A Rational Animal

 

. . . at Debwe.

 

About 4:20 PM yesterday, my father began his four-day journey along the western road.

I wasn’t there; Mom was with him.   I’d left about 20 minutes earlier, finally headed to my other home for a few days.  At about that time, I saw two adult golden eagles flying not quite in tandem by the side of the road; I thought it was odd, since you virtually never see eagles in that area, much less a pair, and that close to the road.  Of course, I didn’t know then that Dad was gone, although I rather suspected it long before I got the message.

As has probably been clear over the years - of for no other reason, from the things I didn’t say - my father and I had, shall we say, a difficult relationship.  Compounding this was the fact that his illness included a specialized form of dementia, so that for the last 3.5 years, carrying on any sort of conversation has been virtually impossible.  There have been other factors at work, too, all underscored by the fact that I had a lot to forgive him for.

Mom had been saying for a couple of days that she thought this was it, so to speak - but we’d been there before, many times, and his illness was such that at any given time, he could be assumed to last ten more hours or ten more years.  However, knowing that I was headed out of town yesterday morning, I knew I had to go see him, since I might not get another chance.  (I did not get that chance with either of my sisters.)  Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted a chance in the first place, but duty trumps certain emotions.  I wound up staying for several hours - not for any concrete reason that I could identify, but there turned out to be a reason in the end.

When I got there, his breathing was very labored (he was being treated for pneumonia) and, as usual, clonus had rendered his limbs spastic, so that he was contracted more or less into a fetal position.  At one point, one of the nurses checked his feet and hands; all were a mottled purple, with the discoloration on his feet extending up over his knees in a nearly solid blue-black mass.  When I spoke to him, his eyes parted a little; it was clear that he couldn’t see me, but he seemed to be tracking my voice.

Mom used my cell phone to call a few (very few) relatives; each time, she put the phone to his ear in the hope that he could hear.  His face would spasm briefly, whether in recognition or from pain, it was impossible to tell.  I retrieved my smudge kit from the car, filled a medicine bag with the four sacred substances, and tied the bag to his bed.  (When I return, I’ll burn the bag’s contents.)  Later, two nurses (wonderful women, both of them) turned off his oxygen so that I could smudge him.  Because of the safety concerns, the tendril of smoke was virtually nonexistent, and I was afraid that nothing was happening.  Then he breathed in the scent and suddenly gave what sounded something like a single hiccup - and his face, body, and breathing relaxed.  He lay there on his back, the grimace gone from his face, the breathing rhythmic and no longer labored, the clonus gone from his body and his limbs at last stretched out, relaxed. 

Mom had to run to the bank, so I took her place beside him.  I apologized to him for not knowing the proper songs; I "sang" (that’s a gross overstatement) the only two I do know - and only in English, of course.  They’re designed to release the person from the tethers of this life, so that s/he can begin the journey without worrying about what may or may not be left behind.  I told him that I didn’t know whether it was his time - but if it was, I was releasing him, singing him into becoming a spirit (becoming one with Gitchi Manitou and the essential Mystery).  And then I told him that we would all be okay.  I told him for the first time about a particular person; that this person would take care of me; that we’d take care of Mom; that all the dogs would help.  Occasionally, his eyelids would slit open slightly, and while there was no indication that he’d even heard me, I still think he was hearing my voice.

When Mom returned, I got ready to leave.  Twenty minutes after that, he’d begun the walk.  And when Mom called me to tell me, she also told me that - for the first time in months - his face was relaxed, unspasmed, and with normal color; the angry black mottling on his limbs had been replaced by healthy-looking tissue; and his hands and feet were warm.  She saw him at the funeral home this morning (they can’t perform a cremation in the absence of a death certificate, which won’t be available until after the first of the week), and she told me that he looks more like himself than he has in a long time.

