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Black Mesa – A Navajo Sacrifice Area
What if I told you that there is a place where indigenous people are being exploited? That they were deprived of their historical rights? Was their religious freedom completely violated? What if I told you that this has been happening for over 30 years and that it is still happening with very little change? Would you believe it if I told you it was happening in the United States? Some of you may not be surprised, but some may be surprised to learn that the situation at Black Mesa has come to the attention of the UN Council on Religious Freedom, many books, articles and publications have been written about it, and yet if you ask the average person in America, whether he knows about it, the answer is inevitably NO. In the past 10 years since I first heard this story, I have asked myself, how can this be? How can such a difficult, such an unjust situation not be noticed by the people who live in this country, in a country based on democratic principles? For me, the situation at Black Mesa has been like a microcosm of the whole world. I have often said to myself, if this can happen to the people in our country, our own foundations, the people we should care for, the caretakers of our country, those who came before us, etc., etc., then one day these actions will no longer exist. limited to them. It is a stepping stone, a harbinger of what is to come.
Black Mesa, also known as Big Mountain, is a beautiful desert land in the northeastern tip of Arizona. It is also a wasteland with few houses and mostly sheep and other livestock. It is home to the Navajo people and the Hopi tribe. These two nations have peacefully shared and lived off this piece of land since time immemorial. But the United States government, which oversees these nations, drew its boundaries in 1974, leaving more than 10,000 Navajo (Dine’, “The People”) and about 100 Hopi families on the wrong side of the line. This land is considered sacred to these peoples. It is the physical representation of Mother Earth. So when it was revealed that these boundaries were drawn to exploit the land for the resources (coal, uranium and natural gas) that lie beneath the ground, the irony was too great. The people who were deprived of their land have not even benefited from the resources themselves – they have no electricity, no running water, no plumbing, not even a telephone. They make their way in this world, as they have always done, through their livestock and agriculture. However, that very existence now threatened to light up Las Vegas and Phoenix and water their many golf courses into the desert. Dine’ only knows that the wells have dried up, the wildlife has disappeared, and the plants for the sheep to graze on are becoming scarcer. Like most of these stories, these sad events and measures were approved by corrupt elements of the home government, greedy leaders who line their own pockets at the expense of their people.
The United States government decided to solve this problem of homelessness by moving these Dine families, who were now on the Hopi reservation, to track down housing in suburban Phoenix. It didn’t work for obvious reasons, like the fact that most of these families don’t know how to survive in urban areas. Many couldn’t afford mortgages because they couldn’t find work, especially since many of those displaced are elderly, non-English speaking and illiterate. That is why many of these elders, who do not know any other way to live than herding sheep and living off the land, began to resist this relocation and are still fighting for the right to remain in their ancestral lands after thirty years.
The US government, through the Bureau of Indian Affairs, then called on the Hopi Tribal Police to enforce and enforce laws to make life more difficult for the resisting families to get them to leave on their own. Things like confiscating livestock because they are trespassing, not allowing firewood to be collected because it is theft, to bulldozing houses and sacred spaces.
In 1998, my conscience called me to action. I went to Black Mesa to spend several months with an elderly couple, helping them with their daily chores and watching over them. Winter is an unforgiving time in Mesa. Many of the elderly resistance members die in the winter as the temperature drops below freezing, and since wood is so hard to come by, many get sick, have no wood to keep warm, and freeze to death. I also went to witness the atrocities. It was documented that the Hopi police did not harass the families the white was staying with as much because the white people in this country have a voice in the media and if something happened to a white person in Mesa it would be all over the airwaves. This situation needed and has always needed media attention in the United States.
