Chapter 23: Small Nation

The sky is the daily bread of the eyes.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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A quarterly Crow Tribal Council meeting was scheduled on Saturday, July 9, 1988. This is a tribal government where all members vote on issues, with consensus as the goal, something like the early American town meetings or the Cantons of Switzerland. The meeting was held in the Little Big Horn College gymnasium, and it was as hot as a mid-summer Montana day can get.
My good friend Sally Noe, from Billings, attended the meeting with me. As a child, Sally attended Crow Agency grade school while her mother, Bernice Lamey, taught there, and her father, John Lamey, served as a forest ranger for the Indian Service. My friendships with John and Bernice, and their daughter Sally provided a personal connection to some of the Crow People who remembered the Lamey’s years at Crow Agency.
Bernice gets my thanks for allowing, for the first time ever, the use of traditional Crow dress in the Crow Agency grade school Christmas pageant. This was during the 1940’s, and in previous years the white teachers and all-white school board required a typical Christian ritual (Mary and the Christ Child, etc.) to be celebrated by the traditionally non-Christian Crow children.
Bernice, instead, designed a theme around Santa Claus, which is less oppressive to non-Christians than a manger scene celebrating the birth of Christ. A child playing Mrs. Santa opened gifts, with a toy drum leading to a Crow Indian dance, another toy introduced a child who could tap dance, etc. The central role, Mrs. Claus, was played by a talented child who happened to be half Indian and half black. To the other teachers and the school board, this was unforgivable, and Bernice Lamey was marked as a trouble-maker.
Bernice had been taught in normal school (college education courses) that it was desirable for a teacher to visit parents in their homes. She did that, and her action was found to be unforgivable. The other teachers told her that you just don’t go into the homes of “those” people. Bernice had crossed the line, and her contract was not renewed. Bernice is now old and blind, and after almost fifty years she still can’t understand what she did that was wrong! Blessings upon you, Bernice, for doing the best you could and for your attempt at human kindness.
While at the Council meeting, I learned that a Sundance was to be held soon in the Crow village of Prior, and that the “sponsor” or chief lay-priest was to be Eddie Round Face, a man I had just recently met. I knew little about the Sundance and wondered if it would be possible for me to witness it. I knew the Sundance was serious religious ritual, rather than an entertainment. If tourists and outsiders crowd in to watch, they are not turned away because the Crow are hospitable people. Still, worship is serious business, and Indians at prayer don’t like to be stared at.
With that in mind, I whispered a few questions to Elders seated nearby, but did not learn much. After the meeting, we all moved outdoors under shade trees near the BIA buildings. We sat on folding chairs to cool off, waiting for the picnic dinner to be served.
I don’t know how Eddie Round Face knew I had inquired about the dance, but suddenly he came to where I was seated, bent down so his face was on a level with mine, looked in my eyes and earnestly said “will you fast?”
I did not understand what he was talking about, so I just shook my head “no,” and he turned and walked away. It was only later that I discovered that my response to the Sundance Priest was very rude. The words he spoke to me were the traditional invitation to enter the holy circle of the Sunlodge as a dancer, and among the Crow People it is a special privilege to be so invited. Like a command performance the invitation is seldom refused.
Almost immediately an Elder approached, and announced “I am making you a ???,” with the last word in the Crow language, unknown to me. A friend seated nearby said the word meant “apron,” the exquisitely beaded sarong-like skirt worn only by Sundance participants.
It took a day or two for the meaning of the words will you fast to soak in. Eddie didn’t have a telephone so I couldn’t phone later to explain myself, and at any rate a day or two had passed before I understood that I had been invited to dance in the most sacred of all Crow religious celebrations. In ignorance I had responded to the invitation in a way that could only be taken as crude.
I felt that I should learn more about the Sundance before participating, and it seemed best to attend one first as an observer. That’s the nice answer, but it is not fully true. I was living on my last few dollars of borrowed money, and I was ashamed to admit my poverty. By Crow tradition, gifts are expected from the dancers to cover the heavy expenses of the Sundance, and I had no money for gifts or even enough to feed myself. Eddie was a poor man, and had put everything he owned into covering the costs of this dance. I simply could not ask him to pay my way.
Lacking money, I also lacked food and my diet at that time was not enough to sustain my weight. I feared that I would not have the physical strength to go without food and water for three days.
