Morelodge, Wounded Knee, 1890
I know this lawyer who worked for nine years as a volunteer at Pine Ridge. One night about three A.M. -- we were drinking -- he took me downstairs. Way back in the corner was a safe, and in the safe was a little pouch that belonged to this old woman. In the pouch was was a stone that Crazy Horse had given to her mother, and this guy showed it to me, and he let me touch it. It was such a strange thing. You know, when the Sioux were being driven hither and yon by the Army until Crazy Horse's daughter died of pneumonia, he lay next to her on the burial platform for three days and three nights.
Am I supposed to think that Ronald Reagan is as interesting as Crazy Horse, when he's not? What does it serve us to take these people seriously and not listen to what Black Elk said? And of course there's a grandeur in that area so hopelessly lost. Think of being a Sioux and knowing that. I can't imagine anything more painful than being an American Indian. It's a mystery to me how we could be so generous in defeat to the Japanese and the Germans, and yet so neglect and disregard the Indians.
Our doom as a nation will be unveiled in the way we have treated the blacks and Indians, the entire Third World. Washington is a flunked Passion Play.
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