NODAPL CAMP
11/09/2016 Arrival
Leslie Ortiz
My dog Chip and I drove all the way out here to the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation to participate in the Dakota Access Pipeline protest, or water-protection action by the Native Americans, as well as non-natives from all over America, and the world. By participate I mean to say I am bringing much-needed supplies such as food (bread flour, potatoes, beans, rice, onions, etc).
We just arrived about four hours ago. I set up camp near Winona’s camp - a native woman who is providing meals to those who are here. I gave all of my food donations to her kitchen. Today she had Lengua stew, (cow’s tongue), and Venison stew. I opted for a bowl of Lengua stew. Most of it was potatoes and squash. It was very hearty, and I was hungry.
There is a constant buzzing of a small airplane in the sky above the camp - It’s probably a police patrol, or a d.a.p.l. patrol, but definitely annoying. I am in my old trailer, the one that I bought specifically for this mission. I plan on using it for other trips, and as a loaner RV for others.
We arrived around 2:15 PM. They have an entrance gate where Natives ask if you are here to camp, and/or if you are press/journalists. If you are a journalist they send you to the press tent up on a little hill where there is a charging station for equipment. Anyone else is welcomed there to charge their gear, but they actually have a press tent where journalists can congregate.
The camp is huge. It has exploded with growth. I am guessing in the thousands of people. They are from all walks of life, and from all over the world. There are Native singers and drums you can hear in the distance, or up close and personal sometimes. It’s truly an experience I will never forget. It starts getting dark at 4:00 PM. It’s only 6:30 PM and Chip and I are inside the trailer. It’s pitch dark except for my laptop screen.
My observations as I arrived: Cleanliness. I saw no trash except in neatly piled garbage bags in front of campsites. There are dogs, and all are on leashes and well-controlled. There are no blaring radios or loud music. The only music I can hear are native songs and drums on occasion. The continuous droning of the airplane overhead is the only annoying thing here as far as noise goes.
Shortly after we arrived and dropped the trailer, and made camp, Chip and I were walking and I observed a hundred or so natives coming from all over the place walking briskly toward the gate. Some were on horseback and they all formed a large marching group. They were marching out the gate together, and they continued to march down the road, some would offer up war cries, but all were peaceful. I assumed they were going to go to the front lines and say a prayer like I have seen them do before on video, but they were marching in the opposite direction! But, as many of us watched from the hill, it became clear that it was something else: a man had been turned in to the Tribe for assaulting a woman. They called the camp security, (I heard this over the P.A. system), and by tribal custom, they shaved his head, and put him in the front of the crowd, and marched him down the road off of the reservation and they turned him over to police. Wow! Now that was fascinating to me! The natives who I was with on top of the hill were telling me that it’s the “tribal way” of doing things.
Camping near Winona’s kitchen has its advantages. It’s fairly close to the sacred fire area where the fire is kept going 24/7, and it’s where all information is passed on. Not only that, but Winona, and her friends whip up some good food. I am glad I was able to help out, and I hope it provides some sustenance for some people.
There is a weird sense of calm here, but almost like a calm before the storm. Like with that plane constantly flying overhead, it’s almost as if you feel like you’re going to be overrun and arrested any time. I hope that doesn’t happen. That would be a sad day for America. There are all ages of people here, and it reminds me of an old Western movie where there’s an Indian encampment, kids running around, braves on horseback, and elders talking and people cooking at their fires… It’s hard to explain this. It’s a coming-together of human beings in such a way that it is respectful, and peaceful. People say hello to each other, some stop to ask how things are going; they know each other from camping here.
There is a smell of woodsmoke in the air, and when we first arrived people were chopping wood, and sorting it, and stacking it. I delivered half of mine to the sacred fire, and the other half to Winona’s stack for cooking.
People keep coming. The camp has probably swelled by a hundred just in the hours I’ve been here. It truly is amazing what people can do when they stand together. Even if the pipeline comes through here, I know the “People” did all they possibly could to stop it.
Near the press tent on the hill (They call it Facebook Hill, although I can’t get on Facebook), there is the legal tent. I stopped by there and filled out the information paper for just in case I get arrested. (I was told it was a good idea). It just gives them some info about you and what you want done in your situation, whether you want to stay in jail or get bailed out, and what belongings you have that were left behind. I don’t plan on getting arrested, but I told them to watch after my dog, and my truck and trailer. They said that people had been arrested who never intended to be, and that there was no safe zone like in most protest areas. They said that in this situation the police were not just going after the main protestors on the front lines, but also people who were way in back who thought they were in a safe zone. So I wrote the phone number to the legal people on my arm with the Sharpie she handed me, and after receiving a little briefing, I took Chip back to the trailer.
The airplane must have gone away to fuel up. The silence is nice. It’s sad to me, this whole thing. I feel like the police are looking at everyone like we’re all evil criminals, or sorely misguided. It’s almost like we’ve got this invisible net over us (with the airplane and road blocks), and that the people at the camp are just sitting ducks. They are willing to speak out against what they see as something that threatens life as we know it in a large section of middle America. Not just that, but they are speaking out against the ability of a giant corporation with lots of money (billions) to be allowed to use the civil authorities to bulldoze the “little people” out of the way for their own profits and gain. And don’t get me started on eminent domain, and how its been used to abuse people.
