolling hills and ponderosa pines has embodied the combustible relationship between Indians and the United States government.
It was here that a group of Indian activists aired their grievances against the government with a forceful takeover in 1973 that resulted in protests, a bloody standoff with federal agents and deep divisions among the Indian people.
And now the massacre site, which passed into non-Indian hands generations ago, is up for sale, once again dragging Wounded Knee to the center of the Indian people’s bitter struggle against perceived injustice — as well as sowing rifts within the tribe over whether it would be proper, should the tribe get the land, to develop it in a way that brings some money to the destitute region.
James A. Czywczynski of Rapid City is asking $3.9 million for the 40-acre plot he owns here, far more than the $7,000 that the deeply impoverished Oglala Sioux say the land is worth. Mr. Czywczynski insists that his price fairly accounts for the land’s sentimental and historical value, an attitude that the people here see as disrespect.
“That historical value means something to us, not him,” said Garfield Steele, a member of the tribal council who represents Wounded Knee. “We see that greed around here all the time with non-Indians. To me, you can’t put a price on the lives that were taken there.”
Land disputes strike an emotional chord for American Indians, given the United States’ long history of neglected promises and broken treaties. The clash over Wounded Knee is raising the moral, legal and social quandaries that have burdened generations of American Indians.
Should they even have to buy land that they believe was stolen from them? Should the land be developed or preserved as sacred? Should the tribe, whose people are among the poorest in America, capitalize on what happened here?
Just last year, the Great Sioux Nation found itself in a similar struggle to preserve sacred ground. Pe’ Sla, a vast swath of Black Hills prairie land that they believe was the site of an epic battle between good and evil, was put up for sale by a non-Indian. Several Sioux bands, fearing that the land could be desecrated by commercial development, raised $9 million to buy the 1,942 acres.
The outlook for acquiring the Wounded Knee parcel, which sits on the Pine Ridge Reservation, is not as bright. The burden for buying the land will probably fall to the Oglala Sioux tribe, which is at least $60 million in debt, according to its treasurer, Mason Big Crow, and would need to borrow money to meet Mr. Czywczynski’s asking price.
The massacre on Dec. 29, 1890, was said to have started when a shot rang out as soldiers of the United States Seventh Cavalry searched Chief Big Foot’s band, which it had arrested and detained here. (Some Indians hypothesize that the massacre was retribution for the routing of Gen. George Custer and his troops at Little Bighorn 14 years earlier.) Estimates of the death toll vary from 150 to more than 300, with some of the bodies recovered on the land Mr. Czywczynski owns.
The land is believed to have gotten into non-Indian hands sometime after a process of allotment began in the late 1800s in which the federal government divided land among the Indians and gave some parcels to non-Indians. Mr. Czywczynski bought the land in 1968, lived there and ran the trading post and museum. He moved away in 1973, after the violent occupation of Wounded Knee by an organization known as the American Indian Movement left much of the town destroyed, including the trading post and his home. Mr. Czywczynski said he had been trying to sell the land to the Oglala Sioux for about three decades, and he blamed the tribe’s internal disorder for his inability to do so.
“They never could agree on anything,” he said. “They either did not have the money; some wanted it, some didn’t want it; it was too high, too low. I’ve come to the conclusion now, at my age, I’m 74 years old, I’m going to sell the property.”
If the tribe does not buy it by May 1, Mr. Czywczynski said, he will put it up for auction on the open market.
The Oglala Sioux president, Bryan V. Brewer, said, “I don’t think we should buy something back that we own.” He added that he would leave it up to the descendants of the massacre to plan a way forward.
But that promises to be tricky. There is considerable disagreement over whether the tribe should profit from Wounded Knee through, for instance, developing tourist attractions.
“Whenever we discuss this Wounded Knee massacre topic, it takes us into a deep, deep psychological state because we have to relive the whole horror,” said Nathan Blindman, 56, one of whose ancestors survived the massacre. “Anything that might indicate that as descendants we’re profiting from our ancestors’ tragedy, we can’t ever do that.”
Phyllis Hollow Horn, 56, whose great-grandmother and great-aunt were among the survivors, said she would be open to an educational memorial, but was hesitant about seeing the tribe profit.
“How and who should do that is a whole big question,” she said. “Ultimately, that’s a decision the descendants have to make.”
