Unist’ot’en Bi Yintah: “People of the Headwaters Territory”
Nem’tsun nem’ ‘ukwu tsakw sta’luw’: this puzzling sentence I put together from the help of my modern Native skills through hours of online hunting for ancestral words means “Pilgrimage to a Sacred River” (or something like that). The Unist’ot’en and their ancesors know the name of this river, it is “Wedzin Kwah”; although, the klanatians illegally occupying know this sta’luw (word for river in Hul’qumi’num) as the “Mourice River”…surely it is sickly named after some white colonial dude…as always.
I must inform you Reader that I have just arrived back to my urban dwelling. I had just arrived back home from the Athabasca River region somewhere around July 2nd, 2014. I do not know what time it was so please, don’t ask me. I know that you are thinking, “Yeah, but where are you from?” So I will tell you in small detail…I just came home from the fifth and final healing walk around the infamous “Syncrude Loop”. The location is a key place where many walked around the Alberta tar sands. The location is the Athabasca tar sands site. I was only home for just six days-six days later but I am off on the road once again. I made the journey home to then wander back into another Northern Region of a different Indigenous Nation only six days later: the Unist’ot’en. The river, “Wedzin Kwah”, is free from worry to drink from, to soak in, even though a total of 18 pipelines took up illegal occupation here by corporate based interest.
The human to animal consumption ratio, compared to wandering around the state of Alberta and its water, is the worry free part in this particular region. In my Hul’qumi’num language, Nem’tsun nem’ ‘ukwu tsakw sta’luw’ translates to “I am going to the distant river”: I speak of Wedzin Kwah. The Indigenous name for the Unist’ot’en river so I will only use that name throughout this written journey. And I hear a voice calling out whenever I visit the bridge leading me into Unist’to’en territory that indeed this river is very much full of life, full of beauty, and full of amazement of raw power that Mother Earth holds, and provides First Nation societies.
Moving along, I have fled my colonial home, and am bound for the road towards decolonization, but this as per my usual path to resist a country I was born into. It is here in so-called klanata that I resist, and live, for living to find Native culture is a very defiant act of resilience, and to breathe, thereby surpassing colonial occupation, is to become unbound by the oppression of my holy Indigenous mind-frame.
The Unist’ot’en homelands are now in my sights. The place and area of the Unist’ot’en territory is full of wonder and Native type riches: clean air, clean water, locally sourced meats, and local foods, and local medicines.
Contrasting the importance of life is found in water, although, the Alberta tar sands are full of toxic lakes and false government promises to protect or conserve water. Since green lights for oil searching is endless, I must make a more that billions of water lost to frack for gas or turn tar into gasoline, the Athabasca river struggles more than I.
Putting my contrasting views or opinions of hatred aside for gasoline, I am tied to this method of has buying type travel daily; it is my twisted and modern aged canoe, as it were, the ocean is a place I stare out at and find myself whereas the highway I drive on is where I loose myself. My vehicle is a machine created for and directly taken over by and so the elite, top one percent can control the oil and gas industrial monstrosity; thereby generating white, monetary wealth. So I, in essence, drive a monster utilizing the broken bits of what was once Standard oil and their fossil fuel collection of oil and gas companies, filled to the oil barrel brim of waste, and oil sands by-products constantly.
I decided whilst being on the road that this is what my cedar canoe has somehow, and for now, morphed into: a paddle and canoe vs. two peddles and a fossilized, yet liquid based fuel. Regardless of my struggle, I am on the road and driving towards the Unist’ot’en Bi Yintah: “People of the Headwaters territory”.
The contrast from Wedzin Kwah to the Athabasca River are a stark image knowing that much, if not all, of the rivers, lakes, creeks in so-called “Alberta” must not be consumed by the general public, animals or anyone really in my personal understandings of industrialized poisoning of natural landscapes: yet industry and Kanata tells us that “Everything is okay” to drink or consume what is around us. Even with the threat of Kanata and industry, the Unist’ot’en lands and waters remain full of wealth, filled with growing, living, breathing life: water and food resources.
