Archives for posts with tag: Floyd Heavyrunner

Relating to the original perception-philosophy of North America as known by just a few Blackfoot into modern times, it was Floyd HeavyRunner had stated to me on more than one occasion his opinion “the Aztecs got the Spaniards because they had strayed furthest from the true way.” Not that he thought the Blackfeet were in any respect lucky.

Another observation of Floyd’s was to relate a story of an anthropologist who’d visited one of his elder cousins to understand matters the old people by now realized the Europeans had no capacity to grasp. When inquiring of phenomena along the lines of what the Niitsitapi had known as ‘naaks’ (the consciousness possessed by ones surroundings in nature), Floyd’s ‘uncle’ had finally stated to the anthropologist “I could explain it to you until we’re both blue in the face and you’d never get it!” Now it’s my turn to try:

There is a theory had been postulated by Princeton Professor Julian Jaynes on ancient consciousness he labelled the ‘bi-carmel mind.’ He came close to the ancient mentality I have attempted to explain but he wasn’t spot on. He expected there was no sense of ‘I’ in the ancients. In a way this is correct but his first mistake was the assumption of no self-awareness. His second mistake was of audio and visual hallucinations which must be obeyed. It doesn’t work like that. I can understand the typical western mentality could struggle with the idea one could possess self awareness without ego, but in fact this is possible. The point of explaining about the ‘living clock’ had been to illustrate one can see oneself as integrated to a larger consciousness or as a cell in a greater organism attuned to purpose stemming from a mystery one can function within but never issue dictum.  Here is examples of how it practically functions:

Your mind can search but none of this is necessarily meaningful or possessed of element of reality until the ‘clock’ confirms what it is you need to know, from one event to the next. Suppose you came to a fork in the trail in unfamiliar territory; your mind puts out a question .. ‘which path?’ A large bird of prey suddenly (in that precise moment of asking) drops out of a tree and flies down one of the forks and your direction is known. This (or similar experience) will be the consistent, accurate, observable phenomena for those who keep tuned to or live within the ‘timing.’

And yes, you could hear voices but unlike the western schizophrenic, there is no imperative other than a rational trust. For instance, in a potentially lethal circumstance you might have to make a split-second decision that would determine life or death when faced with a choice; and a ‘voice’ you both know and trust states clearly what you must do and it will have been precisely the correct decision to save one’s life.

These preceding are but two examples of the ancient mentality’s capability which also included long distance sight in real time (‘remote viewing’) with phenomenal accuracy and more. I’ve lived in this world, in community which experienced these things and I know it works.

Now, if the ancient model of understanding is correct; that is our ‘cosmos’ is possessed of its own unique awareness, is a sentient being in its own right, is possessed with powers of volition altogether independent of European cultural mentality concept; and this sentient awareness cares more for the whole of everything than any individual or individual species; then it stands to reason every manipulation attempted by modern civilization to prolong itself against the will of our cosmos will be frustrated; no clever trick will suffice, no computer model sustain, no remedy be adequate: to pursue any future that does not fall into line with our cosmos determination of the direction to be taken. In which case, we’ll be increasingly ‘erased’ until humanity decides to back off and quit piling on the pressure the current model or ‘sustained development’ demands of our environment.

I’m not going into the ancient concept of ‘linear time’ for the simple reason it just seems like too much to try and explain. I’ll simply note it would be really smart to stop digging things up, whether hydrocarbons or archaeology.

Fear and survival instinct are distinct things, fear attends only the western ego ‘I’ which senses it is not real. Got a heavy perspiration-body odor problem that isn’t physical labor related? You’ve got fear. This can be shut down with reorganizing the mind on ancient model.

It was likely the common cold had depopulated the native nations first, followed by measles and small pox. These initial depopulation events had preceded Coronado from the south and had run their course before New England was colonized. The legacy of this is the tipi rings anthropologists generally (mistakenly) believe are much older. Prior to adopting wooden stakes from the early trans-Appalachia traders tents, it had been the habit of the Plains Indians to stack the stones used to secure their tipis, when breaking camp. In cases where the stones had not been stacked, leaving tipi rings, it indicates de facto burial sites where the occupants had died. I chuckle at the anthropologists scratching their heads over clusters of cairns to which purpose they’ve no idea to assign, and subject to endless speculations; failing to understand it is little more than a case of ‘good housekeeping’ where the stones were neatly stacked when the tipis had been taken down and camp moved.

Most of Big Lake’s band of Small Robes had been destroyed by the Crow .. where a large remnant of surviving women and children were the base from which a Blackfoot speaking band of Crow Indians had sprung. After this event, Big Lake’s people, the Small Robes, vanish as a proper entity from the Blackfoot oral history. There were a few scattered Small Robes remnants assimilated by the other bands.

It was the Aputosi Pikuni were expelled for criminal behaviors following the Jesuits making inroads into that group. This fact earned them the sobriquet ‘Ski-ni’ Pikuni which is hard for me to translate but means something along the lines of ‘poor’ in a sense of who they’d become.

I have to shut this off somewhere and because we should never altogether exclude humor, I’ll close with this anecdote. It was Mike Little Dog had related a story to me of stark contrast of between the ancient man and the modern. According to Mike, when he’d  returned from the Korean War, there was opportunity to make money as extras in a film. This was a generation of Blackfeet who knew hard physical work, and it was the strong young men of his generation were cast as warriors. To add authenticity, real bows belonging to their ancestors were brought out of a collection .. and the bows of their grandfathers were so strong .. they couldn’t pull them!

*

Cosmos & Cosmology Cross-cultural encroachment (1)

Cosmos & Environment Cross-Cultural encroachment (2)

Cosmos & The Nation Cross-cultural encroachment (3)

Cosmos & The Clan Cross-cultural encroachment (4)

Cosmos & The Family Cross-cultural encroachment (5)

Cosmos & The Self Cross-cultural encroachment (6)

Cosmos & Consciousness Cross-cultural encroachment (7)

Cosmos & Consciousness (notes)

*

Life in Indian Country

Ron10

^ The author (now in my 8th year of exile)

“Ron’s essay on the Stick Game is the best and most insightful description of this game and its spiritual underpinnings extant in the literature” -Karl Schlesier, Professor Emeritus of Anthropology

Stick Game or ‘The Witches’

“Considering the Stick Game, each time you pick up the Bones, you take your life in your hands.” Floyd Heavy Runner

I had a Love/Hate relationship with many of the Indian Stick Game players, some loved that the fact I could play the game, and win, and some hated the fact that I did it as a Whiteman. Sort of like the rise of American Soccer chipping away at one of the last domains where Mexico has ruled over an American nation that has historically humiliated them in so many respects. To some of the Indians, it was the same feeling at Stick Game, my skill at the game just hurt them, what would the Whiteman take next, there was damn little left that he had not already grabbed. I have little sympathy for that point of view, and it misses the point as concerns me. This simply was a game that I loved. On the other hand, there were Indians that thoroughly enjoyed the fact that I would, time to time, take the ‘Point’, or leadership of a team, and destroy the opposition, game after game, throughout the course of a night. These Indians were the ones that did not get caught up in the Red/White politic, but were purely into the technical detail of the game, the game for the sake of the game, and admired my skill. Skill and winning was all that mattered. And that is the approach of the better Stick Game players.

Stick Game, closely scrutinized, analyzed in its totality, could fascinate or disturb a lot of white people, for diverse reasons. Giving the anthropologists something to think over, Stick Game is identical in its mathematical principle and cultural application, to the values of the I Ching, the Bones values representing the old & young Yin & Yang, and the divination revealing the relationships of Man to the movement of energy in Nature. I realized these people are identical to the Taoists in their theory of the world -as it applies to this game- and the game is, culturally speaking, an elder brother of the oracles of Chinese Civilization. The Whiteman’s physical scientists could consider the games ability to shred their laws of mathematical probabilities, when a team goes on a winning streak, perhaps leaving their physicists stumped. The 900 toll number telephone psychics, and the new age channels, could give up their fraud and amateur efforts, respectively, in exchange for the real thing at Stick Game, and they would not stand a chance. And among many other natural phenomena they freak out over, the Evangelists can freak out over the Sorceries, or Witchcraft, associated with the game.

Stick Game has replaced Inter-Tribal Warfare and Horse Stealing as the equivalent of the Olympics in the Western tribes of native North America. The game is everything in the Indian world that is not Western or White. It epitomizes the pre-western, aboriginal method of thought.

This Stick Game chapter will seem perhaps a bit tedious to some in the first several pages.. but the intent here is not only to tell the stories but to actually teach the basics of this ancient aboriginal divination. A bit of perseverance in these first pages pays off well in subsequently following the stories of the game itself.

Stick Game takes its name from the sticks that are employed as a sort of chit- keeping, the tally of points earned or deducted. Other names for the game, in various forms and applications are; Bone Game (for the bits of bone used in the games required divinations); Hand Game (after the players hands hiding the bones); Feather Game (aka Holy Hand Game, for the requirement to interpret the divination by a special feather attached to a divining stick- a variation more typical of formal decision making in a religious context); or just Game. Most Stick Game is played in a common gambling and entertainment form. In this form, you will find the open field combat of the Medicine Warriors, the Witches and the Sorcerers. This is the form of the game that I loved.

The mechanics of the game may seem simple. It is not a simple game.

I knew the game well in two forms, Blackfeet style and, more importantly, Flathead style: Flathead style is the most common inter-tribal form used at most of the common, or ‘open’ gambling games, regardless of the games tribal location. So I will talk about the Flathead style, because if you visit a western states pow wow, and see this game in public, chances are that Flathead style is the game you would see being played.

‘Taking the Point’ is leading a side in a game. A ‘Point’ is making a divining choice. The ‘Pointer’, is the leader of your war party, and makes the guesses, leads the singing or designates a song leader, chooses your teams hiders, the ones that will conceal the ‘Bones’, in short, the Pointer is the chief of your team for that game. Traditionally this leader keeps the ‘Point’, so long as he or she continues to direct winning play of the game. If there is a loss, in any given game, more often than not, the leader, which had led a team to defeat, will surrender the ‘Point’ to another player for the next game. Usually the change of point follows some informal seniority order within the group making up that team.

A typical game kit is 11 sticks, five each with identical designs but different colors and a ‘Kick’ stick that incorporates the design in both colors, and two sets of Bones: each set of Bones has one marked Bone, and one unmarked Bone. Each Bone set must generally follow these specifications: Each Bone must be easily concealable in a fist, and the marked Bone must be clearly marked and easily differentiated from the unmarked Bone.

To begin a game, the two team leaders face off, each with one set of Bones from their respective game kits. Now the two leaders play for the ‘Kick’ stick. Each of them hides their bones in their fists, perhaps placing their hands behind their backs or under their shirt to conceal from the other which Bone went to which hand. But now they must reveal their respective fists clutching the Bones for the other to see, perhaps placing their fists on their knees, or holding them in front of their bodies, arms crossed. Now with gestures of a fist or head, they guess each other, each looking for the unmarked Bone of the other. If necessary, they will guess again and again, until one has guessed correctly and the other has missed with his guess. Then the game begins. Whoever wins the Kick, their team has the absolute advantage to start the game. The Kick winner’s game kit is used, their sticks and bones will be played. The other puts his Bones and sticks away. The Kick winner hands, or tosses to the other team, five of his sticks. Then he puts the Kick stick, already won, away. Each team leader now, sometimes very ritualistically, arranges the five sticks per team on the ground between the teams, these ten sticks belong to the earth, and neither team is in real possession of them yet. The Kick winning team is already drumming and singing. They presently possess both sets of Bones.

I have played in games with 200 players and singers, and 30 or 40 hand drums, back in the 1970’s, when Stick Game was still really big. The teams’ array face to face in long horizontal lines. There is probably about a ten foot ‘no mans land’ between them. At the richer tribes, I have seen as much as US$18,000 wrapped in a large scarf, or a shawl, lying on the ground between the teams, the collective wager for a single game. Often these games largely represented, in their makeup, the historical warfare between the differing tribes. Often times, the older songs employed in these games represented accounts of past victories against the foes they were facing.

Now the Kick winning leader, perhaps standing up to better survey who is present and playing for him, decides who will hide the Bones for his team. He will take his time to choose, and then delivers the Bones to his hiders. By this time, the opposing team leader is perhaps looking deliberately disinterested in his opponents magical incantations, acted out in pantomime with the Bones. Fists clutching Bones, especially in the hands of the women, are sometimes doing something akin to Hawaiian Dance moves, as the singing and drumming team taunts him, daring him to guess. He can take his time, but he must make a choice. A game can last ten minutes. A game can last ten hours. You never know what to expect.

The Point in this initial run of the game presents 4 possibilities, looking at the drumming and singing Indians facing him, the diviner, the Chief of the team that wants to win the Bones to his side, must first make an accurate determination of what he is faced with. He knows the mechanics, his Point must be either the ‘Outside’, the fists facing him in that choice would be the right hand of the hider facing him on his left and the left hand of the hider facing him to his right, the ‘Middle’, the fists of the arms between the hiders facing him, opposite of the previous, or, he must call open both the left fists or both the right fists of the hiders on the team presently singing. One guess, two hiders. He must find the unmarked Bone of each. He points his right forefinger to the ground directly to his front and nods affirmation, his guess is the Middle, and the hiders must open their hands and reveal the Bones. Both hiders suddenly bring their fists together, they have been caught, the singing stops, he has won the Bones. The Bones are thrown across the no-mans-land to the man that just made this first Point, now his Indians begin to sing, but only the Bones have been won, and with them the right to hide, the sticks have not moved from the ground. It is like winning the serve in Volleyball, there is no score on the exchange. Now the circumstance of play is reversed between the teams.

