noveho

Fry Bread and Shrimp Paste

Working the news desk reading feeds filled with sorrow and suffering in the face of antipathetic industry and government only magnified the stark reality. I, like so many other American's had cut expenses, lost retirement accounts and took a major hit financially. With insurmountable losses and struggling to keep afloat in the troubled tide of corrupt government and corporate factions a pall of futility had begun to extinguish what remnant of hope I had left. Embittered by the death of my sister Pamela a couple months back, in part from the callous disregard by the medical/insurance community, my losses were beyond the material consequence. I've been haunted by how she was denied life saving medication and treatment then left to die a slow and agonizing death. Spiritually it was time to take a journey to “The Stronghold” and recalibrate my senses. Gathering up my kids I decided to spend time with my people back on the reservation then visit our Burmese friends.

Jokingly I told my kids were going to take a National Geographic journey since both my tribal nation and the Burmese communities were a cultural cornucopia. Upon arrival at my home “back on the rez” we were struck by the absolute contrast from the contemporary world we were escaping from. As if being transported to a land where time forgot we found ourselves in a third world nation. Ever so impoverished and not the sparkling metropolis my rez would seem foreboding to some but to me it was home fore I had arrived in our last stronghold. Though many homes could use a coat of paint, or in some cases torn down, this was the last stronghold of my people. 10 miles down the road was the Washita Battle (massacre) site where Custer tried in earnest to eliminate the final traces of my people who survived an earlier massacre at Sand Creek Colorado. Ah but like the coyote we still survived in spite of the US Government's campaign of genocide. Of course my kids and I made our pilgrimage to the Washita and made tobacco offerings to our relations who were killed with impunity. I also made a prayer for humanities sake in light of the world’s direction. It was a somber reality check which still brings tears to my eyes whence I recall the stories my elders taught me. Funny how so much history never made the history books, ours and other tribal nations anyway.

In spite of the horrific history and impoverished conditions many of my people live on the rez this is where I call sanctuary. Though some homes are powered by extension cords and need water hauled in by buckets our spirit is strong. Duck Tape and plastic adorn many windows in preparation for the bitter cold winters we have, yet we have a sense of humor about it all, especially now during this economical melt down. My people thrive regardless of the lack of material wealth and have learned many years ago how to survive on nothing fore we have been in “recession” since the time of conquest. But with all the hardships and social ills that plague my people we still have our dances and give-aways. It's funny how people with less than nothing can still find a way to make baskets filled with commodities, blankets and food stuffs for our give-aways. If we lived for anything we lived for these gatherings and Cheyenne's love to gourd dance, moi included.

I forgot my regalia and found myself without my eagle feather fan and gourd rattle. Fortunately my cousin had a couple spares so my son and I could dance. I did manage to bring a shawl for my daughter though. To have my kids dance with me and our people was an absolute blessing for me and I was honored to have my poop butt kids along. As usual we had a banquet with victuals to die for. You can't beat a Cheyenne feed bag and again I was taken back by how people with so little managed to feed the hungry hordes who converged on our dance. I'm a firm believer that best fry bread in the universe comes from the Red Moon Agency Oklahoma.

When the drum began to beat we honored our soldiers and I could no help but feel proud of our people who sacrificed their all in America's wars. I also could not help but feel a bit of irony fore they fought with valor for a nation who would soon forget their sacrifice. With anger and irony put aside I was elated to dance with my children in our traditional way. To see my son & daughter dancing beside me filled my heart with joy as we danced around Stewy and the boys, our drum group. As they played our sacred songs our singers took us back in time as we were transported to a time when we were one with nature and the land was truly free. I found my sanctuary as peace befell my tattered spirit. I came full circle and replenished my heart with love and hope for the future of humanity.

With ancient songs still resonating in our souls we packed up camp and continued our journey. We found ourselves in the Lone Star State of Texas in the company of the Karen refugees from Burma. It was heartening to note a church opened their hearts to these refugee's. Though I have a tendency to shy away from organized religions as a whole I must make note of the wonderful people of the *Cavalry Church of Irving Texas. I attended a service with the Karen people and discovered this church provided a special bus so the Karen could attend services. They also provided gigantic Christmas baskets filled with a feast a king would be proud of to each refugee family. Fortunately for this heathen journalist I was not struck down by a bolt of lightening and the ground did not open plunging me into the bowels of hell. The sermon was conducted by the articulate Executive Pastor Ben Dailey and I found it quite compelling to say the least.

