Wounded Knee

The only picture of the site I took.

I've been waiting for this day since I arrived. There's no way I could properly explain the atrocity that happened on this piece of land, so I won't try. But please, it would do you great justice to educate yourself. History classes sure as hell don't. The site is only about ten minutes away from the Center, so Karen asked Kelly Looking Horse and his wife, Suzie, to meet us there and speak with us. When we arrived, Kelly gave us a brief run-down of how the massacre actually happened, pointing out different areas of the prairie as he explained. He is able to give this detailed recount because his grandfather, who was fourteen years old at the time, survived the massacre. Kelly has never heard his grandfather's entire story because he always broke down into tears and began singing before he could finish. Before we walked into the actual cemetery, Suzie gave each of us a pinch of tobacco. Kelly explained that this was to be used as an offering to the people that died there. As we walked in, Kelly was very adamant about only walking in certain areas. He insisted that none of us walk in front of the large headstone (which carried many victim's names) because it would be, "like walking in front of your grandfather while he was saying something important." As we entered, I noticed there was a man that followed behind me. I turned and offered him some of my tobacco because he looked like he was there to pray. In offering the tobacco, Kelly asked that we raise it to the sky (to offer it to Grandfather), and then scatter it on the ground (to offer it to Grandmother). When this was finished, Kelly sang a song in Lakota and played a drum to honor the leaders that died there (a tribal tradition). As we continued to walk toward the headstone, Kelly said "Look down in front of you." There was a giant, rectangle shaped patch of grass. "Thats the pit where the cavalry shoved all of the bodies." The man behind me tapped me on the shoulder and showed me his tribal ID, which read "Melvin High Hawk." Then, he pointed to the headstone... sure enough, right in the middle of the list, his family name was engraved: "High Hawk." He then tried to peddle me into buying one of his handmade dreamcatchers. After explaining that I had no money, I knelt down to pray. As I was kneeling and had my hand on the ground, Melvin came closer behind me and began singing a prayer song in Lakota, very softly. Tears just started streaming down my face. All I could do was thank him. As we stood there, Kelly pointed out many offerings that people had tied along the fence: tobacco ties, sundance regalia, food, money, all kinds of things. He told the story of many people's graves and then said, "If any of you are feeling guilty because you are white, don't. I am not here to make you feel like you did something." Ironically, two white guys were walking around the site, cameras around their neck. All of the Indians in the area drew a silence, and the white men shyly said, "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something." Kelly firmly responded, "No." It was an interesting dynamic. The Indians didn't mind that they were there, but still... Kelly watched them very intently to see how they walked around the cemetary, making sure they were respectful. The place doesn't look very fancy on purpose. In fact, it looks pretty bad. There are weeds everywhere, and no flowers except fake ones. Kelly says this is because the local people believe there is a "black cloud that looms over this ground. Nothing will flourish here." There are still Indians that live in the immediate surrounding area, and they watch over the site. Many of them see white people visiting and use it as an opportunity to make money by selling their crafts. Anytime people try to fix the place up and build a nice brick fence, or anything like that, they usually come in packs and refuse the service. They don't want Wounded Knee to be a tourist attraction (it has been in the past, until the American Indian Movement had many of the surrounding facilities shut down). They want it to be left alone. After leaving, we went back to the Center and had dinner together. Then, Kelly showed us many of his handmade drums and Suzie showed us her beadwork. The stories behind their art were incredible. When someone asked "Do you have any of that written down?" Kelly replied, "We are a people of oral tradition. Writing everything down is a habit of the white man. Indians believe that if something is really that important, you should remember it." He told us a story about how when he was younger, his teacher asked him to record his grandfather's beautiful singing in the morning while praying. Kelly's grandfather told him, "If you want to know my songs, get up in the morning and stand next to me."