GOM to 2016: Conscience subconscious

Even from GOM's time, the normalization of the maltreatment of Native Americans was beginning to set deep within the cortex of the immigrants brain.  

The French and English recognized GOM as a peace chief of her people at Doty Island, and recognized the Chiefs of other Nations, but still sought to rob and plunder our people and others of their lands and culture, while never understanding that we were a thriving people, complete with our own form of government, inter-tribal relations, and culture and traditions that provided every person with a purpose within their realm.  Every person understood their place in the universe.  They were placed here by the Creator himself, charged with specific responsibilities such that worship of the Creator was daily.

Yet, Native Americans were viewed as being incapable of realizing the full value of their land, minerals, and other resources.  Furthermore, we were not spiritual beings, because we did not pray or worship as the colonists.  This mindset was being carefully crafted as their consciences began to prick their hearts and such stories as being led by the hand of God; it is what brought them here, after all.  This narrative of Native Americans formed deep within their psyche, as it was needed to justify their inhumane and unconscionable actions. 

God isn't capable of lying, therefore, whatever we do to Native Americans is therefore sanctioned by a higher, divine power.  This doctrine of discovery attitude began to take root and embraced by all those who came here under duress, strife, hunger, and by whatever means brought them here.  They had a divine right to rob us, rape us, pillage, plunder, lie, steal, assimilate, kill, poison, drown, hang, and do whatever they can to us, because we were considered to be less than, because of the way we lived, dressed, looked and talked.

Today, the Dakota Access Pipe Line protestors and water protectors won their first victory when the Army Corps of Engineers refused to grant another illegal permit to the Oil Development Company from Texas, to continue its building of a pipe line that would run through the sacred lands of the Dakota, adjacent to their reservation, and possibly poison the water used by the people of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, which I feel was given to us because of our veterans or warriors.

Now comes the postmortem of the entire event.  The questions most supporters of the complete halt of the pipe line project is: Why didn't mainstream media cover the event in more detail?  Where was justice?  How could the local law enforcement water cannon, shoot rubber bullets and set attack dogs on the unarmed water protectors?  How could the armed white militants who overtook a federal facility get full media coverage and away with their actions, while local law enforcement turned a blind eye?

I think the answer to this is as old as the first invasion of the colonist on our land.  This is not a narrative that the US wants to hear about themselves.  The treatment of the water protectors stirs up old memories of the atrocities the immigrants committed against us long ago.  It stirs up remembrance of broken treaties, Chiefs made drunk, forced removals and assimilation to get gain and ease consciences.  Broken treaties and social injustices committed against a people once, twice conquered do not fit the US's view of itself.  The US and its immigrant people only want to hear stories that fit their narrative, stories that reaffirm their view of the US Nation, stories that are a part of the national conversation.  Injustices against the water protectors or Native Americans do not fit in the national conversation.

The cultural brutality that is happening in this country TODAY against Native Americans, as clearly and overtly demonstrated in Standing Rock, against an impoverished, voiceless group of people, stripped of all they had through deviant treaties and then repatriated back again through limiting acts of broken congress, just doesn't fit into the US Nation's view of itself.  No, it can't because it is deeply embedded within its conscience and  to its subconscious,  bubbling and oozing back and forth across the blood-brain barrier.

What is better to focus on by the water protectors is how to keep this rekindled Native American activism going.  How can we keep this united force of indigenous peoples going?  We need to wake up from our forced slumber and idle no more!  Let us continue to regain our sense of being, our sense of purpose and prepare the way for our people to take full and complete charge of our original responsibilities as keepers of this land.  We need to reach deep within our subconscious and remember who we were and then we can become who we were meant to be.

Glory of the Morning: Betrayal of GOM

Glory of the Morning: Betrayal of GOM: Today was a particularly difficult day.  The feeling of being alone is palpable.  I worked so hard to have an Indian Education Program her...

Betrayal of GOM

Today was a particularly difficult day.  The feeling of being alone is palpable.  I worked so hard to have an Indian Education Program here in Rochester.  I tussled with the superintendent, I was lied to by the district for 9 years, listened to them tell me that we had to have more Indian kids and then 20 parents, such humiliation.  Yet, nothing compares to today.  With my help, the Rochester Public Schools received 45K in Dayton monies and there will be more to follow once we get title  VII monies.  Once the district hired an Indian Student Liaison, Guthrie C., and that was it.  The bylaws I wrote were ignored, we couldn't hold elections, and I ended up signing an agreement that stated I approved of all that the district was doing.  After today, I feel duped.

