A Strand of Silk

By Frank John King III

Enrolled Rosebud Sioux Tribe

National Native Media

Our ancestors dealt with their circumstances out of necessity. They built their alliances over an oncoming threat. They worked out their strategies together through open communication. They were organic to their environment.

Times have changed over these many generations. Our people are less connected in the tattered and bleached out fabric of today as our ancestors once were back then. We have been divided, and so adopted a divided approach to threats or problems that affect all tribal membership. But we are just a microcosm of greater neglect.

We have lost some of what was once “US” as a native people. Our organic approach has been replaced with politics and Roberts Rules of Conformity. We are the generation that walks blindly to the reality of our past. Anyone can be taught the history of what happened. It is the lack of teaching the circumstances of actions… that all humanity has failed to pass on to the children of yesterday and today, which will seal our fate. The curtain of consciousness may have been pulled open for our species to see through and to exist with, but seeing and “thinking, therefore, I am” has no meaning if you don’t take heed to the true and absolute power of this world, nature itself.

We are this way, this feeble-minded way, because we deal with a threat with infighting and in-criticism, and as we self destroy, the threat gets greater and greater around us all. This is the will of nature. We voluntarily walk toward the edge of that cliff without a clue, but fully knowing that over its edge is our death, this is the power of this world we live on. We are in truth, nothing, no more powerful than a strand of silk. The omnipresence of nature is being felt today by us all. 

Religions are easy to create. Gods come and go. These are the superstitions that human beings create when nature equalizes us all. There is no skin color in the reality of nature; racism is our feces that we leave as we walk toward our fate. Jealously is the trash that we leave behind. No political party or philosophy that can change the course of biology. It’s funny that the greatest message happening right now is that we are all the same. We are all in this circumstance together. Even though this message is as clear as a sunrise, we still deny it and blame each other for our consequences. We, in essence, use our masks for blindfolds.

Today the world is telling us many things. It is teaching us many lessons right now as you read this. When we worship images of human beings or human beings themselves, we don’t commit blasphemy. We just simply ignore the flames that we set on fire ourselves. It will be remembered that we human beings destroyed our own species through ego by whatever consciousness awakes next in this organic soup we call home. The current upon which we all ride is the real god of us all. The wind upon which we fly is the religion that dictates our faith. The world upon which we float on through time and space is our true creator. People may protest, many will advocate for a cleaner world, but the world will exist long after we are the dirt and sand of this planet. The world cannot die; it is only us that makes it unlivable and uninhabitable for us.

A power has spoken, but are we listening? Are we learning from its scolding? Will we heed the warnings or just argue, spit, kick, smite each other until we individually reach the edge of this inevitable precipice? Pray though you may, the true redeemer is here. Why? Because we all overpopulated this world to the point of our own extinction. It is never to late to change how we accept the truth. If we cannot accept the truth and refuse to see this reality for what it is, we all will share in this fate, equally. Our blood is red; it runs through the veins of all humanity. It doesn’t make a difference what race of humans was in line first. The truth is that this was inevitable. Can we change it? Can we even understand the message? Can you? 

Nature is the most powerful of all equalizers. In its own way we are just part of nature’s ubiquity. When we burn our house down and lock ourselves inside of it on the top floor, we must choose to either jump and hope for the best or die in it. Either choice will lead us toward pain. If there is one teacher that nature blessed us with, it is pain. Once we experience pain, we learn from it. All human beings, all of us, lit this blaze. Prayer cannot douse the flames. There will be no God coming to save us. The world is full of stone casters. It is full of unbelievers. Not in a God, we are good at following words, but in the reality of nature and its power.

When the climate changes, we are only killing ourselves. When the last of a species dies, we are only ripping the fabric of life. When we behave unnaturally, unnatural events begin. When a bat has its habitat, destroyed, viruses happen. It was only a matter of time. 

Nature will weed us out. In this creation, we are divided into two categories the weak and the strong. The strong may love the weak, the weak may love the strong, but this is irrelevant to the fate that we all industrialized over many generations. If anything, the secret of life isn’t life itself but the creation of mass. We are made of the very elements that this world is made of, our bones are calcium, our blood iron, we aren’t disconnected from the root of this sacred plant from which we grew as we may have thought. If we neglect our reality, our human being beginning to our end, our only true fate, is a pandemic. 

Politicians will deny the truth for the sake of false. Leaders will ignore their mortality for the sake of sickness. We must decide now whether we are the virus or the children of nature, as are all species of this world. We must make changes to this behavior that is driving us mad with lust, power, glory, or violence, lest we become the echo of civilization.

This is the matriarchal message that this planet is sending us all. Whether we believe it or not, adaptation will happen. Heeding it is our biggest obstacle, our biggest state of emergency. Ironically ignoring its power over us, laughing it off, assuming it doesn’t apply to us individually is the unbelievable power of nature. The ignorance of human beings is part of natural selection. This ignorance will weed us out, whether we have good intentions or not. 

It is time for us to change or tumble off the edge of the primordial cliff, pointing fingers on the way down. Like crabs in a trap, lured with greed and megalomania.

As we walk through this together, our only salvation is our responsibility to this world and all its species. As my ancestors once said, we are merely a strand in this web. Break one strand and it affects the others. Our web of life is nearly destroyed. We have this chance to change it, or it will be changed for us. The change has started, and so the lesson begins.

Long Live The Fighters!

The Shit Bucket

By Red Ghetto Rebel

Dakota Treaty Territory

December 8, 2019

She exists for the meth high. She is the brooding stain on society, which lurks in the basement apartments of despair and perversion that society ignores. Unaffected by reality, she cuts her flesh with the razor blade of delusional gangrene.
In her mind, there is only one purpose, only one faith affliction. She needs the meth to tick-tock her life away. At any cost, she must survive for the cocktail of chemical euphoria to which she owes her soul.
Her insanity of choice this decade is her beloved meth. She calls it her medicine and worships it as all Satanists do. She craves the battery acid to which she finds 5 seconds of salvation — rocking back and forth while her green shit and piss bucket sits by her bed half full, floating on its particleboard destiny.
Her dirty mind infects the meth smoke-stained walls and her diseased rugs that permeate with dog piss and feces. Like all feral animals that live without the comforts of cleanliness, too socially abused to clean themselves, she swims in the filth of her life and calls it happiness.
She lures other addicts into her shit and urine hole abyss with her rat trap mouth, which snaps shut once her tapeworm tongue whispers their five-minute sanity away. Her blood-stained words pour from her nostrils as she cuts her victims into dollar bills and change for her next hit.
Unable to understand the role she played in the future of her offspring, she already condemned them long ago to addiction when she held them as infants and blew meth smoke into their innocent faces. Society has a new version of the grandmother, one that awaits to victimize anything that falls into her hole underneath the house.
All while laughing and giggling to the sound of her sadistic spongy gray matter consciousness whispering her satanic truth from her scarred lung tissue. What the world calls grotesque, she calls elation as her soul burns in her hell she calls normalcy.
Her rotting teeth have all but turned to sand in her mouth. She liked the way they crunched between her remaining nubs as they blackened and broke apart. She was eating her teeth, hoping to get high off them until her mouth became infected with the oozing abscess of her condemnation.
From her throne of dog urine, she spreads trouble and violence with the shit mouth on the back of her head. One of her horns rotted off her head long ago, and she used it to tamp her glass meth pipe as she watched one of her brood slowly die behind the truth in her little basement illusion. From that hole, she formed another mouth to inhale her fate through.
In the deepest and darkest ocean of society, she lives as the blind fanged demon that lures others to it with a small light protruding from her deformed forehead; from a distance, her victims can see this light in this emptiness and innocently swim to it. She waits for them and entraps them in her meth smoke as she feeds off their flesh, picking them apart, one scale at a time.
In her world, she is the ruler, but for those who see her in the light of the sun, she is feeble and broken, hacking up sickle cells that turn back to crawl back upon her pale skin. She picks at her flesh to try and remove them but only develops sores on her flesh like leprosy. 
She is the incarnation of a meth addict. Infested with a fate she cannot shake. The shadow of her death walks with her, slowly picking pieces of flesh from her slithery and sore riddled skin.
The mirror lies to her; the truth lies to her; inevitability lies to her. The sun and the moon lie to her lest they burn her flesh. In truth, she just refuses to believe them. The smell of a dead dog is her landscape. Having criminals and child molesters soothe her need is the demonic fact of her life. 
This is how she rules her oubliette. She sees nothing wrong with providing victims for her shit bucket followers if they return the favor.
Meth is her god. She worships it on her scabby knees and scabby arms, whispering her absolution from her scabby lungs. Meth courses through her blood and into her organs, rotting them from the inside out. One day she will not wake. One day the soul she sold to the sadist long ago will come due. Like little white worms, it will wiggle through her blood and infest her organs one last time. There is always a consequence, and she doesn’t know this yet. Only when her soul is falling toward hell, and her body lay lifeless will she realize what the mirror was showing her all along.
Those she leaves behind will praise her on the altar of addiction. The demon of meth awaits in the shadow ahead of them, meat cleaver in hand, ready to chop up their souls as promised by her for her hell in her basement world of meth.
Her green shit and piss bucket will await another to vomit their lives away. The dog piss and feces throne will pass on to the next track mark who awaits their chemical damnation.
Long Live The Fighters!

Welfare Addiction Kills Generations

By Red Ghetto Rebel


Codependence is so easily addictive that it can replace a healthy culture with a destructive one. Enabling destruction and denying the truth will only legislatively assimilate the tribes into obscurity.


During the 1970’s children having children was a rarity. A pregnant 14-year-old or an 18-year-old single mother of 4 was rare. It was around the early 1960’s that welfare started to take hold in the impoverished reservation communities. Going into the 70’s welfare was slowly changing the social infrastructure of reservation communities into slums.


The mothers and fathers born in the early 1910’s to 30’s, before the first generation of welfare recipients, had no choice but to seek work. Times were different and social programs were pretty nonexistent. The Native families back then were closely bonded by family love and the strength of their family values. If they had children it meant that these children had to have both parents involved and employed to support and raise them. These families also needed the stability of a married couple to survive but they weren’t immune from their problems, each generation has them.


Their children eased into many new national social changes as they got older. Wars and civil rights movements of the 60’s influenced the addiction culture of reservation communities.


Many of these children still held to those values taught to them by their turn of the century parents but the younger children, who came into adulthood in the late 50s and 60s became the first addicts of welfare codependency. They came to realize that the Federal and State welfare programs would issue them a check every month for every minor child born or living in their household. 


Though these first generation welfare recipients didn’t have children at 12 and 13 years of age as they do today, many did start in their late teens. 


There was no longer a need to seek labor or to seek a stable parental partner. The act of getting pregnant was enough to guarantee revenue. Many from this generation, were already engulfed in alcohol and substance abuse and its lifestyle, through this they had one child after the next, with some having children until they physically couldn’t have children anymore.


Many of these children that were born to the first generation of welfare recipients in the late 60s and early 70s were born into female single-parent households. No father but children fathered by multiple men.


The roles of the men were no longer necessary to support a family. The male influence was no longer a traditional custom. The only necessity needed from a male was their sperm. The traditional family unit became a thing of the past. The requirement to qualify for welfare benefits was to be a single parent. There can be no men residing within a welfare home or the recipient wouldn’t qualify for these benefits.


This codependence on welfare soon replaced the customary and traditional turn of the 20th-century roles lived by their mothers and fathers. These customs and traditional values morphed into a deformed and dysfunctional version of what a family is viewed as today 2017.


