Standing Strong

by Gary Robinson

  Rhonda couldn’t begin to understand how she “heard” those unspoken words. She had never felt anything like what she was feeling at the moment, and she didn’t want it to stop. But she had a decision to make. Should she follow the path of least resistance like she usually did, or should she let go of her fears and move in an entirely new direction?

  In the past, trying to make a decision like this one would have paralyzed Rhonda. But in the midst of weighing those questions, the words of her therapist came into the girl’s head. “Our daily lives are made up of countless small and large decisions, but sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart. Make every decision with care, because you never know which one could change your life in ways you never dreamed of.”

  At that moment, Rhonda made up her mind. Actually, somewhere at a deep level in her brain, the decision was made for her. With a sense of finality, she realized this was her place, and this was the cause she was meant to take up.

  CHAPTER

  6

  The Elder Speaks

  For lunch, Pam and the volunteer kitchen staff served up heaping bowls of corn soup to everyone in the camp. Calling it corn soup, however, really didn’t do justice to the mix of corn, carrots, potatoes, beans, meat, and spices. Rhonda thought it was the best meal she’d had in a long time. Nadie and Koko, on the other hand, just thought it was a bowl of soup.

  “I can tell this isn’t your thing, so you two should just go on home,” she told them. “Me, I’m staying. It feels like this is where I need to be.”

  Rhonda’s friends couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

  “You know, in a couple of days you’ll be calling up and begging us to come get you,” Koko said.

  Ignoring her comment, Rhonda said, “Take the truck back to my uncle’s house and tell him I’ll be just fine here.”

  “This is really the first time you’ve ever left Blackfeet,” Nadie reminded Rhonda. “Why here? Why now?”

  “I can’t explain it,” Rhonda replied. “But I know there’s nothing for me back home. You two are headed off to college in the fall, and I’m not college material.”

  Nadie and Koko remained silent, not convinced this was the best choice for their friend.

  “I’ll be fine,” Rhonda said, sensing what her friends were thinking. “This really is the best thing for me.”

  She reached in her pocket and pulled out the truck keys and the leftover traveling cash. Rhonda counted out enough money for gas and food for the girls’ return trip, handed the bills to Koko, and put the rest back in her own pocket.

  Pam walked over and joined them, so Rhonda asked, “Got any place a girl can crash for the night?”

  “The big lodge over there is the women’s sleeping quarters,” Pam replied. “You’re welcome to stay there. The boys’ tipi is down by the river.”

  Turning back to her friends, Rhonda said, “See? I’ll be fine.”

  Realizing that her friend had made up her mind, Koko stuffed the money in her pocket and gave Rhonda a hug.

  “You be safe,” she said. “Keep us posted on what’s going on, okay?”

  “I will,” Rhonda agreed as she gave Nadie a hug too.

  Nadie and Koko headed for the truck, and Rhonda turned her attention back to Pam and the camp.

  “I’m here to help,” the teen said. “What can I do?”

  “What can you do?” Pamela returned the question.

  “Fix things, I guess,” the Blackfeet girl replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “Repair old cars, fences, and houses. Stuff I learned from my uncle. Oh, and herd cattle, feed horses, and chop firewood. You know—rez stuff.”

  Pam smiled broadly and was about to speak when she saw two people coming toward her.

  “Later I’ll get you over to the camp’s maintenance guy, Billy Old Bull,” Pam said as she began walking away. “But our guests have arrived, and everyone in camp will want to hear what they have to say.”

  Pam walked briskly toward the guests. One of them was a Native man wearing boots, jeans, and a cowboy hat, who appeared to be in his forties. The other was an elderly Native woman wearing a flowered blouse, full-length dress, and dance shawl around her shoulders.

  As Pam escorted the two guests into the camp’s central lodge, a young Native man wearing a blue jean jacket with a large AIM patch on the back stepped out of the kitchen tent. He faced north, placed a powered megaphone to his lips, and made an announcement.

  “Tribal chairman Solomon Smoke and elder Maxine Little Moon have arrived,” he said. “Come to the main lodge for an update on the court decision.”

  He rotated to the other three directions and repeated the announcement to make sure everyone in the camp heard him.

  About a hundred people quietly crowded into the large tipi that stood in the center of the camp. Rhonda didn’t know exactly what the meeting was about, but she could tell it was important. Tension hung in the air as the campers got settled on the ground or stood in the back of the circular space. The tribal chairman and the elder stood in the front near an easel that held a large map.

  “I’m sorry to say I have bad news for you today,” Chairman Smoke began.

  Rhonda could feel the energy level inside the lodge immediately drop as a collective sigh escaped the lips of everyone present.

  “For those of you new to our camp, let me catch you up to where we are,” he said and pointed to a red diagonal line that cut across the map.

  “If completed, this pipeline will stretch some twelve hundred miles, from the oil fields of North Dakota to refineries in Illinois,” the chairman continued. “They’ve completed about half that distance, which brought them to our location here.”

  He tapped his forefinger on a green area in the middle of the map.

  “Something called an easement, like a permit, is needed for every piece of land where the pipeline is to be laid, but no easement has been granted for this strip of land just outside the reservation.”