Now the pointer who had won the Kick is faced with divining, his opposition is singing and taunting, the drums are loud, and in this incredible din he must be able to find his sight, be able to see the unmarked Bones through the concealment and bring them back. He makes his shot, extending his right arm, forefinger pointing directly off to his right, he has guessed both opposing players left hands when he adds the required affirmation to his guess, in this case he simply shouts above the din, Hey!, the opposing hiders, both women, chirp “Ki –yi-yi-yi, and the entire singing team is instantly frenzied, fingers shaking to the beat at the guesser who has just missed both the hiders’ positions with his guess, the opened hands revealing his mistake for all to see, he has guessed the marked Bones, he reaches to the ground and picks up two sticks, throwing them across the no-mans-land to the singing team, their hiders have ‘ducked’, bones and hands concealed from view as they prepare the bones positions, they are entitled to hide again, now the fists emerge back into to view, the singing team is animated now, singing loudly together, these women hiders are experts. The Pointer looks at the ground trying to block out the noise, and gather his concentration. Now the Pointer must decide if the women hiders have ‘stayed’, or if they have ‘run’ with the Bones, he has to guess them both again, and deciding both women have changed hands with the unmarked Bones, believing they have ‘run’ he makes the identical guess as before, again both women give the Ki-yi-yi-yi, bringing their team to its feet, now standing, dancing in place to drums, sing and play, they are on a roll, the women exhibit their open hands, neither unmarked Bone had been moved, they had both ‘stayed’, the Pointer had guessed the two marked Bones again. The pointer again picks up two sticks and throws them across to the singing team and then gestures to the singing team that he has passed the next guess to a woman sitting next to him, perhaps this woman can divine the women hiders. The hiders have ducked and now the fists come out again, inviting another mistaken point. Now this newly designated woman Pointer is the focus of the taunts, as she attempts to concentrate on making a good point. She closes her eyes and places her face in her hands, elbows on her knees sitting in a folding chair, she looks without physical sight for the bones and ‘sees’ the younger woman has run, she has switched the Bones positions in her hands, but she cannot ‘see’ the older woman’s Bones, her ‘sight’ is blocked, she can only guess. Eyes open and looking now, she attempts the physical sight scrutiny of the older hider. Nothing is revealed. Still she can only guess. Suddenly this woman makes up her mind and points to the ‘Middle’ and nods her affirmation that this is indeed her decision, the younger woman throws her bones across, busted, but the other woman hider again gives the Ki-yi-yi-yi opening her hands to reveal the mistake.* Now the woman pointer throws one stick across and give the set of Bones she has won back to her original team leader. The singing team is sitting again, all eyes are on their remaining hider, will she run?, will she stay?, the original pointer takes the single set of bones and ducks with them, it appears he will guess her one on one in the same style as is sometimes used to win the Kick stick. Now he comes out with his fists and holding his fists in the air, he shouts Hey! Notifying the hider he has decided.. but she will not show, she shakes her head in the negative, he must open his hands first, he put his hands back under a blanket on his lap, as though undecided, but this woman knows all the technical detail of the game, the obscure rules, she has called his bluff, his hands had concealed nothing, a trick, but she did not bite and he looks foolish now, and actually that was his intention for her, to make her look foolish and break her rhythm. His confidence is shaken. He gives the Bones, this set presently employed for the purpose of guessing, back to the woman that had won them, but she has seen his confidence shaken, and that pulls her confidence down too. But she makes the guess, holding her hands extended, palms up with a bone in each, and with her trademark nod in the affirmative, this is her guess, and the woman hider is chirping again Ki-yi-yi-yi, and the singing team’s leader now reaches down and picks up a stick from the ground in from of him, there are only four sticks left on the ground, some of his singers are now waving ‘bye-bye’ in their taunts at the opposition that cannot divine their woman hiding the Bones. Now many of the players on the guessing team, not having drummed or sang since winning the Kick, are looking glum or serious, being taken down from the get-go in a game is unlucky, embarrassing. Now the set of Bones with the guessing team is passed, guess by guess, to different players trying to stop the woman hider on the singing team and with each mistake another stick is picked up from the ground by the singing team, until all are gone. Now the guessing team has only the Kick stick to defend. The pointer pulls it out and stabs the Kick stick into the ground like a stake. He throws the bones, his own Bones that have failed him, onto the ground, and points his forefinger in the direction the Bones indicate the guess.. wrong again, the game is over. Finished. The winning team jumps on the bet, matched amounts of money, waiting in the no-mans-land. It may have lasted 15 minutes.

* with the information provided up to this point, you now have all the necessary knowledge to determine on which side each hider is facing you, old or young, your left or your right, and in which hand each held the unmarked bone for this guess. Can you sort it out?

The preceding description is a general picture of the game, as I have seen it played many times, and describes what happens when a team of journeyman players runs into a set of crack players. This has happened, much as described above, countless times. But it is the exception, not the rule. There is no typical game, games last 30 minutes, an hour, 2 hours, 10 hours (I hated those games.) It is a matter of not only skill, it is about collective will.

I am not going to give up all of my Stick Game secrets, the old Medicine Ways shared with me, here. What point, example given, would there be in telling you that the white, very old wild dog shit, Coyote shit from the prairie, is good protection against a particular kind of Indian witch at Stick Game, when that same Indian witch, when not sitting opposite me at Stick Game, is my friend? I mostly won’t go there, the where’s, whys and how’s of that. Anyway, that sort of thing is truly dangerous, if you do not know how to read the context of the sorceries going on in a given game, something like that little piece of crap can, in a manner of speaking, explode in your face. But there is plenty I can, and will tell. Some of it perhaps useful to a player that might read this, some of it interesting to people who just want to know. I will reconstruct some of my own play in games here, intended as instructive/entertaining descriptions.

I know that my presence as a Pointer bothered a lot of the Indians I faced in competition over the years. Floyd Heavy Runner’s daughter, Sarah, once made a somewhat hilarious observation in casual conversation that I can relate to this. I was enjoying lying in the prairie grass by a campfire at one of our outdoor summer campsites by the Badger Canyon, there were visiting Indians, everything was relaxed and cool. There is always joking going on, these are incredibly fun and self deprecating people who, when among themselves, make jokes about nearly everything having to do with life. Someone was telling what could be taken as a racist joke, a joke story about a ‘honky’, these stories did not bother me, I made my own jokes about my race, as the Blackfeet did theirs. When the joke had been told, I noticed one of the visitors looking somewhat wide eyed at me, for a reaction. Sarah also noticed and chimed in, “Don’t worry about Ron, he doesn’t realize he’s not an Indian.” That drew even more laughs.

Having Indians like Sarah, people who did not concern themselves with my race, on my Stick Game teams, and faced with racially conflicted Indian opposition on many occasions at the games, I believe gave me an advantage that very few may have ever known when playing the game. Add the fact that further, I had the most knowledgeable possible teachers and was a meticulous student of the game, and you sometimes met with a recipe for disaster as an Indian facing me in the game for the first time. No matter how good a player you were, not far into the game, fear could strike you. I had become a master of the obscure rules and technical detail. Also, I played the race card in subtle ways, to my psychological advantage, when faced with racially conflicted Indians. Stick Game is War, and short of cheating with the Bones, or getting angry (never get angry at Stick Game, a cardinal rule, if you get angry, you are really finished), you do whatever it takes to win.

One time I was faced with a Pointer I knew did not like me, did not like Whites. He was typically one of the better game leaders in our region. By this time I was also known as a premier Pointer. He was confident he could beat me, it would be a Coup for him to beat the Whiteman, and he was playing a strong game. So I resorted to a very dirty tactic, for me it was time tested and true against the racist Medicine Men that play the game. I noticed he had a lot of confidence in one song in particular when his team was singing and I made myself learn that song, listening, on the spot. Having won the Bones back, I signaled to my singers to sit quiet and I took a drum and sang his song back to him, making no move to chose my hiders, but singing several stanzas, the first ones correctly, to show him I had his song, and the subsequent stanzas I deliberately fucked up, while looking right at him and saw an expression that made it appear he had herniated his rectum right there. And then, without missing a beat, I converted to one of our teams songs, which my singers immediately picked up, and handing the drum back to its owner, I delivered the Bones to my hiders, now my entire team has picked up the singing and we took all of his sticks, game over.

Another time, a woman Pointer at Flathead, facing me for the first time, and having heard of my reputation, stated carelessly across the no-mans-land as we were preparing to play, “So I hear you are a ‘big time’ Bone handler.” With a straight face I fired right back “I will leave handling the ‘Big Bone’ to you”, an oblique reference to male anatomy. Coming from a Whiteman, that otherwise totally fair taunt killed her gaming ability, wrecked her psychology, before we ever played. An easy win for me.

On another occasion, I was not leading the game, but was playing as a hider. Our team’s leader was Ed North Piegan, a Canadian Blackfeet who had married a Browning Indian that was a relative of mine, Wilma Wells. I was doing a good job winning sticks, and the other team was nearly defeated. Chosen again to hide, after Ed had won the Bones back, Ed smiled approval at me from his chair, and as he was leaning forward in my direction, tossing me the Bones to hide again, and in full hearing of hundreds of Indians, a woman player, sitting close to Ed and pointing to me, shouted to the opposing team over the din of the drums, “This is your worst nightmare, look there, it is a Honky with the Bones.” Ed nearly fell out of his chair laughing, he knew my real value as a player.

Every Pointer has to wait, at times, for his or her turn to take a games leadership. Sometimes your turn comes up sooner if you are sitting on a persistently losing side that changes Pointers often. But even in that situation a good Pointer may have to wait. Such was the case for me with the big Inter-Tribal games at the Browning Indian Days Celebrations in the 1980s’. I never had the seniority of the other good Blackfeet Pointers and most of them would turn out for these games. So I was, in a manner of speaking, quite a ways down the list at these events. During those summer celebrations when the Blackfeet hosts were winning, and the games did not often change Pointers (I was always a ‘home team’ player), most times I had no opportunity to point at all. But I always got to play because I also was a good hider, not only a Pointer. There were, however, two memorable occasions that I was able to lead Blackfeet teams against other tribes teams at these big events.

On one of these occasions, there was a sort of inter-tribal team of All Stars, a select group of top players from several Canadian tribes that had made the trip together as a team, to take on the Browning Blackfeet at the Stick Games. The strategy of assembling this special team for the occasion had paid off. These Canadians, mostly Crees, had not lost a game since they had begun play, now it had been two days. The Blackfeet persistently took them on, again and again, Stick Game Indians at home just don’t give up. They can’t. These Crees could go home and brag that they had whipped their old enemies, the Blackfeet, but they would never be allowed to say they ran the Blackfeet out of their own games, that just would not happen.

One of my Blackfeet ‘Blood Brothers’ from Brockett, Andrew Small Legs, had been playing on our side since the beginning of this fiasco for the Blackfeet home team, and now it was his turn to take the Point. But he exercised his right to give his turn away to the Blackfeet player of his choice, and he gave the game to me. Andrew told me, “I have seen what you can do. I know you can take these people down.” It was about 9 PM. I had my big game. The Pointer for this amalgam of Crees was about 35 years old, and a friend of mine, Lloyd Chippewa, like myself a Vietnam veteran, was his main assistant. They had picked up Lloyd, a Montana Chippewa/Cree, and a good player, for advice on the Indians they would encounter at these games. Lloyd had played against our Blackfeet, and me, many times. I had also played with Lloyd, in the past, when we had banded together against common foes, such as at the games on the Flathead Reservation and at Fort Hall, Idaho, against the ‘Snake’ (Shoshone) Indians. Lloyd and I had also played together at Wellpinit, Washington, in a sort of informal national finals Stick Game event. We knew each other’s game well. But nobody on the side opposing me, including Lloyd, was prepared for me to take this game’s point, it was a complete surprise. Up to that moment, I had only sat and watched these games. But now I was sitting beside my brother Andrew, ready to begin. And these particular Crees, Lloyd excepted, had never faced a Whiteman leading a Stick Game before. That was their problem. This was the Big Time, and I would play my most skilled game, there would be no room for mistakes.

Looking across and seeing Lloyd, I wanted to modify the game I was most fond of, my technique that Lloyd knew, but I repressed that urge. I did not dare, at that point, deviate from my game scheme. It was a tested means of play, I had learned it from very old people some years before, it was good, and I did not want to place myself in unfamiliar territory by adopting a different technique. My game was good enough to give even Lloyd, who grasped it, a least a bit of a difficult time and he was not the main Pointer for their side, Lloyd had had no chance to explain me to his Pointer, consequently, importantly, the main body of Indians I faced would not realize, initially, that I would employ a very old method of play, complete with arcane rules. In Stick Game, you have to play up, to the level of game your opposition brings you. And you might be surprised to discover Stick Game is diverse in strategy, much like Chess, and there are many techniques that can be employed.

After four tries, the Crees won the Kick. They were singing, I put my kit away. Now I leaned back in my chair, close my eyes for 30 or 40 seconds and let my senses take in their drumming. I allow their drums into my head, and note any thoughts, visualizations or sensation the sound evokes to emerge, the ego is consciousness set aside, now I am in the disciplined meditative or waking dream state learned from fasting, a state of subconciousness I have learned to evoke at will. 30 seconds can seem like a long time in this state. I have found where I want to be, I see some things.

I will play the north-south variation of my game. There will be no middle or outside signals in my points, only both their right hands or both of the hiders left. I am willing to give up a stick to do that. Now I sit forward, opening my eyes, and look towards the hider to the north, my left, but keep my eyes unfocused and looking past this player with a set of Bones. I am studying the player with my peripheral vision, looking for energy fields. There is something dark clinging to her right side, perhaps the unmarked bone is masked there by her concentration, she is visualizing the marked bone as being on her right and directing that thought towards me. I make my decision regarding her, but make no indication of it, and turn my unfocused gaze to the other player. I see the dark energy on his right side as well, perhaps the unmarked Bones are set up that way, imbued with a dark masking energy to ward off a guess, and my several misses, while playing for the Kick, reinforce the thought. Suddenly I send my left arm north, forefinger extended, guessing both players right hands and nod. I have caught them both, now we can sing. Andrew looks across at the other side with the slightest cagey smile, he knows these Crees are in for a tough time.

Now I am surveying the Indians playing on my team, while standing with the four Bones in my hands, our people are singing and no one looks at me- it would be poor form while I am deciding who should hide. My people had been getting whipped around the clock up to now and I want hiders who have seen my play in the past, in games I have won for them, and have a confidence boost at my taking both sets of Bones with my first shot. But it cannot be Andrew, he is my 1st assistant in this game and hides with me either as a last resort if I get in trouble, or to make the kill, nearing the end of a game that goes our way. Meanwhile Andrew does nothing- unless I need him to make a point against a hider that gives me trouble.