Talking with her yesterday evening, I apologized for the smudging, thinking that it may have hastened things faster than perhaps she would have wanted.  She told me she was glad that I did it; that she thinks it made all the difference, first, in making him physically comfortable, and second, in releasing his spirit.  I think she’s right.  I also think she’s right that he hung on for three days because he couldn’t go until I released him.  Not by way of forgiveness, precisely - from my end, it’s simply that everything that happened is now irrelevant.  (And knowing him, if I’d used the word "forgiveness," it probably would’ve pissed him off into hanging on indefinitely from sheer rage.)  But I do think he needed me to tell him it was okay to start his journey now.

This morning, while I was on the phone with Mom, a young eagle carrying a prairie dog in its talons flew across my path at roughly eye level, only mere yards from where I stood.  A few moments later, an enormous swallowtail butterfly - easily a five-inch wingspan - raided the garden flowers for pollen while I stood three feet away.  And all day yesterday and again today, birds have served as my escorts.  As the person who owns this place said to me this morning, those were meant for me to see.  And since then, I’ve been unusually serene.

The last few days have been . . . well, pretty brutal, obviously.  And the confluence of certain events has the capacity to make them, taken as a whole, far, far worse than the sum of their parts.  But I don’t think that’s going to happen.  Sometimes the universe has a way of forcing everything on you all at once - purely to get it all out of the way once and for all, so that you can change direction unencumbered by any remaining baggage of any sort.  I think that’s what’s happened this week:  Several disparate aspects of my life that have been weighing me down (in some cases, for decades) have now been taken out of my hands.  I don’t have any choice but to start fresh.  And it all happens to coincide with a particular one-year anniversary that has changed my life in countless and untold ways.

So for those of you who have been thinking good thoughts, thank you and bless you.  And if anyone feels the need to "do something," Parkinson’s research efforts need help.  So do domestic violence programs for Native American populations. 

I’m not sure how much blogging I’ll do here over the next couple of days; my brain is still sorting things out a bit.  For those of you who’ve already left comments, I will get to those.  And shortly, I anticipate having considerably more time and a considerably more regular schedule, allowing me to immerse myself in writing here, and in developing Debwe.  Before I leave you this evening, I’ll share one of today’s gifts from the universe - no chance at getting a shot of the eagle, but I did get one of the butterfly:

 

The shot’s not terribly in focus, but believe me, it was a stunner.

Love to you all -

~ L 

My other home, and my favorite place on earth 

And tanned, rested, and ready to go.  Well, sort of - the tanned part, not so much.

It’s been a rough few weeks.  People I love with medical issues (one just had surgery;another’s postponing surgery); my own medical issues; financial issues; professional issues . . . you name it.  As much as I’ve wanted to write about the countless outrages in the news, by the time I’d dealt with each day, I just didn’t have anything left over for blogging - either physically or psychologically.  And on the rare occasions when I was able to snag a few days at my haven (see above), all I could do was try to decompress for a few days.

But I just spent a week there (thank you, W), and - unintentionally - worked through a lot of the shit that had piled up.  When I’m there, it feels like a vacation, but it’s not; I had two all-day training conferences in five days, one out of town.   And their subject matter was difficult, to say the least.  I do a lot of work on issues involving domestic violence and sexual assault, and a lot of what I see and hear is truly horrifying.  This week’s work was horrifying in an additional way, in that it dredged up shit from my own past that I’ve been (mostly successfully) avoiding for longer than I can remember.

But you know what?  It’s all good.  It prodded me to begin to deal with it, which I clearly needed to do.  It got me back in touch with my spiritual obligations, which have been getting short shrift.  It prompted me to listen to my guides.  And it answered two nagging questions and pushed me to do something about them.  (And for that, thank you, W - again - for paying for the session that made that possible.)

One of those answers is Debwe.   No, there’s nothing there yet - although I hope there will be later tonight.  But Debwe will accomplish two things:

1.  I have to write.  Period.  When I don’t, I get crazy.  And if that means that I have to jettison other tasks, so be it.  And this gives me a focal point for certain topics that don’t fit neatly here.

