Silence Kills Children 

By Red Ghetto Rebel

January 30, 2017

Lower Brule, S.D. 

She hides in the shadows with her razor blades and the reservation drugs twisting into her flesh attempting to escape that truth and this reservation reality. She collects nightmare memories in silence when her tribal leader uncle or her aunt’s husband or her step dad slips past the threshold of midnight toward her with his deviant intent.


All these days slip past into the next and the next and in silence she has to be aware that at any moment he may stare. His pedophilia is his god. He wraps his hands around the throats of the children in the camp killing them with threats and lies tying that woven rope of fate around their extended family necks. 

Someone should kill these pedophiles, men and women. Someone should castrate their souls. They need a mandatory lobotomy.


These tormentors enforce silence in lieu of a death threat or a life threat against the helpless children who they groomed to rape.


They have mastered the art of lying to the tribe. They are experts at luring your children into the darkness and shadows where there are no witnesses. Their victims are many. They prey on them throughout the night and daylight, hidden within the sovereignty slum, hiding behind tribal jurisdiction, extended family and enrollment like cockroaches in a bread sack.


These pedophiles rape children at will for the sake of their own perversion and silence is their weapon. The people are so deformed by reservation hate that their silence can be heard in the many suicides on these reservations.


These reservation pedophiles seek out children because they are easy targets in the ghetto drunken repetitiveness of the reservation. No one seems to care. No one wants to acknowledge the truth. They would rather hide behind the fake reservation-ism than face the truth. Their stigma is a stench that permeates the very air they breathe.


They would rather look away when their children get raped than expose the truth. The “Pervert” might be someone they know, someone they call relative. They can justify their silence with their need for dysfunctional family loyalty.


They would rather sell their own souls on Facebook and search for a new loser to snag and call a relationship then protect their children, just as long as it doesn’t affect their TANF check.


Every reservation Indian asks why the reservation is the way it is but seldom acknowledges the reason why the reservation is the way it is. It is because they are too ashamed of the pedophilia, which spawns the drug abuse, alcoholism, tribal corruption, meth, domestic violence, suicide, and oppression, to change it. This dysfunctional list goes on and on.


The root of all reservation evil is pedophilia. It is child rape.


Silence is a form of violence. Being silent is the damnation that all victims suffer. Their self-blame sickness seems incurable. They obsess over what they did to deserve such a punishment in the safety of their own family and tribe. It replays over and over until the rope or the needle speaks to them.


In a raging storm upon an unrelenting and un-forgiven sea, silence always kills those who ignore the suffering waves.


There are many types of silence. Witnessing perversion and remaining silent allows the pervert to molest the children under your roof. Being silent in the presence of the guilty allows the guilty to rape more children. Remember that when he sits in your home or on tribal council or by your children.


These ethereal spirits are born into this world by drunken women and inept men playing relationship like kids playing house. Like dogs in heat once unstuck they sniff out another. They both sacrificed themselves on the Indian reservation alter of welfare and sadism.


To a reservation girl silence is an unwanted companion, put there by the hand of the pervert who held her mouth when they stole her freedom. If she lives she will only live for the depression of the next day. A housing unit is a solitary self-confinement, windowless and emotionless. Its paper thin walls exposes the drunken dreams of the addicts trying to forget in the kitchen as they beat the women with the fist of tribal sovereignty.


Their lost soul was taught silence by the hand and the drooling teeth of their molesters. They were taught silence in the reservation right of passage of child rape. They were educated in silence by the example of their drunken Saturday night relatives dancing around the table like little “injuns” around the fire of drug abuse and alcoholism.


Your silence in the presence of immorality is why you are destitute.


Your silent consent is why you allowed child sexual abuse to thrive within these Indian reservation communities, in your home.


Your silence produced the meth addiction and the alcoholic.


The silent ways of you… kept this abuse alive behind closed doors and shut windows.