The first generation of welfare single parent mothers, not all but many of them, passed this new way to make revenue on to their daughters. Soon what normally took decades for a woman to become a Grandmother become shorter and shorter. 


The first generation welfare mothers of the 60s and 70s would become Great Great Great Grandmothers today, within the same amount of time that it took their own mothers to become a simple Grandmother to their own children.


The devastating effects of welfare hit hardest those generations born after its inception and introduction into the reservation communities and families. The role of the women changed dramatically and the social normalcy and ethical family infrastructure changed with it.


Many of children born from the second generation welfare mothers of the 1980’s would never know a mother and father core. They would grow within the dysfunctional and morbid reality of welfare normalcy and stepdads. They would have half brothers and sisters in some cases multiple half brothers and sisters, offspring of the many different men in the community that their mothers dated and got pregnant for.


In one example, a second generation mother was sentenced to 7 years in prison for using meth. She was the mother of 11 children by the time she was 40 years old, her children ranging in ages 4 to 23.


By the time the third generation welfare recipients of the 1990’s became of biological age to have children, the custom of the traditional family, mother, and father, no longer existed. The normal roles of the men and women no longer exist either. These children having children aren’t born with the knowledge of what role a mother serves in the welfare family core. Many raise their children without experience relying upon babysitting their own brothers and sisters at 9 or 10 years, while the single parent mother was out searching for another host, to guide them, or having toys and or pets to reference as experience in rearing their child or their multiple children.


Some of these dysfunctional and morbid family cores often violently kill their own children for small things like potty training or sickness. Some women have killed their own children because a new man didn’t like them. The killing of the children is a byproduct of welfare addiction and codependency. 

Youth suicide is also a byproduct of welfare dependency. These children born for the purpose of a welfare check are born into an unnatural environment. They become more of an inanimate object or an unwanted responsibility that comes with the welfare check.


Neglected by both of the human beings that biologically created them for the purpose of welfare, not family. The term family can be used for many circumstances, even a welfare dependent single parent family calls their brood a family but ultimately it is an impossibility to support an anti-family welfare unit and still support a drug addiction. Eventually, the end result is child abuse, neglect, and or child death.


The reservations are now going into their fifth generation of welfare addiction. This welfare impact is now changing the stability of the reservations, the tribal nations. Children between the ages of 5 and 18 walk the streets of the reservations without purpose. Some children age 12 and younger are out at 3 am unsupervised walking the streets looking for meth. While their young welfare single parent dynamic doesn’t see this as abnormal. This speaks the social sicknesses of extremely dysfunctional codependence and welfare addiction.


The traditional family values and stability of the generations before welfare came to the reservation are all but gone. Replaced by the culture of welfare codependence. This affects the ability of the tribe to manage itself normally. The corruption that plagues the tribes doesn’t come from a corrupt system of government. This begins in the housing clusters, in the homes. The elected tribal leaders who were born after the introduction of welfare into reservation communities cant see this social sickness as a problem. Corruption becomes the new value just as violence becomes the new tradition and prison and young motherhood becomes the new rights of passage. 


The reality of Native Nations and its behaviors has been dramatically altered by welfare codependence. It is the root of all evil on the reservations. 


The generations today are wards of the State Department of Social Services. It is these programs that regulate the majority of the people and their children on the reservations. Tribal systems truly do not support tribal members when the tribal members are generationally indoctrinated into welfare codependence by their mothers before them.


The true epidemic and violent issues with the reservations don’t begin with the tribal government it begins with the reservation families born into the throws of the State Department of Social Services application for assistance.


Within the family dynamic of today, welfare is expected of the young girls. With no real family value to avoid pregnancy or refrain from bringing a life into the world without stability, a life that is surrogate-ly co-parented by welfare assistance becomes socially purpose-less as they are stacked on to one another to garner more revenue from the state.


The young men become hunted for child support effectively turning them into criminals for impregnating a young woman, while the women soon become overwhelmed with the reality of the needs of many children. Nothing in this picture is healthy for a child born into it.


The only way to change this is to recognize that this is the reality that is killing our people, our children. The future of any reservation is destined to fall under this self-inflicted social suicidal path that our people are on with welfare addiction.


The non-Indians who accept the many applications at the Department of Social Services are indifferent to this obvious noose that these young children parents put around their necks when they apply for assistance. Just as long as they keep doing it, reservations will always be subjugated by the good ol’ boy system of welfare, which has become the new warden and guards of our reservation prisons.


All addictions flourish in its reality, they are all rooted in its design. From the alcoholic at White Clay, to the child who commits suicide, from the meth addict who dies from it to the tribal member killed by violence… all these stem from this welfare society and its codependent hold on every generation born into it.


The path to change begins with abstinence and acknowledging that having children for the sake of a check will lead the next generations to prison or child pregnancy. Only then can the tribes stop this addiction before it annihilates the tribe’s sovereignty.


Reclaim Our Truth: Exploitation of Native Tribes

By Kelly Marie King

Lower Brule Sioux Tribe
There are two versions of Native Culture in America today. 
Pan-Indian, which is an Americanized version of Native America, it is also the most popular and widespread. Pow Wows are an excellent example of this. 
Pow wow’s are not sacred. Tribes had their individual ceremonies of dance which expressed different events within each tribe. Todays Pow Wows are just a by-product of everyone who lost their culture. They were thrown into the same mainstream pot and stirred by the hand of stereotype, trying to come up with an answer as to “Who they Are.” But it’s not a sacred thing. 
Traditional is the other, and it is very different from the pan-Indian or pow wow Indian. Traditional(s) don’t believe in the mainstream pow wow, they don’t follow it. There are no traditional ceremonies that can be affixed to one tribal nation at a pow wow. 
Dances weren’t just meant for the tribal ceremony but for celebration, a way in which everyone had an opportunity to meet other people. To socialize.
What we are trying to point out in this community, and Standing Rock is a good example of this, is that people take advantage of others while using events to exploit for their own gain. 
We have witnessed people from Eugene Oregon raising money in North Dakota that weren’t taking into consideration what and how their fundraising and exploitation would affect the tribal members back there on Standing Rock Reservation. 
The reservations exist in extreme poverty. The communities suffer from the symptoms of a ghetto culture. Extremely young (12-year-old) mothers, economic deprivation, domestic violence, molestation, rape, the list goes on and on… Before anyone heard of Standing Rock there was the ghetto of Standing Rock, and within this ghetto, corruption festered.
What happened with the Standing Rock protest has become par for the course. We can all see in its aftermath that a lot of money was raised with no purpose, no accountability, no checks, and balances. It was, to many natives who set up soapboxes and preached, an opportunity to push a hustle. Some made a couple hundred bucks while others hustled millions.
And now, today in the midwest, another disaster has happened. The snow storms hit the Great Plains Tribal communities hard. Flooding and devastation have destroyed homes and livelihoods on and off-reservation. 
What we’re seeing while working with Great Plains Tribes as advisers on issues such as this is the fallout from the exploiters of these disasters. And like the issues that were fabricated at NoDapl such as multiple Gofundme campaigns, PayPal fly by night non-profits, calls to donate… we have found that there is a pattern in the way our tribes are exploited while legitimate organizations are overlooked. 
All of these individuals start off by throwing their hustle on crowdfunding sites exploiting so vigorously that, more than 90% of the time, NONE of the help that good-natured people intend to give to assist these tribes ever gets to the tribe to fund the immediate tribal need.  
Being born and raised on the reservation gives us a good perspective rather than looking at it from a distance. We could see that a lot of the donations were, in the end, going to someone’s drug and or alcohol addiction, gambling habits or meth use. 
The experienced reservation and off-reservation hustlers see an opportunity with technology and the world in which we live in today to perpetuate a scam. They see that good-natured people feel some sort of guilt and pity for the “Plight of the American Indian” which compels these good-natured people to believe any native or “claiming to be Native American” person who is begging on crowdfunding sites for monetary donations.
The internet gave access to GoFundMe, PayPal, and other crowdfunding sites which allowed ANYONE who just looks native, or in reality, somebody who probably prior-to NoDapl, was a child sex offender,  alcoholic, or meth addict to develop a hustle that rivals the Bernie Madoffs of the world.
When we were tasked with giving the Great Plains Tribal Chairmans Association’s Chairman a report on the Standing Rock Protest Camps we witnessed the worst of and some of the best that these camps represented. But it is difficult to embellish the good deeds from the predominate evil that exploited those who attended or donated to the protest. When a registered sex offender is at the camp searching teenage or prepubescent girls onsite for no reason at all then there is something invariably wrong with the gathering. 
We’ve reported on convicted drug dealers who violently bullied their way into the camps and began to sell donated items while acting like leaders, talking for the Native Nations and interviewing on the news. When the protest camps broke up, they loaded up donated items and sold them to the local pawnshops. All while selling meth within the camps.
What we want to expose, what we want everyone to see, is the truth. This truth is that there are legitimate organizations that do help, like the Boys n Girls Club of the Yankton Sioux Tribe, The Santee Sioux Tribal Chairmans Office, of Nebraska, The Oglala Sioux Tribe http://www.OglalaLakotaNation.info Treasurers Office, The Cheyenne River Sioux Tribal Chairmans Office just to name a few.
These tribes haven’t just been hit by an environmental disaster, they’ve been inundated with all the fraudulent crowdfunding sites that came out after the flood. Individuals are fundraising from all over the place. Ironically it is the individuals who have had experience at Standing Rock protest who started crowdfunding sites as soon as the storm hit. 
The damages to the reservation communities and their way of life as well as to the farmers and ranchers who lease tribal lands are in the tens of millions. Yet you have people in this community and across the country who can claim lineal-descendancy to some whatever tribe, having never lived on the reservation, suddenly become the experts and spokespersons for an area which they’ve never lived or even know what impoverished reservation life is like. 
These people always have an excuse to use, they usually say “I should be enrolled but I’m not…”  or “I am Cherokee…” to the good-natured people who care and want to help but are clueless about Indian country.
These good-natured people end up giving some of their savings, some of their paychecks, some of their SSI disability monies, or their last dollar to these con men and women, and the people who give willingly to help the tribal people or non-native people have no idea that they are being hustled.
We want to bring to light the fact that this is going on and we call this an Electric Pow Wow because the word Pow Wow is a stereotype of an “Indian” that was created on Hollywood film set. It was created by the movie star’s who said, “HEY!! these Indians are having a Pow Wow!!” you know, you hear it every day even by politicians, “Hey! lets have a pow wow!”,” They’ve wandered off the reservation!”,” They’ve gone native!”, “All this tribalism in politics must end!”, or “They’ve gone savage!!” 
What we want to address is where good people in this great community should be putting their resources at, who are our neighbors and who want to help tribes and tribal people. We want to show them that there are legitimate places where they can put their help. 
We are enrolled tribal members of the Great Plains Tribes. We just happen to have moved here to Eugene Oregon and seen that this community does have a big heart. They give to causes that affect our tribes back home in South Dakota. We are in no position to speak for the tribes here in Oregon, and we haven’t really seen any causes explicitly directed at the tribes of Oregon. What we have seen though are the many campaigns and gatherings for our Lakota tribes back home, and we feel we have the right to expose this truth. 
As in all communities, there are bad people in every community. But if the community is in a perpetual state of extreme poverty and despair everyone is just trying to make to the next day. 
There are no perfect American, white picket fence families on every corner on the reservations. Unfortunately, the classic mom and dad with kids environment doesn’t exist. 
On several reservations back home, there are entire HUD housing complexes condemned due to contamination from meth use. The role of the tribal government is to administer services to improve these circumstances. 
It’s not the monetary value of poverty that’s hurting the people, its the mental issue with being poor. On these reservations, poverty is a mental issue. You can dump millions of dollars into the community, it is not going to help… 
Your best option is to fund the service programs that are mandated and regulated by federal law and are overseen by tribal laws and ordinances. Every tribe in the United States receives financial allocations from the United States Government. 
As elected officials, Tribal Council Representatives are bound by their positions to administer these funds so when somebody donates to the tribe, and these funds are deposited into a tribal account there is a better chance of these funds will be used for their intended purpose. 
It would seem that this would be the best option to help a tribe in need rather than giving your money to a person who spews ANY Indian name combination like star horse or morning wolf with a GoFundMe picture wearing braids and a choker! 
These individuals are not the people who influence how the tribes are brought out of poverty. These people are just the by-product of Poverty just like the hustler on the street who says “HEY! wanna buy a watch?”.  That’s exactly what it is. 
Multiple snake oil salesman are hustling on the reservations, setting up these goFRAUDme accounts and it’s going on right now!! And when you question them about where your donations are going to they’ll say, “Well you’re white…” or “You’re a hater” or “You’re racist” or “You’re against us” or “You’re a FED”, after you’ve given them 4 or 5 thousand dollars over a period of months. These are the red flags that you need to watch out for.
We are NATIONS Media/ NATIONS Newsmagazine, and we help a lot of these tribes get past these issues so that they can adequately empower their supporters in assisting their members who are genuinely in need.
We help Tribal Nations redirect their media and their agendas so that assistance, political or financial,  is applied where it does the most good. 
We are not here to cause a Racial Issue we are here to bring out a Racial Issue. To confront it and address it. Most of these political, environmental, and impactful issues that we see being addressed and advocated for here in Eugene are basically for our tribes back home in South Dakota. As enrolled tribal members of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe and Lower Brule Sioux Tribe who have relatives living on all the reservations in South Dakota we feel we have the right to say “Enough is enough…” 
Yeah, we aren’t from here, and we don’t claim to be the experts in this States Native Tribes. But we are experts in our own people back home. We see Native and Non-Native people here in Eugene raising money for our tribes back home who aren’t from South Dakota and aren’t enrolled in any of our South Dakota tribes. We have stood by and watched this little clique of Indians here in Eugene become experts in our Lakota, Nakota, and Dakota Tribes and yet have no relationship with the elected tribal leadership of the Great Plains.
Some of the most judgemental people are our own people because they live in this pot of Pan Indian-ism called historical trauma…. you have Navajos dressing like Plains Indians, you have people out here wearing bustles that belong to Plain’s Indians, the old identities of these tribes have been lost and so they adopt our great Lakota Nations look, a look born in movies.
The Pan Indian embraces the stereotypes of mainstream America who compete for money, who compete for recognition, who compete for princesses, all of these European traditions.
What we are addressing is the fact that none of this is traditional. A Pow wow, what we call a WACIPI is a celebration of a victory over killing the enemy, victory over the cold winter, changing of seasons, or celebration of summer, a celebration of falling in love, that’s it.
Pow wows exist today to anoint a monarchy, to give a $10,000.00 reward, or honoring people for doing nothing more than showing up, that’s as American as a treaty. 
It is a byproduct of made in America culture which causes indian people to be so blinded by what a pow wow represents to them that they associate mediocrity with sacredness. It appeals to their ego rather than their humility.
The feathers are sacred, the rattle’s, the drum’s,  the medicine roots are sacred, the plants are sacred. THOSE things have value, NOT a princess crown or whether or not you win $5000.00 at pow wow. 
We as native people are a by-product of our history. We were assimilated, stripped of our culture, our language,  our understanding, our gods, our religions we were stripped of all that makes us human beings of this world. Our tribes were rounded up, most of us were taken to Oklahoma and they said, “Well you guys can dance as long as you don’t act up!”  and that’s where pow wow comes from. 
In the bible belt where all these religious fanatics exist the Indian people started mimicking their oppressors and started anointing a queen. And that’s where the beauty contest came from. You see it in the south, all in the movies, little girls participating in these pageants about being a princess. 
Our Native people don’t have a Monarchy, we had a Meritocracy. We don’t pass on the headdress or the leadership to our sons because under our traditional customs everyone had to earn their own way, everyone has to be responsible for their own actions and everyone has to earn their place. If the father is a great man and warrior and he’s not a coward and he’s fearless and he has the scars and the wounds and the scalps to prove it, he is recognized as a leader but if his son is a coward, why would you make his son a Chief? Our people didn’t recognize leaders through royalty, we did so through bravery.
So you see our people understood generations ago that even though you’re a son of a leader you’re not allowed to be a leader, you have to earn that for yourself. You have to find your steps in life and figure out your own path, win your own battles, get your own scalps, kill your own enemies and earn your own place both Man and Woman because if you didn’t you’re not worthy of anything and that’s our custom.
And these powwows offset the truth and reality of exactly what our customs are by whitewashing them in the bleach of American society. The name powwow itself is just the Branding for the Bleach which strips the color out of the fabric of our people, and that’s what we are here to talk about.