I gradually learned that the Crow were so very accepting of me that I did not need permission to attend any tribal function. In every way they treated me as one of their own, on a par with their tribal Elders.
With some tribes the Sundance has fallen from grace. It has become a show for tourists rather than a private religious experience. This is not true with the Crow. To make a comparison to the outside world, the Sundance has some resemblance to an Easter sunrise prayer service. It resembles a special Christian litany reserved for times of peril, personal dedication, redemption and thanksgiving. The Sundance is not secret, but it is intensely religious and it is private.
The very few non-Indian friends I have taken with me to the Crow Sundance were carefully selected. They understood that my purpose was to lend emotional support to the dancers and share in their spiritual experience, and they came to share with me rather than be entertained.
The Sundance at Prior, Montana was set to begin on Friday, July 15th. Those who are invited by the Priest to enter the holy circle of the Sunlodge swear to fast without food or water, until released about three days later by the Priest. No one, other than the dancers, is allowed to enter the circle, and none can leave it except for bodily necessities. There is an exception. Children and others who want to be blessed may purify themselves in the smoke of smoldering sage, and then enter the circle for a blessing from the Sundance Priest.
I planned to attend the Sundance late Friday night after a Church meeting. My friend Sally had left to return to her University duties in Ohio, so I invited another friend from the Unitarian Church, Virginia Burris, to come with me. We took sleeping bags in case it was desirable to stay over for the following morning’s sunrise ceremony. The gasoline for the Jeep took the last of my money.
It was well after midnight when we reached the tribal ceremonial grounds near Prior. In the bright moon light we could see the Sunlodge, a round structure made of poles and brush, with its top open to the stars and a wide doorway facing the East. There were thirty or forty camps set up in the area, with tents, brush shelters, camping trailers and small fires.
A tree was cut earlier, partly trimmed of branches and placed upright in the center of the Sunlodge. It is the place for the Eagle nest, and it marks the connection between the forces of the heavens and those of earth. It is an avenue for the Eagle Spirit. to connect with the earth.
We parked the Jeep in sight of the Sunlodge, but not close enough to be a distraction for the dancers. The dancers were all resting or sleeping on the ground, and the camp was quiet. Words cannot describe the magnificent Montana night. Quietly, we spread our sleeping bags and rested on our backs looking up at the sky. This is open range country, and five or six Indian ponies moved through the camp, grazing. On the slopes of Prior mountain, we could hear the howl of a single coyote.
Virginia and I were within speaking distance, and we talked for a few minutes about the beauty of the sky. I am not sure if either of us drifted off to sleep, because the night sky had such breathtaking beauty that it seemed a waste to close your eyes and miss it.
At about 4:30 AM, before the first glow of the new day, I became aware of movement, and saw that the dancers were all standing in reverent silence facing the East. With care, to not pass in front of the Sunlodge opening, we got up and stood silently beside the outer edge of the lodge.
The dancers were silent, as were we. It was a time for quiet. And then the drum began its beat, the dancers chanted and the sun appeared. After the singing, there were prayers. This was all in the Crow language, so I can not tell you the words, only how it felt.
I do know that they pray for the survival of the People; that the Crow Nation might live one more year.
During the day they pray for the coming of the Eagle Spirit, to bring courage and strength. In the evening they sometimes pray for rain, and always they pray for grace and justice. When words are said in English, rather than tell God what to do, they express thanks for what is.
And then a taboo was broken. The Sundance Priest broke it when he stepped outside the holy circle and left the Sunlodge. Eddie Round Face had come to shake my hand, and after him others came. I was told that whenever I was present in Crow Country, all of the people knew I was there. I was told that the next morning they would pray for the tribal leaders, and they would pray for me. I thanked the dancers for dancing, and knowing no better words said “God bless you.” I thanked Eddie, and put my arms around him.
Some four years later I explained to Eddie the feelings I experienced at that earlier time, and repeated my excuse of poverty. He made it clear that no gifts had been expected from me, and that I truly was welcomed as a dancer at the 1988 Prior Sundance he sponsored.
The experience touched my heart. Words fall short, but I tried to express the feeling of Prior Sundance for you in the poem that follows. You should know that three mountain ranges surround the reservation, and the tribe has a small herd of buffalo. Try to imagine that you are there with me.


SMALL NATION
Three mountains guard small Nation’s place, open country where ponies run free. High on the bluff beyond the stream a buffalo gives birth to her calf.