Bleeding to death through silence is a slow kill. Looking away from the crimes against your children is the cause of every corruption in your life and the life of the tribe.


A damaged soul is a corrupt soul. All forms of corruption began in that housing unit by the hands of the child molester that you allowed to thrive in the darkened corner of your silent consent.


When you refuse to admit that you knew what was happening but kept quiet because you were too cowardly to stand for all children victims makes you equally responsible for a child’s suicide and a dysfunctional tribe.


Protecting a pedophile relative who has been raping your tribes children isn’t normal, it isn’t cultural, it isn’t sane. Keeping the perpetrator from justice doesn’t make your demons go away. It doesn’t heal your own past.


How many silent suicides must there be before you confront the truth within you? How many children must die before you stop protecting the sexual abuser, the pedophile living next door or in the next room?


The cause of all reservation oppression is pedophilia. The scar tissue of rape never heals in the mind of the raped. They keep it inside and release it as rapists themselves or corrupt tribal officials or both.


When a dog gets rabies they are killed, when a pervert foams at the mouth and molests children they have social rabies and must be put down by any means necessary. Cleansing the reservation of pedophiles will improve the future of the tribe exponentially


When a mother or a person starts listening and believing the victim child, as tough as it may be, they start to accept a truth, a truth that will free their families from the throes of depression. Imagine what would happen to the tribe if all these men and women child molesters were banished for life?


Truth forces silence to come from the shadows of despair.


If your child is in danger… save them, if your child is suicidal… save them. Do this by listening to them. Quit blaming them, quit hitting them, quit burning them when they ask for help or when they speak the truth.


Some parents or parent are too lost to listen, some are too drunk or high to care. The sad thing is some parents are molesters themselves.


It’s not difficult to see a depressed child. You can see that they gave up in their empty stare. You know they are close to suicide but you refuse to allow yourself to do something about it for fear of the dysfunctional reservation retribution. To scared to “Cause Trouble” rather than save a child from suicide.


This isn’t traditional. Looking away and ignoring your people isn’t traditional. Judging others isn’t traditional. Chances are your child is next but you are too arrogant to see it yourself until you find them in your closet hanging from a rope.


It takes a community to confront a pedophile. It takes a tribe to end the silence. It takes only one person with a caring heart to stop a suicide.


Change begins when the people confront the rapist who they have been protecting with the excuse of extended family.


Our people don’t honor the good in our people anymore they honor the rapists returning home from prison. They honor the registered sex offender who raped a young native girl or boy, lured into their sadism because of the silence of the reservation people.


These pedophiles have names and some of them have been caught. A child rapist cannot be reformed by serving a couple years in prison. A cellblock doesn’t change the nature of a pedophile. Castration is the only option.


The Indian reservation has become cultureless, void of the traditional social laws that governed sanity. Without following the actual tribal traditions the people embrace incest. They allow molestation. They normalize violence in the same way that the Black Robes did when they started the demonic tradition of pedophilia.


Pow-wows and beadwork don’t define a native society or the social stability of a native family. A child can get sexually assaulted in the same room a person does beadwork in.


The cultural laws of the tribe define appropriate behavior and respect. When a native community lacks or forgot their cultural teachings a pedophile can rape children without being seen as a threat. He or She can exist without impunity.


In an already socially sick community adding welfare to it is like pouring gas on a flame.


Ending your silence is the change you seek. You can’t find change in another tribally elected official, man or woman. You can’t find change in money or handouts. Poverty on the reservations is a mental illness. No amount of money can change it. Only confronting the demons within the tribes and your families can end the ubiquitous cycle of reservation oppression. A tribal leader, man or woman, who’s self worth was raped as a child cannot lead a nation without having a grudge against life itself.


Quit listening to your dysfunctional relatives telling you to be silent, stay silent, remain silent or their pedophile relative will go to prison if you tell or expose them. Obeying this reservation silence is more damaging to your child’s life then the crime committed against them. Without support, without truth exposed an abused child sees no hope in sight, they see no reason to live because they know the pedophile will return and they know no one will hear them. They will embrace death over life, while the victimizer finds another victim to rape counting on your silence to get away with it.