  He flipped the top map over to reveal a second map that showed a close-up of the green area on the map.

  “This green area is part of ancient land belonging to the Great Sioux Nation, and though it’s not part of the Standing Stone Reservation, it is part of land promised to us in treaties. So the tribe filed a motion, called an injunction, in court to stop them from building on this land.”

  Chairman Smoke stepped away from the map and faced the gathered group.

  “I’m sorry to say that yesterday the judge ruled against our injunction,” he said. “Construction of the pipeline is set to resume within a week.”

  Disappointment spread across the crowd as people began discussing this news in hushed tones. Rhonda thought that maybe it meant the protest was over, that everyone would pack up and leave. She’d just arrived and felt good about being part of this movement. Now it would end? Would this be another failure to add to her list?

  “Quiet, please,” the young man said through his megaphone. “Our elder has something to say.”

  The crowd grew silent as the young man held the megaphone for the elder to speak into it. She shook her head, signaling that she didn’t need to use it. Surprised, the young man stepped away.

  “It is true that we are few in number and seemingly powerless, while the oil company and their friends in the government are many in number and all-powerful,” the elder woman said in a voice much louder than seemed possible. “But Native peoples have faced these odds before, and I believe Tunkashila, Grandfather Creator, is with us. Or should I say, we are with him.”

  She paused, waiting until a few stragglers entered the lodge and got settled in the back.

  “Ancient tribal prophecy warned of the coming of a terrible Black Snake that will desecrate our land and spoil our water,” she continued. “I tell you this pipeline is that Black Snake!”

  A gasp spread through the room amid whispered chatter that began to grow louder.

  “Please quiet down so our elder can speak,” came the voice of the young man through t
he megaphone.

  The lodge immediately fell silent again.

  “Water is life, and this land is sacred to us. The land and the water need protection from this Black Snake, and I for one am here to be a protector. And if you choose to remain here with me to fight, you too are protectors. No longer are we pipeline protestors. We are Water Protectors!”

  Every single person in that lodged jumped to their feet as a roar of approval and excitement rang out. A powerful sense of energy flowed through them.

  The tribal chairman took the megaphone and spoke to the noisy crowd.

  “You protesters, I mean protectors, have been effective in slowing down the construction while the tribe and others attempt to stop the pipeline in the courts,” he said. “Our next move will be to legally force the oil company to do a study of the pipeline’s environmental impact on the river. So we ask you to keep up the fight!”

  As Chairman Smoke set the megaphone down, the closest people in the audience stepped forward and formed a line. One by one, they shook the elder’s hand and the hand of the tribal chairman. As they did so, they made a vow to stay and fight.

  Before the chairman left, he spoke to Pam.

  “When this bad news came in, the members of the Standing Stone Tribal Council voted to more fully support this protest camp and request the support of the other tribes in this region,” he said. “Just let us know what you need, and we’ll try to get it out here as quick as possible.”

  Pam, who stood near Rhonda, leaned over to her and asked, “Are you in? Are you staying?”

  “Are you kidding?” Rhonda replied. “I’m in all the way!”

  “Good. You got a phone and a Facebook account?”

  “Of course, but I need to charge the phone,” Rhonda explained. “It’s dead. How am I going to charge it?”

  “With the generator the tribe loaned us,” Pam replied, pointing to a truck parked at the edge of the camp. “And that includes a Wi-Fi hot spot. The password is ‘sacredground,’ all lowercase, no spaces.”

  “Impressive!” Rhonda said, echoing Pam’s earlier response to the Browning teen’s donation.

  “While your phone is charging, pass the word to everyone in the camp to put out the call to anyone and everyone we know to come and help,” Pam said. “Start with Facebook friends and other social media contacts. Later, we’ll work on new strategies for protest.”

  As Rhonda headed for the generator truck, Pam called out, “The youth in the camp are meeting at sundown in the boys’ tipi by the river. I expect to see you there!”

  Rhonda gave her the thumbs-up sign and dug her charging cable out of her back pocket. After plugging in her phone and entering the password, she typed her first post. “Calling all protectors of earth and water! An elder called the oil pipeline being built here the Black Snake, and that’s exactly what I saw when I arrived today. The Black Snake represents pollution and desecration of sacred land and water. We must stop it dead in its tracks! Please come and help us!”

  CHAPTER

  7

  Shedding the Old Skin

  As the sun began to set, the tipis and tents of the encampment began to glow from the inside as campers lit kerosene lamps and battery-powered lanterns. Rhonda had managed to find a vacant spot inside the women’s lodge to spread out the sleeping bag she’d brought for the trip. After saying hello to the two older Native women who would be sleeping closest to her in the tipi, she set off for the youth meeting.

  A small fire burned in the center of the men’s tipi, the site of the youth meeting. A wisp of gray smoke from the fire lazily drifted upward and through the smoke hole at the top of the lodge. About a dozen Native young people, including Pam, were sitting around the fire, either on the ground or on wood crates. Three other young Natives, two girls and a boy, stood in an open space in the circle. Rhonda found a vacant crate and took a seat, not knowing what to expect from the gathering.