2.  Increasingly, my work (like my life) involves tribal issues.  This is especially true in the context of my domestic violence and sexual assault work - but it’s also emblematic of the turns my life has taken recently in other areas, as well.  I need an outlet for those issues.  However, ARA has always been largely a political blog, and I don’t want that to change.  There’ll be some cross-posting between the two, but a lot of Native American issues that are not necessarily front-burner political issues will appear on Debwe instead of ARA.

Hmm?  Oh, the name.  "Debwe" is an Anishinaabemowin word.  It loosely translates as "I speak the truth" - or, simply (and this is my usage of it), "truth." 

Maybe I should’ve named it "therapy" . . . ?

Love you all -

 ~ L 

"Women’s traditional" competition, Gathering of Nations, 2007 

I’ve been meaning to put up a post-powwow update.  Instead, I’m thinking of launching a separate blog devoted exclusively to tribal issues.  ARA’s roots are in politics and policy, broadly defined; I think the tribal issues tend to get lost in the shuffle, particularly since we’re already gearing up for the ‘08 race at a ridiculously early stage.  I’ll still post about Native issues here at ARA, but I think a dedicated site will 1) provide for greater depth, and 2) encourage me to post more regularly on both sites.

Thoughts?  Suggestions?  Insults?

A Sioux crane flute, my big indulgence at the Gathering of Nations Traders’ Market

I’ve got a four-day break in travel, so it’s time to catch up on some serious blogging and various other duties.  Expect bloggus interruptus for the next three hours, because I have a meeting (no, off the road doesn’t mean off-duty; no rest for the wicked), but then I’ll be spending the rest of the day shuttling between here and Chez Maru.  (Who, BTW, is back, bitchez!  Serious snark to recommence.)

But before all of that, I have to post a shout-out to a certain someone (that would be the co-owner of the indulgence pictured above, who has custody and use of it):

THANK YOU.  You know what, and you know why.  I can’t believe how blessed my life is with you in it.  And now I can’t imagine it any other way.

  ~ L  

 

Aaniin, All! 

No real posting before tomorrow, at the earliest - today I’m busy at the Gathering of Nations, the world’s largest powwow.

It’s a three-day event (I’ve been here since Thursday night), and I’ll be there the rest of today, watching the dancing, eating frybread, dropping ridiculous amounts of money at the Traders’ Market, and networking with friends and soon-to-be-friends.  I’ll try to get some good digital shots to post tomorrow. 

 ~ L 

 

Finally, a federal appeals court does the right thing:

A federal appeals panel on Monday blocked a ski resort’s plan to make artificial snow by spraying treated wastewater on mountains that Indian tribes consider sacred.

In a unanimous ruling, a three-judge panel of the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit, in San Francisco, overturned a lower court ruling from January 2006 that would have let the resort, the Arizona Snowbowl, to proceed with the snowmaking and other upgrades on the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff.

This has been a source of pain to multiple tribes for years.  Bad enough that (as with Taos Pueblo), the tribes’ sacred mountain is desecrated daily for commercial purposes (by skiers and snowboarders in winter and sightseers in summer).  But Snowbowl wanted to add an artifical snowmaking operation that would spray the mountain with "snow" made from treated wastewater.

Yeah.  Sewer water.

Snowbowl’s argument:  "But - but - but it’s treated!  It’s not dirty anymore!" 

The tribes’ response:  "It’s sewer water, you idiots.  You want to put sewer water, treated or not, on the sacred ground that we use for ceremonials?!"  As the NYT put it:  "They said using wastewater, no matter how clean, would offend deities and spiritually contaminate herbs and other plants used for medicine and religious ceremonies."

Of course, resort owners are whining:

A spokesman for the resort, Dave Smith, said it would not comment until executives had reviewed the decision. In interviews, they have said it will be difficult to keep the resort open without the snowmaking. The resort, on 777 acres in the Cococino National Forest, struggles with dry weather.

First, Snowbowl has no right to be there in the first place.  This is land that has been used for centuries for sacred purposes by thirteen tribes.  Its sacredness is so central that all of these tribes have been able to put aside major differences in beliefs and even great historical enmity to come to agreement on its collective use.