But many find that unyielding traditionalism hard to swallow, given the hardship on the reservation. Shannon County, which encompasses most of Pine Ridge, has the highest percentage of people living below poverty in the nation at 53.5 percent, according to census data compiled by Social Explorer. Nearly three-quarters of the people in the county are either unemployed or not in the work force.
Proponents of commercialism at Wounded Knee note that community members already profit at the site, selling crafts to tourists in the area. This frequently leads to turf battles, and some have suggested building a market to bring order to the trade.
Garry Rowland, a Wounded Knee native, runs a one-room visitor center that he built next to the mass grave where most of the massacre victims were buried. Some residents have criticized his center, calling it unofficial and accusing him of profiting on the blood of their ancestors.
But Mr. Rowland said that his great-great-grandfather Chief Fire Lightning owned the land before the massacre and that his family should decide what should be done. (Ms. Hollow Horn disputed that Fire Lightning owned the land or that he was a chief.)
“We don’t charge admission to our museum,” said Mr. Rowland, who participated in the 1973 takeover, hangs the American flag upside down and proudly wears an F.B.I. cap that he says stands for “full-blooded Indian.” “We’re just trying to preserve what history took place here. We tell the truth of what happened.”
Some have advocated for development like a gas station and a general store to save on the roughly 20-minute drive to Pine Ridge for basic amenities. They also say that building a motel would help attract visitors.
While she respects the lives lost in the massacre, Lillian Red Star Fire Thunder, a 79-year-old Wounded Knee resident, said she disagreed with those who “make it sound like it’s taboo” to develop the land.
“That was yesterday; tomorrow is going to be tomorrow,” she said. “They should think about the future for the children, the families.”
Save Wounded Knee
By JOSEPH BRINGS PLENTY
WOUNDED KNEE, S.D.
THE Lakota Sioux word “takini” means “to die and come back” but is usually translated more simply as “survivor.” It is a sacred word long associated with the killing of scores of unarmed Lakota men, women and children by soldiers of the United States Army’s Seventh Cavalry in the winter of 1890.
Wounded Knee was the so-called final battle of America’s war on its Native peoples. But what happened was hardly a battle. It was a massacre.
A band of several hundred Lakota led by Big Foot, a chief of the Mnicoujou Sioux, was intercepted and detained by troops as they made their way from the Cheyenne River Reservation to Pine Ridge for supplies and safety. After a night of drinking, the bluecoats were disarming warriors the next morning when a shot went off. Soldiers opened fire with their Hotchkiss machine guns. At least 150 but perhaps as many as 300 or more Lakota died.
Our fight to survive as a people continues today, a struggle to preserve not just our culture and our language but also our history and our land. Though I now live on the western reaches of the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation, I grew up in Pine Ridge, among my Oglala kin just a few miles from Wounded Knee. One member of my family survived the killing; others died.
The killing ground stirs great emotion in all of our people — memories of bodies frozen into twisted shapes, of those who were hunted down and murdered as they fled, and of those who escaped in bitter cold across wind-swept plains. These stories have been handed down to us and live within us.
One story I remember vividly was told to me when I was about 8 by a tribal elder, a very old woman whose mother had survived the bloodshed as a child. The old woman’s mother told her how her own mother had gathered her up when the bullets started flying. Just then, a young horse warrior galloped past and took the child up in his arms to help her escape. As she looked back, she saw her mother shot down, her chest torn open by bullets. She told her daughter that she remembered tasting the salt in her tears. The old woman told me all this after I had knocked over a saltshaker. Salt still reminded her of her mother.
There are many such stories. The spiritual power of the place explains why members of the American Indian Movement took it over in 1973 to call the nation’s attention to the economic and cultural injustices against our Native brothers and sisters.
Now, our heritage is in danger of becoming a real-estate transaction, another parcel of what once was our land auctioned off to the highest bidder. The cries of our murdered people still echo off the barren hills — the cries we remember in our hearts every day of our lives. But they may finally be drowned out by bulldozers and the ka-ching of commerce.
The Wounded Knee site passed from the Oglala into private hands through the process known as allotment, begun in the late 1800s, by which the federal government divided land among the Indians and gave other parcels to non-Indians. The idea was to shift control of our land from the collective to the individual and to teach the Lakota and other Native Americans the foreign notion of ownership. But to us, the policy was just another form of theft.
The private owner of the Wounded Knee site, who has held title to the 40-acre plot since 1968, wants to sell it for $3.9 million. If the Oglala of Pine Ridge don’t buy it by May 1, it will be sold at auction.