Salvation begins by listening to the tribal children. It changes when the people stop turning away from the children when they show the signs of abuse.


It stops when you crawl out of your addictions and start to care about the lives you brought into this world. A child doesn’t understand the meaning of their silence but an adult does.


Incarcerating the molester is the first step in changing the reservation.



By Red Ghetto Rebel

January 24, 2017

Lower Brule, S.D. 

Turning away from the truth doesn’t make the demons go away. Ignoring reality only perpetuates insanity. The only way to save your children is to fight for them or avenge them. To save them you must confront what’s wrong with these reservations.
Resolution only happens when you face the demons and drive them out. The reservation demons are real. They are living breathing flesh. They slither through the reservation slums waiting for an opportunity to assault your child.
Putting fictitious excuses on the cause of suicide or drug abuse is the absolute worst excuse that any society can make. Every suicide has a story but to remain silent and not tell their story only allows the pedophiles to reign within reservation communities on both sides of the river or the prairie.
There is an evil in our camps. She was born of depravation and perversion. She slips past everyone giving hand outs along the way. She buys souls for meth and money.
She seeks out her victims and grooms them so as to exploit them. She tells them that she knows them better than they know themselves. She will prostitute your relatives and embrace you as she does it.
She has killed countless young relatives indirectly with her perversion. When they kill themselves chances are she provided the drugs and the circumstances that caused it, chances are she drove them to it.
She ensnares her victims in her web of addiction making them dependent on her, obedient and loyal to her.
She plays her roles well. She can be a motherly security one day and a sister the next. But always she slowly drags her victims from the protective circle of their families to her trailer park nest so she can groom them with her dirty filthy hands and forked slimy tongue.
She has a taste for females and she is proud of that. She was groomed herself which is why she is so good at hiding her responsibility in plain sight and why she likes the women. You probably shook her hand or gave her a hug. You probably gave her money for drugs.
Her Billy bastard ways where engrained into her those many moons ago but the difference is she profits off the suffering of her victims while remaining indifferent. 

A tried and true sociopath with a bank account and a stash for later.
Once captured, she prepares her victims for sale. Luring them into her hole where she rips their dignity to shreds. Once she is finished she guides them through the path of damnation with the light bulb and straw of addiction.
She is the pimp. She is the pedophile. She is the pervert. She hides these personalities with the façade of lies and her seedy obese smile.
She hunts the lost souls of the reservation and reaps them for profit selling their flesh to the white men who depend on her product.
When she fully destroys the souls of the young girls she preys on, she pushes them toward suicide. She “subliminally” encourages it. She blames them in her consoling way. When her victims no longer hold value to her or to themselves she sacrifices them to her lover the Satan of suicide and pays for their funeral and their star quilts with the same money that she sold and exploited them for.
She embraces the families of her victims and tells them how she loved their lost soul. How she is there to help and how she is a shoulder to cry on. The same shoulder that her victim innocently cried on as she walked them to the suicide tree that they replanted together in their back yard.
She uses the same love she used to kill the loved ones. When she is done she wipes her brow and washes her hands and celebrates their life. She martyrs them to lure other young women into her hellhole of conformity and subjugation.
Every moment that she jingles change in her pocket or jingles her keys, she is looking into the eyes of the girls and young women to replace the used up victim she just threw into the pit of despair.
The truth is, if you want to know the truth, you know who SHE is. She embraced you when they lowered your relatives into their grave. She called you when she heard the news, which she expected to hear.
She slowly “drug” you from your truth into her lies so that she can walk away from her implication unscathed. She kissed you and comforted you as she groomed and sold your child to put that change in her pocket and those keys in her hand to jingle.

is reading this right now. Quivering as her sweaty palms clinch and turn. Once she stops reading this she will recite her prayer that the good lord watches over her. Little does she know that the devil, sooner or later, will want what’s due. God left her long ago just as the good did. 