This has become a movement in its own right, #NODAPL. Overshadowed by the dog and pony show that was Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump (yes, I’m being sarcastic), it is time that this movement get the spotlight. Trump is president, (as of today), and it’s time to move on. I have finally realized that the mainstream cable news networks truly are profit driven, and they are basically an entertainment industry based on sensationalism, and ratings of course. Real news that effects real people, is but a blip on the radar screen, and if you really want to know what’s going on in your world you have to dig for it, and dig deep. You can’t rely on just one or two news articles on a particular news piece. You have to get out there and dig, and find several articles on the same topic to get bonafide information.
So here we are at the Oceti Sakowin camp. I am here to lend support to the “little people”, like me. Those people who really have no voice as individuals, but who may gain a voice if they stand together in great numbers. I am one of those numbers, and I know in my heart that we are on the right side of history here. Water truly is life, and regardless of your position on this issue, that is why people are here. They are declaring that enough is enough, and they are taking a stand for the planet - in any way they can, even if it’s just to camp out together with the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe on the edge of a riverbank somewhere in North Dakota.
At night time there are songs being sung, either close by me, or way in the distance. There are war cries that remind me of western movies. There are drums. There are a handful of fireworks, sky rockets and a few M80s, followed by a few whoops and hollers, and car horns. It lasts for about 30 minutes almost as if it was a planned event. Might have been. But it’s quiet now. Winona’s camp has a generator running, but the airplane is gone.
There is no good Internet here, only phone service if you go up the hill and stand in a certain spot. I could never get my Facebook to come up, but hopefully when I go up to Bismarck tomorrow to pick up Cindy I will be able to post some photos.
I am stunned by the sheer numbers of people, and not only that, but the peaceful, self-policing conditions that exist here. I am not so naive to think that everyone is perfect though, and I hope that whoever might read this will realize that I am truly willing to call it like it is.
I came up here with the understanding, as a retired police officer, that sometimes “protest” sites, for some people, can be just another reason to party, or cause trouble. Time will tell. But thus far - for a site with probably 5000 plus people camping together in close proximity - I haven’t seen anything of the sort, and the only person who got out of hand (by assaulting a woman), was literally marched down the road packing with a newly shaven head.
My Birthday
11/10/2016
Standing Rock
I went to Bismarck and picked up Cindy as planned. It was wonderful to see her, and Chip FREAKED out when he saw his other mama!
We are back in camp this evening. Cindy picked up a history book about Custer… very befitting of this journey. In keeping with that theme, we might just visit the site of The Battle of Little Big Horn on our way home.
The sounds here in camp are very moving to me, and are very telling. They tell me that times have not really changed all that much. 500 years, when you think about it, is only a spec in time.
The natives are singing and drumming now… the sun has gone down. I can hear a horse walk passed close to the trailer, presumably with a bareback rider. There are police, or DAPL flood lights in the distance up on the hill at the “front line”, where each day a large group gathers to march up to the front line to stand in front of the police barricade to pray, talk to the police, and then return to camp. They have training courses for all of those interested in going to the front lines; peaceful direct action training to hopefully keep people safe. This camp is filled with good people. Men, women, and children of all races and religions, and all walks of life. More are coming.
Today I read an article in the Bismarck Tribune basically stating that the pipeline is coming through regardless of what the Natives think, or want, and even implied that whatever leverage the Indians had they are losing because of the “protest”. This angered me. It was as if to say that if the Indians protest they won’t have any ability to negotiate. Isn’t “protest” part of our heritage? Isn’t it our 1st Amendment right to protest, and to get redress from our government? Because my battery is low on my laptop, and I have no way of charging it here, I will wait, and hopefully copy that article at a later time. I love my life, and my wife, and everything around me. Happy Birthday to me!
Veterans Day
11/11/2016
Standing Rock
What words. What words do I use to describe the most precious, valuable, life-changing Veterans Day experience of my life? It was a privilege to be a part of something huge. We gathered together as veterans, mostly Native American veterans, and some non-natives. Before we struck out, two bald Eagles graced us with their presence in the sky overhead! They got everyone’s attention. One young Native woman who was standing near me said: “They know!” I got chills.
We prayed, and a tin can containing smoking cedar was passed by each of us and we smudged ourselves ceremoniously in prayer, and covered our bodies with the smoke for protection.
We were a loose formation, with flags, and a rifle honor guard… I was part of the team of 15 who would display the giant American flag at the front lines, on the bridge, at the barricade. We marched in prayerful procession… and some of us, yes me too, had tears. We marched that big old flag up to the barricades… and then we stopped, and we laid to rest a young Native veteran, Corporal Shine, US Army, whose ashes we ceremoniously placed into the Cannon Ball River… at his request. A 21-gun salute was given, Taps were played, prayers were spoken, drumming and warrior songs were sung, and the tears just flowed… The Chief did a Native roll call: “Corporal Shine?” No answer. Corporal Shine, US Army?” No answer. Corporal Shine, US Army?” Someone called out, “Sir! Corporal Shine was called to a higher command!" Gave me chills, and the lump in my throat got bigger.