The Immoral Narrative

By Red Ghetto Rebel

Dakota Treaty Territory

April 11, 2018

The Oglala Sioux Tribe has survived a lot of traumatic history to protect the sovereignty of their tribe. The State of South Dakota and the local municipalities that make up the counties that surround and overlap the reservation test the tribe’s sovereignty consistently, and its people.

Over the years we have seen the leadership roles change. From the era of Chiefs to the contemporary reality of tribal councils, a lot has changed through the influences of assimilation. Tribal councils now form this embodiment of responsibility; they now manage the civil jurisdiction of the people.

No longer a meritocracy, leadership is elected by the people, it is these tribal individuals who made the personal choice to sit on these governing councils, that now lead the people forward.

Over the years there have been many generations of Chairman and Tribal Representatives who threw in their ideas into the pot of reservation politics to move the tribe forward, doing so while maintaining a semblance of sovereignty, or independence from local state encroachment.

But Tribal “Sovereignty” isn’t just a responsibility of the tribes governing body it is also the responsibility of the individual tribal member to protect. Individual Sovereignty is as essential to the whole of a Native Nation as that of the Tribal Nation itself. 

Over the years, since the inception of the Reorganization Act of 1934, our reservations have had to adapt to the ongoing changes in the mainstream. The Tribal Councils had to adjust to the policies and legislative attacks from States and Non-Indian Individuals or Companies. 

But the most significant threat to a tribe’s sovereignty is so insidious and socially amoebic that it molds into the fabric of the reservation-ism that exists everywhere. This threat exists within our people. 

There are some that dwell within our tribes who have no value or respect for the sovereignty of the tribe. Their actions put into risk the very core of our Native Nation Individuality. 

The policy of autonomy that protects us all can be rotted from the inside out by the actions of nefarious individuals who have no care for the protections that guard our future against the jurisdiction of the States.

Their disturbing actions or choices weaken us as a Native Nation when they hide behind Tribal sovereignty after they commit a criminal act against children. This inherent independence, which protects the survival of the people, shouldn’t be used to safeguard perverts.

Social immorality and the lack of self-respect devalue any Native Nation, just take a look at the national environment that we are witnessing today. 

The MeToo movement, the Presidential Porn Star scandal, the Harvey Weinstein assaults, the Nassar Figure Skating scandal all have one commonality, young girls and women sexually assaulted, trafficked, and or harassed by unethical men.

When will the Reservation people realize that there are circumstances that shouldn’t be so easily disregarded or ignored? What is it going to take to show the Reservation people that sexual assault of a child is so horrible that it should never be condoned?

When do we stop looking at just face value and see what is behind the mask that some perverted people wear?

Recently there have been columns and opinion pieces written against the tribal council by one person in particular. An immoral character blemished by his socially immoral crime, child molestation.

Criticism comes with the territory in the profession of politics; when you put your self out there in front of the public eye, your constituents will either criticize you or compliment you. 

Many times the give and take of criticism play out in the court of public opinion. This banter is healthy to each side; it creates a balance between the public and the elected.

But in every dialog, there is an unspoken code of ethics that exists and is mutually acknowledged by both sides. This unspoken but accepted code of ethics is individual morality and integrity. Any person in their right mind wouldn’t take the word of a known drug addict criticizing others who use drugs as genuine. Then why would anyone acknowledge a registered sex offender, convicted of raping a young underage girl and sent to prison for it as the moral watchdog on any tribe or any issue of the tribe for that matter? 

Granted there may be issues that do need discussion, and many people share a commonality on many political issues that concern their tribal governments but where do we draw the line on who has the MORAL right to speak on behalf of the tribal membership or criticize the tribal leadership or employees of the tribe? 

Indeed, any “sane” person wouldn’t let a known sexual deviant babysit their child, why then is it accepted as a norm on the Oglala Reservation to acknowledge, publish, print, and give space in a Native publication to a known pedophile, currently registered as a sex offender?

Has reservation society declined into such disillusionment, violence, and immorality that a child rapist’s opinion is sanctioned as a moral compass?

The criminal act of child rape should never be rewarded in any society or by any publically endorsed newspaper just because this opinion fits the political agenda of the Native publisher. 

A pedophile who is a regularly contributing columnist to a publication has nothing to lose but a lot to hide. Like a dog that craps inside a house but isn’t punished for it, it will continue to crap in the house if the people see nothing wrong with it, this is called Negligent and Irresponsible Journalism.

Negligent journalism devalues a publication, Indian or Non-Indian. The fact that a Native publication would defend a pedophiles right to free speech within their Newspaper is condoning their actions. 

With the world focused on the rights of women and girls to stand up for their fundamental human rights to liberty, and equality, on the reservation, the native press publishes the opinion of a pedophile and calls it ethical. 

If a periodical publication defends the opinion of a pedophile what does that say about the editorial leadership of the Native Newspaper? 

Shouldn’t they be protested for perpetuating the rights of a child rapist over that of the victimized? I surely wouldn’t return to advertise with this sordid substandard, and unethical publication. I would expect more from any newspaper.

It would seem that if the columnist in question were discovered at a later time to be a registered sex offender, who raped a child in their past but was, then, given an editorial platform, the healthy response would be to remove him from contributing. But this Native publication did the opposite they defended the sexual predator by saying that he “paid for his crime” and that his voice counts. 

Breaking an entering and going to jail is paying for your crime, DWI and going to jail is paying for your crime, but raping a child and going to jail? I don’t think this fits into this category of “They paid for their crime” not while they are still required to register as a sex offender. Belittling this type of behavior encourages sexual predators to re-assault, giving them a platform, simply put, is IMMORAL.

Certain social rights are relinquished by a sexual perpetrator once they are prosecuted for their perverted crime, this is why they are required to register as a sex offender to inform the community that a dangerous sexually deranged, pervert, deviant lives in the community. 

A newspaper defending a pedophile and having them as a regular and returning writer devalues a publication to ass wipe, which is more or less a fake news source. 

In this country, fake news is protected as a right to free speech, just as violent lyrics are protected. But pedophile political opinions should never be permitted by any publisher; it’s not a violation of the first amendment to refuse a pedophile print space, its just common sense, but it is a violation of human ethics to print it. No one can be that stupid as to call a pedophile a columnist in their newspaper and then defend them, but apparently, there is one.

Does a pedophile have the legitimacy to criticize others in the press? I would say NO, why? Because a man who has raped a child doesn’t deserve any space in the universe. They should be dis-enrolled and banished from humanity if not the tribe.