Second, that’s what they get for trying to operate a moneymaking scheme in a climate ill-suited to it.  But, as is typical of contemporary America, money and technology are always expected to trump nature.  It’s the same attitude that drives yuppie idiots in this state to waste precious water every summer to maintain golf-course-green lawns in front of their McMansions - in an arid desert climate that, for the last five or six years, has been undergoing the worst drought the area has seen in more than 500 years. 

It’s also the same attitude that has the spoiled denizens of Rio Rancho demanding construction of a freeway right through the middle of the sacred Petroglyphs.  Because, you know, what’s a thousand-year-old sacred site of incalculable archaeological value compared to their ability to shave five minutes off their commute?  You know what?  When you extend Metro’s Red Line up into Georgetown by way of the middle of the nave of the National Cathedral, then maybe we’ll talk.  Until then, STFU.

In fact, here’s Snowbowl’s recent track record:

It opened late this winter for the third time in four years and closed on Sunday, in the middle of what is usually its busiest month, because of warm temperatures and a lack of significant snowfall.

Two years ago, enough snow fell for 139 days of skiing. Last year, the resort operated for 15 days.

Um, Nature’s trying to tell you something, guys.  You don’t belong there.

There have long been questions about the federal government’s permitting and approval processes that allowed Snowbowl’s developers to construct this abomination in the first place.  Maybe this will be the first step in getting it shut down once and for all.

 

I read Indian County Today religiously.  Obviously, the primary reason is that they cover Native issues that are naturally of particular interest to me, but there’s another reason, too:  They cover some great stories that I don’t find anywhere else.  And last night, when I finally got to my hotel and logged on, lo and behold, what do I find on the home page of ICT?

You got it:  the first real interview with Bill Richardson the Presidential Candidate that I’ve seen anywhere. (Yeah, I know the NYT Mag did that one-page "Questions for . . ." piece a couple of weeks ago, and I’m glad, but that doesn’t qualify as a real interview.)  The interview, conducted by ICT Special Correspondent Sonny Skyhawk, appears under a hed that is actually a quote from Bill, extracted from the interview:  "I would have a cabinet department for Native American affairs."

Now, what first caught my attention wasn’t the photo of Bill, or anything else that identified him as the subject of the piece - all of that was "below the fold," so to speak, and I had to scroll down to see the synopsis.  But as soon as I saw the hed, two things immediately flashed through my mind in succession:  1) What an awesome idea! and 2) Hey!  Finally!  An interview with Bill!

The exchange begins as follows:

Sonny Skyhawk: How was it possible for you to establish such a strong rapport with the Pueblo population in New Mexico, and yet many other governors are having difficulty addressing the Native population in their own states?

Gov. Bill Richardson: Since the beginning, since I was a congressman, [the] Secretary of Energy, United Nations ambassador, I felt that our Native American people have not gotten the priority attention they deserve, so I’ve made them partners. 

Very true.  Now, don’t get me wrong; there are many issues on which Richardson is not regarded as particularly friendly to Native Americans.  But that’s true of any pol, and any constituency.  Among pols generally, and here in New Mexico specifically, Richardson has done by far the most to bring our tribe into the political and governmental processes and to make sure their concerns get a hearing.  And while I have no illusions about his motivation for doing so - he’s always had larger ambitions - I’ll take it any way it comes.  And the fact of the matter is that he has done a great deal for the tribes in this state over the last four years, and he’s created a great intertribal team of loyalists.

The piece begins with Richardson recounting his achievements on behalf of Native Americans in his various political roles over the years.  One of those achievements that I’ve always found aprticularly gratifying is this:

I’ve known some of these folks, and they’ve made outstanding contributions to the process of government in this state.  These are not simply patronage appointments:  These are professionals who, by their presence and input, have improved both the process and the result, and who have helped ensure that indigenous needs and concerns get addressed by a bureaucracy that has always been too willing to ignore their existence (until, of course, it’s time for non-Natives to bitch about the casinos, or tribal lands, or the fact that some Indian had the temerity to object to racist imagery).

