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.

 

Normalized

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.

http://ujs.sd.gov/uploads/sc/calendar/26939_Briefs.pdf

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16516865

 

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.

(http://www.bishopaccountability.org/news2010/03_04/2010_03_08_Harriman_LawmakersWant.htm)

 

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.

(https://nonprofitquarterly.org/2014/11/25/st-joseph-s-halts-fundraising-scheme-but-admits-no-wrongdoing/)

 

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?

http://pages.nativehope.com/stay-connected-0

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

Best,

Trisha and the Native Hope team

Trisha Burke

Creative Content Specialist

Native Hope

PO Box 600 • 112 South Main Street

Chamberlain, SD 57325

(605)234-3560

trisha.burke@nativehope.com

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?

http://religiondispatches.org/confronting-the-abusive-legacy-of-native-american-boarding-schools/

http://www.npr.org/2011/10/25/141672992/native

 

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.

 

WE DESERVE AND DEMAND JUSTICE!!

 

Long Live the Fighters!

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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! 

The 7 Sins of Assimilation 

By Red Ghetto Rebel

Dakota Treaty Territory 
 

“A proud (vain) look.

A lying tongue.

Hands that shed innocent blood.

A heart that deviseth wicked acts.

Feet that be swift in running to mischief.

A false witness that speaketh lies.

He that soweth discord among brethren.”

 

The Christians have a proverb, which defines the seven sins of humankind. It describes the selfishness and corrupted agenda of people who would do anything to anyone for gain, people who would sell their own soul for fame.

 

I say Christians in the context of this issue because assimilation requires integration of the mind into this narrative.

 

Our Native people aren’t immune to assimilation. There are those who deny being colonized and accuse others of it. Our people have frauds who will lie and cheat to get their fame and money. They use a deformed perception of native culture to brainwash the ignorant into giving up their liberties and when they don’t have the cultural piece of the puzzle to justify their lies they make one up and spoon feed it to their new born fanatics.

 

They subjugate and suppress the integrity of others to hide their criminality. These are the worst of the self righteous assimilated “Reservation Indians” who feel that need to have a white man or woman physically stroke their ego. These frauds are woven into the collective fabric of white washed colonization, of course they are the first to call anyone colonized when someone exposes their deviant agenda.

 

In the times that we live in today many Natives have embraced Christianity. Some may say they are traditional to their native heritage but in the end they follow and pray with our enemies religion.

 

These fraudulent natives evolve into the white man’s culture with a bi-polar gratification only found in the mentally ill. They have developed a morbid obsession with the values of the white bigots who pour beer on native children. Unfazed by the reality of their unprecedented obsession, they corrupt without remorse.

 

All people are driven toward the future by their faith. It is this faith that changes with every new experience. Along this path many will stumble upon a cause or a movement. They embrace these convictions with a naïve stride and an open faith. Some are susceptible to fraud. They fall into a web of deceit and are so intoxicated with the venom of lies and stereotypes that they allow themselves to be wrapped in a cocoon of misguided belief while their predator devours and sucks what little they have from their inside out.

 

They fooled the masses using their media stereotyped lies and fake dream-catcher promises of an unattainable tomorrow. These Indian reservation neighborhood media whores who panhandled their gofundme bigamy to all victim trolls of facebook were and still are to this day maliciously guided by racial ENVY.

 

Poverty porn sells in their colonized Rez-meriKKKa. They babble bullshit for donations while labeling those who question them as “traitors”. They use those who left home and stood with them as pawns on their “checkerboard” of exploitation. Preaching, spewing, regurgitating, broadcasting their gospel of “gok” mouthed flatulence over their live-streamed iPhone soapboxes begging for more donations.

 

These charlatans eventually start believing their own lies. They start seeing themselves as the plastic caricature image that they sell to their followers. When they strut through their demented disciples playing Jesus they forget to notice that the people who know what they are truly about and who they truly are in their local reservation-housing cluster are watching them. Observing them play out their scam.

 We see you.

We live in the same neighborhoods as you. We all knew you were liars and thieves before you even started sucking that microphone with your gourmandizing oration. We recognized that obese double chin slapping your chest as you spit lies with involuntary GLUTTONY.
 

You told these followers that you were the next water messiah. You told them that you were the native chosen one and yes… they believed you because of their stereotyped Ten Little Indians image of you.

 

They laid down their freedom for your lie and all you wanted was their money and their loyalty, not to question your fraudulent scam. Like a pedophile, you groomed them and led them away to your camp to molest their reality while threatening them if they told anyone the truth. Your lust guides your megalomania and perversion, you blind yourself with your own lies and fall straight into that reservation hell you were born and bred into.

 

When you stole the financial donations we knew you would because it’s in your ravenous nature. Your vile SLOTH of discord precedes you.