What kind of reservation society has the majority fostered if the word of a child molester is taken seriously? In itself, the fact that a newspaper would give any pedophile a podium to spew any opinion speaks volumes to the lack of integrity of the publication. 

Even if they are writing a small piece on the weather, knowing that the writer is a registered sex-offender of a child, is not only unethical but reckless. 

No one in their right mind would bath in feces, so why publish the opinion of a pedophile in the local Native newspaper? 

Who cares what he writes about, HELLO!!! he raped a child! 

If an unethical, immoral person wants to speak ethics, then we should address precisely what the meaning and definition of ethics are, which doesn’t include pedophilia. 

Pedophilia is by definition a mental disorder that one suffers where they have a sexual attraction to children, it is un-curable..

Recently there have been editorials that have been accusing the tribal leadership of primarily criminal acts written by a pedophile. Everyone has the right to their opinion but does a pedophile have a valid opinion? You must ask yourself; are you condoning pedophilia by agreeing with his opinion? 

But where does the line cross with news and pedophilia?

A columnist is defined as a journalist contributing regularly to a newspaper or magazine. 

Whereas an editorialist is an article in a newspaper or other periodical or on a website presenting the opinion of the publisher, writer, or editor. 

An editorial is a newspaper article written by or on behalf of an editor that gives an opinion on a topical issue.

A pedophile rapes children.

If this is so then the moral character of the pedophile that is protected by the newspaper staff and publisher who know he is a registered sex offender must be complicit in his immorality.

Freedom of Speech is protected by the First Amendment. However, speech that is directed to incite or produce lawless action and is likely to incite and create such action is not protected by the First Amendment. 

But in the circumstance of on-reservation sovereignty, the First Amendment does not apply. The tribal law applies to negligent journalism and violently inspired opinions if the negligent story or column goes against tribal custom. Last I knew tribal custom banished or removed child rapists permanently.

The US Constitution in some cases does not apply to Native Nations if the Constitution Amendment breaks with the custom of the tribe. The Supreme Court cannot intervene or rule against a tribal custom that existed before the first contact.

In tribal court, it would seem that negligent journalism, which incites violent acts against the tribal council, does have jurisdiction over the periodical business that operates within the tribe’s jurisdiction. The tribe has the right to terminate their business license and advertising contracts.

Though the tribe does not have jurisdiction over non-reservation or non-Indian publications, they do have jurisdiction over local newspapers and magazines, which operate within their boundaries and have advertising contracts with the tribe. A tribe can define what is an unethical practice. Allowing a registered sex offender to have a regular column within their publication is an unethical practice, and it makes no difference what subject he writes about.

Pedophilia is illegal and is defined by the DSM-IV as a psychiatric disturbance. Maybe the publication that regularly prints the words of a child rapist should re-evaluate their ethical standards. Maybe tribal governments shouldn’t advertise in unethical businesses? Maybe the editor and publisher should let him babysit their minor children?

Long Live The Fighters!!!!!

St. Joseph, The Patron Saint of the Dying

Dakota Treaty Territory

What can possibly be worse than having your voice silenced?

Victims/Survivors of sexual assault are, overwhelmingly, not believed by society as a whole. Beginning with themselves, they cannot believe something like rape even happened to them, most often by someone they know or thought they knew, or more tragically committed by a close friend, relative or by a spiritual leader, Priest or Nun.

All forms of sexual violence, in any society, is atrocious. The most horrendous acts occur when an innocent, precious child is “sexually” groomed and victimized during their formative years (0-5). These childhood assaults become their learned behavior, essentially traumatically ingrained into a child’s psyche and future personality.

We hear whispers of sexually abused and exploited children in our reservation communities, where, in pre-schools, daycare or head-start these very young sacred beings mimic sexual abuse onto other children. In reality these children are “unknowingly” sexually abusing other children, a behavior normalized into them by the adult pedophile that molested them.

For many healthy adults this behavior is very hard to imagine. Shocking… to say the very least. But consider this. Of the handful of instances brought to my attention, of which all occurred on two South Dakota Indian Reservation communities located across the river from each other, none of these toddler-aged children were offered counseling services. No agency employee or mandatory reporter ever alerted the Department of Child Protective Services. The family of these children were never criminally investigated by the Tribal Law Enforcement, the FBI or the local ICWA Department.


When a person is born, raised, and is currently living in a community where everyone is either related through marriage or blood, everyone pretty much knows what is going on and who is doing what.

Nothing can remain a secret in these Indian Reservation communities. The children do not lie in their words or in their actions. They are the true reflection of their parents or parent, their homes and their communities.

If a child has been exposed to sexual perversion from birth and is raised in an environment where sexual abuse has been normalized within their family for generations, there is no understanding of what is morally and ethically or even culturally acceptable or unacceptable behavior by the child. This learned anti-social behavior always follows them into their adulthood.

Through the genocidal practices and policies of the United States Government, in collusion with the Christian Churches and their Priests, these pedophilic practices and spiritual molestation of our pure Native Culture and Traditions effectively erased the identity of our people today.

Long ago Chief Crazy Horse warned the people that if we didn’t teach our children their culture and language, in seven generations, it would become completely lost. Since then, because of these indoctrination policies, our traditional religion has reached its historical fruition.

The question always still remains: How do we stop this generational sexual abuse of our children?

This sick pedophilia, passed down from the Black Robes, is a harsh reminder of one of the horrors inflicted upon our ancestors, the very same ancestors who were the innocent babies and toddlers of 127 years ago. They were the first generation involuntarily herded, by force, into assimilation at the Carlisle Institute. This deeply rooted perverted deviant behavior has been ingrained into the historical psychological fabric of our grandmothers and grandfathers of every generation since and passed down to our generations today.

The Carlisle Indian Industrial School, founded by US Army Officer Richard Henry Pratt in 1879 at a former military installation, became a model for other Indian Boarding Schools established by the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA).

Pratt said in a speech in 1892, “A great general has said that the only good Indian is a dead one. In a sense, I agree with the sentiment, but only in this: that all the Indian there is in the race should be dead. Kill the Indian in him and save the man.”

Colonel Pratt also professed “Assimilation through total immersion.” He conducted a social experiment on Apache prisoners of war at a Military Fort in Florida. He cut their long hair, put them in uniforms, forced them to learn English, and subjected them to strict military protocols.

Imagine if you will, the nightmare that these small Native children lived through on daily basis. What they had to endure and how they mentally had to survive it. My maternal grandfather was 5 years old in 1890 when he was taken to Carlisle. His name was Omaha Boy and once he reached Carlisle, Colonel Pratt Americanized him and all the other Native children who were forced to be there by first giving them Christian names and then by psychologically and physically raping and torturing them.

Click to access 26939_Briefs.pdf


Christian Indoctrination and Brainwashing

“St. Joseph’s Indian School is an American Indian boarding school, located in Chamberlain, South Dakota, United States. It was founded in 1927 by Henry Hogebach, a Roman Catholic priest from Germany. The school is owned and operated by the Priests of the Sacred Heart, who are not Native Americans.

St. Joseph’s Indian School is a Native American Nonprofit Organization dedicated to improving the quality of life of Lakota Sioux children and families. Our mission is to educate Native American youth for life — mind, body, heart and spirit. This mission drives our organization to educate and provide housing for over 200 Lakota Sioux children each year.

Child poverty and abuse are serious issues on Indian reservations. By supporting St. Joseph’s Indian School, you are helping Native American children in need reestablish pride in the Lakota (Sioux) culture by learning the Lakota language, studying Native American culture and healing the broken family circle from which they come. Our organization provides an opportunity for Lakota (Sioux) children to escape extreme poverty and abuse when they attend St. Joseph’s Indian School.” – St. Joseph Indian School

My maternal grandmother attended St. Joseph Indian School. Her name was Mato Winyan (Bear Woman) and she was born in 1917, my mother also attended St. Joseph’s, she was born in 1949.

I was born in 1969, and I also attended St. Joseph. Today I can only imagine the horrors they suffered in comparison to the horrors that I suffered at St Joseph during the 1970’s.

From what I have been told by Grandmother, many Native families had no choice but to place their children in the boarding schools. Welfare and TANF /SNAP did not exist back then. The people relied completely upon themselves to survive in the reservation communities with very little resources, jobs, and hardly any USDA commodity food ration for the families. These poor souls were forced to give their children to the Missionary Boarding Schools or watch them starve to death in front of them.

I remember the hunger pains of my childhood very clearly. Even when I was at St Joseph Indian School, I was starving. The Nuns or matrons as they called themselves and Father Bill (Father William Pitcavage) would withhold evening meals from me. Only if I as a “good girl” was I allowed the privilege to have the cookies and fruits my grandmother sent to me monthly.

But being “good” to the Matron Susan was more than I could bear. I starved during my time at St. Joseph and I was sexually abused, as well as spiritually tormented by these pedophiles. And of course, as a child, you cannot name these things because you do not understand what is happening or even why.

My young mind could not comprehend the idea that I was going to burn in hell because I was a sinner or that I was filthy Indian in their Christian eyes. I couldn’t understand why I and other girls that, only through Father Bill’s “cleansing”, or what I now understand was sexual molestation and rape, would I, we be “pure” enough to enter their heaven and stand next to Jesus Christ. This school taught us that we had to be raped before we could be saved.

Oh the horrors we children suffered at the hands of those god fearing Christians at that school. They beat us with their bibles and their switches and they beat us again with their perverted pedophilia. They weren’t concerned about their “Sins” when they were thumping that bible in one hand while holding their penis or vaginas in the other.

Of all the memories that I have of St Joseph Indian School I can honestly say that I hate Jesus the most.

Those Nuns and Priests said that if I prayed hard to Jesus he would deliver me from their inflicted pain and suffering. In the long run it didn’t work. Father Bill still raped me, and other little girls. Sister Susan still suckled my privates as well as other children in the name of Jesus Christ

They justified their child molestation with their Christian values because, according to their perverted view of their Christian reality, their Lord and Savior Jesus Christ allowed them to do so.

Legislatively Silenced

Not only did Jesus Christ let me and other children down at St. Joseph Indian School so did the justice system. I learned later in life that St. Joseph also has deep pockets and have many friends in high political seats in the South Dakota political arena.

Steve Smith (Chamberlain), an attorney representing St. Joseph authored House Bill 1104 due to one of the landslide child sexual abuse lawsuits filed in 1992 by Robert Koenig of Sioux Falls, on behalf of tribal membership.


Smith admitted that opponents (representing the St. Joseph child rape victims) to the legislation had little opportunity to organize against his legislative proposals. “Nobody knew I was doing this,” he said. Smith said he thought long and hard before advancing what became HB 1104. “It was personally and professionally trying,… I hate con men,” he said. “That’s what this (Bill) is pointed at.”

After reading the article, I wondered… was Steve Smith struggling with his conscience when he stated that it was personally and professionally challenging? Or maybe his actions were motivated by the very secretive nature in which he introduced this bill with the help of his political co-conspirators.

Either way he and those State Senators from District 21 who sponsored his Bill were trying to expeditiously hide a horrible and embarrassing truth at St. Joseph’s. Child Rape happened and was perpetrated by Christian Priests and Nuns. The sponsors of this Bill were from the District 21 delegation – Reps. Thomas Deadrick, R-Platte, and Kent Juhnke, R-Vivian, and Sen. Cooper Garnos, R-Presho, a stones throw away from St. Joseph Indian School.