I think I now know how my ancestors felt by signing a treaty, not fully realizing what lie ahead.  I have been betrayed.  

How?  The Indian Student Liaison failed to invite my family to the first celebration of our Indian kids in Rochester.  He invited all of the other families, except mine.  There was a news story in the paper with Betty and Shirley's picture in the paper, along with Guthrie, celebrating the student event that I had longed to see.  Their pictures were there as if they  had done all of the work to get the program started.  As if they made all of the sacrifices, took all of the heat, was yelled at by the super, lied to by the assist super and numerous other admins., contacted the state legislators and got the money for our kids.  Such betrayal.

I think I have a small inkling of how GOM felt when up to 1/2 the tribe left for the Lake Pepin area, because the General Council made her their peace Chief.  That must have been hard to live through.  It must have been lonely and scary to watch her tribe fight.  Today, even the clans that supported her have stopped talking about her.  It is as if they are ashamed of her.  They hide her legacy even though she is the most sought out woman at the Wisconsin Historical Society.  

I will try to take heart that she was bold enough to step up and assume the position she was asked to take. 

Glory of the Morning: We all need God's grace...

Glory of the Morning: We all need God's grace...: People often ask me what American Indians think about the Fourth of July.  I say in jest, I am not all American Indians so keep on asking.  ...

We all need God's grace...

People often ask me what American Indians think about the Fourth of July.  I say in jest, I am not all American Indians so keep on asking.  However, those that listen, I tell them that I have mixed feelings about the holiday, because while some were gaining their freedoms, we were slowly losing ours.

With this admission, some people feel that I am not "patriotic" and that is true, I am not a patriot.
I am Henook Pinga.  I am a Ho-Chunk woman. I am the grand daughter of Henry and Marie Decorah, daughter of Vera Kingbird.  I am a mother, a wife, a registered nurse, and so many other things, including a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and a member of the Bear Clan.  As a member of Jesus Christ's church, I am endowed with promises from on high, just as my ancestors were, if I remain true to all that Mauna has asked of me.  This sacred charge has been restored through the ordinances which the church holds.  As a member of the Bear Clan, I protect my own.

Alas, some people want to compare their "patriotism" with my mixed feelings, especially those in my church.  It matters very little to me what they think, but I am tired. One more time.

God did not scatter and kill our people.  No, it was the immigrants to this land, seeking asylum from their persecutions that ultimately ended up persecuting us, killing us, pillaging our lands, and taking away our God given freedoms.  Irony is a hard thing, but no, the end does not justify the means.  The papal bull did not grant anyone the freedom to try and annihilate another people.  The constitution, which did not include American Indians in the phrase "all men are created equal," did not give anyone permission to exterminate, commit genocide, rape, pillage, steal, or commit mass murder against its original inhabitants.

I think God allowed this to happen to our people to stand as a witness against those that committed these atrocities, and one day, all will be set to right.  Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, our people need not slumber any more.

With respect to our courage, bravery, integrity, and our God given charge to care of these lands which we love, my grandfather, Henry Decorah along with his father, Foster Decorah and his brothers and numerous cousins, all Ho-Chunk Warriors, volunteered for WWI to fight for our land and our God given freedoms, even though we were not considered citizens of the United States of America.  No, we were considered to be lower than the dust, yet these brave Ho-Chunk Warriors were part of the Red Arrow Division, who heroically pierced the Hindenburg Line.  A major turning point in WWI.

My great grandfather paid the ultimate sacrifice and is buried in Chateau de Thierry, France.

Furthermore, every one of my uncles and two of my aunts were in the Armed Forces.  Ho-Chunks, men and women, and other American Indians in general have the highest enlistment rate given their population density than any other race in these United States.  Ho-Chunks honor, even revere their Warriors, so do not speak to me about your "patriotism."

American Indians were given stewardship of these lands from the Creator Himself, and as far as I am aware, everyone of my ancestors paid the price of that responsibility over and over again, and are still paying for this sacred responsibility, yet take this charge very seriously.  So please, do not speak to me of your patriotism, unless you want to hear about our sacrifices, our stewardship, our love of land and family.

In an attempt to wrestle with these mixed emotions, a poem was penned.  It was set to the words of a song which causes great consternation within me as I think of all that our ancestors had to undergo, and the ramifications of which many of my people still struggle with today, while glorifying and overlooking the numerous atrocities committed in the name of God and freedom.