He’s coming for you. The un-holy one is coming for you.
She will call you… because she has to. She has to keep her lies intact and her game. Some will follow her because they are her victims and don’t know it. Others will be forced to look. Forced to face the demon, face what’s wrong with the reservations and how people like her have kept this perversion and corruption alive for so long. They will have to face the truth and the light that comes with it as it shines onto her darkened sins.
The truth sets you free once you face IT.
The dogs usually cry when death comes. They cry today but not for death but because the redeemer walks toward camp looking for the banished and the perverted. Though they run he finds them.
The Great Spirit sends him when evil is in the camp. No white mans religion or bible will save you from your inevitability. Once someone shines the light of truth on you and exposes you, the un-holy one walks from the shadow of the trees, eventually you will walk in its shadow. He’s waiting for you there now.
He will find all your minions and those loyal to you. He will come as a disease, he will come as a cancer, he will come with indifference and he will have no mercy.

We called him for you


The Suicide Nation

By Red Ghetto Rebel

January 22, 2017
Lower Brule, S.D.

“Friends, friends,
I have fought the sun.
He tried to burn me up,
But he could not do it.
Even battling the sun,
I held my own. – Rabbit Boy”
Recently a relative killed herself. The word was that she overdosed.
I imagined that she sat and watched the sun fly by. She slept and dreamt the shadows away waiting for a tomorrow that never came.
When she was born into the sadist temple her sacrifice began. In through the maimed and beaten spirit world of the cluster housing, entering the threshold of life and didn’t return from the doorway of her death. 

Her flesh remained behind as offerings for her dysfunctional family to fight over, ripping whatever materialism and violence they could from her remnants.
Vultures picking at her corpse and at the flesh of her dead and depraved youth that bleed suicide onto mother earth, while her lunatic parents vomit laughter into their snot rags as they molest their brood in the name of sovereignty.
Everyday is another slippage into the level beneath that which is above the horizon of human decency. Lowered into this pit by the hand that birthed her.
The walls of her decrepit house echo with depression and despair as another day and night are woven in to fabric of monotony. 

Was her purpose in vain? 