If their values are rooted in their Christian beliefs then how would it look to the world if the Priests and Nuns, in their own community, were exposed for raping toddlers and adolescent children under the guise of Christianity? Changing the State laws to exonerate Catholic pedophiles by enacting a Statute of Limitations on Child Rape committed by their own spiritual leaders isn’t a Christian Value. If anything, the political actions they took exposed their guilty conscience.

Smith said he asked them to carry the legislation because he lives in the district. Ill bet my life that is not the only reason he asked them to carry this Bill. He knew what he had to hide and besides to him the victims were just a bunch of filthy Indian kids anyway.

Hiding a guilty conscience is one thing but covering up a pedophile problem at a catholic boarding school is another issue all together. The facts are obvious that a white man in a priest robe and a white woman in a nuns dress raped children and rather than advocating for justice of those children who were raped and the legislation passed by South Dakota leadership disenfranchised the victims from seeking justice.

It was also obvious that Steve Smith had St Joseph’s best financial interests in mind when he secretly crafted this piece of racist legislation aimed at silencing Native Children, now adult survivors of child sexual assault and abuse at the hands of Nuns and Priests who worked at St. Joseph since its inception in 1927.

This legislation in itself is a racial hate crime. It segregates the Natives from having equal justice under the law in South Dakota courts because of the embarrassment that those involved and the State of South Dakota would have to face once the horrible truth was revealed in lawsuits against St. Joseph school and its Christian rapists.

Smith calling the pursuit of justice for child rape victims “con men” is putting the blame back on the child rape victims.

South Dakota Senate, like the South of the Jim Crow era, always had issues with any outsider calling them on their anti-Christian behavior. South Dakota Legislators of course voted for the legislation because of their racial and dehumanized perception of the Native people of South Dakota.

It seems that if the elected officials of South Dakota can be easily pushed into passing this type of unholy legislation they sure don’t respect their “Christian Values and Teachings” enough to understand the role they played in its demonic inception. It sure isn’t Jesus Christ they are praying to or passing legislation for, must be the other guy they are protecting.

It is obvious by the actions and the immediacy of Steve Smith and St Joseph Indian School to expedite a lobbying effort at the State level and conspire to silence the tens of thousands of Native Children’s voices who have suffered generations of Christian sexual abuse and forced spiritual abortion and sterilization that this was a cover up.

Not to mention the collateral loss of Native cultural traditions due to the Christian Indoctrination of “kill the Indian” philosophy. What they forgot to mention was the “Rape the Children” policies of their Church.

Hard Journey Through Hell

I remember escaping from St Joseph when the leaves fell to the ground. I was seven. I made it all the way to the marina and hid under the bridge until nightfall.

Some older girls rolled in to my hiding spot and smoked a “cig” asking me if I was going back to the dorms? They were my older sisters friends, Rhonda Yellow Hammer and Pauline Star Boy.

I don’t know if they came looking for me or if they were running too, but they put their arms around me to keep me warm while we sat under the bridge. I would run away several more times and eventually I was “checked out for good” from St Joseph Indian School when I was ten years old.

A child is born with no state of mind, blind to the ways of mankind. What a child is taught and experiences at an early age is what a child becomes, essentially.

In healing our spiritual self, we must take responsibility for our own actions as adults but most importantly we must confront what and how we were raised. We must face our demons.

If the core of a human being is formed during the moment we enter this world until we reach 5 years of age, it is safe to say we are “hard wired” by learned behaviors during this time, a proven fact.

I was severely sexually abused, emotionally neglected, psychologically abused, malnourished, undernourished and spiritually tormented by my adult “care takers” and as I grew older I became more violent and angry. I was the walking Native statistic, literally.

The continued sexual violence and the physical violence that I suffered at the hands of Father Bill and the Nuns while at St Joseph has been the cause of great hardship in my life.

I was an unwed teenage mother. I was addicted to drugs and alcohol most of my young adult life. I’ve been involved in violently abusive relationships, which caused the loss of life of my baby girl. The mental isolation and anguish alone rooted in the St. Josephs Indian School of Rape have caused me to lose my mind on several occasions, I swear.

No help and no hope. I was wounded and I was hurting. I hurt others, intentionally and most often unintentionally, through my addictive actions, anger and drunkenness.

Through the fog of addiction and blitz, I found myself returning to my homelands in Lower Brule, SD. In seeking refuge, and shelter from a very cruel world, little did I know I would encounter a fresh new Reservation Hell.

During one of my many nights of running back and forth between Fort Thompson or Fort and Brule (Indian Reservations located on either sides of the Missouri River and connected by the Big Bend Damn) I stopped by to visit my dear childhood friend, my brother Willie Eagle Thunder to check on him. His younger siblings are in fact my relatives through their father (a tribal political conspirator) and my mother who are in fact related, they are first cousins.

Families and Politics

As I climbed the stairs to Willies two story house I heard loud music coming from an open entry. I pushed passed the door to see Willie sitting in a chair passed out cold, his head resting on the kitchen table and his sister Monica laying on the floor also passed out.

There was someone on the sofa but I could not see their face. Suddenly someone was behind me grabbing my collar and pushing me against the wall. I maneuvered myself around and saw a pimple faced, drunk, punk, slobbering on him self. With slurred and stuttering speech he said, “I ain’t scared of you bitch! I’ll fuck you up. I ain’t scared of you!” The typical talk of insecure men.

Don’t get me wrong I was scared. He was at least 100 pounds and 2 feet taller than I was and he was drunk.

I was afraid he would rape me, or worse. I always carry a pocket blade and I pulled it out and flicked it open telling him to let go of me. He started jerking me around and screamed in my face. He raised his hand to strike me and I reached around and stuck him in his left buttock quickly. He finally let go of me and screamed “Oh you stabbed me in my ass!” and ran, double time, down the stairs. I ran after him and jumped in my War Pony (Car) and hauled ass.

I was arrested later that morning and charged in tribal court with assault. I posted a $200.00 cash bond and left the Rez and never looked back.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, the pimple face punk was a nephew to the Chairman of our Tribe, who died recently under accusations of embezzlement from a tribal organization and felony tax evasion.

This chairman hated me. They sent the U.S. Marshalls after me and locked me up for assault with intent and assault with a deadly weapon. I was looking at 15 years to life.

I was innocent. I was appointed a public defender. His name was…. Steve Smith. I was really scared now.

During my pre trial services I was given a psych evaluation, standard procedure. During which my very violent history and drug and alcohol addiction, as well as my loss of custody of my children due to my drug alcohol abuse and mental state, was revealed, everything that I had become in life up to that moment. All while I sat across from Steve Smith, who represented me against the FEDS and tribes trumped up bullshit, double jeopardy, politically prejudiced charges of assault with a deadly weapon with intent to kill, for defending myself against a perverted rapist.

I wondered and to this day still wonder how many other tribal members Steve Smith has represented throughout his Public “Pretender” years?

The tens of thousands of distorted Native souls who pass through the ” JUST US” system, which is really another money machine for the Racist State of South Dakota made possible by the very distorted, impoverished, segregated, discriminated, subjugated, falsely prosecuted, and unjustly designed system created to imprison Natives who stand before this rigged system that, in many cases, tribal leaders endorse to get rid of their targeted trouble makers and political enemies.

Steve Smith knows the truth. He and his coconspirators are the authors of this system legislated to oppress Natives, young, old, dead, and alive.

Revisiting the Truth

A few years ago I visited St. Joseph with my husband and was amazed to see how the campus had grown. The multi-million dollar infrastructure was impressive. I noticed several new buildings and a print shop, where they, no doubt, print all their poverty porn, solicitous materials featuring a pitiful Lakota child with a made up story of how bad their lives were before St. Joseph rescued them.

Yes, St Joseph Indian School has done extremely well in raising hundreds of millions for salaries and profit.

The Akta Lakota Museum, located on St Joseph campus, was the former elementary school where I attended K-3rd grades. It was like a dream walking through that museum. I saw my grandmother Marion Buck’s full regalia sitting upright on a buggy. They even had the lockers we were assigned. I remember as a child I could not reach the top of my locker. I was too short but I was able to stand up inside the locker and close the door.

Standing there as an adult looking down at these itty bitty lockers, which only stood about 3 feet high, put into perspective just how young and tiny and defenseless I was against the full grown adult men and women who were entrusted with my care and education. It also put into perspective just how defenseless I was against these pedophiles that worked here.

As I walked on, into the area which would have been my former class room, I remembered being taken to the coat room on several occasions by my teacher Shelly Barnes, who more than once, forcefully shoved bar soap into my mouth. I can still taste the blood and soap.

I chuckled as I recalled her lily white face turn bright red when my five year old self called her a honky bitch as she drug me by my hair to the coat closet. I didn’t get dinner on those nights. What I did get was a beating or a rape from Father Bill or Matron Susan. It appears to me now that they instigated bad behavior to justify an excuse to rape. They could always blame it on Jesus Christ.

As my husband and I exited the museum I grabbed a few brochures from the counter. Outside there was an open field, which led to the Missouri River and I wanted to show my husband where I hid as a child on the riverbanks of Chalk Hills.

As we walked towards the river, to the left was a “healing garden” in the shape of a medicine wheel. We entered the dead garden and I looked out across the river. It seemed so long ago, almost another lifetime ago that I was a child there at that school and survived those horrors.

I cannot explain the feelings that overwhelmed me, like a shock wave coming from the earth up into the soles of my feet and reverberating through my body and the noise in my head was so loud, like a guttural howl.

I felt myself swaying and my husband steadied me as I stood there, shaking and crying. I was recalling, in that childhood lifetime long ago, the many times I tried to escape those horrors inflicted upon me at that school by St Joseph Christian Representative’s Father Bill and Sister Susan.

The drugs and alcohol, the violent relationships, the suicide attempts, the sexual exploitation, my multi personality identity crisis, no self-esteem, or self-love all began here at St. Josephs Indian School.

A pitiful lost childhood soul who called out to Jesus Christ on more than one occasion and received only “his word” from the Sister and the Father of St Joseph, who sought to redeem me through their “cleansing” and “purging” of my adolescent demons that they created. No matter how many times Father Bill raped me or how many times Sister Susan suckled me, Jesus never saved me. Their Catholic “pedophilia” techniques never worked.

Collusion by Mutual Agenda

Over time St Joseph Indian School did grow into this hundredfold million-dollar racket that exists today.


With the help of some politically savvy god fearing, bigot state Senators they pushed to purge past sins to continue business as usual.

With a very well thought out, cunningly premeditated strategy coupled with a cowardice piece of racist legislation they covered up the child rapes.

Their actions were intentionally designed to SILENCE the ten’s of thousands of Native Children who were sexually and physically violated while in the care of St Joseph Representatives.

This very same St. Joseph Indian School system that lobbied to hide their sexual crimes against Native children, now, seek to exploit Native children for perverted profit.

Today St. Joe’s collects hundreds of millions of dollars in revenue each year from the exploitation of our Lakota heritage, our culture, our traditions, our language, our suffering, our hardships and our poverty.

They refined the agenda of the Indian Boarding School System to cash in on the fact that suffering sells, especially that of the Native children. The Native Children then and now have become their poster child and branding tool to raise money. Now that’s a racket.

To add insult to the many generational injuries inflicted by the Priests and Nuns of St Joseph, Trisha Burke, a non-Native appointed her self as our Native voice. According to her Blog: https://blog.nativehope.com/authorn/turkey,

“Native Hope’s vision continues to focus on empowering Native Americans and being an extension of their voice, their culture, and their convictions”

The brochure I picked up while visiting St Joseph was about Native Hope.

