Chapter 22: Crow Campfire

Saturday, May 14, 1988 was election day for the Crow Tribe. I was invited to come to the all-night victory celebration that evening at Crow Agency. This was Real Bird’s second term of office as Chairman, and the election took place before the FBI “sting” activity was known about. I went alone, and it was almost midnight when I arrived. I did not know what to expect, except that I would be welcomed into a very private celebration.
There were bonfires in the park at Crow Agency, and well over two thousand people were gathered in the “Real Bird Camp.” As often the case, I was the only white person present in this Indian camp. Let me describe it to you.
There were three or four wood fires, with the usual large enamel-ware pots of coffee. There were some chairs and benches, and as usual the men gathered in their own groups, and the women in theirs. Many children were present, including infants and young babies. Some people were resting in their trucks and cars, but most stood around the fires talking and joking. It was a clear crisp night on the great plains of Montana, and the warmth of the fire felt good.
The men wore jeans and boots, while the women, even the teens, had blankets over their shoulders and often over their heads. It was a traditional gathering of Indian people. It was intimate, loving and joyous.
I was told that votes were being counted at the administration building, and when the results were known they would be announced. And then the drum came alive, and the singing started.
In one of the picnic shelters there was the usual large drum on the ground, similar in size to the bass drum used by high school marching bands, but turned on it’s side and resting on the ground. Around it sat four or five men, with one woman as a drummer also, then in circles around them another row of men, then a row of women. Behind them stood the younger women, including high school aged young people. Chairs had been found for the very old women, and the teens stood close to them. The Crow truly honor and cherish their elderly.
I counted as best I could by the light of the fires, and found there were one hundred forty singers. They were not dancing, but swayed and moved in time to the drum. No living being could ignore the beat of that Indian drum. It was the sound of life itself, the heartbeat of the Tribe.
Most of the songs began with the high cry of a single man, usually one of the Elders. A white man would call it falsetto, but not to them. I tell you they are Indian, there is no doubt about that. It was a cry as old as the earth, and it was of the earth. The men joined, then the women. Often the drum would stop, and there was a final verse sung by the beautiful voices of the women alone.
Around this drum the buffalo lives, the Crow People are proud in their lands and their magnificent warriors rule the plains and mountains. They sing the glory of the hunt and the history of an ancient people who have survived. They sang the “49” songs, many similar to our “country-western” songs, where somebody done somebody wrong. There were all in the Crow language, with an occasional verse in English, often producing much laughter.
“I know you been married twenty nine times, but I’m gonna get you yet, hey yeah.”
They sing reverence for the land, and for all things that are in it. They sing of love for each other, there is much teasing and playfulness, and they truly enjoy each other. They remind themselves of who they are, where they came from, and why they live. They were one people standing side by side on that clear night. We call it Montana, they call it home, the land of the Crow Nation since the beginning of time when people first gathered around camp fires.
If there is any doubt in your mind, for you were not there with me and could not witness this, let me tell you that the Indians are not dead. The historians are wrong. I tell you these words as strongly as I can. I would shout it, so you and the whole world will know it is true. In spite of all that has been done to them, the Crow People Live!
Make no mistake. This is not play acting or a game. From the bottom of their feet, to the top of their heads and throughout their souls they are Indian. They are alive and with us yet; they have survived the mindless horror and killings. We should all celebrate the survival of these people for they are our American Cousins who share the earth with us.
Chairman Real Bird invited me to stay for breakfast, but I later decided to leave around dawn. Now, just what does a middle-aged accountant from Ohio do standing in a field all night on an Indian reservation in Montana ?
I drank strong coffee from the big pots, spoke with the men and Elders, drank more “black water,” and stood around the fires and behind the drum to soak up the whole event.
At around 4:30 AM a truck came with horn blaring from the tribal administration building with the election results. The bunch I was supporting - the Real Bird camp - had won three of the four elected positions. My hope for tribal stability had come out the winner, so my work in taking the “political stump” and speaking in favor of Real Bird was not in vain. The margins were narrow, but by golly “we” won. Election turn-out was over 90% of the qualified voters, and the obvious enthusiasm was tremendous. I could claim some small amount of credit for this victory.
I have been concerned about the survival of the Crow People. I saw Real Bird as the only candidate running who had the guts to stand up to the corruption and pressure coming from BIA. I sided with him at once, and decided to speak to the people in support of him.
I was the only outsider involved in the elections. I think I did some good by taking the stand I took. With help, I believe the Crow just might manage to continue life as a recognizable culture. If only we can get BIA off their backs. They have been punished enough, and they did not deserve any of it. They are good people, and they deserve to live in freedom.
The Crow have their language; most tribes have lost theirs and many do not have the strength left to fight against the death of race and culture. The centuries of grinding poverty and despair have left a mark on all tribes, and many are lost or beyond hope.
After the destruction of the buffalo, the next cruel blow came from the dark days of the Christian missionaries who told them they were heathen “children of the Devil” and must change their ways. They could not dance, pray to God in their own way or speak their own language, and they must disavow the values of their parents. The Sundance was forbidden. The Crow needed food and protection from thieving whites, not Bibles. They had no shortage of religion, and it was their right to keep their own religious beliefs.
The often abused Christian view of God has produced great destruction. Indians were not lacking spirituality and a relationship with First Creator. I suggest that the Indian view of religion had (and has) great social value. The whitemen were the savages, not the Indians who were defending their families and way of life.
Now that religions are becoming less oppressive, religious people come out here to take sweat baths, fast and go into the mountains for vision quests, to seek a new relationship to God. Crow wisdom said to not destroy their Mother, the earth, and now white people are beginning to consider the damage caused by modern living, at last.