In discussing the cabinet post, he had this to say:

If I’m elected president, I would propose to make the cabinet secretary of Indian Affairs the Secretary of Indian Affairs; I would make it cabinet level. I would try, because I believe within the Department of the Interior it does not get the attention it deserves. I would have a cabinet department for Native American affairs. […]

In terms of being governor, we have said that we recognize all tribes as equals, self-determination and government-to-government. And a Pueblo governor is equal to the governor of New Mexico. They’re citizens of New Mexico. I just feel very strongly about it and I’m going to continue doing that if I’m elected president.

Now, how many politicians - anywhere in this country - have you ever heard acknowledge that a "[tribal] governor is equal to the governor of [a state]?"  I’d pretty much guarantee that you haven’t.  Because tribal sovereignty is the proverbial elephant in the room, and no American pol wants to touch it with a barge pole.

Considering my own vested interests, if I had not already decided who to support in the primary, that one statement would have made up my mind for me.

I particularly like the substance of this next exchange: 

 

Skyhawk: As a candidate that is running for the highest office in this land, can you see the relationship with American Indians as being not only vital to the presidency but vital to the point that you try to acquire the acceptance of Native Americans throughout America?

Richardson: Yes, I would consider it a vital relationship and today it’s not considered that. I’m very concerned about the lack of commitment by the federal government, not just in the area of health care but also education. This is why in New Mexico, because there is no strong federal commitment, we have the statewide Indian Healthcare Act where the state, not takes over, but supplements the health care that is not happening [on the federal level].

I’m particularly concerned about the plight nationally: not just of reservation Native Americans, but urban Indians. Many are living in our cities, off the reservations, and they are not getting health care - they are not getting assistance. We need to develop some better delivery systems for urban Indians throughout the country in our major cities. I would consider it vital. I would make it a government-to-government relationship.

I would include also a number of initiatives that would bureaucratically elevate that status, such as a cabinet agency; such as an effort to deal with each tribe as a sovereign nation and I would try to resolve this Indian trust fund issue. I would try to resolve some of the issues related to waters and public lands and the disputes that exist. 

Bill, baby, you’re singin’ my song.  Native health care, education, sovereignty - "a government-to-government relationship" . . . !  Now this is what we, as Native Americans, should be demanding from our leaders.

 

And then he gets specific:

First, I would fully fund the Indian Healthcare Act. There would be a stronger budget in my administration on Indian health care. When it comes to education and when it comes to childhood obesity, the highest suicide rate is among Indian kids. I would try to set up on the reservations, as I have here in New Mexico, school-based health clinics: health clinics in schools that are able to work with kids, counsel them and give them early intervention.

I feel like dancing right now.  Full funding for the IHCA is essential - the federal government’s failure to do so is killing our people.  And he’s right about suicide rates; to those I would add diabetes, alcoholism, and drug (especially meth) use rates.  

To my knowledge, this is the first interview that ICT has done with any of the ‘08 presidential candidates.  Of course, Richardson’s a natural choice, since we have so many different tribes in this state, and he has done so much more than most other pols to bring them thoroughly into the mainstream of the political process.  But I’m still glad to see ICT lead off with him - both for the exposure it gets him, and for the attention it calls to the benefits of treating Native Americans as political equals.  Maybe it’ll shame of few others out there into doing likewise.

 

Incidentally, maybe WaPo’s not so thrilled with Novakula’s diatribe about Chief Illiniwek, either.  When I went to retrieve the column for this morning’s post, it wasn’t on the main Opinion page, despite being only a three days old.  Nor was it captioned in any of the "blurb boxes."  Knowing, however, that WaPo indexes a dozen or so of each columnist’s most recent pieces, I scrolled down to Novakula’s photo, clicked on it, and went to "Past Columns by Robert D. Novak."  And what did I find?

Zip.

Well, not exactly.  I found his ten most recent columns - with one notable exception:  his most recent (prior to today’s), which, coincidentally, happens to be his screed on the "killing of Chief Illiniwek." 

Or maybe not so coincidentally.

Anyway, I grabbed a screen shot.  The image above is a thumbnail; click to see the actual screen grab.