We are on the Hualapai Reservation just a short distance from the Grand Canyon – where we should be heading in the next couple of days.
There is no cell coverage out here and only very limited internet access – something that will become more frequent as we head through the reservations in the desert - so be prepared for that sort of communication blackout if you're trying to get a hold of me.
Myself, Kathleen and Carrie actually are taking the day away from the group to come into Kingman to hit the medical clinic. Our driver Joe had the same persistant cough that we have all had and he went in to find that he has bronchitis and early stage pneumonia. This freaked us out, so we're all getting checked out and will go on antibiotics if necessary – so we're missing out on a bus trip to the Colorado – but...you know...if I have bronchitis, I'd rather take care of it now before it makes me miss out on more than a day, you know? Besides, I don't want to be sick in the Grand Canyon!
It's been yet another series of learning moments to be here. I'm writing this in the truck on the way into Kingman, so I don't know how well I'm gonna do telling you all about it. My world is pretty surreal at the moment – we're in Kathleen's truck (that just arrived a couple of days ago). I'm on the far right, Carrie's in the middle and Kathleen is driving. She has a Ford 1992 Ford F150 so it's plenty roomy. It's a fun truck; there are TONS of bumper stickers on it, pictures everywhere here in the cab – doodads – even Christmas lights. We're driving off the res and the highway is a straight line for miles, the desert and flattop mountains stretched out on either side. We are listening to the soundtrack of Into The Wild by Eddie Vedder.
It feels like we've been family for years.
The Hualapai (the word means People of the Tall Pines) creation story has them in the mountains of this region since “time immemmorial”. In the 1870's the U.S. Cavalary came. The history goes that they came across a family gathering fruits and grasses in the mountain valley. They immediately killed everyone save for one small girl who survived and ran up the mountain to warn the rest of the tribe. This started the Hualapai Wars where all of the Chiefs and warriors were rounded up and either killed or sent to Alcatraz as criminals. Men, women and children were systematically murdered. Out of thousands of tribal members, less than 200 were left alive and taken to an internment camp here just outside of Kingman where they were then force marched out here to the reservation. Many died in the prison and on the march here – it's amazing there are any descendants left at all. Loretta Jackson, who told us this reminded us that they were mountain people; they were not accustomed to the climate of the desert and many died as a result of the lack of acclimation.
To be told this before dawn on a cold, windy morning with about 20 Hualapai tribal members there was profound and heartbreaking. Every tribe we go through has stories like this, though I had never heard one told with such brutal candor. There was an Elder there that sang us a song and blessed our journey. His name is Emmett Bender and he's in his 90's. This means that he was born around 1915 maybe? The forced march happened in 1874, so this means he was born only 40 years or so after all this happened ... his grandfather was one of the survivors of this, his father even possibly. I remember hearing about the miners invading the Karuk and Yurok tribes of Northern Californina – told these stories by Elders as if they had just happened...and really...they did, in the grand scheme of time. When you take a people that have lived in one place for thousands of years..and then all of sudden, their entire way of life abrubtly altered...forever. You can feel the passion in the voices of the people telling us how important it is to retain their culture, their language...that so many Native stories are being lost forever. I can't tell you how many people cry when they talk to us and tell us these things. And then there's other side to. Let me tell you about a young man who talked in our circle after coming from the site of where the internment camp was.
The camp was set at the site of the sacred spring. A beautiful little desert oasis spot. They probably put the camp there for practical reasons, but for the Natives, this had always been a place to commune with their spirit world.
This man told us that even though he knew it was a place of deep sadness, he “can't help feeling like...I don't know...sunshine.” He started to choke up. “I feel like I'm home here, the res is not my home...this place is. I love being here, my family would bring me here when I was young and it's been a while since I've been back.”
Later, I thanked him for speaking. His friend was giving him shit, “aww, he doesn't know what he's talking about!” I told him I appreciated him speaking from the heart.
I later talked to that other guy and was telling him that even though it was hard for me to hear those stories – I was glad to, because I have never heard them growing up. He nodded. “You know, the Indians are the only people still controlled by the government. We don't leave the res because we love it here..we don't leave the res because it's the only land we have and we don't want to lose that too. That's why I'm walking with you guys today – for the American Indian Movement and the work they've done. Without them we would have lost even the reservations – we would have nothing.”
I gotta tell you, that as a non-Native – it can be uncomfortable hearing this, but it's okay that it's uncomfortable. I talked with (our) Emmett about it later and told him that I don't know enough about my lineage, but there are branches of my family that have been here since the 1700's and so could have been perpertrators of these crimes, but I didn't know what to do with that now.
He said, “but at least you have awareness of that. And with that, you can ask for forgiveness and that guilt that may be in the back of your mind and your spirit, will disappear.”
Earlier, at the sacred site the Elder Emmett from the Hualapai met us there. I was driving a support vehicle so I was one of the last ones there. He motioned me over and had me come close to him – he doesn't speak very loudly. “When you go in (and he motioned upwards), you say,'Grandfather' (and then he bent down a little and motioned his hands around his legs and knees) make this water be healing and make my legs strong for my journey.” I asked him to repeat the gestures and the words a couple of times so I got it. And I did what he asked and then went towards the spot where there were still crumbling walls as evidence of the former prison. I said a prayer and offered tobacco and was grateful for the moment and for his generosity in sharing his blessing with me.
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