For appearances sake the brochure “looked and presented itself as Native”. In my ignorance I too believed it was an authentic Native/Tribal organization, which provided these desperately needed services for our young reservation community tribal members. That’s the intention of a liar. They fool you into believing in their lie.

As I looked into Native Hope further I was outraged to discover that the, so-called “services”, were in fact founded by a non-Native representative of St Joseph!

I emailed Native Hope and received this reply from a Trisha Burke:

“St. Joseph’s Indian School is one of our partners of our organizations. So glad that you were able to experience a valuable visit to Akta Lakota Museum.

Have you joined our email list?


Stay connected and feel free to email or call us with any questions.


Trisha and the Native Hope team

Trisha Burke

Creative Content Specialist

Native Hope

PO Box 600 • 112 South Main Street

Chamberlain, SD 57325



Visit us online at http://www.nativehope.com<http://www.nativehope.com/>”

Since my inquiry, I’ve received no less than 5 emails a month from Native Hope begging for money, pimping that disgusting poverty porn brochure. Here is another recent email I have received:

“Hi Kelly,

We at Native Hope are focused on some extremely urgent issues plaguing Native American youth living on reservations today. The truth can be unsettling, but it needs to be told. Most importantly, real people desperately need help.

Our goal is not just to see Native American culture preserved, but honored, embraced, and thriving.

If you’re asking yourself, “Why give to Native Hope?” or wondering if your limited contribution would make a difference, we’ve answered these questions for you in our blog. We invite you to read more here.

Think about this: A gift of $10, $50, or $100 adds up, and your ongoing contribution allows our education and cultural programs to open the door to a bright and promising future for a generation of Native American youth.

We firmly believe in the power of collaboration. We cannot accomplish our goals without people like you joining with us to bring about lasting change.”

I am upset and disgusted in so many ways with this, where do I begin?

First and foremost St Joseph, as a five year old child, I was placed in your care and protection but your Priests and Nuns raped and physically abused me and many of my young relatives while I was there. We were left broken, used, abused, spiritually corrupted and void. We had no self-identity and no self-love. I tried to commit suicide when I was twelve because of it.

Many of my childhood friends never made it to their teenage years. They did commit suicide because of the sick abuse that originated at St. Joseph. They couldn’t live with what happened to them, they couldn’t face those memories or carry them any longer.

Many grew up to become sexual perverts themselves, raping their own children and grandchildren. While others grew up to become drug and meth addicts, drunks, prostitutes, and some became homosexual.

There are those who were killed due to drug and alcohol violence or have killed a loved one or their own children.

Many are in prison now serving life sentences for rape and or murder. Many have been raped and murdered. Many will never see freedom.

St. Josephs Indian School shares responsibility in these crimes. They have blood on their hands. The violence perpetrated upon the school children came to the surface as these children got older.

Many of my childhood friends are dead today due to the very circumstances that you solicit money for which ironically began at St. Josephs Indian School.

It’s like child rapists raising money on behalf of the children they raped and soliciting money for the generational side affects caused by the child rape and abuse that they perpetrated to begin with.

All those points made on that brochure are rooted in the pedophilia that was hidden behind the closed doors and racist legislation that protects St. Joseph’s Indian School.

Those two beautiful Lakota girls, Pauline with her big beautiful eyes and Rhonda with her long legs and big hair, those “Big Girls” who I looked up to, who held me and comforted my 7 year-old self under that bridge, are dead today due to Drugs and alcohol violence. I guess they couldn’t come to terms with what happened to them at that school and turned to addiction to self medicate their unresolved self fate.

St. Joseph Indian School… YOU taught us to hate our selves, our bodies, and not to trust our hearts, our minds, or our spirits.

St. Joseph Indian School … YOU secretly colluded with Steve Smith to draft Legislation that killed our Voice and our liberty, denying us Justice so as to capitalize on the pain of us Native Children, that were raped and abused in your care.

St. Joseph Indian School … you stole EVERYTHING that made us WAKANYEJA (Sacred Beings). This Indian Boarding School violently and perversely removed the very essence of life that every human being needs to survive and thrive in the universe from us Native Children.

And now, St. Joseph Indian School, after taking so much from Native Children you have the audacity to solicit funds for circumstances that you directly had a hand in creating. Your mission now is to teach us how to be and have Native Hope? Where was your Native Hope when my childhood friends and I were getting raped and physically abused by your Priests and Nuns?

Of course for a small donation, which we reservation Indians know never reaches any Native children not in your “Care”, everything can be right as rain again?

Your Native Hope gives financial hope to only a select few. We all know WHO the reservation families, state and tribal political hounds are that involved in this filthy for profit exploitation of Native Children.

This organization should be challenged and forced by legal action to discontinue promoting their false claims in soliciting funds for our Native Children.

The Great Plains Tribes need to take responsibility for their tribal member Children and share in the hundreds of millions of dollars raised on behalf of our young tribal membership.

We have many young educated teachers, doctors and lawyers, health care practitioners and foster parents waiting for an opportunity to help our Native Children and be the Positive Native Role Models that they need to survive.

Why must we continue to sit on the sidelines and allow white people to dictate how we raise our children or how we view ourselves? Why don’t our elected tribal leaders challenge the states “imaginary” authority over our Sovereign Nations and our Native Children?

Most importantly, WHY don’t the tribes own and operate the campus facility known as St. Joseph Indian School? After all, the Hundreds of Millions of dollars in donations, which were solicited on behalf of my mother, my grandmothers, grandfathers, nieces, nephews, your children, grandchildren and myself were raised on our behalf and through our suffering. I don’t see any white kids in their brochures.

St Joseph exploited us, and our ancestors, sexually and financially over these past 90 years. It is time for our Tribal Governments and the survivors of St. Joseph Indian School abuses to seek legal relief from this continued abuse and exploitation by St. Joseph Indian School and their many representatives.

If the State of South Dakota won’t give us justice maybe its time for the tribes to drag this school into federal court. Maybe we victims who were raped at St. Joseph Indian School should tell our stories and drag St. Joseph Indian School into the court of public opinion.

Nothing can justify the past horrors. Nor the current horrific realities our Native Children exist in due to child sexual abuse. We deserve the opportunity to heal ourselves and seek closure through the pursuit of justice just as we all need to embrace our ceremonies and our old ways again and give up Christianity and all the liars and abusers who rape and assault in Jesus’s name.

We do not need any white woman, man, or white run organization telling us how we can heal ourselves, when after all it was they who caused our mental illnesses, wasn’t it?



South Dakota House “Satan Protection” Bill 1104

March 8, 2010

“In an effort to close the door on what he sees as frivolous class-action lawsuits, Chamberlain lawyer Steve Smith crafted a piece of legislation passed by the South Dakota Legislature that opponents say unfairly limits the ability of child sexual abuse victims to recover damages from the institutions that employed their abusers.

But in the end, Smith comes back to what he sees as out-of-state lawyers’ efforts to create unfounded class-action lawsuits.

“I hate con men,” he said. “That’s what this is pointed at.”

The true cons are St Joseph and Native Hope.

As Native Peoples born and raised in the very politically segregated and racist State of South Dakota, we understand we can never ever truly receive a fair trial or any sliver of equality in any of the States Courts or local Federal Courts.

Therefore we cannot expect a South Dakota Attorney to represent us fully and honestly, due to this historical racism and the defacto-segregated justice system that currently exists.

Just as children who are raised in sexual abuse and violence grow up to become child predators or violent themselves, so do children who are raised in racism and violence become violent racists themselves.

The out of state lawyers that Steve Smith spoke of and called “Con Men” believed in the validity of our cases and sought justice for several thousands Native victims.

Steve Smith and his coconspirators realized this overwhelming truth and knew what would be exposed through our cases. They feared another multi million-dollar loss for St. Joseph Indian School because they were successfully sued before for sexual abuse of Native Children. The schools pedophilia problem needed to be hidden for good.

St. Joseph Indian School and Steve Smith concocted a premeditated, most evil and heinous act by restricting justice to the most innocent of victims: helpless children.

This racist piece of crap legislation should be challenged, rescinded, or confronted in the highest court and branded as the greatest continued example of injustice and collusion between Church and State to diminish the rights of all Children who were sexually assaulted while in the care of a school system.

All victims young and old, dead and alive, survivors or sufferers need their tribal leaders to step up and defend their sacred rights. If there was any time that a stand should be made to defend the future children of our tribes, that time is now.


Long Live the Fighters!

Backseat Sovereignty 

By Red Ghetto Rebel 

Dakota Treaty Territory 

April 10, 2017
Did you see them when you drove past? Did you stare at their affliction? Did you judge?


Like all children they dream, imagine, and wonder. Like your children they play, they breathe.


Many forget them in the amount of time it takes to light a cigarette or post on Facebook. Ignored through normalization.


Stuck in this reality, unable to swim from their burning boat. They either live or die depending on the torrential pain their mother weeps through. They scratch at their skin because of the rash of neglect. They stare at you out of despair.


Her meth dealer awaits her. The meth whispers to her with ravenous contempt.


The children misunderstand their existence. They believe they are a family but this is just a dream. She finds one new reservation “daddy” after the next. They are all the same, cut from the same dog that bites them with his insecure jealously and hatred.


When their mom turns her back on them her snag gives them that violent hate, he punches their legs to see them in pain, slaps the back of their heads. When their mother leaves he pushes them down, drags them by their hair, calls them bitches and bastards or he rapes them. They stand in his sadistic way.


She uses their welfare money to buy her snag his clothes, spending their baby formula money for his reservation wannabe gangsta costume and meth. To keep him in her life she starts to violently hate her children. To please him she starts to beat them. Sometimes she goes to far. Some young mothers murder their offspring.


He, like many others before him, left many children on the reservation beaten and helpless, fatherless. Knocking up women as he goes to satisfy his insecure stupidity. A deadbeat in no mans land feeding off the flesh of the children.


They sleep with their mom for money and a ride. She hickies their necks with her acidic mouth calling it love. Hickies are the first sign of domestic violence. A love bruise meant to mark a territory. An infliction meant to mimic pain and abuse.


At night he beats the shit out of her breaking the silence of their room. They struggle in the darkness… with his fists he gets his way. The babies hide under the blanket they share on the floor next to her mattress on the floor. They fight at night and honeymoon the next day like a good American reality TV family, apologizing and blaming themselves over and over again.


They start speaking in their fake southern slang black rapper voice that they see on their Iphones and cable TV. Not only did they forget their language, they forgot who they are and replaced it with hip-hop and black poverty.


It is those weeks in-between that are the toughest. When the money runs out in the first few days after the first of the month, spent on meth and alcohol, all that’s left is survival for the children.


Her EBT card is her backup. She can sell it for drugs. Someone will always want to buy the virtual food stamps at half their value. Maybe the Tribal Chairman or the ICWA director will want to buy them again?


She texts her dealer that she has money… she sold her stamps. Giggling like a dog in heat she tells the kids to hide down if they pass a cop as they drive to her meth dealers government tribal housing house to get her fix.


Her drug is meth, it’s cheap and it gives her that creepy satisfaction. It gives her an unholy definition.


She texts another “loozer ” to see if he wants to get high? She will pick him up in a few.


Their little back seat reality is filthy. With garbage at their feet they try to ignore her activities but listen intently because in her lust she will throw them to the dogs like slop from the crab bucket. Her little wrist cutters have no value to her but she has to drag them around for that end of the month payday.