 

You may have fooled those hippies and Enviros but you didn’t fool us. From our viewpoint we could see what was coming and what you were bringing to our reservations. We know the true feral dog you were bred to be. We know that you weren’t what you claimed to be. Playing a leader when you can’t even lead your own family out of reservation meth and alcohol addiction. Even now you squirm at the audacity of this reality as you read this narrative of you. You will justify your corruption by coming up with more lies and excuses back in the deepest part of your consciousness to reaffirm to yourself that you are what you think you are. This is typical behavior for a colonized and assimilated nut-bag unable to accept truth or process it. Denial is the root of ANGER.

 

Like good “Injuns”, these media sluts fractionated their protectors. They started their micro-cults and reinforced the indoctrination of their protest minions with facebook brainwashing and gofundme updates.

 

These full of lies gofundme creeps became ghetto rich and stuffed their pockets with as much money and donations as they could. They set up their gofundme and paypal schemes with its dirty, fraudulent umbilical cord still attached directly to their bank account wombs, never once thinking that its wire fraud. Too intoxicated by GREED to realize the simplicity in discovering their criminal stupidity.

 

As it became apparent after the fact, they stole your disability payment, they stole your savings, they stole your retirement, they stole your paycheck and they laughed and shit on you when you asked what happened with it?

 

We watched and warned you all but you didn’t listen. By all accounts it’s your fault that you fell for it. You were drawn into their Indian reservation cults as they cooked your brains with rotted fantasies and infectious zoster. Like the Manson Family or Jim Jones followers, you gulped their kool-aid and ran to violence with open arms at the behest of your rez cult saviors, while they recorded you and exploited your suffering for personal profit.

 

They slapped a hand drum with songs they learned from facebook posts and preached prophesies and prayers packaged and sold at the Mt. Rushmore tourist shop. Their PRIDE is their mace that they spray into your eyes to blind you from the truth. They raped that pity and belief that you embraced, for their inglorious gratification.

 

Their seven sins didn’t discriminate because of the color of your skin or whether or not you are a hippy believer, their defacto-discrimination is based of the size of your donations. Their rainbow has a pot of wire transfers at the end of it. They only see the green color of money in your complacency and only LUST after your ego stroke.

 

Those who rolled in and expected a utopia only reinforced their corrupted agenda. Where the water pawn-tectors saw a cause… the poverty porn stars saw victims willing to stroke their Pan American Indian narcissism. 

They used you, they used the cause, and they used your ignorance against you. Some even rapped about it. They domestically violently beat you with their open handed ostentatious propaganda and called it love. They subliminally begged you not to tell.

 

Assimilation takes on many forms. The assimilated are guided by their actions. Their identity was erased from their family history long ago, generations born again and again into a new deformed abusive contemporary cycle of violence and neglect. Colonization domesticated that part of them deep inside, that part that is catatonic and never awakens and what is left is their fraudulent narcissistic personality that is the living epitome of the seven deadly sins.

 

Everything around all of us influences our perception of humanity but if a dysfunctional society teaches the mind of a reservation Indian to be corrupt from birth the outcome is tyranny whether that be tyranny as a parent or tyranny as a tribal leader or water protector. This is an undeniable fact.

 

In the end… There were those who had good intentions and integrity who came to fight and to be fought, but you don’t know them because they were getting beaten, maced, arrested and shot at.

 

Never once did I see any of the gofundme frauds take a rubber bullet, or a baton to the head. Their version of a stand was to stage an arrest to get in the press to solicit more money. They laughed and bragged about it while no one was watching like children playing with matches, immediately followed by the, ceremonial, passing around of the online donation collection bowl.

 

While the loud mouth snake oil saleswomen and men morphed into snake handling evangelicals, speaking in corrupted tongues, spasming on live stream, the innocent watched and fell for their slithering semantics.

 

Rhythms of the dark reservation, thrown into the kettle with a powwow shindig. Stir it around a few times, pull it out as a fine American Indian Fraud.

 

Even today they still exploit. They are addicted to what they created… they were galvanized by the celebrity and attention that got stuck in their web of lies. Giggling every time they check their bank account.

 

As the fires burned out and the victims were forcibly evicted by reservation collusion and tribal political hypocrisy, what was left in the aftermath was deceit.

 

Millions raised but now being gorged before the Internal Revenue Service starts asking questions. In their stupidity they wont report it on their taxes thinking tribal sovereignty protects them from prosecution. To the IRS, the reservation and the Indians are just another jurisdiction. Tribal sovereignty doesn’t protect its members from federal tax evasion on federal lands. You can’t escape death and taxes no matter how many times you justify it with entitlement.

 

In the end it morphed into a scam. It may have started with good intentions but it ended in a blaze of despotic glory. The victims will go to jail and court, the pipeline project will be completed, the disenfranchised will become homeless, while the reservation frauds look for new victims.

 

They are in denial of what tomorrow will bring. Eventually the hound dogs of the bigots will sniff them out of their hiding places. Run as they will, eventually the devil will want the soul that is owed. Inevitably there is a price to pay. All cult leaders eventually get caught just as all criminals get thrown in jail. Even now you are being hunted. 

LONG LIVE THE FIGHTERS!!!!

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.

 

https://search.justice.gov/search?query=sexual+abuse&affiliate=justice-usao-sd&op=Search

 

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.

LONG LIVE THE FIGHTERS