The Sioux Tribe from here, from Cannon Ball, were some of the first Code Talkers of WWI. After that, when they were eventually compromised, the Navajo Code Talkers were used in WWII. The Native Americans have ALWAYS answered their country’s call.
A beautiful elder woman spoke about how one of her grandfathers was one of the warriors who beat General Custer at the Battle of Little Big Horn. She, herself is a veteran, a nurse in WWII. She is 97. She loves her country.
We walked back from the barricades at the bridge, to the sacred fire where most all tribal and camp business is conducted and we formed a large circle, maybe a few less than a hundred of us. People were invited to form a line and come around the circle, shake our hands and thank us for our service. The sacred fire burned in the middle… the smell of cedar… prayers going up… and probably a couple hundred people, mostly Natives, but some non-natives as well, shook our hands one by one… I couldn’t stop the tears… some Native women who approached me whispered, “Sister”, and hugged me. I have to stop here for a moment. (Tears again).
I am so touched by the keepers of the sacred fire who talk to us over a small P.A. system so that whether you are near the sacred fire, or farther away you can keep up with the information being given. They are constantly admonishing all of the people of the camp to be respectful, and reverent, and to walk in prayer at all times. They admonish us to listen to others, and especially the elders, and to be kind and respectful. They talk about the police officers who are doing their jobs, and they ask for us to pray for them, as well as their families, and they acknowledge that the officers are in a hard place. When I heard this I gained just that much more respect for this tribe, and these people here, and what they are doing. I am with them. Whoever reads this, I would ask you that, if at all possible, you come and spend some spiritual time here.
Night Time
Standing Rock (Veterans Day Night)
11/11/2016
Nice fireworks tonight. Only about 10 minutes worth of standard aerial fireworks. Occasionally people whoop and holler, and shout, “Mni Wiconi!” (Mini Wichonie, meaning, “Water is Life”). Someone will shout from a quarter mile away, and someone else far away will shout it back. There is a sense of unity.
The plane flies overhead without lights. It’s a “no-fly” zone for anyone else but DAPL and/or law enforcement, so they can fly unhindered. It’s a constant sound overhead that never goes away. They fly as long as they have fuel and some visibility. This morning it was nice and quiet because we had fog. Frankly I’m ashamed of them. I think it stinks that a private company can patrol the camp. As of this very moment I’m not certain that this plane is from the company, or from law enforcement, but I was able to capture the tail number and I do plan on finding out who owns that thing. It looks to be a four, or six-seater Cessna type single engine, but I’m not certain. I haven’t had a chance to see the photos I took up close, but I do plan on it, and I did get a close up photo. I’m sure someone probably has my license plate number too. Not scared. If anything comes of this, if there is any “statement” I can make before I pass on, and others take my place, it is to keep the faith, and to not allow money to completely dictate our lives. There is something to be said for some of what capitalism has brought to some people, but not to all people. Unfortunately the billionaire class are worshipped by the middle class, and so on… and so it is. (Yes I said it). We middle class seem to have our alms cups out at every turn… jobs… I don’t care what kind of job I have regardless of who it hurts, I just need a job to survive! That’s exactly where we’re at. We get comfortable with what we have. I know this. I am one who is very “comfortable”. I have a wonderful lifestyle, a nice home, etc. I have heat, and refrigeration, and all of the creature comforts I could ask for. But when I stop to think about things, I often wonder if it’s all worth it. Is it worth selling out the people? Is it worth letting others go down with the ship while I bail? They are standing up for what is right.
I recently told someone in particular that I was going to Standing Rock to join the Native Americans in their fight against the Dakota Access Pipeline. They told me in no uncertain terms that it was BS, that the Indians should be happy for the oil because they use it themselves all the time, and what about the drugs and alcohol abuse on the reservations, and why don’t they clean that up first. Really? That’s like telling Flint Michigan to police up their people of drugs and alcohol first before they should get clean water. Get rid of the crime and drug use and murder in Chicago before giving anything clean and beneficial to the people. What the hell kind of reasoning is that?? Oh - that’s right, your hubby works for an oil company!
I wish my grandmother were still alive. I can hear her voice so clearly. She was an old-fashioned environmentalist, and was one way before it became popular. She was a devout Christian who read the Bible everyday, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed everyday, and always. She had nothing, and cared about everything and everyone, and taught her grandchildren to do the same. I’ll never forget something she said many years ago when the “Spotted Owl” was becoming endangered up in Oregon, and the government was considering putting them on the endangered species list. There was a big controversy about the jobs up there with the timber industry, and clear-cutting the trees for lumber, etc… My grandma said this: “If them boys are strong enough to be lumber jacks up there, then they’re strong enough to go find jobs somewhere else.” That was how grandma “rolled”. As much as it might hurt some lumberjacks… it was a wise statement.