I see a woman that is smiling and taunting, looking confident, and she seems familiar to me, I throw one set of Bones to her, the other set I give to a Browning woman that has played for me before. Their Pointer shoots and ‘kills’ my players, they both throw their Bones to the other side. Now I am using my ‘gaze’, my unfocused sight again, and I can see the dark energy on both their hiders, but it would require a shot from me to the Middle and I won’t go there. I pick up a stick and give it to Andrew, designating him to take this shot, but I also lean over to him and say just one word: “Middle.” Andrew takes the stick and acts as though he is in his own meditative state to divine the Bones, then suddenly points the stick to the ground and nods, the Middle, and both hider throw their Bones back across to us, Andrew hands me the Bones together with the stick, which I place back on the ground. Now we are singing and I return the Bones to the same women that were ‘killed’ on the last point against us. I want all my team to see my faith in my players.

Both of my hiders are looking at me and I make a peculiar fist signal to them both, use the ‘War Club’, hit them, both nod understanding and turn to concentrate on hiding without giving up clues, straight faces, unfocused gaze, refusing to react to, or notice, any of the many distractions directed at them by the opposing team. The opposing Pointer is looking at me now, I had just stalled his runs and momentum in these games, and he is checking out this Whiteman that runs a team like a professional. Well, I am a pro, and I notice one of his better players from earlier that night, a woman, is besides herself, barely able, actually not very well able to contain her outrage at what they are confronted with. I take note of that, her rage likely will be useful. Lloyd is just taking it in from the other side, he does not want to lose, but he knows it would be futile to try and explain what they are up against during the actual game, it would only distract his Pointer. His best chance is just to sit back and hope his Cree team can cope. They couldn’t. It was a short game that lasted perhaps twenty minutes and their streak was over. Winning the Bones back only twice more, and winning only two sticks, other than the Kick, which they ultimately were unable to hang on to, my hiders had gained confidence over the obviously rattled Crees. The two Points that I gave up a stick each, winning only one set of Bones on those points, happened when the energy showed me their hiders were on the ‘Outside’ and ‘Middle.’ I could not let Andrew take all those shots without chancing giving away clues that I could ‘see’ through to the bones and/or was playing a game with an element of Taboo. The old ones that had taught me the north-south variation, forbid shots to the middle and outside: it was a ‘Medicine Rule.’ So shooting only north or south, but able to ‘see’ the energy, I was able to always pick up one set of Bones on the first shot. When there is only one set of Bones being hidden for the second shot, there is no middle or outside, there is only north-south. So when they went outside or middle, my trade off was only one stick for both sets of bones, not bad. My hiders didn’t have that problem. At the moment the game ended, a Blackfeet women from our team, who could speak their language, told them in Cree “It took a Whiteman to beat you.” Their leadership, including Lloyd, disappeared for a short while to confer about the next game. Normally they could have left with their winnings after a loss following a long string of wins, not being a home team, but not under these circumstances. Now there was the matter of the Whiteman having defeated them, they could not leave without a victory over me. Now they were back in their chairs and ready to play again.

I had suspected Lloyd would be my next Point opponent, that was a near given, but what I really wondered was whether they would bring out a different set of Bones. The Bones we had used in the previous game obviously had been ‘Doctored’, the ‘ward off’ energy associated with the unmarked Bones in that set had worked against my team until I sat down to take the lead, but now the power of those Bones had fled to me. I liked them. Lloyd was asking the Pointer of the previous game for a Bone set. It was the same set. I brought out my Bone set, Lloyd had his set of Bones and we both hid for the Kick guesses. I had won the game, so Lloyd had to guess me first, and he indicated his choice of my hands. I did not show any expression or open my hands, but I guessed Lloyd while deliberately trying miss. He showed his bones, I had missed, and I did not even show my Bones, but simply threw them back into my bag as though Lloyd had caught me. I wanted to play with their Bones. They began singing, unknowingly taking a ‘thrown’ Kick, and Lloyd was preparing his game set for the upcoming play, dividing the sticks between us.

This would not be a north-south game on my part. Lloyd knew that game well and it would be too difficult for me. That was history, behind me, and besides the fact for this game. Anyway, I wanted to destroy this Cree team psychologically, devastate them right here, right now, while I had this advantage over their Bone sets. I only had to read the energy, which was clear to me, and I intended to take them down hard, as hard as I could.

My first shot was the ‘Middle’ and it killed them both. I have the Bones and we are singing. Lloyd looked surprised at me, but only momentarily. Lloyd was a consummate professional, a seriously good player of the game, and would not easily lose his composure. He won the Bones back handily. But he had a problem he was as yet unaware of. His team could not hide from me, their Bones had become traitors. Again I ‘Killed’ both his hiders, the Bones came back over to my side. We won a stick, and then Lloyd had the Bones back. Now, a third time I shot them down double and Lloyd is looking at me with a strange look, like ‘How did you do that’, but it was nothing compared to the look of the Cree woman that had been outraged at this entire circumstance, since I had taken the lead, a game back. She clearly wanted to really kill somebody, probably me. Now my team’s hiders took the next several sticks. Lloyd wins the Bones back again, and now, one of his hiders is this angry woman, and it is the first opportunity of the night I have to guess her. But she has a surprise in for me, and it appears she is on to me. She brings out two scarves to cover the Bones in her fists and suddenly I could not ‘see’ the energy of the Bones in her hands, she had nullified that advantage. Now I upset her some more, with a hand signal, I waved her off, I would not be guessing both her teams players at a single shot, and turned my attention solely to the other hider and promptly ‘Killed’ him, retrieved that set of Bones, and only then turned to her, with my full attention. She is looking right at me, angry, determined, and unafraid. I can’t let this turn of event get under my skin, I am not going to change my game now, it is too late for that, so I decide it is just a guessing game at this point, on any given guess with her, it is 50-50. I missed, tossed over a stick, she ducked to rehide, too fast, when she brought out her scarves again and looked up, it was right into my point, I had my arm extended already, just a pure guess, but she ran into it, and I had caught her. We had all of the Bones again, she had nearly thrown hers directly at me, not the cursory toss, and we could sing again now, and I took my time choosing hiders for my side, buying time to think over this new development.

This woman appeared to be angry for reasons other than I had initially thought. Clearly, she saw something that nobody else on her side was seeing, appearing to be on to me, demonstrated by her scarves, she was obviously upset, but she had not totally lost her composure, she was not afraid of me, she believed she could take me on, and that is not the rattled confidence typical of a racist Indian being humiliated by a Whiteman in a game they never believed a Whiteman should play. At least not in my experience up to this time. I was puzzled. Now, I was not so sure my quiver held the arrow with her name on it. But I could not just roll over, I had to come up with a solution to this player, otherwise she might go on a tear with the Bones. Meanwhile, my players are winning sticks, and Lloyd’s game is in trouble anyway. But the game still could go either way. Many times it has happened that a team with a pointer of Lloyds caliber, and just one effective hider, such as this angry woman possibly could be, can come all the way back, from a single stick, to win.

I had an idea, and Lloyd had won the bones back, but he was down to 3 sticks, including the Kick. I knew an obscure point gesture the angry woman might not know. The shot would have to be the ‘Outside’, everything would depend on luck, pure and simple. I did not even look for the ‘energy’ in the other hider, the player hiding other that this woman, the outcome of that hider, on this shot, would have to be incidental. I took up a stick, and grasping it between thumb and forefinger, precisely in its center, I held it, hand up, horizontal to the ground and nodded. She sat up sharply, neither showing the bones and ducking, or throwing them across. Now she looked at Lloyd with a ‘What does that mean?’ expression. Lloyd made to her the most common, one of several ‘Outside’ gestures, thumb and forefinger spread apart, and she was caught, it was a correct guess on my part. Very luckily, I won the Bones back from the other player as well. Now the angry woman had been, finally, at least momentarily shook up, and Lloyd had seen that. We took one stick, Lloyd won the Bones back but was now down to two sticks. However, Lloyd did not have confidence in the angry woman and did not return a set of Bones to her. I shot the outside again and won the Bones back and we again took one stick before Lloyd won the Bones back, now he had only the kick. Now Lloyd and the pointer from the previous game hid the Bones, their last ditch effort. Neither one of them believed I would come back a third time with an outside shot and they both placed the unmarked Bones in that position. It would not have mattered. I could ‘see’ the Bones and I shot the Outside shot again, a third time, and then we took the last stick with Lloyd’s next, and last guess. The game was over. Lloyd was stunned. It had been a fast game again. About 20 minutes.

After a short break, the woman was back, with a ‘god only knows where she found him’ Indian, this old man she sat with, to take me on for my third game, looked like a photo of Geronimo. He was wearing a Grizzly canine necklace. And together they beat me. Solidly. Andrew took the point for our side and we played them again.. in one of those collective contests of will that I hate, a game that dragged on all night. We lost again.

On another day, Lloyd and I, as friends, discussed the first two games in particular. After we talked, I was laughing in retrospect at what had happened. What neither Lloyd or I had known at the time these games were actually being played, was that this woman had, earlier in the day before I played, noticed me and pointed me out to the other Crees from Canada. She had seen me play at Flathead, was convinced that somehow I had been schooled in the old ways, informing the others I could “really play the game.” Without exception, the group had dismissed her account as preposterous. Whitemen can’t do that. Perception of your player’s judgment is paramount, and she was not trusted with the Bones in the first game against me. And that is why she was so mad.

A couple of years later, on a second memorable occasion I was to lead a Blackfeet team against another tribe, it was again against a group of Canadian Crees. It was towards the end of Indian Days in Browning, actually the last night of the Pow Wow and my Heart Butte family, the Wells, had been taking a beating. Towards daybreak, I took the lead and ‘thumbed’ my way to our first win. ‘Spud’ Wells one of my nephews, looked at me immediately following the victory and said “Do it again!”

Using your thumbs to point is a reverse guess, and I resorted to this because none of the good pointers in our family, and these were several very good pointers, had made any headway against the team we faced. Everyone had been consistently deceived into the wrong guess. So I used my thumb from the beginning, and pointing with the thumb only means the opposite of the direction you have pointed. It was working. When I felt pulled to a direction with my guess, I pointed that way with my thumb and I was beginning to knock them down, ‘killing’ the Bones, the first consistent success we had seen that night. These were not easy games, and into this second game, already a hour long, I had to shit, and it was desperate. I thought maybe I might have to rupture my big intestine to keep sitting there much longer. But I could not leave, I was the only pointer present that had handled this opposition with any success, and my family could not afford me to take an absence at this moment. There is no ‘Time Out’ in stick game, the only recess is between games. I was trapped. Now, desperate to escape this trap, for the first and last time ever in all my years of playing this game, I resorted to a truly dirty trick to win. I wanted the game over as soon as possible, but I was not willing to lose, to make a run for the toilet.

Choosing my moment, the next time their side had both sets of Bones, and when their hiders were ready, I used both my thumbs, my right hand thumb out and clear for all to see and pointed to my right, which by itself would mean both the opposite players right hands, but at the same moment, I also pointed with my left thumb, to the left, opposite direction, however with this thumb held closer into my body so that my players to my right could not see this part of my guess. Now, everyone but my own players to my right side have seen me make the real point, not both the hiders right hands, but the middle. When one of the opposing hiders properly expected a stick and to hide again, my players to my right, seeing my false guess intended only for them, became upset and the game stopped for a beginning argument. The entire opposition knew they were correct, my players to my right had the perception I had made a different guess, however they were not correct, and I did not immediately correct things with my players, but for just a couple of moments let the dispute develop to a point that the entire opposing team was beginning to get angry as well. Only at that critical moment, before it got really out of hand, I corrected my players, tossed the stick across and everyone sat down to play again. But now the opposite team was upset collectively, I still had my players to my left that did not become involved with the arguing, they were not upset, they saw nothing wrong, only wondered what had happened, and using them, the game was over in only a few minutes, we won. I jumped up to run for the nearest toilet, the sun was up, and as I turned around, I saw the last portable toilet on the Pow Wow grounds had just been loaded onto a truck, and it was being driven away.

My Stick Game stories would not be complete if I did not mention The Blackfeet Elder, Oral Historian and Grandmaster Stick Game player William Running Crane, aka ‚Goat’, who also schooled me in the Blackfeet Oral History account of the Treaty of 1895. Goat is one of the finest traditional Blackfeet Indians I have ever known. I could never do Goat full justice in these stories. But I will say here that Goat is without question the most amazing Stick Game player I had ever encountered. It would be easy for me to write off Goat’s incredible displays with the bones as that of a master magician, to all appearances pushing the bones into his ears and blowing them out of his mouth, if it were not for a single encounter I had where Goat insured I would never doubt his powers as real. I was in a very small game, facing Goat, one of those games that is just fun, only a few dollars riding on the game and a small handful of players, four or five, on each side. I had often in the past seen Goat give a small pop or jerk with his hands when guessed, before opening his hands to reveal a miss and he would collect a stick. Now, in this little and otherwise meaningless game, Goat taught me about that little convulsive motion as the highest order of the game as it has ever been played, by drawing my attention to something I was doing that I might otherwise never have noticed or understood.

Goat was guessing me, and I automatically slipped into the dream state learned from fasting, I had to play my best, but I could not block out his eyes penetration, they glittered even when I was not looking. For that fact, I was keenly aware in which hand I held the unmarked bone. There was no point to avoid looking at Goat, under the circumstance, when he guessed me. So I gazed directly at Goat waiting for the guess.

Goat guessed, he pointed, and at that moment I felt a small jump in both my fists, and opening them, it was revealed to both Goat and myself.. Goat had missed, but actually not. The bones were the reverse position of how I had hid them, they had switched without my opening my hands. I was playing in Dream Time, in the awake world. Goat saw this, I was doing something more typical for him to do.. and he made me look at it.

I won that game and Goat told me “I challenge you.” Goat wanted me to play him in a one on one Medicine Game, an old time power exhibition right then, right there, in the style of the old Blackfeet ceremonial rules, a game he knew I could play. I told Goat “I won’t, I’m afraid of you.” Goat replied to me “You’re not afraid of me.” But then he let it go. He was right, I was not afraid of him. I was actually afraid of how far that contest would go in public, I did not then and don’t to this day know the extent of my own powers relating to the game. I knew, however, that Goat’s power was great. In retrospect, too late, I realized I was wrong to pass on the challenge. Only the real Medicine people in the crowd would have witnessed the actual sorceries, the phenomena, and a game that would be strictly entertainment at the highest level for their sake. The uninitiated would only have seen an especially entertaining game. It was a colossal missed opportunity on my part.

