The reservation is just a world unto itself. I don't know how I'd explain it, honestly...
So I'll tell you a story--
One Sunday morning, we were driving to church in Mobridge--Just like we had for the past several years. My husband, myself and our two small children.
We went through Kenel, like any other trip to Mobridge, and it happened to be pow-wow weekend.
As I was coming around the corner in town, heading back out, a late teens/early 20s kid cut me off in his Blazer. He careened in front of me, waved at us in a panic and hit the brakes and kind of drove off into the ditch. He had a 2x4 sticking out of the back window of his car. As in, someone had thrown it at his car and it had shot through the glass.
He staggered out of the car, and you could see he'd been severely beaten. He came to my car window, begged for help and proceeded to collapse. Right in the middle of the southbound lane of hwy 1806.
My husband, a volunteer firefighter for Selfridge Rural, jumped out of the car, put a blanket around this kid and tried to keep him conscious. In the meantime, I'd called 911 who were sending an ambulance and police. After answering that all-important first question, of course: "Indian or white?" Because that determines whether it's the sheriff or BIA and whether the ambulance will run to Yates or Mobridge.
The kid came to just long enough to give my husband his tribal ID. So, my husband spent the time waiting, trying to get this kid to retain consciousness. He was bleeding badly, he'd been branded on the shoulder (apparently a gang-initiation thing we learned later) and his eyes kept rolling back and forth in his head which makes you think drugs...
I can't even guess at how many vehicles drove by. Keeping in mind, we were in the middle of the lane of traffic, just outside of town, with the kid laid out in front of my stopped car. People would slow way down, go around us, gawk out the window and
drive on past. The only vehicle that stopped were some neighbors of ours, also on their way to church, and they stopped just long enough to make sure WE were okay. Once they realized it was just an Indian who was possibly dying in my husband's arms, they drove on.
To church.
The cops beat the ambulance there. As soon as they showed up, they pulled on gloves (to protect against blood contamination of course, in case he had AIDS) and started questioning this kid about the party he'd been at. Mind you, this kid is still in and out of consciousness. My husband just looked at his hands. Soaked in this boy's blood and looked at me... I hadn't even thought about it. He had, but didn't have any gloves with him (he was just a firefighter, not an EMT), so just had to bale in without.
He handed the cops the kid's tribal ID. So they're trying to question this kid who by now is convulsing in the middle of the south-bound lane of 1806... My husband is trying to restrain him so he won't beat himself against the pavement. And then goes back to talking to him, yelling, trying to get him to respond.
After forever, the ambulance finally shows up to take care of this kid. The cops are still trying to question him, even after he's being strapped to the board (still unconscious) and loaded into the ambulance.
They never did do anything to try to help him.
That moment is when we decided we couldn't raise our kids on the reservation, no matter how good my husband's job was. It wasn't even so much the kid that was probably hopped up on drugs and trying to get into a gang.
It was other people's reaction to it. The cops. The passers-by, both Indian and white. Our neighbors--good Christians on their way to church. What does it take for people to lose so much connection to their fellow human beings that this injured boy becomes just another worthless Indian?
We still have several very dear friends up there who we go visit. White and Indian.
I miss listening to KLND (there is nothing like tribal radio to teach you what is true democracy! lol) I loved the unique perspective of a completely different culture within the larger complexity of the US--Graduating kids who had their star-quilts draped over their chairs. The way basketball is more full-contact than football. The pieces of a mostly-dead language that creeps into conversation ("Hey kola...Spare me a five?") That my son's first two friends were a tow-headed white girl and a black haired Indian boy...
Honestly, I don't think outsiders manage to assimilate into the reservation very often...and if we'd lived there for 50 years, I doubt we'd still have gotten a "full picture."
It's a world unto itself.
Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