It was an absolute honor to stay at *Smith’s during my time there. (*I have changed their name in this article for their protection). But as my time with them continues, I know them as ‘Grandma’ and ‘Grandpa’. My purpose in staying with them was to help them and see what was going on up there, but I think in the end they helped me even more. When a person of relative privilege goes to a place without the basic amenities and comforts of home, it forces you to become who you really are, to call upon your deepest nature. It is an experience where you learn what you are really made of. It gets into your essence and just simplifies everything. No more taking running water and a flush toilet or hot tub for granted. Things and their value become unimportant as you focus more on the things that hold truth in life. How much does it really take for him to be satisfied and happy? What is happiness? Does it come from things, or is it better to feel gratitude after a hard day’s work tending sheep and chopping wood; that beautiful exhaustion that comes from actually relating to the earth and its creatures. I learned to talk to myself and listen. I wondered to myself, what are the issues in my life that I would be willing to fight for?
I also helped grandma and grandpa. I was there when a Hopi Ranger entered their home with a semi-automatic car and began questioning them in a language he knew they did not understand. I was there to take care of the goats and sheep when Grandma needed to go to a heart doctor 3 hours away in Phoenix. Alone and scared, I brought the herd back home when the snow and ice were so deep that walking through it all day had formed balls of ice on their fur and weighed them down so much that they could no longer walk. Relying on this new inner strength, I found a stick and started snowballing the goats until I could get them up the hill and home and safe.
I was also there for the humor. The first time I participated in the sheep slaughter, I had to do a lot of small jobs. Slaughtering the sheep and preparing the meat afterwards is a process that takes all day. Dine eats every part of the sheep. I watched as my grandmother sat emptying sheep intestines into old coffee cans and cleaning the intestines in hot water. She took some of the sun-dried layer of fat and began to wrap the cleaned pieces of intestine around it. She then placed these packages in pure water to keep them fresh. She instructed me to do something with the bowl of water with the intestines and the dirty coffee pot. I couldn’t understand why she wanted me to put the clean intestines in the dirty coffee pot. So I pretended to do it and she nodded. So I spilled my guts into a coffee can. I had almost thrown it all away when she started screaming. She came over to me with another bowl of clean water and instructed me to take the bowels back out of the coffee pot and clean them. Then I realized that all she had wanted me to do was pour the dirty water from the cleaning bowl into the coffee pot. I felt terrible. But instead of being mad, it became the running joke of my stay. She started calling me “dygyss” (some kind of “stupid” or “git”) and even when we had visitors she told me a story about how the stupid bilagana (white girl) threw away clean food to be eaten in sheep dung . . Maybe she’s still telling that story…
I received many gifts there, but the most precious gift they gave me was the gift of humility. A gift to know how much space I take up in the world. The gift of learning more doesn’t get any better. It’s always quality over quantity and a thank you gift. This humility has nothing to do with weakness, but is perhaps the most powerful trait of a quiet power person. Give when you have nothing, and never presume to know anything. Since then, I’ve been thankful that I don’t have to sleep with one eye, worry about freezing or breaking when I’m gone. After all the pain and grief these Dine resistors had experienced at the hands of strangers, to have them accept me enough to invite me into their home, eat the food I cook and give me a place in their family is an overwhelming feeling; how much more advanced and forgiving and understanding can people be who are on the verge of losing everything. It really changed the way I think. Even now, almost ten years later, as I sit here writing this, tears still well up in my eyes because I still have so much to learn and I wish I could have done more. When I was there, I even considered it my life’s work to stay with Grandma and Grandpa for a while and continue to help them. But I knew that I had to go back to my life and that it was my job to bring these lessons back and implement them in my life, away from peace and simplicity. And to tell the people what is going on up there, in a beautiful, desolate land full of people who “walk in beauty.”
As an update, things have mostly stayed the same at Black Mesa. Grandfather died about 5 years ago, aged. Grandma, somewhere around 80, continues to live out her years, alone, on her plot of land with her sheep. In November, she suffered a minor heart attack after an abusive confrontation with a Hopi Ranger while tending her sheep. To read her statement go to: (Link: [http://www.blackmesais.org/elderstakeaction.htm] ) Her case is currently ongoing with a pre-trial date of March 12.
“If you think about it, in all 50 states, human rights and civil rights are reported on television every day. Every day there are reports of situations across the sea. We have the same situation here. We are human, but our laws have been broken. All the rights of these people have been violated. They are broken. “ —Percy Deal, Dine’, Hardrock Chapter
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