But I made it up to Goat. Later, I bought a photo of a Mountain Goat, an old Billy Goat resting on a mountainside, from the nationally known wildlife photographer Tom McBride. I gave that photo to Goat as a gesture of my respect. One of Goat’s grandsons told me a year or two later that Goat would quietly invite visitors at his Heart Butte home into his bedroom: to see that very special photo of himself in its place on the wall.

Later on, about 1990, I was stuck when I played Stick Game. I could not run with the bones anymore. So I forced myself, strictly as a matter of logic and not medicine, to run, not stay, until the other players sensed I had my edge again. It wasn’t true. I stopped playing.

Excerpt from Penucquem Speaks by Ronald Thomas West

Related:

Life in Indian Country

Collected stories, folklore and anecdotes concerning my many years life with Blackfeet Indians and traversing Native American territories

Ron Drawing

*

A story of how defending Native American sacred lands had morphed, over a period of 20+ years, into a game of international intrigue & surviving assassination; with conclusions

Chronology of Events in the Case of Ronald Thomas West
(abridged summary)

1

In 1987 I was asked by Floyd Heavyrunner, traditional war chief of the Blackfoot Indians of Montana, to monitor interest by United States Department of Agriculture (Forest Service) in development of oil and natural gas in the Blackfeet tribe’s treaty lands known as the ‘Badger-Two-Medicine’ also known as the ‘Ceded Strip’, subject to tribal rights under the so-called ‘Grinnell Agreement’ also known as the ‘Treaty of 1895.’

In 1988, Floyd retained Mark Mueller of Austin, Texas (licensed in Montana) as attorney of record for the Blackfoot ‘Brave Dogs Society’ also known as the ‘Crazy Dogs’, in Floyd’s capacity as traditional cultural leader of that ancient tribal organization.

By 1991, as lead investigator on behalf of the Brave Dogs Society, in association with Mark Mueller, I had developed copious documentary evidence of a criminal ring working inside the United States Department of Agriculture, on behalf of CHEVRON Corporation, detailing a concerted effort to counterfeit compliance to laws that otherwise should have protected the area on behalf of the Brave Dogs Society, to include officials of the United States pursuing the following illegal acts, including felonies:

Lying to the Brave Dogs and counsel

Lying to the public

Lying to Congress about following specific applicable laws (National Historic Preservation Act ‘traditional cultural properties)

Concealing Forest Service knowledge of those applicable laws from the Brave Dogs, counsel and the public

Concealing Forest Service officials training in those same applicable laws

Deliberately cheating those same laws, to the benefit of CHEVRON

These incriminating documents, taken together, indicate a pervasive and organized criminal network represented in government officials, working on behalf of CHEVRON for the purpose of deliberately counterfeiting compliance to law, going to the highest levels of the United States at Washington DC. This particular criminal event was organized and run out of the Northern Region One Headquarters of the United States Forest Service at Missoula, Montana, and implemented via the Great Falls, Montana, offices of the Lewis and Clark National Forest.

These documents were incorporated into administrative appeal when the CHEVRON (and FINA) permits to drill were approved in what amounted to a ‘rubber stamp’ process at the Northern Region One Headquarters at Missoula. This appeal stopped the project in its tracks. The quandary of coving up the criminal network was accomplished by bureaucratic fiat, when the FBI declined to become involved (I personally briefed an agent who reviewed the documentation and acknowledged their substance but claimed he had no authorization to act and referred to the United States Attorney (United States Department of Justice) office at Billings, Montana, whom he stated were very well aware of the issues), after the United States Department of Agriculture Inspector General declined to investigate, the USDA Inspector General’s office saying they would not become involved on the pretext of the issue had already been raised in the administrative appeals process. Because the government (and Chevron) did not dare to allow the documents into the federal court record, where they would be put in front of a judge (or judges, on appeals in court litigation), a political deal involving lease swaps was engineered by United States Senator Max Baucus with CHEVRON and CHEVRON backed out. When I personally managed to place the incriminating documents into the hands of (recently new) Forest Service Chief Floyd Thomas, he attempted to close down the Northern Region One Headquarters and move those operations to Denver, where they ‘would fall under closer supervision.’ It took the efforts of two United States Senators, Max Baucus and Conrad Burns, to reverse this.

Note 1) REDACTED

Note 2) Two attorneys briefing the government side (Forest Service) on Native legal issues during this period, John Yoo & Jay Bybee, would later become infamous as Bush ‘torture lawyers’ in association with Condoleezza Rice. Condoleezza Rice, in turn, has had (previous and post Bush regime) close association with CHEVRON.

Note 3) the Montana ‘Northern Region One’ headquarters has a  long association with CIA, dating to the 1950s and still an active relationship into the 1970s and probably through 1980s and beyond, relating to  air services, surplus property, and laundering aircraft used in agency gun running & rogue elements (black budget) international narcotics trafficking.

Note 4) Immediately following my investigative result in 1991, revealing the criminal ring inside government working for CHEVRON, the Veterans Administration suddenly, spuriously, diagnosed me as suffering “Psychosis.” I managed to undo this by independently having myself evaluated by the same medical center used by the VA to to study schizophrenia and came up clean.

Note 5) Following this, my VA records were reviewed by a ‘specialist’ from Washington, DC, and certain documents vanished, making it appear as though I had defrauded the VA. A hearing was scheduled, where I produced a copy of a missing critical document, necessary to my defense, and the hearing was cancelled on the spot and charges dismissed.

Note 6) In 1998 I resigned from employ with Mueller Law office on account of health issues.

2

In 2001, I relocated, from West Glacier, Montana, to Sandia Park, New Mexico. After, I had enrolled my youngest son in the East Mountain High School (a charter school), an accelerated learning institution, in the late Summer of 2005. This school happened to have significant ties to powerful personalities in the Albuquerque corporate military-industrial complex.

By late Fall, intense pressure had been initiated, in form of undue harassment, it would appear intended to make us quit the school.

I initiated a ‘pro se’ investigation, to uncover the core reason(s.) In the process of this, what had been uncovered by myself were:

Felonies tied to the school’s pattern and pervasive civil rights violations of minority students particularly, and other students, by undue influence of ultra right-wing, racist, ‘Christian Dominion’ personalities.

What appears on its face to be an American charter school (EMHS) with embedded intelligence agents employed as instructors.

The possible use of school sponsored ‘field trips abroad’ as cover for covert operations in Latin America and Europe.

Meanwhile I had caused a parallel investigation (late 2006 into Spring 2007) into the school’s illegal activities, by a member of the school’s governing council, Jim Healy, in regards to harassment of my son and myself. In the course of this second (parallel) investigation by governing council member Jim Healy, I was approached by another governing council member, David Walter, who informed me I was stepping on toes of members of “The Council on Foreign Relations” and warned me (a threat) “Do not dare involve attorneys.” Walter further stated any action to hold the school accountable “Had no chance” under any circumstance. In less than a year, a teacher (intelligence embed, almost certainly CIA) from the school, Vince Langan, was part of a team that attempted to ambush myself in Berlin.

With the East Mountain High School case unresolved, recently divorced, my home sold and my youngest off to college, I had left the USA, in July 2007, to attend a conference at Johannes Guttenberg University, at Mainz, Germany. I had no intention of returning to the USA in short term, realizing I’d made powerful, corrupt enemies, without adequate resources necessary to pursue closure of the charter school case. However in the meanwhile I’d indicated to persons associated with the school’s administration I had no intention of letting the case go. This produced following result:

On 3 October, 2007, I routinely scouted the geld automat (ATM or automatic teller machine) I typically used at the Johannes Thaler Chaucee mall, in the Berlin suburb of Britz. In the course of my (professional security training) assessment of whether there were any threat, I managed to trigger to action a team waiting in ambush at the ATM location. Because I was on to them before they realized they’d been compromised, I was further able to get a point blank visual identity of Vince Langan of East Mountain High School, one of the triggermen, in circumstance that both, allowed myself to escape and caused Langan to realized he’d been identified. Two weeks later, I had a second close encounter with attempted assassination, with persons unknown, on the number 7 underground.

I immediately (following morning) left Berlin for Lindau (Bodensee.)

Note 7) Tracking myself to an ATM location abroad required access to my banking information, which can be had with a so-called ‘National Security Letter.’ This points to corrupted FBI involvement.

3

Having left Berlin for Lindau in mid-October, I shortly arranged via third party (REDACTED) an invitation for German authorities to monitor my situation (“follow me and watch”) This was a deliberate ploy to trap what I believed (at that time) was attempted murder to silence a whistle-blower (myself) in relation to felonies committed by wealthy, corrupt personalities associated with East Mountain High School.

Two weeks later, when I was walking one early Sunday morning, 4 November, 2007, when few people were out and about, a silenced bullet fired by a rifle at long distance, narrowly missed and punched a hole in a parked car I was walking past.

Subsequently, on a Tuesday, 4 December, 2007, I understood I had picked up the German surveillance I had requested, when traveling to give a presentation to a class at (REDACTED), and German police swept the train I had taken, searching one passenger in my car, and asking for identity cards of everyone and interrogating everyone except myself.

Note 8) The high velocity projectile had hit the parked car I was walking past, with such force, it was clear from the sound, the projectile had punched through the metal of the vehicle body, ricocheted off of a retaining wall the car was in front of, and spun to a stop beneath the car. I returned to the location after some days, assessed the possibilities and it became clear the shot had been fired from long distance, from a natural rise (hillside) with good cover, at a distance of perhaps 500 meters.

4

I had moved to Limburg in the early Spring of 2008 and then to Wiesbaden (June), accepting the invitation of the University at Mainz, to teach a course (in English) on American Constitutional law (Summer semester.) This Summer of 2008 was an intense game of cat and mouse for myself, in relation to my would be assassins/stalkers. Of my several Wiesbaden encounters, the most notable events are:

My Motorola (Razer) cellphone with its’ t-mobile USA chip suddenly quit behaving normally, it no longer showed the ’t-mobile D’ (Germany) reception logo, no longer required international code to access my voice-mail in the USA, and in fact the screen appeared (and phone behaved) as though I actually were in the USA. It had been somehow patched around or through the German reception network and appears to have been used by American intelligence (NSA) to GPS my location in real time. I converted my phone to a German t-mobile pre-paid chip.

About the time I’d noticed this phone modification had happened, a glass pellet had been shot at myself while walking a crowded sidewalk on the North side (my area of residence) in Wiesbaden. I heard what sounded like a powerful spring mechanism release behind me, and turned to look, to see a man keenly observing myself as he walked out of the crowd (brown Stetson style hard felt hat, caring an attache case) and into the street, to cross the street and get away. He kept looking at me as though expecting something to happen. When I had returned to my apartment, sat at my desk and removed my knit hat, a very small glass pellet, appearing to be filled with an opaque liquid, had fallen out of my hat, onto my computer keyboard. This pellet had been captured intact by my knit hat, where it was rolled up at the back of my head. I carefully collected (without touching) the glass pellet into a small prescription medicine bottle with my name on it, and packed it with tissue paper as a safety precaution and sent it to analysis via (REDACTED)

Following this preceding incident, I noticed it appeared as though I were being scouted for purpose of establishing my routine habits (the GPS component apparently having been lost due to my phone conversion.)

One person etched into my memory, although I did not know who she was in the Summer of 2008, was then active CIA officer Sabrina De Sousa. She jumped out on account of her smirking at myself when passing on the street. She was clad partially in the casual clothing of South Asia, and gave me a knowing smile and expression that can only be considered remarkable, when encountered in a total stranger. This marked De Sousa in my memory.

Of the several attempts during this period, one attempt clearly resembled the technique employed in the ‘Imam rapito affair’, also known as the Abu Omar case, in which De Sousa was involved. I was returning from teaching class at Mainz, when I noticed an aberration (due to my training) in what otherwise would seem a normal and unremarkable event. A group of men dressed in the typical blue German workingman clothing, taking a break.

The circumstance jumped out at me as I approached for the following reasons; there was no conversation at all, they looked ‘posed’ (stiff, as if unfamiliar with acting), had American body language and what I would call ‘Delta Force’ physiques (the sort of body build you will typically encounter in hyper-physically trained special operations soldiers.) Other than clothing, they did not resemble German laborers at all. My route on the sidewalk would have taken me between what amounted to a close, half-circle of three of these ‘workers’, and the half-circle closed to the street by the open, sliding side door, to a white, windowless van with at least one occupant.

There was a fourth ‘worker’ sitting in the passenger seat (with door open) of a car pulled up closely behind the van, concealing the van’s identity plate from behind. He appeared to be a ‘backstop’ positioned in case I’d evaded or somehow came through the initial three poised to shove myself into the van. Clearly, it was expected I would walk between the half-circle and the van. I approached as if unconcerned, to get as close as possible for visual assessment and at the last moment, instead of continuing on the sidewalk into what certainly was a ‘snatch’ and ‘rendition’ trap (I could have been popped into the van and subdued in a matter of a few seconds, less than five seconds, certainly), I walked out into street and into possible oncoming traffic (and was lucky not to be run down by a car.) Evasion was simple.

The last attempt at Wiesbaden, was when the apartment I had been renting was to be advertised for new tenants. There was an immediate response from a couple living on the United States military base there. This German couple could not take the apartment over from me too soon, they were anxious to move in as soon as possible. He was from the former GDR, was a huge George Bush fan and worked for the American military in some undisclosed capacity (evasive), and she ran a florist business on base.

She shortly called me and stated she would like to bring some packages to leave at the apartment, the evening before I vacated (on a Friday), which raised an additional red flag. I simply said to call me on the preceding Tuesday and ask then, as I could not yet know if I would be home on the evening she wished to come over with the packages. I knew (and did not say) the landlord wished to make some renovations. I left the week preceding my vacancy date, and by the time she called, the apartment had been thoroughly gone through by the landlord and I been out of Wiesbaden for a week. When she asked if the packages could be brought over on Thursday, I replied “I am in Berlin, you will have to ask the landlord.” Her reaction was to shout “He’s in Berlin!” to her husband (co-conspirator) and then her husband launched into a tirade in German… with the German authorities having an open invitation to monitor all of my phone calls, I expect they discovered two Germans working for American intelligence.