  “The words from our elder Maxine Little Moon today have inspired and challenged us as Native youth,” Pam said. “We already know we need to take action quickly to stop the pipeline. The question is, what action will we take? I’ve asked Mona, Wanda, and Michael from the nearby Arapaho River Rez to share some of their past experiences with previous environmental action.”

  The dark-skinned girl with short black hair and a small ring in her nose spoke first.

  “I’m Mona, from Arapaho River, not far from here,” she said. “This is not the first proposed oil pipeline that could contaminate tribal waters. Over the last few years, our tribe has been using the legal system to try and stop the proposed Greystone XL pipeline that could eventually be built near our lands.”

  Then Mona moved closer to the seated circle of youth.

  “But things aren’t so great on our rez,” she said in a quiet voice. “You may have heard about the youth suicides there.”

  Rhonda’s ears immediately perked up.

  “A very wise elder back home said that young people needed a mission,” Mona continued. “Something that would keep us focused on a goal and busy working to reach that goal. So we formed a youth council on our rez to deal with these issues and to help young people like us cope and lift our spirits.”

  The second girl, who was lighter-skinned with long braided hair, spoke next.

  “After getting educated about the possible Greystone construction, we decided to put up what we called a Spirit Camp, so we’d have a place just for youth to go and pray, sing, and hold ceremonies. That really helped us become a group who cared about each other, and at the same time gave us a way to contribute to the protection of our lands.”

  Michael, displaying an eagle tattoo on his left arm, stepped forward and spoke.

  “So we think that’s what you guys should do here,” he said. “Establish a youth Spirit Camp for prayer and ceremony, and then invite Native youth from other reservations to join in. We can help you get started if you want.”

  Surprising herself, Rhonda excitedly shot up her hand as if she was in a classroom and said, “I nominate Pam to be chairman of our group or club or whatever it is!”

  This took everyone by surprise, and for a moment, no one said or did anything.

  “I second that!” a girl sitting on the opposite side of the circle suddenly exclaimed. “I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  “I third it!” the boy sitting next to her said. “Are there thirds?”

  Laughter broke out around the circle as Pam stood up.

  “Hold on,” Pam said. “Not so fast. Don’t we need to vote on the idea of creating this youth council?”

  Everyone in the circle immediately raised their hands.

  “I guess that settles that,” Pam said.

  Then they all started talking at once, spouting ideas about what needed doing next. Pam broke through the chaos to bring some order back to the meeting and began creating a to-do list for them.

  So many tasks needed doing, and everything was a priority. Among other things, they needed to see if anyone in the camp or on the Standing Stone Tribal Council had a tipi the youth could borrow for the Spirit Camp. And although each of them chose tasks to carry out in the days to come, all their activities needed to be coordinated with the camp’s adult leaders, of course.

  It was too dark to go in search of a tipi for the Spirit Camp lodge, so that would wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, the teens talked about a name for themselves. Someone suggested National Native Youth Council, but after discussion, it was decided that they wanted to be able to include Canadian Native youth as well. The word “international” needed to be in there somewhere. They finally and unanimously settled on International Council of Native Youth, or ICNY for short.

  After her surprising and spontaneous nomination of Pam, Rhonda mostly watched the rest of the group’s interaction from the fringe of the circle, her usual mode when faced with groups of people she didn’t know. Everyone was friendly enough, but she still had some trouble letting down her guard or allowing stran
gers to get very close.

  Pam, who had no trouble making new friends or taking charge, noticed Rhonda’s reluctance to fully participate. Quietly, she settled in beside the Blackfeet teen and started a conversation.

  “Your input is as valid as anyone’s,” Pam told Rhonda. “I mean, you might have ideas or experiences that no one else has that could be keys to solving problems that need solving.”

  “I’m not comfortable talking in a group, especially with people I don’t know,” Rhonda responded. “I’m more of a doer.”

  “All right, I get it,” Pam replied. “Tomorrow you’ll get your chance to be a doer, and thanks for stepping up to volunteer. This camp will be a better place with you in it.”

  That night, as she slept on the ground in her sleeping bag in the women’s lodge, Rhonda had a dream. She was walking in a deep, dark canyon with steep walls on either side of her. The girl felt lost, not able to find a way out of the canyon. Then something shiny on the ground caught her eye. Looking more closely, she saw that it was a razor blade. In the dream she said, “Aha! That’s what I’ve been looking for.”

  The dream version of Rhonda picked up the blade and began cutting her wrists, first the left one and then the right. But no blood came from the shallow cuts. Instead, her outer layer of skin became loose. She began peeling away the extra skin, and all over her body this outer layer fell away. Like a snake shedding a layer of dead skin, Rhonda shed this old skin. Underneath there was a whole new layer of fresh skin. It was as if she was being born again.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Dawn of a New Day

  At first light the next morning, Rhonda awoke feeling fresh. Lying in her sleeping bag, she gazed up through the smoke hole of the tipi and saw clear blue sky above. Then she remembered last night’s dream and abruptly sat up.