Lakota Voice: a message from the children
Our reservation communities are described by the naive people living there as
“concentration camps” ; places where our government put concentrations of native
people into out of site, out of mind areas where there is no work, no way to travel
into more commercial areas if one has no money for car or travel, and places
that are difficult to get out of or into to receive services or food or help.
Most of these good people feel this was done deliberately by our military, figuring they would “die out” over time in these conditions. This generally can describe very many of our “reservations”. These places are spilling over with suffering of innocent, good hearted people. Some describe several of our reservations as “fourth world nations”.
Native communities are suffering from a heart ripping rash of youth suicides. Never before in natural history can we find entire groups of children, or the young of ANY species, for that matter, working to remove themselves from the intensity of suffering their lives offer in these places where hope does not always shine. Our GLOBAL youth suicide rates have skyrocketed 200% in just one generation, into an anomaly that defies nature. Our worlds communities are not meeting the needs of our vulnerable populations, clearly.
The voices below are a small sampling of the native childrens hearts. They need their families and communities to hear them. If YOU can hear them, please support a natural village Building Camp in your area. As far as we can see, this, is the fastest path back to a restored landscape, community and cultural condition.
Written by Celeste Red Woman a Lakota High School student from Pine Ridge, reservation.
EXPECT NOTHING
Expect nothing, ever.
from another, a govenment or a God.
It is difficult to get food. Gas money. A place to live
On nothing. not even general assistance.
I find it now more difficult to speak.
About living out of doors
poverty has knocked down the family walls
and we are all outside
each of us children fending for ourself
shameless. Thats what we are.
we beg for food.
We break the law to eat.
We dont cry, or complain.
All we know is poverty
we are mangy as dogs
blind to life like beggars
without happiness or sadness
Alone even in a crowd.
I am haunted by poverty
My younger brother dies one day
His heart died.
Then him.
And in the black hills
They wouldnt let us bury him.
MY FRIEND WHO WAS
By Tara Blue Cloud
a Lakota high school student from
Pine Ridge reservation
My freind, I told you
i tried my best to help you
I even scolded you
to leave that awful house
you’d say No, and that
you couldnt leave your Mom
I’d say “take her and leave”
You’d say “she’d never come”
I’d see you every day at school
black bruises on your arms and face
Now there are flowers all over the place
and all I see is black and blue
those painful colors all around
and I lower my head in prayer
as they carry you out the door
in a casket thats black and blue
my freind who was…is dead.
posted on October 15th, 2007 at 6:20 pm
posted on January 25th, 2008 at 3:00 pm
posted on January 25th, 2008 at 3:03 pm
posted on April 3rd, 2008 at 5:03 am
posted on April 10th, 2008 at 11:48 pm
posted on February 6th, 2009 at 9:05 pm
posted on March 17th, 2009 at 8:50 pm
posted on March 20th, 2009 at 12:56 pm
posted on May 14th, 2009 at 1:06 am