I went to Standing Rock for Thanksgiving, or rather, to help serve Thanksgiving to the water protectors & protesters (there's a mix) there. I posted about it on Facebook and will copy that to the blog at some point. It was an amazing three days.
"I'm still processing..." was the first line of that post. And I'm still processing. There are so many layers, some loosely lying one on top of another, others tightly interwoven, a sometimes confusing but rich array of thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and transitions. That's about as clear as the oil threatening the land and water there (as someone reminded us recently, all pipelines break at some point).
I know very little of Native American life aside from what I've read and the few reservations I've visited, largely disconnected from the people who live there. What struck me most--both at the dinner and the camp--was the use of the word "sacred", the prayer, and the ceremony. On Black Friday I joined the circle at Oceti Sakowin for the end of the women's march. Dozens of women had gathered outside the camp, many dressed in red, and marched in solidarity to the main fire circle. They spoke of domestic abuse, rape, sex slavery in the "man camps" of the oil and ranch workers, and were claiming their agency, reclaiming their sense of dignity,