Note 9) Without going into detail, I had set up a test during this period, following shutting down the GPS of my phone, by confiding to a close confidant via Skype, technique I expected might work to take me down and succeed in assassination of myself. This was the next technique tried but I was ready for it, saw the circumstance developing and foiled the attempt.

Note 10) I will mention here, I had nearly one full year on the job training (1974-1975) in military special operations intelligence (19th Special Forces Group) with some of the most experienced of that era, and furthermore, I am highly trained in asymmetrical counter-intelligence, concerning technique I am not at liberty to discuss. However oblique reference may be made to this second instance, with referring the reader to this study: ‘Unconventional Human Intelligence Support’ by Commander L. R. Bremseth, United States Navy, 28 April 2001, Marine Corps War College.

Note 11) REDACTED

Note 12) I lost specific timeline notations from this period and going forward, due to a future failure of my laptop and resultant data loss. After the data loss event, I did not resume the habit of keeping notes on much of my experiences but am able to reconstruct some important events timeline with other records.

Note 13) By late 2008, I had realized this was no simple attempted murder case to cover up a school’s corruption, but was something by far bigger. My resolve was to take it as far as I could, in the hope of my being surveilled by German police to now, particularly, would lead to breaking the larger picture of clandestine effort in attempted assassination of myself, into the light of day. At this point I did not actually expect to survive, but was determined to do as much damage as possible to the criminal element, through exposure via the clandestine arrangement of monitoring of myself.

5

After several weeks stay in Berlin, in December 2008 I relocated to Catalonia, Spain, renting an apartment in the town of San Feliu de Guixols.

My stay in Spain was intense, but I will limit my notations to a few extraordinary events.

The Spanish domestic intelligence communicated with me directly, to let me know they had picked up monitoring my circumstance. How this was communicated (including direct ‘thank you’, among other events, on several occasions) is perhaps best described using this early example: I had a remarkable encounter with a woman in a grocery store adjacent to my apartment. It was like a Woody Allen scene in a movie. Only a few days later, this precise scene was caused to be reenacted with myself by another woman who had accosted me in different store. Clearly, she had studied security video of the earlier encounter and this second encounter closely mimicked the first encounter, to let me know I was monitored.

It was while I was in Spain in 2009, CIA officer Sabrina De Sousa sued the USA for diplomatic immunity over her role in the ‘Imam rapito affair’ or the ‘Abu Omar case’, this broke into the news with her photo in online media (New York Times) and I immediately recognized De Sousa as the smirking woman I’d encountered in Wiesbaden the previous Summer. While monitoring the AP Wire (RSS feed) I also picked up a statement attributed to Italian defendant, General Nicolò Pollari, to the effect ‘Condoleezza Rice had been personally overseeing the renditions team in this case.’ He wished to subpoena Rice in his defense.

This is when the larger picture of my own circumstance first began to make real sense. If Condoleezza Rice had been ‘personally overseeing’ a renditions team that included Sabrina De Sousa, this indicated my case was not only about East Mountain High School but had ties going back to the Badger-Two Medicine case of the Blackfeet Brave Dogs Society, CHEVRON, and the Bush Sr administration. Rice’s career path has been from CHEVRON board director to Bush Jr National Security Adviser to Secretary of State (The United States Department of State is Siamese twin to the CIA) and back to CHEVRON, post Bush era. Coincidental to this, two attorneys preparing legal memos on Native American rights cited by the Forest Service in the Badger-Two Medicine case, John Yoo and Jay Bybee, had since become infamous as renditions related Bush ‘torture lawyers.’

In June of 2009, related to these new developments, I had made a brief trip to Berlin to secure the defunct NGO ‘Association for the Support of the North American Indians’ file on the Blackfeet Brave Dogs, which I knew would include incriminating, related documentation. I personally went through the file to ascertain there was a complete record of documentation on the CHEVRON criminal ring previously encountered in the Bush Sr administration (it was all there) and arranged the entire file to be sent on to (REDACTED), which was done.

Date unknown (data loss) a second silenced bullet narrowly missed, fired from a high rise in S’garo, as I walked from the suburb of S’garo, across the rise into San Feliu de Guixols. This event occurred as I passed a construction site where a stone strewn bank caused the the missed high velocity projectile to ricochet. The pedestrian in front of myself jerked his head in the direction of the bullet striking the stone, it could not be ignored.

24 October 2009, I avoided being deliberately run over by a new, red, rental car, by two dark complected males whose arms were covered in gang tattoos.

20 Feb 2010, I surprised former CIA ‘Cowboy’ Gary Berntsen (now in private contracting) at the Hotel Barcarola reception desk in S’garo, it was between 7 & 8AM, as he was checking his hit team into the hotel. We were caught on security camera together.

Gary’s initially had a stunned blank look, which became an expression as though he’d been busted with his hand in the cookie jar and wished he could crawl under a rock as I stood inches from him, literally rubbing elbows, his bodyguard just stood there staring at me with a stunned, stupid look in circumstance that completely blew their cover, I couldn’t help myself, I had to laugh at them on my way out the door. I gave them about six hours head start before posting the fact of that morning’s encounter online, where Spanish domestic intelligence looked for updates on my encounters. Berntsen & Associates were smart to flee.

On the 5th of July 2010 I spent about half an hour visiting with two very polite regional policemen [Mossos] at my door. What the policemen said, was interesting. The police copied my passport information, questioned me about details that would confirm my identity, reported in with their radio my name, my information and had me sign a statement to the effect I had lived in my present apartment “for more or less one year, to be provided to the judge” who wanted to confirm the identity of the person lived in my apartment. I made no secret of the fact I was unregistered in Spain, and I made it clear I had no intention of registering with immigration or applying for residency. The police assured me my staying in Spain was not a problem and they had no interest in anything other than confirming my identity for the judge.

It was about this time I am fairly certain I had been poisoned. I had one day, after eating out, suddenly suffered a copious sweat without fever and after, my health took a downward spiral. That and the fact Judge Baltasar Garzon had been recently been removed from the bench in Spain under immense pressure from the USA in a corrupt and politicized process (I had followed Judge Garzon’s case closely), together with the Popular Party taking power, I felt made my stay in Spain untenable. I returned to Berlin in August.

Note 14) Summer period of 2009 had since vanished from all my online email records, beginning shortly after I had this published this following letter of 18 February 2009 online, posted on 3 June 2009. Most of June, all of July and August went missing, and much more to early 2010, 4 accounts, 3 google and 1 yahoo. This coupled with my previously having been tracked via my Wells Fargo Debit Card (ATM use) and by T-Mobile USA cell employing GPS .. all point to accessing my various accounts, inclusive of phone, banking, and email accounts, via National Security Letter and law enforcement complicit in tracking me for purpose of attempted assassination in exile. The letter I had made public on 3 June:

18 February 2009
From: Ronald West
To: Federal Bureau of Investigation
Greetings FBI
I am asking a copy of this mail be placed in my file, also that a true and complete copy be forwarded to Glen Fine at the Office of the Inspector General for the United States Department of Justice-
Based on my experiences of the past 3-1/2 or so years, I request the following:

An investigation into/and comprehensive review of any related investigations which granted any agency of the United States, to include your own, access (via National Security Letter or ANY means, e.g. Executive Order or legal memorandum bypassing the ‘FISA’ court, etcetera) to my personal information (particularly to my whereabouts via ATM banking records and (GPS) cell phone, email and conversations on ‘skype’) which may have led to my several experience including but not means limited to:

In Berlin, Germany of being stalked at Johannesthalerchaucee Mall (area of Britz Sud) in very close and tense circumstance by Vince Langan (or what appeared to be his identical twin) of East Mountain High School (Sandia Park, NM) together with accomplice on 3 October 2007-
How that may relate to a few weeks later a silenced bullet narrowly missed me and punched a hole in a vehicle I was walking past at Lindau, Germany-

Under what circumstance further stalkings and what appear to be assassination attempt relating to my t-mobile phone being patched directly through to the t-mobile usa network while I was in the greater Frankfurt region, Limburg and Weisbaden, particularly in late March-early April 2008, bypassing ‘t-mobile-D’, screen showing and phone behaving just as though I were in the USA, and any relationship of that to the preceding-

And related to all of the above, review the activities of (REDACTED) as to whether or not she is or has been an asset of yours or any agency of the USA or has been in a quid pro quo relationship with yours or any agency of the USA or  in any capacity or related investigations or actions going to the preceeding paragraphs, cooperated in any investigation or related action concerning me directly or indirectly, with her befriending myself for the purpose at any point in any investigation, of soliciting enough information to implicate but in fact negligently and mistakenly implicate me, short of soliciting enough information to clear me, relating to any actions and/or existing referals of yours or of any USA agency, or any person relating to any such investigations, actions or agencies- impacting my Social Security Benefits in such a way as to effectively use official capacity to bring me into the jurisdiction of the USA or otherwise tamper with my freedom of movement or any other impact on my civil liberties in a ‘R.I.C.O.’ like criminal enterprize, or under any other circumstance related to the preceeding paragraphs, cause undue review of my social security file constituting harassment and hardship in my or my family members lives-

And request the Inspector General for the United States Department of Justice independently inquire of the appropriate authorities in the Federal Republic of Germany as to any known facts of any investigations which may have been or are ongoing relating to any/all of the preceding.
I am BCC copying this communication to two attorneys, one in the USA and one in Germany. These are NOT my attorneys of record. I am copying them because they are discreet men I trust as possessing the highest possible ethical standards and I want a record of this mail in the hands of trusted 3rd parties- which includes any lawful authority, attorney or other person they may, in their discretion, additionally decide it is appropriate to place copies with.

Sincerely
Ronald Thomas West

This letter (above) was not rejected by the FBI mail server, sent to albuquerque@fbi.gov but it was not long after, I began receiving this following response to mails copied to the FBI at Albuquerque (I had, up to then, copied the FBI on my activities)

—– The following addresses had permanent fatal errors —–
<albuquerque@fbi.gov>
(reason: 550 #5.1.0 Address rejected sylvia.maruffi@ic.fbi.gov)

—– Transcript of session follows —–
… while talking to ic.fbi.gov.:
RCPT To:<sylvia.maruffi@ic.fbi.gov>
<<< 550 #5.1.0 Address rejected sylvia.maruffi@ic.fbi.gov
550 5.1.1 <albuquerque@fbi.gov>… User unknown

This (preceding) indicates my mails had been previously routed through to a ‘Sylvia Maruffi’ who appears to have been removed and her address at the Albuquerque office cancelled or changed.

In an unrelated Albuquerque Federal Court pleading that had been posted online by a litigant in May of 2009, I found the following statement:

“.. the situation being reviewed by Sylvia MARUFFI an FBI Investigative Analyst”

This clearly points to FBI Agent Sylvia Maruffi assigned to investigating myself up to the time of the letter sent to the FBI Albuquerque office on 18 February 2009 and Maruffi clearly being a ‘person of interest’ in relation to persistent attempted murders (of myself.) Incidental to this, the FBI has never acknowledged my (emailed) letter of 18 February 2009, although they were clearly in receipt of this communication.

6

I lived in Berlin from September 2010 through July of 2012. Of several incidents over this period, this one stands out:

While living in Charlottenberg (Berlin) during July 2011, I had my 1st experience with intelligence agencies using proselytizing evangelicals as cover for an assassin team. I’ve puzzled a bit over whether “Jews for Jesus” were a MOSSAD or joint MOSSAD/CIA venture but by now I’ve settled on MOSSAD. It was a Wayne Madsen article had pointed out the CIA had used missionaries in the past, in Latin America particularly, but Jews for Jesus are an altogether different animal. In Berlin, no one is going to poke their nose into the business of any Jew, it is a perfect (the MOSSAD  must think) cover. This appeared to be another case of ‘quid pro quo’ (previous ‘quid pro quo’ by MOSSAD in the attempt made on the U7 line in Berlin, 14 October, 2007) or one nation’s agency intelligence acting on behalf of another nation’s intelligence agency, this is not at all unusual.

It is a double blind deniability built into operations, evangelical Christians posing as Jews. Four out of five or perhaps nine out of  ten of these so-called “Jews for Jesus” are deceived and unsuspecting evangelicals simply trying to convince people to be ‘saved.’ They are flown in from around the world in shifts volunteering time as missionaries and are conveniently on hand to locate to any area where a hit operation is meant to take place.

The target is supposed to get used to seeing them in his/her area and this is supposed to produce a complacency surrounding the missionaries while your habits are studied, which U-Bahn (underground) you take and most regular times. By the time any target is used to and ignoring “Jews for Jesus”, with routines established, the unsuspecting proselytizing members are replaced with kill teams from MOSSAD wearing ‘Jews for Jesus” shirts and the target (the theory must go) will not notice he/she has been marked going into the subway where a most ‘unchristian’ poison needle is a heart-attack inducing prick in the crowd that cannot be easily picked out of  security video and so it is one more joins the people who drop dead of natural causes everyday, it’s that simple. Except when it is not that simple, as when the target is onto what is going on, because the intelligence agency is stupid.

When Americans flown in from the Midwest Bible Belt have been replaced by Israelis whose general demeanor, facial expression and body language is top to bottom different from the duped evangelicals (who should not, after-all, be surprised that actual Jews would be involved with their organization), it is not going to be missed by someone with my level of training. It was in Charlottenberg, I noticed it a couple of Israelis studying my habits, while it was Americans covered the larger public area I frequented, for a few days, and then it was Israelis had staked out my U-Bahn entry. I entered, but instead of going down a 2nd level and taking the train, I walked out another entrance, as though I was using the U-Bahn station as a method to cross an intersection without having to deal with above ground traffic lights and ‘walk’ signals, while watching for any tail I might pick up and sure enough… a tall Israeli in civilian clothes (no ‘Jews for Jesus’ shirt) reversed direction and emerged behind me but I was ready for this, and had positioned myself with back to wall at an outdoor café table, sandwiched between people also facing him with backs to wall and he could not hit me with his needle without giving himself away. Totally the wrong crowded scene, it was my advantage, not his. He stupidly studied my circumstance for a minute, hesitating, starting to leave, stopping to study again, wondering what to do while obviously completely out of sorts, gave up and left as I’d been looking steadily and directly at him and him at myself.