Awake From Our Slumber
(inspired by American the Beautiful {Bates} by Valerie DeCora Guimaraes)

Home of the free
  Thriving, dancing, praying
Land of the brave
  Taken from our cradles, slumbering
Pilgrim's feet
  Trampling across our ancestors, desecrating
A top purple mountain majesties
God shed his grace on thee.

Liberating strife
  Babes taken, shackled, removing
The banner of the free
  Assimilation, kinships, defiling
Thine alabaster cities gleam, gold
  Made drunken, lost, scattering
Undimmed by human suffering
God shed his grace on thee.

O beautiful for patriot dream
  Prayers ascend, our Elders, leading
Every gain divine
  Resilience in traditions, transforming
Who more than self, loved
  No more slumber, speaking
Crown thy goodness
God shed his grace on thee.

Can you write an article about the Ho-Chunk for the Mankato Free Press?

A Ho-Chunk with Dakota ancestry Musings

I have been asked to submit an article for the Mankato Free Press.  Mankato, hmm, I must think.  When I think of Mankato, though I have been to the Dakota 38 ride event in December, and to its recent powwows, what I most remember is the first time I went to Mankato was the first inter-tribal powwow that was held there in the 70s’, maybe a little earlier.  Such is the memory of a child.

I lived with my grandparents, Henry and Marie Decorah.  Henry or Choka, was a full-blood Ho-Chunk from Portage, Wisconsin and Marie Crow, was a full-blood Dakota from Santee, South Dakota.  I attended many powwows with my grandparents.  They were usually held on the reservations in Minnesota, Iowa, South Dakota, or near villages in Wisconsin, but the Mankato Powwow that year was the first powwow held in Mankato since the mass hanging of the Dakota 38, plus 2 (though some feel there was one or two Ho-Chunks hung in this heroic group of men and boys).

My grandmother was especially excited for this powwow.  I remember comments like, “It will be good for us to be there” and “It is going to be a special powwow and I want to be there.”  My grandfather was afraid of what the community might think, afterall there was that sign that still hung in the city.  What sign?  I clearly remember that I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but I did understand that whatever they were talking about was serious, and I kept quiet and listened as we prepared to go to Mankato.

The powwow was, as I recall, was held in a ball field.  We camped in a tent near other families that we knew, mostly from St. Paul.  The surroundings were not familiar to me.  I had planned to dance fancy shawl, much to the dismay of my grandparents, but they supported me nonetheless.  A lost art of Indian parenting from the greatest generation, assimilation and all.  My Gram helped me to get ready.  My Choka put our chairs near the arena.  All seemed to go on as any other powwow we attended.

There were Dakota and Ho-Chunk people there.  Famlies that I knew who loved to dance and get together.  While we were dancing, the emcee, I don’t remember his name, said that there were eagles overhead.  Emcees announced many things, but this did not seem unusual.  The drumming and dancing continued.  Soon he said that there were several eagles overhead and urged us to look up.  I did.  I saw the eagles flying right over the arena.  We all kept dancing, but a swell of voices could be heard over the singing.

Soon the emcee started to count the eagles that flew over the dancing arena.  I remember he said, “...eleven, twelve” and then “twenty” and his voice cracked when he said, “thirty-one, thirty-two...”  Suddenly the drumming and dancing stopped.  The emcee, choking back tears, said, “There is one eagle for every man who was hung here in Mankato.”  I looked up and saw a large number of eagles flying right over the dancing arena.

Though I was a child, I knew that there was something special happening.  The emcee was crying, not something you see very often from a Dakota man or any Indian man.  I looked toward where my Gram was sitting, and she was crying.  I ran over to her and put my arms around her shoulder.  I asked her why she was crying.  She told me to look up and see what was going on and listen to the emcee. 

Soon after the eagles started to separate and fly away.

This is my memory of this day.  I don’t remember what the arena director said or what my grandparents said after this incident.  I do remember how I felt after we resumed dancing, I felt proud.  I felt that I had been a part of something very sacred and that I should remember what I had seen.

Much time has passed and I am no longer a child.  I know my Dakota and Ho-chunk history.  I have been angry about broken dubious treaties, evil bounties and discrimination. I have been saddened by health and educational disparities, alcoholism and suicide.  When I find it hard to continue I think about my grandparents.  I start to remember how much courage it took for them to simply live their lives after undergoing removals, genocidal tactics, assimilation, and relocation. 

I now know just how much attending that powwow in Mankato meant to my Gram.  I better understand the significance of the eagles flying overhead the dancing arena.  It was a sign from the Creator, from our ancestors to keep going and never forget.