When someone who cares criticizes her for how they are living she calls them white. When they are taken away from her because of their sores and bruises, she begs her cousin tribal representative to get them back. When the tribal judge is politically threatened they are returned to their hell and their victimizer, no questions asked. When they try to call for help she throws them down the suicide hole where she was born. Can’t get paid without a kid in tow. TANF doesn’t apply to a childless mother. She needs to get her and her snags fix at the childrens expense.


Proclaiming that children are sacred is a straight out fawking lie. To the reservation children victims they know that they are no more sacred than the trash that blows across the littered prarie. To the child victims this proclamation is a straight up LIE! used by tribal councilmen and women, fake medicine men and Gofundme Indian women who are hiding the real reservation truth, their truth. They advertise it on live streams trying to maintain their ego trip. They would sell any lie for a dollar.


She is pregnant again. Here it comes. Another soul sacrificed to meth. The pamper box for the youngest one has been empty for a couple weeks. The children had to use their dirty clothes to wrap the baby in because the diaper had to be thrown out. The dogs fought over it in the parking lot of the tribal building, and the tribal reps didn’t even question why. They laughed about it and went inside.


If the tribe is receiving American Tax money for the tribal people but the majority of the population (women and children) are on state welfare where is the tribal money going? Maybe the tribe needs a financial transparency act imposed on it to see exactly whom and where the federal taxes dollars are actually going to? Sure aren’t going to the women and children of the reservation. The state is subsidizing their dysfunction and their meth dealers business.


This makes number nine, nine children all born from one womb. She had her first kid at thirteen with her cousin. She is only thirty-three years old today. At what point is too many kids child abuse? If the single mother can barely take care of her first two kids, with an addiction, on welfare then when do the red flags go up? At what point does welfare dependency become child abuse and neglect? Obviously nine kids with different fathers means something is wrong with the scenario. Red flags should have gone up at two kids to a single mother in poverty… now nine?


This system is being taken advantage of at the expense of the livelihood of the children. The system is flawed if any single mom can birth nine kids in a row so as to apply for state welfare and stay on it with the state not doing anything about it or questioning it.


Welfare enables reservation addiction and violent codependency. It is contemporary genocide. It fuels the meth crisis.


The children always end up in some type of system, foster care or prison, usually after the mothers are finally arrested for meth. The fathers should be arrested too, for child abuse. If the fathers are fathers to many mothers when is that felony child abuse? Sure isn’t traditional.


There is no sovereignty for children. Staying alive and eating are the politics of the child. The other needs became nonexistent once the babies left IHS.


Did you see them? Did you notice them in the back seat peeking out into this world? Did you see the impetigo on their faces and the lice on their brow? Did you think of trying to save them or did you shrug them off and talk like you are big shot into your smartphone as you walked past them, back to the tribal building?


Playing leader is such a sad existence. Protesting the U.S. Government when you can’t even do anything to save the tribes own children isn’t leadership, IT IS A LIE..


These white people, sympathetic to the history, wire money to these clowns for every lie that that they post on Facebook. The bullshitter scam seems to work, need money ? tell a new lie or make up a new ceremony.


These “leaders” end up standing in line at the meth dealer’s house with their mouth agape courtesy of the stupid white Americans who wired or paypal’d them.


When you walk past those children remember they are watching you. They are learning from you. They will end up like you only worse. Their PTSD is burned into their souls. Beaten, raped, killed, murdered, and scarred by the reality of their circumstances. They didn’t ask to be born, how could they? They were born because of the lust of addiction, not love. They are the currency of the drug dealer.


So when you see them in their obvious pain why don’t you practice what you politic and help them? Break the cycle. Whether they are your relatives or not, don’t worry about what others think. Whether they are raped, murdered, or violently beaten may depend on that moment you catch their eye.


Take a moment to think about those children who are being drug through this methamphetamine sadism. Protect them and stand by them, your ancestors would.


In the long run the white people will move on, the pipeline’s will get built, the tribal politicians will still fight over your money, and someone will get murdered. Don’t leave the children to die in their back seat reality when you can do something about it.


If not, then know that sooner or later the reservation violence will eventually find your children or grandchildren. Meth will eventually infect your family. The only way to stop it is to stop the violent addict.


 Long Live the Fighters!!!!

The Children Murderers

By Red Ghetto Rebel

Dakota Treaty Territory 

March 29, 2017

It was requested of me to write a story from the perspective of a child on the reservation and how meth impacts their lives. I have taken parts of stories from statements made by child advocates and social workers who listened to stories made by abused children who were removed from their mothers due to their meth addiction.


The children are the ultimate victims of the meth addict, not the meth-addict themselves. The children suffer at the hands of those who brought them into this world. They live in a reservation world of violence, rape, abuse, neglect and hopelessness.


There is no family dynamic in todays reservation family, truth be told the majority of families today are single parent and almost every time aren’t a result of a “failed marriage” but are caused by a dependence on welfare money.


Welfare drives the drug industry on the reservations. The more kids a woman has the longer she can fuel addiction.


The reservation has evolved into a pandemic of violent poverty, which normalizes violent acts. Rape, murder, child molestation, child killings, child neglect and abuse all normalized in the environment of meth addiction, drug abuse and alcoholism.


Reservation Indians have desensitized perverted, violent, and criminal acts. The people have replaced simple social behaviors with anti-social and sociopathic behaviors and accepted it as normal.


When a community and a family doesn’t condemn child molesters or child abusers as wrong or remain indifferent about meth induced rapes and murders nothing can save the children being born into this social hell. The child’s only purpose in this addiction culture is to fund addictions such as meth and alcoholism with the welfare and TANF checks meant for the children.


The by-product of this violent cycle is always youth suicide. They are only reflecting what they are raised in. When they choose to kill themselves it is always rooted in their child molestation and parental drug addictions. The cause of a child’s suicide is always the fault of the parent, and their actions.


Victims of a lesser god


Looking out the window, where we are going isn’t really clear. Again our mother is dragging us from one abuser to another abuser. The violence has become part of our routine.


It’s the end of the month and for us kids it means we will get our rations of bologna and bread, candy and chips for the month while she searches for another place to drop us off, paid for with the welfare check she just cashed today.


Last week, yesterday and the day before were a hop, skip, and a jump toward today’s hell. Repeated every first of the month and weekends in between. She dropped off my half siblings and I at this new place this time, so she could go “party” again. She usually stays gone long enough for us to notice. With no goodbyes she rushes out of the house leaving us here to watch TV or play video games until she returns.


This house is dangerous and we know it. The older kids and the adults stare at us as a predator would before killing a rat. The other kids here are in the same boat as we are but were all groomed by the perverts of the house over a long period of time and they remain silent.


Every house has a secret lurking in its darkness. A pervert or a child molester hunts for victims when the lights go out, or when everyone gets drunk. I have to hide.

We all have learned how to hide from the drunks and druggies who stagger back into these housing houses. When the perverts see new kids at their house they salivate waiting for their opportunity to rape. And so it begins again, another night of survival. There is always one predator at these “stop overs”, men and or women. In this reservation the pervert is either or. Our mom, in her search to get her meth high, willingly offers us up to these rapists.


Our mom doesn’t seem to care what happens to us. She left us many times before. Usually it’s a different house and sometimes it’s the house where everyone is drugged and drunk.


She searches for another snag to abuse her. They act like they were “meant to be” just like she did with the last guy last week. This only lasts a few days until the next party and he’s gone with another “Meant to be” victim. Her adolescent “Indian” snags are losers packaged on facebook for the reservation one nighter who doesn’t care if he gets her pregnant.


I asked her once not to get pregnant anymore. It seems to me that she always ends up pregnant and gives birth to another baby that she leaves here and there. She never wants to change them and they smell because of it. But this is how she supports her habit. Having babies is the paycheck that fuels her meth addiction and her drunkenness.


She hits us when we complain or cry. If she is high she will beat us with what ever she can find. I’ve heard of other kids being kicked to death by their moms, so I try to protect myself when she beats me for telling her to stop “Partying”.


She will drive with us to pick up her meth. She leaves us in her car and we do what we can to stay warm. Sometimes there is a blizzard beyond the car window. When she finally returns she isn’t herself. We noticed her smell when she jumps in the car and starts it. She opens her purse and pulls out a light bulb or a tin foil to smoke the crystals that she just spent our food money on. We all choke from the fumes that spew from her mouth before she goes into her seizures. Sometimes she blacks out and sometimes she doesn’t make any sense. We all sit in the car and wait for her to come around which sometimes takes awhile.


My little brothers and sisters huddle in the back seat. The baby, dressed only in a dirty diaper, is crying again because of the cold. Our mom yells out to “Shut that fucken baby up!!” which only makes it worse.


Mom wakes up and starts the filthy SUV that smells like dog shit because when she travels she brings her dog and it shits and pisses in the back of the SUV. We drive to another place so she can smoke what she has left with her friends.


We all enter the house and see many grown-ups sitting around the table drunk and laughing. Meth made them all mad. They drink down their smoke with beer or wine, choking on the chemicals that they pass around the table.


“Throw your kids in the other room!” one yells… as our mom says, “go in there and don’t raise hell or ill beat your ass in front of everyone. “


As the night progresses the madness gets worse. The men start beating the women. Women start beating each other. Cousins snagging cousins, kids getting raped, the adults blowing their meth smoke into the faces of the children as the others laugh about it, women who passed out being dragged into the rooms by the men.


Our mother isn’t even here. She left with another guy and didn’t care to tell us. We have to hide and not get noticed by the adults. If they don’t notice us maybe we wont get abused or molested. Sooner or later they will find out we are there alone. Sooner or later they will know our mother isn’t there.


Another day of survival on the meth trail with our mother, another day in reservation child hell.


My mom won’t stop until one of us dies or she does. No one cares about us because they all have hells of their own to live. Sometimes the only escape is death.


In the end we learn how to accept the abuse to become abusers ourselves. Our violations were the result of the children murderers and their pedophiles who walked us to our suicides. They silence us children for a reason.


Mom… you did this to us, you killed us, you taught us, you are responsible for what happened to all us children. Your addiction to meth was the reason we are tortured before we died. Yet you cry when its time to bury the children. Never once blaming your self or the criminals and pedophiles that you left us with. Finally acting out the role of loving parent at our caskets like you gave a shit.


Maybe you need to stop having more kids? Maybe you should be imprisoned? Maybe you should tie your tubes? Something needs to be done to keep you from dragging another child through your selfishness and drug abuse. You eagerly run to fill out another state welfare application for another suicide to raise in this reservation hell.


Your “woman’s” heart wasn’t lying on the ground defeated you sold it for meth. You cooked your tribal sovereignty in the meth spoon and praised State TANF for another high. You preach tradition from your meth-induced hustle to slip past the eyes of a dysfunctional society already in denial.


Today we drive again to repeat the cycle over. Tomorrow will be the same until one of us overdoses on violence and rape.


If you want to know the truth just look at the children. They reflect the undeniable truth. If you can’t see the abuse in their eyes you are probably blind or high. If you want to save the next generations show no sympathy for meth addicts.



Long Live the Fighters!!

The DETH Addict

By Red Ghetto Rebel 

Dakota Treaty Territory 

March 26, 2017

Sitting on a microcosm of hell doesn’t mean you have Satan’s power.

Ignoring truth is like ignoring fate.

Normalcy becomes the shackles that imprisons all youth.

In retrospect even the air can hate.

Unlike faith, insanity has no real truth.

In hopes light, the deranged cower.


Casting judgment from the view of a Tribal Council seat is a fool’s hypocrisy.

Sovereignty is a bloodstained murder scene under this light of hope.

You exist in the way that you exist because of the cycle in which you perpetrate.