At night Gentle People lie awake on the ground to taste the warm summer night. They are tired from dance but sleep won’t come, they would miss the beauty of sky.
The heavens are filled with sharp points of light while a coyote sings his song. The stars show all that has ever been, and the wonder of all to come.
The Sunlodge faces the dawn, holy circle open to sky. The people build an Eagle nest, hearts beat in time with the drum.
The people fast, by day they dance to call the Spirit down. The Eagle has courage and strength, they say and her whistle blows evil away.
Before first light the people stand, silently side by side to face morning sun and pray in heavenly glow. The stars at night speak all the words that anyone needs to know.
They watch with excitement for sun to come, for sun and earth have no end like First Creator, life and birth.
Small Nation is surrounded by white man’s greed, which kills as surely as smallpox did. There is little meat, the ponies are thin and outsiders wait to take their land.
But as the sun begins to show they drum it across the sky. Crow People are happy with traditional life, the values and language they hold so dear. They pray “Crow Nation live one more year, and rain, come down with Thunder Bird.”
They speak to Christ fearing original sin but the Elders say “God is kind, your babies are innocent like buffalo calf, and the sun will continue to shine.”
Eddie Round Face is the Sundance Priest, he smiled when he shook my hand. He knows Eagle Spirit will come this year, last night rain fell on the land.
The people are proud to remember their Chiefs, and dance whenever allowed. They honor their Elders, share what they have and refuse to abandon their past.
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During that weekend I returned to the Sundance several times, bringing one new friend each time; most of them happened to be female. Crow Indians enjoy “kidding” and fun. Several times I noticed various Crow men would hold up a hand with two or three fingers raised, and give me a big smile. I asked one man what this was all about, and was told “that makes three pretty women I’ve seen you with this week.” They were keeping count of my female companions, and having fun doing it.
After finding out what the game was, the next time someone smiled while waving three fingers, I’d smile back and raise four or five fingers. Both of us would break out laughing, without a word being exchanged while my companion of the moment innocently wondered what was going on.
As a technical note, the Sponsor role is not identical with that of Sundance Priest, who is another individual chosen from the relatives of the Sponsor. I used “poetic license” to not segregate these similar Sundance roles and functions.
One evening the dancers prayed for rain. Rain poured down most of that night. Rain in Montana from clear July skies is rare, but the dancers were not surprised, nor was I. For their version of belief in that which is holy, they have often been called heathen savages. These Gentle People have reverence for the land and for all things in it.
I tell you that their beliefs honor God as well as nature. As long as the Crow People live there will be an Eagle Spirit and the earth will be loved as a sacred place. Their great love for each other is inclusive; outsiders are welcomed rather than being excluded. They share what little they have with each other, and remember their proud heritage.
TRIBALISM:
While writing this I was staying in Thousand Oaks, California, a suburb beyond the outskirts of Los Angeles. Every day there are killings in LA, mostly gang related. A day or two before I wrote these words a local boy was killed because he wore a red sweat shirt, and was mistaken for a “Blood” gang member who had strayed into the wrong territory. He was murdered because the shirt was the wrong color.
What are these gangs that search for identity? They are an immature attempt at forming tribes, for we all need some place, some group that fills our longing for self-worth. We ignore the lesson of the American Indian. Their groups had ten thousand years or more in isolation to develop a system for living. There are some signs left of ancient powerful central governments, and some signs of ancient temples; a church controlled society. But that passed, and what survived was the tribe. We must learn from these hundreds of civilizations that arrived at similar solutions.
It appears to me that in countless areas of religion, democracy, the sharing of wealth, law enforcement, child rearing, loving kindness, mutual support and social structure, Indians people had developed superior, rather than inferior, ways of living. Don’t get carried away - there were still plenty of social problems, such as tribal wars, and those problems remain unsolved. Let us learn from these advanced societies instead of destroying them because they are different from us.
The tribe is not some recent social experiment, like the two party system, democracy or communism, but a tested system that has survived the centuries. The lesson of the tribe is that the tribe works. It has evolved and in one form or another was developed and adopted by literally hundreds of Indian societies.
What does the tribe do ? It is government, social, religion and family combined. Perhaps you are beginning to see why Indians don’t want to abandon their tribes. The loss of the tribe means death to the culture, death to the American Indian. All of us are damaged by that.