With cool music in up beat and contemporary flare Pastor Ben filled the proverbial spiritual tool boxes of his parishioners. It was a very enjoyable and informative sermon, the likes I never experienced before. After the sermon I spoke with Pastor Ben and Senior Associate Pastor Kerry Jones and found the conversation quite exhilarating. It was as energized as the production style sermon they conducted. We all shared a keen understanding of the times we live and the signs that abound us at this juncture in human history. It was comforting to note there are people who walk their talk and actually read their sacred book, “The Bible”. I must give special kudos and accolades Children's Pastor Stacy Blackmon fore it was he who opened the door for the Karen people after Madam Butterfly made him aware of the plight of the Karen people in Dallas. Pastor Stacy showed compassion and actual concern for the Karen children and I salute his efforts. Fortunately he was at the Cavalry Church of Irving Texas where his concerns were promptly recognized and addresses. I look forward to hearing from him in the future.

Since New Years was just around the corner we were invited to another tribal function. This took us to a gathering of the Rawan people of the highlands of Burma. I was with a very diverse group of people including my personal friends, some of which were political exiles. From missionaries to scholars I was surrounded by people who've accomplished and overcame obstacles and unspeakable horrors with “forgiveness” still in their vocabulary. I was in awe of these brilliant minds but I was most impressed by their candor and humility. They were Christians in the truest sense of the word and walked in the foot steps of Jesus. These people were in the jungles building schools and tending to the sick as well as enriching the spirits of the down trodden. If ever there were people who emulated Jesus of Nazareth it was they. Fact is, the people I met felt strangely familiar to me somehow. As if they were long lost family members, I found myself embracing their culture and I felt privileged to be in their presents.

Suffer Post Traumatic Stress Disorder finding peace has always been an issue for me. Always on guard and always acutely aware of my surroundings, peace of mind was a luxury I could never afford. But for a moment in time I found tranquility and a secure feeling. For the first time in my life I found sanctuary outside of my reservation.

We all sang and danced their tribal dances and I was honored to be accepted by these wonderful human beings. My kids enjoyed traditional dances and games once only privy to the mountain people of Burma and South Asia. The food was totally fantastic as we enjoyed a culinary adventure while we dinned with greatness. It did not matter if you were a cook or a businessman fore there was no separation between classes. The host was a very successful Rawan businessman. The love he had for his people was all too apparent as he treated everyone who graced his home as if they were royalty. It was a truly cultural experience for my kids and me as we enjoyed traditions from these wonderfully giving people. Humble and joyous they allowed us into their world as we played and laughed the night away. At one point I was made to dance a traditional tribal dance in a game we played. The instructor was my friend Myat Ko a survivor of torture and the infamous Insein Prison of Burma. As the crowd laughed and clapped their hands at my futile attempt to dance and follow Myat Ko's moves, I could not help but remember the stories of weekly tortures, lack of medical attention and death at the hands of a criminal regime. Here was a man who championed democracy, suffered for his beliefs, was prepared to die for his beloved Burma and now he was teaching me how to dance Burmese way. Admittedly I looked more like a 900 pound gorilla but we all had fun and I savored every nuance of this wonderful experience.

Later that evening I was in conversation with a missionary. She commented on our fate if we were to be speaking about democracy or politics in her homeland. Her rye response struck a cord since she said we would be either killed or sent to prison for the rest of our lives back in Burma. Though I’m ever so grateful for our rights freedom her statement furthered my resolve to stand up for Democracy and our Constitution because the other alternative would be totalitarianism. Where would we go if corporate greed succeeds in globalizes our planet eh? As far as freedom and democracy are concerned, America is our last stronghold.

*www.calvarychurch.cc
Your Devil's Advocate
Buffalohair

• 12 January 2009
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