GOM Legacy

Last week I met a nice young man whose last name was Decorah. Ah, a relative, right here in Rochester, MN.  He was a student, a freshman no less, at RCTC.  

I was there with Mr. Art Owen, to address the Native American Studies class, which was being taught by a white man, of course, such is Rochester's legacy.  When the class discussion turned to the Ghost Dance and the Sundance, well Art wanted me to investigate.  I did and now, there we were, in a small class, with students of every age, not talking about the Ghost Dance and sharing what we could about the Sundance.

After the class, the two Decorah's spotted one another.  Who are your parents and grandparents?  The "who are your people" test.  I knew his people, but he didn't know mine, which was age related.  I was considerably older than he was, and that is okay.  Neither of us would want to change places with the other.  As we spoke about our Ho-Chunk heritage and involvement in the tribe, he said something very odd.

"When you go to the General Council, you have to sit with your clans...we don't have a clan."

Ah, yes, it all started with Glory of the Morning and Joseph Sabrevior Decaris, I know.  He went on to explain what clan he thought he was and so did I.  He thought his dad said they were Thunder and I said my Choka told me that we were Eagle. 

There we stood, at RCTC in 2016, discussing if we had a clan or not.  I said that I was "issued" a clan by the enrollment office; Bear.  He was told that he was Bear too.  I told him what I knew, from the enrollment office tribal genealogist: when there is no Ho-Chunk father, then you have to go by the mother's clan.  Not a well-liked choice per the purest of the tribe, who all have Ho-Chunk fathers, as if Ho-Chunk mother's were a thing of naught.  Shame on you!  

Only one time in modern Ho-Chunk history did the Elders change the tradition.  This was after the harsh removal from Wisconsin during the 1800s', when many of the women were impregnated by white army officers.  A Council of Elders (not a General Council) was held and they decided to let these women keep their clans, so that their children would not be clan-less.    Another decision made under dire circumstances. Many Ho-Chunk families were affected by this decision and their clans remain in tact today.  I know their names.

Respectfully speaking, though to the point, well known Ho-Chunk families have clans even though their mother's, grandmother's and great-grandmother's were robbed of their virtue and their children do not have Ho-Chunk fathers, but Glory of the Morning who married outside of the tribe in the 1600s', can not have a clan.  Is this right? Shame on you!

From my research, Ho-Chunk women will do anything for their male relatives, children, families, and the tribe.  Early Ho-Chunk women were fierce.  They were not afraid to die or fight.  Such is the legacy of Ho-Chunk women, but what of Glory of the Morning?

As I have pondered her legacy, I realize that Glory of the Morning's legacy was not to leave her descendants without a clan, that was the subsequent tribal leadership who wielded their authority and made her a thing of naught.  As the tribe, and tribal leadership have struggled to be unified, clan assignments were made with best guesses per a scattered and somewhat assimilated Ho-Chunk membership.

No, Glory of the Morning's legacy was not to leave her descendants without a clan.  Per the sacred visit quest dream of her sons, we can have any clan we choose.  In essence, we can have them all!  After all, Joseph was adopted into the tribe and given a name and a clan.  Both of these individuals were real, courageous, and did what they could for their people and their children.  Joseph left the sons with Glory of the Morning, and he took the young girl to be raised by his family. It was their choice.

For me, Glory of the Morning's legacy was to have her descendants seek out their lineage and remember from whence they came.   We have come from fiercely individual, courageous, and purposeful stock.  Glory of the Morning was a Peace Chief who proved herself through heroic actions.  Such warrior-like actions of women who followed her,  as Yellow-headed Woman and countless other Ho-Chunk women who have served in the military.  Glory of the Morning chose to marry outside of the Ho-Chunk Nation to benefit her village and her people, and perhaps, out of love.  

This is my lineage: Glory of the Morning had two sons and a daughter with Joseph Decaris, Spoon, Buzzard and Henu.  We descend from Spoon>Shachipkaka>White Woman>Foster>Doctor>Choka>Vera>me.  My Ho-Chunk women are NOT a thing of naught!  And when and if I attend a General Council meeting, I will sit wherever I damn well please!!

Glory of the Morning's legacy was to show her descendants a way to live life despite its hardships.  She didn't make herself a Chief, that was the General Council's doing.  That was a decision that was made under extreme circumstances. Why should our people be ashamed of this?  She did what needed to be done.  Such is the characteristic of all Ho-Chunk women of Glory of the Morning's time and mine.  My Choka's uncle Russius Decorah's daughter, Adelia, is a perfect example of a strong, courageous, outspoken, and knowledgeable example of Glory of the Morning's legacy.

