As a thought exercise, contemplate this: what if the government forcibly removed children from their families and sent them far away; to a place where culture, language, family heritage and religions were literally beaten out of them, among other forms of violence to get them to comply. Imagine if their parent-given names were changed and if the traumas experienced in that place reverberated forward through ensuing generations. How would you feel? Would you allow it to be forgotten? Would you let it go? What if the country where it happened as the United States of America. Between 1879 and 1918, over 10,000 Native American children from 140 tribes, including family members in Red Elk's Lakota and Dakota nations, were sent to Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Carlisle Industrial Indian School was only one tool the U.S. government used to annihilate the cultural memory of indigenous peoples on the continent going back many, many thousands of years. If it had happened to your people, how would you feel?
EDITOR'S NOTE: Poet Lois Red Elk sends her new year's greetings to you, Mountain Journal readers, and with this edition of her column, Words From Open Earth, she shares a new poem coupled with another that formed the title of her critically-acclaimed volume of poems, Why I Return To Makoce. Together they speak to an unbreakable bond of connection that has persevered in spite of atrocities committed on U.S. soil and rank among the worst in recorded human history. As long as there is the life-giving spirit of Mother Earth present, she believes, no people are forever lost. And while there is pain in remembrance, Red Elk's lyrical works show the strength of resilience—and, especially in these times, love. Mitakuye Oyasin is not mentioned specifically in the works below but it flows through the lines. It is a term that means "all my relations"—in other words our interconnectedness—each one of us— to everything else in the universe.
Rekindling My Lakota Mind
By Lois Red Elk
It’s been like a number of explosions, one
after
the other, evenly paced and intentionally set, all
coordinated from a distance lifetime, from scrutiny
and study by a hungry mind. Some of the blasts
are a total surprise, like the early popping of Spring
ice that’s been slowly thawing by natural means, a
kind of warmth shattering hardened layers. Each
outbreak has been preparing since an old inner mind
spurt was revived by latent but familiar words heard
from my innocent childhood, from devoted thoughts
and current dreams – times slowly uncovered, not
lost but hidden for a survival prompt, an opening of
gates. You must understand how little pieces of me
were selected and carved out of me by knives called
theory, how my spirit was targeted and saved with
beatings and isolation called religion. Those dear
childhood units of self were tossed in the mired heap
of other stolen brain cells, cells chopped from blood
cousins,
from so many other children who couldn’t
resist, didn’t know one horrible terror from the other.
I watched where they dumped all the innocent brain
stems, childhood memories, culture of indefinite time,
matrilineal tongue and songs of earth. All, like trash.
Total spirit was then set on fire with something they
called a warning, a place where we would be sent if
we didn’t listen, if we didn’t stop speaking our sacred
languages. It was a place they seemed to know well,
a place they called hell. So young, I witnessed how
strange creeds were transplanted into our pure mouths,
eyes, ears and hearts, so confusing it made no sense.
It would take the birth of new children being herded
into the same scene that reset my will, my pledge to
stop another hacking, another thieving go-around. I
retrieved all the bloody remnants we called sacred
evolution, bundled them like precious remains, lit
branches of sage and asked the Gods above and the
Gods below to breathe life back into the quiet but
undead children. Ancestors from the four directions
heard our prayers, rekindling our Lakota minds with
joy
Red Elk's book, Why I Return To Makoce was edited by Montana's recent state poet laureate Lowell Jagger. In reviewing the volume Heather Cahoon wrote, "These poems, which are steeped in Lakota cultural traditions, urge us to take a deep breath, to take initiative, and to not allow ourselves to drift back to the safety of chains. They encourage readers to believe that change is possible and that it is through our reconnection with the spirit realm." Available through local independent booksellers.
About Lois Red Elk-Reed
Lois Red Elk-Reed is a poet who calls the high plains home. She is Mountain Journal's poet in residence.