Her heart lays on the ground soiled with soot of discontent as the demons scratch at her door.
Suicide carries such a message. But it also carries secrets that were never overcome by the victim.
It is always unfortunate when we lose a young life, a young spirit. In the momentum of everyday a soul can sometimes become lost or we lose track of them. Some simply don’t want to be found.
I think back on what she meant to us all, to me and to those who cared. I think of the trail she walked. Looking back to her birth and the steps she took up to her death. I remember how unfortunate it was to be born into her mother’s sadistic world. Like watching an accident from a distance. You can only pray for survival.
I remember the candle of her life and when it was lit when she awoke to this world.
She wasn’t born into happiness. She wasn’t born into stability. He mother carried demons and demonized others with her pain. Sometimes there are far worse realities than a damn silver spoon.
Packed into the reservation cubical lighting her uneasy wick of anxiety as her candle of post-traumatic stress tried to shed its meager light upon the shadows of her insanity, while the molester lurks behind the darkened intent of their stench.
She tried to find the light of day in the lifeless eyes of her mother. In some manner and in some way the macabre illusions of the tomorrows haunted her, infected her. How would she know what form of violence will creep into her living nightmare?
The reservation is a harsh place for a young woman. Perversion festers behind closed doors. Pedophiles lurk in the obvious places. Perverts are great actors they play their rolls well. So when a soul enters this world they’re soon consumed with pain. Body burned by the hands of abuse. Shades of despair move behind the eyes of their innocence.
She had her secrets, as we all do but hers were horrible enough to want to die rather than confront them. The memories she hid ripped her soul apart to a point where life wasn’t medicinal enough to cure.
She existed in that cycle of aimless lucidity, waiting for the tick tock of humanity to end. She wasn’t free and she wasn’t chained… if anything she is oppressed.
The act of this assault comes from the violence around her in her everlasting burden of survivability.
Slowly her shadow of death crept up. Slowly she reached for the needle. She thought about suicide but wouldn’t seek help. If she exposed the secrets of her family and her mother she would surely be alone. Her own demons were whispering to her. When her mother gave her life she also took her innocence. She killed her child before she had a chance to live.
She was a pessimist and an anarchist because she had no choice. She was defeated long ago by the drugs and alcohol consumed by her mother and the welfare wellspring from which she flows.
No searchlight guides her in this stormy prairie sea and not one helpless hand reaches out to pull her out of her reservation uncertainty. If there could be any word to define the child plight in this depravity it would be insanity.
Children born of many fathers each connected to the umbilical cord of demoralized human-hood. The mother and the father no longer have the bond of love, they have the emotional scars of lust and addiction. They breed their own afflictions.
Some people in essence are born to hate. They hate themselves and hate their image. They become sadists, enjoying the pain that others endure. They will inflict pain just to watch the suffering of others or their own children. They will violate and abuse them and call it love. Any person who hates themself has a morbid and perverted interpretation of love. In their truth it isn’t really love at all but perversion and self-aggrandizement.
The mothers and fathers are children themselves. Never growing up, stuck in adolescence playing parent for the monthly bloody moon time of welfare. This paycheck is the poison that is killing the base soul of our native children.
Our relative who killed herself did so because of the pain inflicted by her family. It was by their hands that she gave up. Today, after the fact, they act out the emotion of love, mimicking the despair of loss because she died but in truth they only used, emotionally, sexually and physically abused her in life. They weep crocodile tears to the tribe to get that burial assistance money to buy more meth.
Even in death they still rape her.
In truth she was victimized and violated by their own mental suffering… burned there by the branding iron of our reservations last generation mother and father. The cycle that never ends… It turns and turns again with every rotation of grandmother earth.
If you want to know the real reason why her hanging tree still stands? You need only look at their own selfishness, their lust, and their addictions. There is no “tall dark man” taking the youth, there is no spirit that is to blame for the suicide for any child. This is just an excuse to put blame on a nonexistent cause.

The evil is you sister and your own perverted choices. 

The suicidal children lack hope and love from both their parents, a love that a welfare check or a meth addiction can’t provide.
She existed in this dysfunctional motion of violence even as she warmed herself under the sun. Her reservation is an empty soul of a place where children cling to hunger. They don’t remember the last time a worry slipped past them down by the river.
She was trapped in the crab bucket on the evening sunset in which she killed herself. Knowing and waiting for the darkness and all the creatures that scurry in its dusk to wake in their nocturnal premeditation.
Immoral colors hide the black and white truth of reservation poverty. Drunk off the fermented fruit of lies and greed… druggy leaches suck to their hearts content off the bile of reservation addictions.
A young mother with seven fathers can never escape poverty. The womb scarred by the needle of addiction and heart broken by the same.
The boys become fathers to many mothers and the girls become the mothers from many fathers. Ultimately and all waiting for the monthly payday promised them by a dysfunctional society.
Their eyes are watching you, they watch you wait for the next day and the next night. You may not see it but they are learning this sordid culture of oppression and welfare by your example.
There is no self worth in this primordial reservation. The soap shoved down the throats of our ancestors washed out this hope long ago.
Little did she know that this existence shivers in the presence of true culture and yet again it shakes in the light of hope. But her mother was a practicing sadist atheist where to pray is heresy
The suicidal are the ultimate victims of the “reservation” Indians.
In truth only you as a reservation parent can change it and only you can prevent it, if it’s not too late. Put down the meth and the wine bottle, cast out your selfishness and materialism, close your legs and wear a condom, quit molesting your children but for fuck sake do something to save your children.