In time, I hope the legacy that I leave for my children is just as strong, courageous, and valiant as Glory of the Morning's, but as kind, loving, with a bit of defiance as my Gram's, Marie Edith Crow Decorah.

Tired...so very tired.

 Home / Currents / Retired National Park Service Employee to Plead Guilty to Stealing Indian Remains

Retired National Park Service Employee to Plead Guilty to Stealing Indian Remains

So very tired of this.  I am tired of this and so many things.  First, our remains, our artifacts, our culture and traditions treated as a thing of naught.  Treated as a thing of the past, not in line with anything of today, Ancient.  Drivel from the hunter and gather time period.  Taboo, voodoo, superstitious, and almost satanic.  As if we have or had no knowledge.  As if we are not still here!  What we had was pure, albeit misguided at times, but it was pure. We prayed.  We fasted.  We sang songs of worship to the Creator.  We offered up sacrifices for thanks.  Fools, who judged/judge us so harshly to be without God or spirituality, were/are pitifully, woefully, ignorantly and wrong.  Frankly, they are unChrist-like. Our initial teachings came from the Creator himself.  What was Columbus to teach us?  What were the priests to teach us?  If they were wise, they would have listened to us.  Counseled with us.  Learned about us before they killed, raped, robbed, and assimilated us.  Instead, to acknowledge, they toss us crumbs from the table.

In DMC, the Park Board of Rochester put a white man on a committee along with a host of other white people and refused to let us true natives speak about Indian Heights Park.  It was MY ancestors that worshiped there, yet they turned to each other and a white man for our point of view.  Scandalous.  As if we are not here.  After I wrote a pointed op ed, they tossed us a crumb and let us speak for 5 minutes before their meeting about our sacred place.  I took that crumb, and along with Leonard Wabasha, we made bread baby!  I spent that 5 minutes very well!  I showed how the white people of Olmsted County systematically and very intentionally plowed up our burial mounds.  The white people wanted proof of our existence here in DMC.  Please!  Indian Heights Park was preserved.  They could not deny the truth or those that had the TRUTH!

We are still here, yet our culture, values, spirituality, traditions, expressions of beliefs, songs and the like are stolen by those who exercise white privilege.  They adopt our ways or they are adopted by some well meaning Indian family and think they are automatically native.  Not so!  There is a group right here in DMC, the NAC of SE MN.  A legit group back in the day, but no more.  It is filled with wannabees and NO natives.  They host a Native American Art Expo every year, but there isn't any true native art.  How does this go on?  We are still here, yet our art is available for any wannabee to take and sell as ours. 

They say they can pray with our pipes and tobacco for healing and other ceremonies.  We are still here, yet our ways are taken by those hoping to make some mazz or dejope from our spiritual ways.  How can this happen? Our ways are protected by law.  I hope to make this very clear next week in a meeting with Mother Mayo and Mr. Art Owen.  We will help them understand that you cannot have just anyone conduct sacred ceremonies.  We are still here and we will address these issues as we deem necessary.

I am tired of people saying that I am playing the race card when I address these issues.  You are arrogant and self-righteous and you are exercising your white privilege when you say this to me. Did you know that? Well, you are!  I am still here and yet you talk as if I am not here.  As if I am not at church with you.  As if I am not in the same meeting as you are.  As if I do not know the laws relative to Human Rights, Education, health care, city ordinances, and so on.  Your laws were/are designed to oppress me. Did you know that?  Well they are!  I have researched these laws and know how to protect myself, but when I exercise my rights and my freedoms, I am playing the race card. I am so very tired.

 

So today I read about a white man, who was hired and paid to protect our natural and sacred spaces, who has been robbing our graves for over 15 years.  (Just as his ancestors before him I suspect).  This is so typical and the story of the USA.  Obviously, we are unable or incapable of managing our sacred spaces ourselves.  Isn't that their thinking?  We need the BIA, the Department of Interior, the IHS, the NPS, and the like to manage our sacred spaces and our selves. It is stories like this that help me realize just how tired I am.

I am tired, but while I have breath, I will continue to fight for my people and our rights.  Despite the people who desire that I fall in line, surrender, know my place, get over it, I will continue to raise the alarm, awareness, the flag, my voice, and my prayers to Mauna, for strength that He may lift me as if on eagles wings, for I am tired.