Winter Counts(90)
Jerome signaled to the drum group, and they played an honor song while everyone stood up. After they finished, Nathan, Shawna, Tommy, Velma, Marie, and I went into the crowd, handing out gifts to the people. We gave the soaps, shampoos, and kitchen stuff to the adults and the toys to the kids. After we were done, Nathan and I sat down in two chairs at the front of the stage, and Rocky draped the two star quilts around our shoulders. Jerome went back to the microphone, picked it up, and started speaking.
“Today we join in giving these two men their Lakota spirit names. Nathan Wounded Horse and Virgil Wounded Horse are important members of this community, and it’s about time they were named. When they pass on to the spirit world, they’ll call out these names, and the spirits will know who they are.”
He brought an eagle feather over to Nathan and tied it in his hair. “Nathan Wounded Horse, your spirit name is Tatanka Ohitika; that means ‘Brave Buffalo.’ You earned this name through your courage—your bravery—in the face of harm and death. You stared at your enemy’s face and stood strong. You are a true Lakota warrior, the Seventh Generation. Tatanka Ohitika, we greet you.”
Nathan looked down, embarrassed by Jerome’s words.
Now Jerome came over to me with an eagle feather in his hand. “Virgil Wounded Horse, your spirit name is Tatanka Ta Oyate, Buffalo Nation. This name means you are a defender and guardian of the community. You are our inyan hoksila, our stone boy, the protector who is made of rock and can’t be hurt. Our legend tells us that inyan hoksila once faced a great enemy, one much larger and more powerful than him. But inyan hoksila refused to surrender, and he looked the enemy straight in the eye and it shattered into a thousand pieces. You too gazed in the face of evil and did not turn away. Tatanka Ta Oyate, we greet you.”
As he finished tying the feather in my hair, I saw that the people were cheering and shouting. I thought that maybe someone had walked in with the food, but I realized they were cheering for me. I saw Marie with tears in her eyes, Nathan clapping, Tommy standing next to Velma, both of them whooping and hollering, and even Lack standing and applauding.
Before I began the ritual of the handshakes, I reflected for a moment about my sister, my mother, and my father, what they’d lost and what they’d sacrificed. Nothing could make up for those losses, but perhaps tonight the circle could close. The passing of winter, the coming of spring. I adjusted my feather and turned to the people.
Nathan and I walked clockwise around the arena, shaking everyone’s hands, accepting their congratulations and thanks. I looked over and saw that he was smiling, happy to connect with our community, the young ones, the elders, even the kids from his school. I let him take the lead as we moved through the crowd.
Near the end of the circle, an older woman whispered in my ear and asked if she could speak to me when we were done. I motioned for her to meet me in the lobby.
“I’m Charlene. Charlene Two Crow. I know you’re the guy who helps people when the police won’t do nothing. I heard you’re not doing that no more, but thought I’d talk to you anyway, ask you something.”
I wanted to be with Marie and Nathan, but the pleading look on her face kept me there.
“Here’s the thing. My daughter Crystal used to live with this guy, a real jerk, and she had a baby with him. Robin is her name, really cute girl, she’s four now, almost five. Few months ago, the guy beat the hell out of Crystal and took Robin. We don’t know where he took her, maybe out of state; we can’t find her, no one knows where they are. Crystal called the tribal cops, they sent the case over to the feds, but they won’t do nothing, say they don’t have enough evidence. Crystal cries every night. We don’t know what to do.” She looked down at the ground, not meeting my eyes. “But see, I got a few hundred dollars saved up, it’s right here.”
She pointed at her bag, an old purple tote bag with a Native design. It reminded me of the one my sister had carried.
“Can you help us? Get our little girl back?”
I wondered what to say.
Author’s Note
This is a work of fiction, but it is informed by current and historical events. To serve the dramatic narrative, I’ve freely invented places, events, locales, and incidents, as well as fictional characters who bear no resemblance to any actual persons. I’ve tried to stay generally faithful to my sense of life on the Rosebud Reservation, but I encourage readers interested in these issues to explore some of the many scholarly and historical books on these topics.
I’m frequently asked two questions about this book: Do private enforcers actually exist on reservations, and are felony criminal cases occurring on Native lands often declined by federal authorities? The answer to both questions is yes. Private vigilantes (or “hired thugs,” as Virgil is insultingly called by Ann Short Bear) are a part of Native life on many reservations, although there’s been no empirical study of the profession, as far as I know.
However, the problem of federal authorities under-prosecuting certain felony offenses on reservations has been well documented. Because of the Major Crimes Act passed by the US Congress in 1885, federal investigators generally have exclusive jurisdiction over felony crimes on reservations, yet they often decline prosecution in these cases, even when the perpetrator has been apprehended. Although the percentages vary from year to year, federal authorities frequently refuse to prosecute murders, assaults, and sex crimes referred from tribal police departments. Recent figures from the government indicate that over thirty-five percent of all referred crimes are declined and over a quarter of those cases are sexual assaults against both children and adults. The reluctance of federal agencies to prosecute certain felony crimes on reservations is well known in Indian Country, and there’s no shortage of academic and journalistic accounts on this topic. A good place to start is the book American Apartheid: The Native American Struggle for Self-Determination and Inclusion, by Stephanie Woodard. Other useful resources are American Indians, American Justice, by Vine Deloria Jr. and Clifford M. Lytle, and Braid of Feathers: American Indian Law and Contemporary Tribal Life, by Frank Pommersheim. Regarding opioids and heroin distribution systems, I’m indebted to Sam Quinones and his wonderful book Dreamland: The True Tale of America's Opiate Epidemic.