In August 2012, I moved to a small village in in the south of Germany.

Note 15) It was August, 2011, (REDACTED), who’d mostly gone out of contact with myself after I’d hand delivered the glass pellet captured by my hat in Wiesbaden, to be delivered for analysis, and followed on with delivering the incriminating Badger-Two Medicine file to him, came into contact just long enough to make excuse to terminate our close association (he accused me of writing “Hate” in reference to my satire compositions) of nearly twenty years. My impression is (REDACTED) had lost his nerve.

7

In November 2012, I visited Berlin and had a close encounter with a would be assassin on the U7 underground (3rd U7 attempt over 5 years), and this incident was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

By now, with 5+ years of German domestic authorities aware of and/or following my odyssey, with no action taken to pursue justice, no arrests, and no prosecutions, I came to realize there likely would be no action whatsoever taken, so long as a USA sycophant, conservative government ruled in Germany. After some period of reflection, I resolved to push back at the German government. I devised a legal strategy to bring a heat against Germany in the International Criminal Court for aiding and abetting the USA in crimes that the USA could not be prosecuted directly for, as the USA does not belong to the Rome Statute creating the court. I also resolved to push information on Christian extremism at the Pentagon, material I’d gained in informal cooperation with the Military Religious Freedom Foundation (since June, 2008), on German parliamentarians, together with the copious anti-Semitic hate mail directed against the foundation, provided to myself by Mikey Weinstein, MRFF president. These efforts began from my hideout in Southern Germany, in 2013.

Note 16) According to a Washington Post investigative report in 2011, “some 1,271 government organizations and 1,931 private companies work on programs related to counterterrorism, homeland security and intelligence in about 10,000 locations across the United States. An estimated 854,000 people, nearly 1.5 times as many people as live in Washington, D.C., hold top-secret security clearances.”

This is bolstered by a bloomberg.com article: “Thousands of technology, finance and manufacturing companies are working closely with U.S. national security agencies, providing sensitive information and in return receiving benefits that include access to classified intelligence, four people familiar with the process said. These programs, whose participants are known as trusted partners, extend far beyond what was revealed by Edward Snowden, a computer technician who did work for the National Security Agency”

Additionally, the US Congressional watchdog GAO [Government Accounting Office] reports as a result of faulty data, US intelligence agencies: “are not well-positioned to assess the potential effects of relying on contractor personnel”

And then, a US Army Intelligence Officer stated to Buzzfeed: “I think if we had the chance, we would end it very quickly.” [USA intelligence would like to find Snowden] “Just casually walking on the streets of Moscow, coming back from buying his groceries. Going back to his flat and he is casually poked by a passerby. He thinks nothing of it at the time starts to feel a little woozy and thinks it’s a parasite from the local water. He goes home very innocently and next thing you know he dies in the shower.”

In fact most of the unlisted events (in this chronology) experienced by myself had to do with evading stalkers whose behaviors profiled for action as described in the paragraph preceding.

This points to the utter corruption of American intelligence, where a corrupt Pentagon, that has thrown the rule of law under the bus, and associated corrupt corporate personalities (e.g. Christian extremists Condoleezza Rice and former NATO Supreme Commander & Obama National Security Adviser General James Jones, in association with CHEVRON) can access top secret material via the Pentagon’s NSA (National Security Agency) for essentially any purpose they please, up to and inclusive of assassination.

8

2013 was mostly uneventful, relating to attempts on my life, working from my South German safe house. I managed to file the complaint with the International Criminal Court against Germany (presently on hold while the court waits for me to provide further information), and initiated a campaign to educate the German parliamentarians on the Pentagon led Christian extremism infecting NATO. In September 2013, I relocated to Leipzig. In December 2013, I left Germany to live with my girlfriend in (REDACTED.) We registered as living together and three weeks after, I was presented with an Ministry of Interior order expelling myself from the country. The order is in force throughout the European Union and consequently I am under daily threat of deportation to the USA. It is utterly immoral to force myself to seek political asylum in this circumstance but in fact that is precisely what may be required, in this ongoing travesty of justice where institutions of law have refused to move against the criminals I have exposed to the authorities.

9

The result of what I have named ‘alpha’ investigation is clear.

Corporate organized crime in the military-industrial complex fused with institutions in NATO and rogue elements in intelligence agencies (with the beyond Orwellian twist of ‘Christian Dominionism’ thrown in), together form an international ‘deep state’ dedicated to the subversion and eventual overthrow and/or control of western democratic institutions. The German government and law enforcement is now fully aware of ‘alpha’ elements that have operated exterior to the parameters of law in Germany. Incidental to this, alpha’s operational command and control centered in the USA has had the German political establishment intimidated at the highest levels.

With the German government well aware of all the necessary facts concerning ‘alpha’, from police at the local level to the top politicians in Germany, there is really little more to accomplish. The ‘alpha’ investigative result cannot stay swept under the rug indefinitely, too many people now know what is happening, and ultimately, I have little control over when it breaks into the open or how it will develop subsequently. This will have to do with any remaining institutions concerning the rule of law which have not yet been co-opted by the criminal enterprise behind ‘alpha.’ It is the undeniable responsibility of these institutions to take the information developed surrounding ‘alpha’ forward; towards restoration of an authentic constitutional order.

Note 17) In Germany, where there is no hesitation to arrest and prosecute Islamic terror cells bent on conspiracy to murder, four successive German Interior ministers have failed to act against the same behaviors when conducted by, or on behalf of, Christian extremists in American intelligence and associated corrupt personalities pursuing crimes on German soil. Those German Interior ministers, in order of tenure, are:

Wolfgang Schäuble, 22 November 2005 to 28 October 2009

Thomas de Maizière, 28 October 2009 to 3 March 2011

Hans-Peter Friedrich, 3 March 2011 to 17 December 2013

Thomas de Maizière, 17 December 2013 to present (2nd term)

-Ronald Thomas West, February 2014

click on letter to enlarge:

Mark

Related:

Assassination attempt in Berlin

Assassination attempt in Catalonia

Deep State I Background

Deep State II FBI complicity

Deep State III CIA narcotics trafficking

Deep State IV NATO & Gladio

Deep State V Economics & counter-insurgency

Deep State VI Opus Dei & Christian Dominion

Deep State VII The Coe Cult & ‘The Donald’ Election Scam

Deep State VIII Pentagon Papers, CIA and the Lie of Daniel Ellsberg

GLADIO

Profits of War The Israeli connection

Fear of Minor Debris On 9/11

 

 

*

Ron10

*

Pat.sweat.2

„Oh man, Ron, the way those nuns beat us..“  Pat Kennedy

There is no such thing as an Indian in the generic sense. There are a few tribes where the aboriginal language is still fairly widely spoken, several tribes that the language is surviving but is endangered, and some tribes have lost their language altogether. In a scientific sense, language defines culture, and to be really, truly Indian, to think in aboriginal terms, it is very difficult to imagine that you could be, for instance a Blackfeet, and not speak your language. Much more true is the idea that person would be Blackfeet American, like an Irish American or Japanese American, an American of Blackfeet descent, culturally speaking. It is possible to see the world in aboriginal terms in English or other western languages, but it would not be easy or likely for most. The problem is context.

My observation, having been in Blackfeet country for twenty-five years, and most of that time associated with those Blackfeet that still speak their language, is that 80% or more  of the English speaking only Blackfeet were raised out of context of their real culture. Blackfeet blood at birth, hanging out at a few Pow-wows, even growing up dancing on the pow-wow road and being raised in Browning, does not necessarily create a Blackfeet Indian. Likewise, celebrating Saint Patrick and drinking Guinness does not an Irishman make. It would be generous to think that 20% of today’s enrolled tribal members are real Indians in the old sense. That the 80% who are not Indian actually think they are Indian, is a tragedy that reinforces the idea of the ongoing Human Rights abuse perpetrated on these peoples through the continued forced Anglo-centric education in Indian Country. The Whiteman teaches the Indians what the Whiteman wants the Indians to think. And this is what the Blackfeet learn in the Browning schools. Regardless of whether the teachers skin color is White or Red.

The Whiteman’s Social Science is fully aware these people are no longer aboriginal by definition. Language largely defines culture. But nobody has taught this to the English speaking Blackfeet in these public schools. They only learn what the Whiteman intends for them to know. Red Whitemen are teaching Indians in schools on reservations, in English, in the classroom setting of Western Civilization that they are Indians. It simply is not true, culturally speaking. So some things have not changed since the Blackfeet first came under the control of the United States. The Indians continue to be lied to.

Ten years ago I could still follow conversational Blackfeet, but my toungue was never able to shape the pronunciation. If you  wrongly pronounce Blackfeet, in the smallest way, it will more often than not  change the intended meaning and sound silly, even dangerous. So I never spoke. But one of the unquestionable masters of Blackfeet language and Oral History, Floyd Heavy Runner, was my friend and explained the language to me for many years. So I am not afraid to go into what is generally a forbidden area of discussion in the Indian world. Whether real Indians speak their language.

Speaking of who or what is an Indian is problematic these days because of language. My experience was, that to be truly Indian, in no uncertain terms, has almost everything to do with the primary language you speak.

I do have empathy for the people that have lost their language and still identify as Indian, but there needs to be some explanation of why their priorities are messed up.. why aren’t these people largely proactively learning their language rather than playing into a set of circumstances that lets the native languages, and the community of thought and behaviors associated with those languages, continue to die. One big reason for the continued death of native languages is the mandatory western education in Indian country today, the public schools, are not equipped to teach Indian languages, languages which are not predicated on the same ideas as western languages. Teaching Blackfeet in a western school setting is nowhere near as simple as teaching Spanish or German. Not even close.

Definitions of what constitutes an Indian are a major part of that problem. An Indian language definition of what an Indian is cannot be found in an English dictionary. This Indian language definition would be the non western terms in which you see and interact in this world. In short, how it is about you live your life in relation to aboriginal ideas.  If you are not recognizable as able to interact in these terms, which are largely unknown to western  educators, you are not a complete Human Being in the old aboriginal concept. You are not really an Indian in the old sense of what that meant. This is because in the native language, that is where it has not yet been christianized, people are holographic expressions of manifest nature, they are already are everything they need to be, there is only a journey of discovery through observation in the natural world. Here, there is no concept of coincidence, there is no concept of seperation, i.e. the temporal and sacred, and there is no clear boundary between dream and reality. In this world, the native speaker’s focus is allowing for personal space, self restraint, and non interference. These are the boundaries that are emphasized. And it is impossible to ask the typical western educator to teach something they have no concept of. This would include western educators that racially identify as Indian, but are not native language proficient.

Those who don’t have their thinking shaped by native language see themselves as Indian by birthright in Anglo or western terms, conceived of in degrees of blood. This perception is without validity, it falls far short of the original Indian concept, that is, if it is the aboriginal concept that gives the definition of what it means to be native. Because to be Indian is to see the world you live in, in a certain way. This has little to do with whether or not you are full blood, half breed or non native blood, if the definition of Indian stems from the language of the original peoples inhabiting the Americas.

Native membership (in the old sense) was never predicated on race, but on perceptions, especially how the community perceived you. If you think like an Indian, a Human Being, one of ‘The People’, then your actions in the community enabled you to be recognized as such. Many, perhaps most of today’s Indians, would be unrecognizable as Human from this old perspective.

Those who speak the native language fluently are more apt to approach life with great care according to laws built into the language (the stories.) Life itself is lived as an observational meditation in concert with nature in many respects. There are things these people are at great pains not to do. Ever. This is the approach that created the wise old people, the ones that can bring ceremony meaningfully to the people.

Those who do not speak Indian are much more likely to live their life carelessly from the original Indian perspective. Theirs’ is a dangerous road that damages the entire Indian nation. The result associated with this is tragedy. Oftentimes these people are too dangerous to bring into ceremony. Many of them do not know how to be quiet and listen. Frequently they cannot seem to learn the old ways in an authentic sense. Largely they do not evolve through the course of their lives as would be expected of the old way Indian.

This is because Indian Languages formed the development of the mind and shaped the perceptions of the native world. Unlike the western world, where deeper insights into truly useful knowledge are the provence of higher education, and acquiring social skills and learning the basic education are stepping stones for those privileged with opportunities for higher education, the Indian language world provided every child equally a language integrated opportunity for higher education, beginning at birth.

First, in the Indian World, the child learned to see his/her surroundings in terms of the animate. Suckling at mother’s breast, the child sees the effect, hears and feels, the movement of the breeze in the aspen groves and the language sounds associated with that natural phenomena. Already the child is learning, but not about single objects, rather that life and being alive already is an integrated whole, that all things are inter-related. Aboriginal language has already laid the foundation for an advanced understanding of physics, but not in the western abstract. From the first understanding of speech, the native language child knows already that they are a part of everything that is, that in some sense they embody everything that is. Already this child has a foundation laid that will be atypical of nearly all of the children in Anglo society. And it is only after this first great lesson of inclusiveness that they learn to differentiate. But these next lessons will differ from the Anglo concept as well.

Now the stories begin. Again in nature, the stories of Coyote, Magpie and King Fisher, with their sounds integrated into songs (Cree King Fisher song “Kay-kay, Kay-kay, Kanawa Bum), everything that is, in the natural world, is taught in stories that do not differentiate people from animals. The differentiation is in the personalities of nature of which people are an integral part. And because of those personalities, and the stories associated with them, the child is learning the difference between foolish and sound behaviors as well as risks, and how to handle risk. It is all about personal responsibility in the context of nature, with all of nature taught as a single sacred, humanity integrated social concept.

Now the native language child learned to play. And the child’s play was predicated on these stories. By the time this sort of child is ten years of age, he or she already knows how to become a Chief, Medicine Man or Holy Woman. It is all about how you live your life and personal responsibility. At this age, a mere ten years, nearly every child in Indian speaking society could, in a by far greater sense than White children ever knew at the same age, be depended upon to perform responsibly as citizens of their respective nations.

Already these native children were prepared to attend the native language equivalent of higher education, the so called (by the anthropologists) age grade societies. Now, they would be observed by their communities in their personal evolution, with a premium put on an intelligent balance between audacity and self restraint. Having lived right, and advancing through these societies and serving these communities, generally by the age of 45 or 50 years (the truly gifted might arrive at this status sooner) these native language citizens might have earned the right to speak in council as leaders of their respective families, clans, societies,  and nations.