The Pine Ridge Indian Reservation is one of the poorest places in the United States, and the Oglala, who are deeply in debt, would be hard-pressed to meet the price. Many elders properly ask why any price should be paid at all. The federal government should buy this land and President Obama should then preserve it as a national monument — just as he did last month at five federally owned sites around the country, including one in Maryland honoring Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad.
The massacre site has great meaning not just for the Lakota but for all First Nations — and every American. Wounded Knee should remain a sacred site where the voices of the Ghost Dancers, who more than a century ago danced for the return of our old way of life, still echo among the pines, where the spirits of our elders still walk the hills, and where “takini” still has meaning: the survival of our collective memory.
Following meetings with a group of
Native Americans on the University of Colorado, Boulder, campus, David Hawkins and I arranged to set up, and run, a
series of science and math workshops in Wounded Knee, part of the Lakota Pine Ridge Reservation
in South Dakota.
Before our first overnight visit to Wounded Knee, David gave
me a copy of Dee Brown’s successful Bury
My Heart at Wounded Knee. [1]
“You’ll
need to read this before we go. Just to give you some background about Wounded
Knee.”
"It'll upset you."
"It'll upset you."
I couldn’t put the book down,
knowing as little as I did about the American West. Even though the detail gave
me some idea of the bloody past, covering the period between 1860 and 1890, and
the appalling killing of men, women and children Native Americans at Wounded Knee, it did not prepare me for the
poverty, the hopelessness, the high unemployment, alcoholism and the squalor of the small reservation that was
the site of the infamous Wounded Knee massacre in December 1890.
The Wounded Knee Massacre happened
on December 29, 1890, near Wounded Knee Creek, on the Lakota
Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. On the day before, a
detachment intercepted Spotted Elk's band of Miniconjou
Lakota and Hunkpapa Lakota and escorted
them to Wounded Knee Creek where they made camp.
The rest of the 7th Cavalry Regiment
arrived and surrounded the encampment.
On the morning of December 29, the troops went into the camp to disarm the Lakota. One version of events claims that during the process of disarming the Lakota, a deaf tribesman named Black Coyote was reluctant to give up his rifle. A scuffle over Black Coyote's rifle escalated and a shot was fired which resulted in the 7th Cavalry's opening fire indiscriminately from all sides, killing men, women, and children, as well as some of their own fellow troopers.
By the time it was over, at least 200 men, women, and children of the Lakota Sioux had been killed. Twenty-five troopers also died, and 39 were wounded, many the victims of friendly fire.
Our main partners in the program at
Wounded Knee were Pat Pumpkin Seed, Rog Red Elk, and Rosie Pain-on-Hip. They
worked with us when we ran weekend workshops for Oglala Sioux wanting to be
teacher aids in their local B.I.A school. Surprisingly, none were and, I learned, were not welcomed in the school.
Each Friday, David and I drove the long distance through Colorado, Nebraska, and into South Dakota. We set up our workshop in an
old and deserted single-room school building that was also our place to sleep over
night, close to the Wounded Knee Trading Post. I soon discovered what an impoverished community I had now joined. With the prospect of little or no paid work, the living conditions that I observed quite took my breath away.
Each Saturday, we worked with a small group,
either on hands-on science and maths
activities, or going on field trips to the nearby Badlands, an area that was
incredibly rich in fossils and crystals. Our plan was to talk one on one about the different ways that they could help the teachers in the classrooms. Talking, though, was not an easy thing to do. The Sioux that we worked with were quiet, hardly spoke a word, and gave us little eye contact. Who can blame them?
Eventually, I was accepted and taken on Saturday afternoon fossil trips to the nearby Badlands.
I went to Wounded Knee through the autumn, winter, and spring, eventually saying goodbye when I returned to England.
Correspondence with David told me that the program did not realize its goal.
Eventually, I was accepted and taken on Saturday afternoon fossil trips to the nearby Badlands.
I went to Wounded Knee through the autumn, winter, and spring, eventually saying goodbye when I returned to England.
Correspondence with David told me that the program did not realize its goal.
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| David |
 |
| The BEST fossil vertebra I ever found...... |
| Found a little dog, wandering in the Badlands..... |
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| Pat, me, Rog |
 |
| Elwyn and David Elwyn was too busy doing other things.......he didn't come to Wounded Knee when we started our work there.
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