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!!!!