The Crow were found by the early explorers to be very happy, and to lack no material wants. Their land was covered with buffalo. There is a certain wisdom in not destroying the land and soiling your own bed; Indians knew this long ago.
The Crow good life was destroyed by the white man’s greed for land, and lack of respect for it’s original owners. Scalping apparently came from the Europeans who paid for human scalps as well as for animal pelts. In the Dakotas the whites paid one dollar for adult male Indian skulls, and fifty cents for women’s and children’s skulls. It was common to have knife handles made from Indian arm bones, and acceptable to kill an Indian for a new knife handle.
After the truck arrived with the election results, the drum was silent. The announcement was made in the Crow Language, so I had to ask for the numbers but the win was obvious. A hush fell over the crowd, then one of the Elders began to sing and others joined in a praise song to the newly elected Chairman.
At this point in time, none of us knew that BIA was working to undermine Real Bird’s elected administration. FBI agents and Justice Department agents were already at work on the reservation, looking to find something to discredit this man who dared bring a lawsuit against BIA. Our federal government was working to overthrow Indian democracy and self-government, and would devote millions of dollars and many man-years to do this.
Richard’s mother, with the traditional shawl over her head, came to kiss him. I spoke to her, shook hands with the Chairman and other winners then left as the sun began a new day for the Crow people. I appreciated being invited to the breakfast to follow, and would have enjoyed it but there was a certain intimacy here that I could appreciate but not fully share. I felt they deserved their privacy.
Tribal politics is a mixed bag. I’ve described the traditional ideal, where Indian democracy is a matter of authority to govern arising from the people, which is a lovely and effective tradition. Yet in modern times, tribal government produces a situation where people tear at each other. My first response to Indian friends was that this is as bad as the non-Indian government patronage system and their response usually is that it’s much worse. Let’s look at the contrast between the Indian ideal and the present situation in which they find themselves.
The root of the problem is that there just aren’t enough jobs to go around. To generalize, Indian people haven’t done well with the capitalistic system because of their ethic to share with each other. In our system a rich man is rich in part because he refuses to share his wealth with friends and neighbors, and by this method accumulates capital. If he shared with the poor, and there are plenty of needy people in any system, he’d soon go out of business. Indians do share, and it’s impossible to accumulate much while neighbors still have needs.
The jobs open to Indians living on reservations mostly consist of work for either BIA or tribal government, because there is little work elsewhere. Throughout this book you will see that BIA employees often are required to do harm to their fellows, have no right of free speech, etc., so working there is not a complete blessing although it puts food on the table and provides something to share with relatives and neighbors.
The next source of jobs is with tribal government, mostly in the administration of contracts with the federal government, again related to BIA which controls the purse strings. Still, there is more “at home” control here, and tribal government does the hiring and firing of tribal employees. Tribal political groups need votes to survive, along with campaign money, and they demand political loyalty and campaign contributions from tribal employees. From this you can see that tribal political loyalties are a matter of financial survival. As a practical matter, you can drop that word “financial,” and think of it simply as survival. If you’re not “loyal” to the group in control of tribal government, you simply don’t eat very often, and end up living in a tar-paper shack with no running water.
Indians after all are human, and where the pressure is great enough, they like most people falter and sometimes fail to live up to their own standards. Perhaps you personally can handle living on beans and government surplus commodities, and can find an old wheel barrow to use for hauling wood for your winter’s heat, but then what about your family? Remember that in a tribe you always have a large family with shared responsibilities, and even if you have no spouse or kids, there are parents and cousins that expect some help from you. You can have your integrity and beans if you abandon your relatives, or try for a job with BIA or tribal government, there is simply no other choice.
From this comes a loss of personal integrity, and the tribe becomes divided between those who swallow their pride to take the jobs, and those who suffer real poverty and yet envy those who sell themselves. Of course they battle over the few jobs, and tribal values of kindness and sharing get damaged in the process.
Perhaps you can get around this system, get an education and teach in the local school system. Who’s in control there? It’s the white ranchers. They likely are a minority, but they own the souls of the Indians whose land they lease, and by this method remain in control of the schools. It’s a tough battle, and one that tears the tribe apart. The whites love it, and say with a smirk that “those corrupt Indians are simply unable to govern themselves.” Behind it all you see the result of poverty, coming from the white greed to take the Indian land.
I would like to be able to tell you that my friend Richard Real Bird is a hero who has never compromised his tribal ethic for personal gain, and to contrast him with the next Chairperson, Clara Nomee, who in my opinion sold-out to the white ranchers and Federal politicians. How clear and simple that would be.
The truth is that I don’t know the truth, and can’t relate it to you. I have good personal friends in both “camps” or tribal political parties, and those on Clara’s side tell me I’m living in a fool’s paradise if I see Richard as “clean clear through.” Both sides are accused by the other of pocketing millions of dollars, and tribal politics, like the Federal image it is required to conform to, is seen by most as a dirty business.
I don’t have the absolute knowledge needed to tell you that Richard is without fault, but still it is an absolute that he is the only living Crow tribal leader who had the courage to confront BIA. That was a heroic deed, and enough for me to conclude that Richard deserves my admiration. He was then, and remains now, a decent, fine and heroic man who has paid the price for taking a stand for the Crow People.
Who pocketed money, if indeed anyone did, is a matter of speculation that will most likely never be resolved. Innuendo is a nasty business, so I suggest you give it no power, and assume Richard’s complete innocence, as I do. We can be sure that the FBI will continue to monitor Richard closely, and that Clara Nomee, who appears to have the approval of BIA, will escape notice as long as she exhibits loyalty to the powers that be.