You slumber in its dormant wake unable to awaken from your infectious dope.

Another day you creep through the timeless momentum that you perpetuate.

Don’t be fooled by the irrelevant motions of incredible stupidity.


The smell of rotting afterbirth still permeates the threshold of your tomorrow.

Grandfather’s sky did once care but your fowl breath drove it to impurity.

There still is the sadist that you must eventually face.

In the ever-longing echo of the hourglass sand of a vicious eternity.

The day revolves into the same day as before and into its next disgrace.

Mental oblivion can sometimes be erratic in your morbid sorrow.


It all depends on the vision that you left in the bleeding vein.

As the shit flies spin into the rotting essences of your hopelessness.

They listen to the rumors and gossip that drives the mechanics of violence.

Bare skin addiction crawls from one end to the next with acidic ruthlessness.

Those voices become the nails driven into your fat tissue fraudulence.

You desire its lust in the strain of temptation to bleed again.


The meth blood drips from your mouth as viral affliction.

As your spiteful hands grasp for the air.

When the sun sets, the demon rips through your absolution.

The meth memories of a sleepless night scratch out your despair.

If the violent can speak of love its in the tongue of perversion.

Shoving your determination into your minds addiction.


Toward the flame you fly ready to suck like a dog in heat.

Lapping up the feces with delight as the meth cooks your soul again and again.

The clock ticks and the smoke tocks in an erratic frenzy.

The zombie rot cradles your inner child memories where it all began.

Into the pile of burnt offerings you fall for all to see.

They await you with their Tribal resolutions in hand stained by defeat.


They make their council motions and move to banish your unholy choices.

As the Native children die in the chemical filled darkness of your depression.

Their beaks open wide waiting for the Indian reservation scraps to fall.

Unable to stand on your own two feet as the meth eats your gray matter obsession.

Slurred speech of your hopeless cause, contempt’s all.

Its chemical enticement kills your purpose with those bi-polar voices.


Sitting alone you close your eyes to visualize this ubiquitous lie.

Trying to live through the illusions that masked your molestation.

Walking without moving, into the unknown housing unit you stagger.

A heart covered by tinfoil and permafrost shade of Indian Reservation.

Smoldering waste seeps from your syringe shaped dagger.

Sagging your pants because you are open for business as you slowly die.


Cannibalizing your own heart with brown rotting teeth you spew.

Those lifeless eyes begin to roll back into your chemical schizophrenic abyss.

The meth-induced seizures that render your reality mute.

On the door of death, begging for redemptions kiss.

The venom pit is telling you to eat its forbidden fruit.

With your mangy arms outstretched you embrace the meth spoon residue.


Your insanity drains red from your eyes.

Weeping your infection to dry upon your face.

Unable to see your deformed inception.

But the world sees your needle track embrace.

Try as you might, the sores expose your deception.

Urine and your life share your truth and your lies.


Your open sores spit disease into the eyes of your children.

As you commit another soul to starvation.

The pocket change devil needs it’s offering.

Nickel and dime your way to damnation.

You lie to your children to watch their suffering.

Your addiction is now your glorified villain.


Your entitlement is your rod and your pity your staff.

They comfort you in your demented hour.

Insecurity replaced with reservation delirium.

Ready to beat your children to death with your meth induced power.

Slitting their throats in your worthless continuum.

The meth turned your inevitable fate into a violent hate and tore your soul in half.


Believing you are god in your meth high torture.

A soulless single celled dysfunctional Indian.

In those who enable you, you demand their sympathy.

Once the nightmare wears off you stumble from your shadowy oblivion.

Looking for pity and gangrene empathy.

You awaken to your rape, your murder, your horror.


Weeping for mercy, they smile behind your back.

The lunatic has become a primordial addict.

No excuse can erase the disgusting reality.

As a meth addict its only pain you inflict.

Unable to stop your unholy brutality.

They want lives to molest and innocence to attack.


Meth addicts cannot be healed with dysfunctional love.

The cell door is their only medicinal cure.

Imprisonment removes them from their meth addiction.

Incarceration is their hell for sure.

They must be segregated from their rabid affliction.

In their despair they can find what a soul is made of.


The meth addict must be thrown into the pit.

They must fight with their own survival.

Alone they must be staked.

To the crucifix of despair and deprival.

It is the only way is to face their demon that forsakes.

And confront the memories that started it.

Long Live the Fighters!!











Battery Acid Lucidity 

By Red Ghetto Rebel

 March 23, 2017

Dakota Treaty Territory 

Meth is the chemical soul killer. Unlike the vice of alcoholism, meth destroys the anatomy of the family. Eating away at the brain, deforming reality while digging holes into the spongy gray matter of life.


Meth addiction drowns our people into a deeper ocean of insanity. Slowly they sink toward the bottom, void of light, until the pressure put upon their physical self implodes into a sudden and instantaneous death.


The afflicted slip away from their own normality, hiding their addiction from themselves. A mirror to a meth addict is a liar. Their demented reflection is denial.

They will never admit that they use meth because to them this truth is horrid and apocalyptic.


These addicts would sacrifice their own sons and daughters for their sadistic chemical lust, chemical love. Driving them from one reservation meth dealer to another, while their children inhale the second hand suicide that spews from the mouths of their mothers and fathers.


Junkies only fool themselves… they only see what their meth mites want them to see. They can only comprehend the next crystalline release that they can smoke from the tin foil violence that plagues them.


Their mouth becomes their tribal banner for their unholy cause. Rotting and missing teeth that were dissolved into brown pieces of dementia by the chemical cocktail that gives them their gratification. Driving each nail into their flesh upon their crucified future.


They smile with tightly closed lips to hide the visible evidence of meth use as the worms bore holes through their brain slowly eating their brain cells like maggots in a rotting apple.


Reservation meth to a reservation family is like giving a cancer patient gasoline to drink or treating a bullet wound with urine. The reservation meth addicts are men and women, boys and girls… they are strung out likes moths to a butane flame.


The light bulb once used to bring light into the darkness of a home, now used by the meth addict to inhale the psychopathic darkness into their miserable bloodstream. Inhaling its satanic vile into their incapacitated lungs stained by drain cleaner.


The voices that whisper to them, guide their battery acid lucidity into their mental oubliette. They become imprisoned by their own justifications. Unable to find peace in reality, they search for it in the needle or the meth pipe. Encouraging others close to them to drown with them, calling it sovereignty.


Deeper they go into the abyss of oppression, deeper into that darkened lightless enigma of depression. They boil their own blood in chemicals in hopes to find a cure for their insecurity and obesity. They try to wring out the rags of reservation poverty with their weak state of mind, unable to admit that they are insane. They never confront their misery even as they scratch the skin off their bodies. They throw their fetus to the dogs to fight over, insuring that the next generations will be cursed to accompany them into their nightmare.


Many of our relatives are meth addicts. Many of them are doomed. Some have sunk deeper than others into their ocean of despair and in their darkness they found violence. Their brains have been reduced to a porous, damaged damnation. They are skinned animals that are in continuous pain, unable to realize reality. They are close to the pit of hell as they sink to the bottom and the closer they get to the bottom feeders the louder the torturing voices become.


It’s just another form of suicide. It just takes longer to die. Unlike the hanging rope… meth is a slow and painful death. Inhaling acid to get high is truly a sign that something is psychologically wrong. The act of using meth, in itself, is the same as the act of tying a noose or putting a gun to your head.


A person addicted to meth only hides their lie. They physically deflate into sickness and lifelessness right in front of your eyes and its sad to watch. Family and friends that you grew up with, have that holocaust look. A smell of death permeates off them with a touch of white chalky mental corrosion coating their skin. Imprisoned in their own minds by their inner child anti-Christ.


Some say we need to have sympathy for the meth addict. This is true to an extent. When we see a rabid dog… we do have sympathy for it but we would never bring it into our house and give it love. If it bites one of our children, or our family, or us we would also become insane.


Meth addiction is the human equivalent to rabies. Both have the same outcome. Both die, in the end, if untreated. When a dog has rabies it becomes extremely violent, its world is no longer static. It will kill or savagely attack without provocation. The rabid dog is a threat to all people it comes into contact with. A meth addict is a threat to the whole community. They live in a disillusioned world of selfishness and lament and find their own deranged reasons to rape, assault, murder, or molest others in their psychotic state of mind.


Sympathy could get your child raped or murdered. Sympathy could get you killed. There is no logical reason to “enable” anyone who is addicted to meth, they must be banished from your family if you want to ensure your families safety. Their instability is unpredictable. Sooner or later they will slice your hope and faith with their rusty knives of mental illness. Are you willing to pay that price?


The deviant meth users are probably standing next to you now. They are probably posting to Facebook about how great they are and yet their lack of teeth says otherwise. There are functional meth addicts who lead pipeline causes, who sit on councils or work in departments of the tribe. These are the most dangerous because they legislate meth addiction as a non-threat and laugh it off as normality. They have their wide eyed look of insanity after they run to their car to take a hit every couple hours and return cockeyed and insane with more excuses to look the other way.


Where a dog doesn’t really have a say in catching rabies, the meth addict runs to it with arms stretched open and embraces it with a schizophrenic desire. A functional dog, with rabies, infecting the children with their meth stained breath.


Meth isn’t like any other addiction and it shouldn’t be approached like one. The addict is of a different category than an alcoholic would be. Knowing this means that the actions that must be taken toward intervention and treatment shouldn’t be the same as that of an alcoholic. The meth addicts psyche is physically ripped apart which means their empathy is nonexistent. With some addicts the damage is permanent. They become effigies of their former selves. Their souls are no longer the same. They will respond with violence or bi-polar confusion.


They must be forced into detoxification. Detoxify by force and by doing so without sympathy. Meth must be removed from their lives completely by removing them from the paradigm. A meth addict will sacrifice their own children for their addiction. They have no guilt or remorse in sacrificing anyone for their addiction.


Our relatives don’t see insanity as abnormal. They enable addiction by ignoring it. They honor the violence committed by violent addicts before they would honor success. They pander to the meth addicts and call it support. This is what keeps meth alive on the reservations, domestic enabling and dysfunctional love.


Ignoring their pain doesn’t cure a rabid animal. In this case, love or a disillusioned interpretation of love won’t save the souls of the damned. Only truth can set you free.


Fermented fruit doesn’t produce Drano. The chemicals eating the flesh inside a person’s brain on meth isn’t holistic in nature. Rubbing acid on your flesh because your addiction tells you its lotion will eventually dissolve you into hell. The steps used to fight alcoholism cannot be used to fight chemistry. The cause and effect are dramatically different.


In the end it will overtake you. It is an inevitability that will come, unavoidable and seeking to destroy the tribes. Maybe the mythical black snake prophesy wasn’t a “pipeline”… maybe it was meth all along.


The time has come for all to stop looking away. Ignoring the truth. Face the meth addicts in your homes, in your communities. Stop hugging them like they fell of the swing set at the playground. Stop helping them kill themselves. Only a sadist enjoys inflicting and prolonging pain.


Get them help even if that means getting them arrested. Save those children, who idly standby and watch you, as you force-feed dysfunction and destruction into the mouths of the afflicted with the meth spoon of fate. Enabling them makes you partially responsible for their death.


There are two paths in front of our tribes. One leads down an uncertain and harsh direction and the other leads to the death of our people. Whether we like it or not we have to go down the path that will hurt us all and hopefully in the end we will have saved something for our future relatives but if we ignore the truth and walk down the path of death we will reap what we sow.


It all begins right where you are, at this moment and it begins with confronting truth.



Long Live the Fighters!