But with the advent of the missionaries and the destruction of the language, a different Indian emerged. When the Native American populace became prisoner on their respective reservations, they were subjected to enforced Anglo educations and a super tragedy ensued.

The early western educators of the American Indian were the missionaries. Other than the basic rudiments of reading and writing, the focus was not on the practical well being of the Indian children in their charge, but their so called ‘spiritual’ well being. The rank superstition the Christian missionaries held concerning native beliefs systems, demanded that the language and associated stories of Native America be crushed in the children. And those languages were destroyed in brutal fashion, through actual physical torture, the figurative rape (and oftentimes literal rape) inclusive of systematic murder, of several generations of native speaking children in government run or approved boarding schools.

How could this happen? Christian ideologues were most concerned with advancing Christianity in native peoples. These Evangelicals, whether Catholic or Protestant, were  not primarily concerned with matters of science and education, rather rank cult superstition is what they taught, and tolerance of the language, ideas and lifestyles of other cultures was not in their curriculum. Either you knew Christ or you burned. Having known the burn of smallpox and measles, now the Indian children were subjected to this new and unnatural disease of spirit, a dark ages cult belief in man’s dominion over the earth, the conquest and control of nature, and the burn of shame in who you would now will become, a thing born in Sin, in a world that will be destroyed because of wickedness. And all Indian thoughts, philosophies and languages were suddenly wicked.

Imagine being 9 years old, not speaking a word of English, suddenly being picked up by the police without notice and delivered to a prison full of Indian children where you are beaten with an iron fire poker the first day you are there, for daring to speak in Indian: the only language you know. As a child, you have been born again in Evil. Because you are not allowed to speak, except in the terms and new language of this apocalyptic event visited upon you, you discover a new life birthed through a violence that came upon you from nowhere, and you could be trapped in this Dantean Hell for years.  Your physical torture, absolutely brutal beatings, even to death, only stops with the rote memorization of Bible verse and complete capitulation to the idea that your former life was shit.

In the original native sense, the survivors among these Indian children were drowned as functional Human Beings in this evil. The strongest amoung them died, those who were most Indian, beaten to death. Association with the original language and stories became so traumatic for the survivors, the Indian children that broke, that these individuals never passed the language to their children. Indian languages, and the knowledge of what it actually meant to be an Indian, in countless cases, died across the Americas.

But you could still be Indian in a sort of lying way. You look Indian. The civilization that physically beat the Indianess out of you still identifies you as Indian, because of the new lie of Race. So now, a generation later, you think that you are Indian, but you struggle to know what that means. You know it means you were conquered. You know it means your civilization was destroyed. You know it means your ancestors spoke, and maybe a handful of your tribesmen speak, a different language. You might believe that because you are able to dress like your ancestors and dance at a pow-wow, you are traditional. But inside you know this is not really true. And it makes you angry. Now your babies sit in front of a television and learn in English what an inanimate object is. The lie grows.

Unemployable, you sit and play Cribbage and Black Jack, endlessly, surviving on welfare and government commodities, your children grow up emulating the behaviors they see on the TV, become criminals and either die or go to prison. “Indian Love”, the beatings that were introduced to your community by the boarding school returnees, the primary lesson learned there, pass on to generation after generation. Whether because you are broke and drunk, or consequently just socially stupid, real ceremony is no longer a part of your life. But ceremony, the ritual observation of and interaction in natural phenomena, is what Indian life really is. But these beaten Indians cannot know it.

But there are the Indians that were not destroyed as Human Beings. In bits and pieces, in a handful here or there, there is a spark of life, the language, the stories, and a more real idea, a greater original understanding of what it means to be Indian, survives. And that idea, that there are still Indians, has rubbed off on some of these otherwise culturally deprived in the community.  But there are still huge problems.

Now, the third generation children of the boarding school Indians want to come home, figuratively; to become Indian in reality. But they do not speak Indian. And for that fact, they cannot easily come home. English language thought and associated Christian culture precludes this homecoming, more often than not. Because the Indian child, these days, receives a western education with both little and inferior knowledge about what it really means to be an Indian from substandard schools that are not equipped to teach language in an aboriginal context. To be westernized, to speak English only, and understand ceremony in the aboriginal Indian sense is not impossible, but is a difficult path.

The first circumstance necessary for the non native speaking Indian to become real, is the ability to realize that non-western knowledge, in this case pre-western Indian knowledge, is not superstitious evil, hocus pocus, or a beliefs system that is foolish and stupid. This is more easily overcome in the present day Indian Country than it is in the Anglo community, because the time of this pre-western knowledge is still close, even functional in some people. Some of the Medicine people can still heal. Some of the ceremony can still demonstrate an ability to manifest phenomena in nature. There is nothing like seeing is believing. Those culturally deprived Indians that have distanced themselves from the fundamentals of Evangelical Christianity and have had a look in the window at their ancestral native world, can see there is something to it. That is the first essential step to their return to being Indian.

But if they stop there and simply imitate ceremony, they are only half way home and stuck. Real ceremony requires the manifestation of natural phenomena in concert with the act of ceremony itself. Whether Buffalo Calling had brought the Buffalo, or Weather Making had brought the weather, these were the empirical proof in the old Indian way of ceremony.

But knowing it can be made to happen, and knowing how to make it happen, is not the same thing. Imitating ceremony, copying it from how it was seen or remembered, often doesn’t work, is not necessarily real. It can be seen as empty and hollow, a ‘nothing’ event. Because the necessary concept to manifest the phenomena is oftentimes not present in the ritualizing individuals. This is the missing language. The native understanding of nature, and an observed cause and effect relationship that is not limited in the sense of Newtonian physics, but is a much wider idea, is built into the language through the stories. Place, time, ritual and manifest natural phenomena, learned from what the stories teach about observations in nature, all will intersect for the real Indian.

But a copied ceremony from the past, absent the authentically trained Medicine people, only serves to reinforce a self-stereotype of what it means to be Indian, among people who only think they are Indian. They look Indian and have Indian ancestry, but reality is they are not complete Indians in the old sense of what that meant. I am not saying this is true in every case, but my own observation is that it is true for most of the Indians I had met that were not proficient in Indian language.  This would especially include the many non native speaking tribal members that actually seem to believe they are “traditional.”

A necessary circumstance to bring real ceremony, absent the language, into your life is the idea that meaningful life is an observational meditation interacting with nature. The idea that the most powerful prayer you can know is how you live your life in respect to all other life. But in English, this idea is nearly impossible to separate out from monotheistic influences because of socially permeated cultural associations and strictures attending western languages generally. The typical English language associated ideas of prayer and meditation instantly invoke separation, the sacred distanced from the temporal, and nature, seen largely in terms of economics, is centered in the temporal. How can that split be mended in a language, English, whose culture generally forbids that they mix? English language civilization acts out the idea of man taking dominion over the earth, nature is subjective and separate, not integral and sacred.

However it does happen, the English language split can be bridged, but it is rare.

A balanced, respectful personality with good observational skills and a strong education in, or a natural gift for, the natural and social sciences, together with possessing a highly conceived knowledge of non-western or pre-western thought that precludes rank superstition of the evangelical stripe, can learn natural ceremony of a high order, and manifest natural phenomena in the original native sense. But what are the chances of that in a community with a boarding school legacy, in a prairie ghetto that knows largely crime, poverty, sub standard education and little opportunity. Consider it is rare already in the educated Anglo world. Can it be made easier? A working model in the wider Indian community has not yet been demonstrated.

The answer, for Indian peoples, THE ANSWER is, can only be, properly taught native language. The lessons, laws and relationships built into native language will reduce crime. Self esteem discovered through native language will reduce poverty. Native language is the door of opportunity, not necessarily into the Whiteman’s world, but into the sense of self and lost opportunity rediscovered. Native language can transform Indian country. The present western educational model has shown it cannot.

Around 1920, the Mohawk language was nearly dead. Today, nearly all Mohawks speak their language. So there is a precedent to becoming Indian in community again through language. But to accomplish this, there must be a motivation to learn the language. It seems someone must tell the ‘almost’ Indians, the Indians who do not speak their language, that they are short, they have missed the mark. They are not really Indian in the old sense. They are truly pitiful Indians at best. I have that on the most solid authority.

When I sat and listened and watched old Mary Ground ceremonially paint the Indians that came to her for Black Tail Dance, I paid close attention. Each Indian was asked their name by Mary, quietly, in Blackfeet. All those that could not respond in Blackfeet, which was most of the people under 40 years of age in the early 1980’s, and a fair number older than that, these Indians were admonished by Mary in English: “It is a pitiful Indian that cannot speak their language” as she painted them with obvious love none the less.

In the early reservation days the Browning Blackfeet, socially speaking, were roughly split into three groups. The “Pagan” Blackfeet, the Christian Blackfeet and the Half-breeds. The Pagan followers of Three Suns were largely centered south of Browning towards Heart Butte. These people were discriminated against by the United States for the entire following century when the USA eventually placed all of the tribes resources and power in the hands of the largely Christian Blackfeet community at Browning.

These ‘favored’ Christian Blackfeet were taught that they were culturally superior to their aboriginal brethren, and eventually the growing class of mixed bloods springing from these people came to see themselves as racially superior as well. The whiter you were, the more educational opportunities you received, and the doors into power were opened for you. This legacy is largely on account of the United States policy of that time favoring Evangelical Christians as the Indian Agents overseeing the reservations. It was purposeful, forced assimilation into “Christian” society. Those Indians that voluntarily gave up their ways to become like the Whites were rewarded. That is historical fact. And this was the beginning of the erosion of the Blackfeet language. Blackfeet who still spoke their language, but growing up in these Christianized families, stopped thinking in terms of praying ‘through’ the Stones, the Trees. They were taught that this was Devil Worship, not to go there. Already, still speaking a language that was aboriginal in origin, these people were ceasing to think in aboriginal terms.

But progress in assimilation was not satisfactory to the United States. In the case of Three Suns people to the south of Browning, aboriginal language continued to be a vehicle for perpetrating aboriginal thought and belief. And this was true for groups in other tribes as well. So the Boarding Schools were instituted. In short, several generations of Indian children were slave labored, beaten, and in many cases raped into christianity, even murdered. Half of the Indian children did not survive. I know of a case of an Indian child having his mouth washed out with soap for daring to speak Blackfeet, but the child did not speak English and thought he was supposed to eat the soap, which was a fatal poison, lye, with his intestinal tract slowly dissolved, it must have been a horrible death.

Indian culture was sent by this treatment of its children on an accelerated road to destruction.

This Boarding School event was fortified by the American Indian Religious Crime Code, law making it a crime to initiate or attend aboriginal ceremony. This policy worked in some cases and in other cases it did not. It is just all about human character. The weaker among these children cracked and let go of being Indian. In the stronger, it just bred their personal resentment. These mentally stronger among them likely were mostly beaten to death, but some survived to come home and went back to being Indians, and used Blackfeet coined phrases such as still existed and I heard in the south of Blackfeet country during my times there.. admonishing little children that “The Whiteman will make you into stew” if they strayed from their parents gaze. This idea would originally stem from the alien Christian communion (reinforced by the legacy of the cannibal ‘Liver Eater’ Johnson, a mountain man terrorist of Indians) and the subsequent fact that the Boarding School generations were forcefully taken from their families, or kidnapped into these schools if found alone, out and about on their own. Half of them never lived to return. Most of the survivors had been “Broken” into Christians, in the sense you would ‘break’ a horse, and ceased to be Indians. Now, they only looked like Indians.

Still, this was not enough. There were never enough boarding schools for all of the Indian children, and the reservations had many small countryside schools where the more remote communities could send their children. The problem for the Whiteman with this was these Indian communities still continued to survive as real Indian peoples because of the nature of their social organization in these remote areas. Indian language and ways were not dying off fast enough. The answer to this Whiteman dilemma, for the Blackfeet, became a social disaster.

The Blackfeet Reservation’s country side ‘allotted lands’ had been initially assigned to individuals that wanted to be in proximity to each other. Now, a generation later, there were extended families and Clan affiliated communities in this countryside as a result. The language and culture continued to survive through these original traditional Indian community oriented relationships. From the Whiteman point of view, this had to be broken up. So the small country schools were shut down, and it was made against the law not to put your children into the remaining schools at Browning and many Blackfeet were forced to abandon their life and land in the countryside and move into town to put their children into school. The consequence was threefold. It created a crime ridden ghetto on the Southside of Browning and it caused many land related self sufficiency skills in these people to be lost. It also destroyed the social fabric of Blackfeet society that kept the clan relationships together and violence in check. The resultant social cost is staggering. High alcoholism and death rates attend this policy, crime is rampant, social values degraded, inroads have been made by gangs, and, murder, Blackfeet fratricide, almost unknown before, is now common.

The economic cost is no less burdensome. The cost of maintaining subsidized urban housing, taken together with the Busing and buildings maintenance budgets associated with this failed social experiment, the price of attempting to police this unnecessary ghetto created on the high plains of Indian country, all self cycle into draining away resources that might otherwise lift these same people from their grinding poverty.

However forced out of their family, band and clan relationships, taken out of the observational nature based context of the Blackfeet language form, and forced into a large regimented English language only school setting, the desired result of the Whiteman was accomplished. Blackfeet language, and consequently Indian ways, had finally begun to die out.

And it is from this new pool of talent, this ghetto, that we are now finally gifted with the Racist Red Indians, and also the educated Indians that turned their backs on their own people. And neither of these distinctly modern mutant social species is truly Indian, they are not aboriginal, though of aboriginal descent, they are not Human Beings in the sense of the ancient Blackfeet ways, rather they both are variants of the new Blackfeet Americans. And not only the Blackfeet. This is the case with nearly all of today’s tribes.

Let’s look at the Racist Red Indians first. These Indians make up a part of the Indians today that identify themselves as ‘Traditional Indians.’ Nothing could be further from the truth, and the pity of it is they do not even realize this themselves. They are racist because they are angry at the Whiteman. Well, who could blame them? Just review the preceding pages. This is inter-generational anger, well justified. But justified anger will not make these people into Indians.

Wearing ‘FBI’ (Full Blood Indian) baseball caps while singing at a Pow Wow drum, they believe they are traditional Indians. It’s not true. I have personally outdone thousands of these Red wannabee Indians with the sweat  equity time I have invested, given to their own elders and I did not see these people there, over the span of 2 ½ decades. Where were they? Busy impressing people with their Indianess at pow-wows. Pow-wows are not even one hundred years old. The pow-wow as we know it today, is a modern invention in Indian Country. Dance contests for money. Fancy Dance. Indian Tacos. Catholic Mass in the Arena on Sunday Morning. You think this is Indian? It’s simply not true. These people need to sober up, go home and learn their language. And then look at becoming part of real ceremony. In that case you might see someone with a Red skin become an Indian.

This is what AIM needs to do. Yes, the American Indian Movement was justified as a political movement. But now it is time to evolve. Are these people, having won the right to be Indians, now going to throw the hard won opportunity away by continuing to be angry? Many AIM members see themselves as Warriors, but they do not have the whole idea of what this term implies, many of these people did not have access to the traditional teachings of their ancestors. Warriors are not soldiers and they are not mercenaries. Warriors, in native tradition, knew violence only as a self defense on behalf of their people and protection of their territories, and in a more limited sense as a right of passage in daring, in sometimes solo encounters with rival tribes. But these latter were more like inter-tribal Olympic events and less like wars in the Anglo sense. These events were steps in a learning process and personal evolution. That process, ideally, leads to a humility and wisdom that secures the future of Indian peoples. This process of a journey in life, of which being a fighter is only a part, was intended over the long term to prepare fair and balanced leaders. Fair and balanced leaders, by definition, cannot be angry. And this is the core reason that these descendants of the Boarding School Indians did not, could not, seek out their elders. Anger.

Anger cannot learn from the winds that are spirit. Anger cannot pray through the trees. If you are angry and you think you are at Sundance, you are only fooling yourself, the gods will not see you in their dreams. Instead, your anger is reflected back and it hits you. These thoughts, from an angry person, do not go through, the gods do not look at them. And in the old ways, if the gods do not see you, there is a diagnosis. The Medicine Men would determine you have lost your shadow. In the old Indian scheme of things, that meant you were no longer a complete Human Being. Another way the truly authentic Medicine Men have described these lost Indian people among themselves is to consider they are domesticated creatures, like cattle, in the same terms as they see the Whitemen in the most general sense.. as separated from reality, devoid of the understanding of the spirit forms called ‘Naaks’, the real communications and the real dreams that come from living in a proper context with nature are alive in these people no more.

And we are, nowadays, living in a world that is nearly without shadow or the undomesticated spirit that sees the real relationship of Man to Nature through the living ceremony. What can be done about that? The answer can only be had from looking inside. Looking inside, in the Indian sense, means finding home. Go home and be Indian. Learn your language. Bring your elders a Pipe and ask what can be done about your anger. Learn to be an Indian. Discover what it means to know of the Naaks.

If you cannot do this, it means in the final sense that victory belongs to the Evangelical Whiteman.

Now, let’s have a look at the other Blackfeet American, the collaborators, the educated Indian that took his lessons from the Whiteman’s world and turned on his own people. These are the ‘Christianized’ Indians that accepted their reward for turning their backs on their culture. When did I ever see these people at ceremony? They were not there either. Since early captivity times, there has always been a privileged class of Indian, beginning with the first collaborators, the Indians that worked with the United States to subjugate their own peoples. And these people were favored with superior opportunities. Ultimately, these were the Indians that were entrusted with the wealth and power of the new, non traditional Tribal Governments imposed on the tribes by Washington, DC. These people became a new Royal class of Indian that looked down on their Indian brothers that had kept the old ways as ‘Uncle Tom Toms.’ Seeing themselves as superior in every respect, they had no respect whatsoever for the people whose lives they were to dictate for many decades.

In the case of the Blackfeet at Browning, one of these Half-breeds that saw himself as racially and culturally superior to his Blackfeet relatives, Joe Brown, cynically held the first election for a Tribal Council under the newly imposed council system at a curious time. Nearly all of the majority tribal members that would have opposed this new government imposed by the United States (and Joe Browns implementing it) were literally out of the country. Sundance was legal in Canada, and the Montana Blackfeet relatives, the Blood Indians, held this event just across the border. All of Montana’s real Blackfeet Indians were there. So this was the moment that Joe Brown held this new and foreign election for a government to replace the traditional Chiefs with the Whiteman invented Tribal Council. Under the rules mandated by the United States for this election, it required only 1/3 of the tribal membership participate. This would be the Christian Blackfeet that did not Sundance, they would be home to vote. Joe Brown, president of the election board set up to oversee this election, certified himself as the first ever elected Blackfeet Tribal Council Chairman in 1936. If Joe Brown, who supervised the ballot count, was honest when he elected himself the first modern Blackfeet leader, then 16.65 percent + 1 ballot of the tribal membership was all that was required to institute the Blackfeet Nation as we know it today.

But it is not likely at all that Joe Brown was honest. This corrupt inception of the present day Blackfeet Tribal Council persisted for at least fifty years. In the middle 1980’s I was with Pat Kennedy at the Pow-wow at Montana State University, Bozeman, Montana. Earl Old Person, Blackfeet Tribal Chairman, was the Master of Ceremonies. During a break in the proceedings he came over to our Drum, the Starr School Singers, to visit. Mickey Pablo, the Flathead Indian Tribal Chairman also came over. I had once heard Mickey state that his father had told him all he would ever need to know about tribal politics could be learned from Earl Old Person. I was sitting at the drum together with Pat Kennedy when Mickey and Earl began joking about stuffing ballot boxes, tribal elections were coming. The joking abruptly ceased when I picked up our  microphone, and held it up towards them as though I would turn it on.

These Christianized Blackfeet see themselves as a superior Indian. They were indeed a new Royal class of Indian under the protection and patronage of this new Blackfeet form of government. For decades the election process was rigged, this did not matter to the United States, these were the people they wanted in power. Tribal wealth became the personal treasury of these people. One of the plums tossed to the new class of Royals that were not actually on the Tribal Council was to be appointed to the Blackfeet Tribal Credit Program.

A partial audit was done internally for the credit committee, apparently to ‘get the goods’ on a single member. It smacked of vendetta. The terms of the audit, to a private outside contractor, was that only a certain one member of the credit committee’s accounts were to be reviewed. Also it was stipulated the result was to be provided to the committee only, per the statement of the auditor at the beginning of his written findings:

“It is understood that this report is solely for your information and is not to be referred to or distributed for any purpose to anyone that is not a member of the committee of the Blackfeet Credit Program.”

A copy of the report was given to me. This report demonstrated the tribal credit committee members loan themselves, their relatives, their “significant others”, and their friends, monies meant for their Blackfeet peoples, and that these loans among themselves are unrestricted, unsecured, and many times are delinquent or defaulted on when new loans are made to themselves, their lovers, families, and friends. Even though the audit zeros in on a singe credit committee member’s accounts, it implicated other credit officers that had signed off on these criminal acts. The audit states as much with the closing remarks:

“Had we performed additional procedures or had we conducted an audit of the financial statements in accordance with generally accepted auditing standards, matters might have come to our attention that would have been reported to you.”

The entire program is corrupt. Many loans are unrecorded, these loans add up to tens of thousands of dollars for single individuals, and I have heard first hand, countless times over the years, from Blackfeet living on the poverty side of the reservation that they were unable to secure fifty dollars emergency money from tribal credit because they had no collateral.

The hard documentation of this corruption was provided to the United States Attorney for Montana and nothing was ever done. Only when the Indians interests directly conflict with the purposes of the officials of the United States, or the USA’s friends in corporate industry, is the United States there to make certain business comes off as it thinks it should. The Blackfeet Nation is intended to starve, to live in perpetual poverty, well into the 21st Century. Amazingly, soundly governed Indian Nations continue to be perceived as a threat by the bully USA, and the cycles of poverty instituted for these peoples by purportedly the greatest nation on earth, must endure.

And it is from this Christianized class of Indian Royals, especially the mixed bloods that were taught to see themselves as both culturally and racially superior to their undeserving ‘Uncle Tom Tom’ relatives, a Royal Class created in the several diverse tribes, that the United States Bureau of Indian Affairs draws its talent pool of employees. Small wonder that somewhere upwards of an estimated one hundred billion dollars is unrecorded, and unaccounted for, to this day, from the treasury that should have served to support these starving peoples.

Relating to the several Indians suing the Department of the Interior over these missing monies in the Federal Court of Judge Royce Lamberth, this is one very salient point that will not come up because neither side will dare open the door to the judge: the fact that the billions of dollars at stake were stolen by the BIA employees in concert with the Tribal Councils and employees of the tribal administrations.

During my years working the investigative case concerning the Blackfeet tribe and looking into Human and Civil Rights abuses by the tribal council, I was familiar with the very issues represented in the lead plaintiff Eloise Cobell. I have first hand knowledge of Blackfeet poverty, and the United States dealings with that tribe, and it is clear to me the marriage between the USA’s Indian Affairs office and the Tribal Councils is incestuous, relating to and driven by control of tribal monies by these Royal criminal cabals.

The history of document shredding relating to these missing monies in contempt of Judge Lamberth’s orders over these past several years should have been red flag enough. I am amazed that the Judge has not ordered a criminal investigation under the circumstance. And has anyone noticed the largely remarkable public silence of the several tribal administrations relating to the records destruction? It is not only the political problem at Interior, that no one wants this to break open on their watch, just try to keep a lid on it until another administration is in place and let them deal with it: The other question is, the follow-up question, is what was the tribal administrations role in the missing monies?

The social history is succinct. Indian Agents in the Department of War in the 19th Century were corrupt administrators charged with creating the original bureaucracy to administer tribes on location. Utilizing for the most part Missionized mixed blood or ‘Christianized’ Indians as assistants who were completely subservient to these administrative heads, the Indian Agents, appointed to their locations by the then so called Great White Father, corruption and embezzlement learned from example became habit within certain privileged Indian families. These Christianized Indian mixed bloods were both favored with tribal administrative positions by the United States and taught to see themselves as superior to their darker, native speaking relatives with whom they no longer shared traditional customs and religion. But now they were responsible to care for these hapless Indians they despised, their ‘heathen’ Blackfeet speaking cousins. When the Department of Interior took over from the Department of War, these same mixed bloods largely moved over to the new Indian Affairs office at Interior, and in tandem with the new Royals in the tribal administrations, the Tribal Councils created by the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934, they refined the theft of their own people’s wealth to an art.

Today it is an entitlement, this theft that has sustained certain families or Cabals within the tribes and the Bureau of Indian Affairs for generations. That’s right, an entitlement. Because the idea unchristianized Indians were unworthy was taught, instilled and sustained by the USA for generations in the new Indian Royalty created in the families that have historically controlled the tribes affairs: this has become a part of tribal culture.

The devil in the argument before the court is that neither side will dare tell the truth. But the truth is, it is the old criminal cabal at the tribal local administrative level that is winning. The tribal councils long time partner in crime, Interior, will never be able to admit that it fostered the environment for its own new Royal employees at Indian Affairs to steal the wealth of the Native Nations in tandem with the new Royals that have historically controlled the tribal councils and shared the stolen wealth.

The ultimate irony is the cynical genius in the suit brought by Cobell- and her own past relationship and closeness to the Royals in her own Blackfeet tribe bears investigation. This is a tribe that has one of the worst Human Rights records in all the Americas when it comes to theft and lack of accountability of tribal wealth while keeping its own people forcibly locked in the deepest poverty.. despite this tribes considerable resources.

If Cobell, who bears the family name of the army scout Cobell that riding together with Joe Kipp, lifted his rifle and shot Chief Heavy Runner dead at the 1870 massacre of the Blackfeet on the Marias River, were to win this case relating to not only tribes accounts, but especially individual tribal member accounts and there is restitution or payout, then one (among several) of the most corrupt administrative organizations ever to exist in the western hemisphere will stand to be monetarily reinvigorated for many years, in this case the prime example given: the Blackfeet Tribal Headquarters/Bureau of Indian Affairs administrative complex at Browning Montana. Now the missing billions will be in a position to be stolen twice. Shouldn’t the head of Interior really be asking the plaintiff Cobell “Et tu Brute?” It is the only sensible question that could come before the court.

Perhaps Cobell’s former position as a finance officer of the Blackfeet tribe is a circumstance of heat that was a little too close for comfort and is what caused Chief Earl Old Person to get cold feet and disappear from this suit. Earl in fact vanished from view in this case precisely at the time he was due to give a sworn deposition and produce documents. Cobell wanted him out and asked for his removal, Interior wanted him in and fought his removal. Earl remained missing for months. What could be the real reason why?

Earl wants Interior to keep jurisdiction over the monies. If the Department of Interior had to give up the trust fund to an independent trustee, then chances are much greater that any historic and present ongoing systematic thefts of these monies would come to light.

These many billions of missing dollars will never be found. The most frustrated Federal Judge in North America, Royce Lamberth, presiding for years over the case trying to account for these monies, should offer an amnesty to BIA employees, just so the Indian Nations and the American People can understand the money has vanished, that the United States created Indian Royal Class has stolen and spent it, these monies can never be recovered. And then the United States Interior Secretary Gail Norton can quit lying to Judge Lamberth about the disposition of the plundered Indians treasury. Then Judge Lamberth could quit repeatedly holding successive Department of Interior heads in contempt of court for failing to provide a lawful accounting that in fact cannot exist. Subsequently the Congress could let Norton’s Bureau of Indian Affairs finish the job of shredding the incriminating documents. The truth would be too terrible to behold. And at least one nonsensical fight will have ended.

Unlike the angry AIM, people who can become Indian again, these Royals can never see home. They dare not look inside and go home. They have murdered by theft, through poverty, starvation and opportunity lost, entire generations of their own Peoples. They can never be Indians again.

A chapter from Penucquem Speaks, my book written at the request of Pat Kennedy. Pat had a nearly complete draft of the book read to him by Lorna McMurray, the completed work was published in 2006, not much more than a year after Pat  had died.

Related:

Lost Shadow

Life in Indian Country Collected stories, folklore and anecdotes concerning my many years life with Blackfeet Indians and traversing Native American territories

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