I continually watch on as Native peoples are continually asserting their ancestral sovereignty in such a way, being an intergenerational survivor of attempted genocide reminds me of how I am proud and will always be Hul’qumi’num. I am learning of how proud I am to be alive and in all seriousness I am also learning of how I am now seen by white society as legally allocated to be an Indian. I am praying that I just keep moving forward through illegal and white occupation of our ancestor’s homelands and find the balance to sustain myself as my ancestors did for tens of thousands of years.
The art of leaving home for me is actually and always quite difficult. I seem to leave much behind. Somehow though, I do gain a lifetime of friendships, family and knowledge. Indian education is without a doubt addicting. I was once taught that being Indian is a sin. I, or rather, our entire race of Hul’qumi’num societies are the savages, primitive and child-like Heathens and white society is somehow the more supreme race ruling over us Heathens.
Although, and having witnessed the tar sands, I think that many white people are quite wrong and I must inform you Reader that I have befriended many white folk that are correct that unsustainable practices only takes us closer to being an extinct species, as whole entity, ourselves. For this round trip, up to Unist’ot’en action camp and back towards Hul’qumi’num territories, I decided to skip the lime green caravan by way of the big old school bus and embarked on my own journey for Unist’ot’en Territory. Though, and I must apologize to Eric-Eric being the trusty bus driver. I was looking forward to travelling through a hot canyon stuck on the action bus created for social change and community building full to the brim of stress and people and different world views and governance in this hot summer/interior type of weather…
All kidding aside, many nations are in essences connected through a silent struggle: Anzac, Fort McMurray, Fort McKay, Fort Chipewyan, Oka, Burnt Church, Ipperwash, Wounded Knee, Elsipogtog, Grassy Narrows, Clayoquot Sound, to Unist’ot’en; taking me right to the encroachment of all Indigenous peoples that have been obliterated or affected or directly linked or destroyed due to industrialized landscapes such as the “Alberta Oil Sands”…even though many people call them “Tar Sands” mainly because that in total truth remains what tar sands are: sand infused with tar.
The objective of tar sands open pit mining and also in situ (in place mining) is brought to a place where tar sands are then steamed/chemically bathed, moved along the assembly line, where tar sands are then forced with a consortium of Athabasca river water and other gnarly gross stuff to be pushed through an iron/metal pipe for further refining somewhere else and then brought to Asian and American type oil markets by way of oil tankers and LFG tankers where we then buy it back at anywhere from 50 to 120 dollars a barrel (pending stock market value) and also other products spawned from the oil and gas industries that are also and generally “Made in China”.
I have decided that we are fragmented societies done-in by brainwashing or whitewashing tactics that Indigenous peoples are the eco-terrorists spreading lies-even as we continue to live in squalor Indian reservations and then have to fight just to be heard. The reserved areas for Natives are places where we are incessantly displaced until we are pushed so incredibly far that we decide to stand and speak out to an indoctrinated white society that is nearly unwilling to listen already.
I am not heavily educated into the makings of tar and thusly the not so final step of turning sand into oil or the process of shale gas extraction and why industry claims it to be “natural” when to me it is more fracked fumes…although, I am learning. I also understand the extreme amount of land and water oppression Indigenous peoples reside around, in part, because in recapturing my family linage, a line that has been eroded down into near nothing, from Residential schools, to Indian hospitals, to the 1960s scoops, we are continually seen as the animals, even as I live and breathe in a so-called free world of the dominate white society to date. I am heartbroken knowing the pristine river on Unist’ot’en territory, Wedzin Kwah, is under constant duress and directly threatened and attacked from the very ideals we carry about liquid fracked gases to tar sands extraction travelling through pipelines. I am confused about my practices as a decolonizing individual and my westernized consumer driven half. I stand or sit and look on as pipelines are being illegally pushed through the Wet’suwet’en territories. The iron monsters are moving directly through the Unist’ot’en homelands rapidly. The action camp is filled with the ideals for training and resistance building against the Kanatian petrostate and every other aspect of illegal white occupation. Colonial occupation once thrived in this state and now with the power to capture our Indigenous heritage, the petroleum flags, I am praying, shall dwindle into a dark grim tale of how business is just not done, business mixed with its own cocktail of toxic measures that this is entirely an illegal practice to carry forward: step one is to cause destruction, step two is to generate death, and step three is to throw money at corporate media and government to fund and create chaos…then repeat as needed.
I am rather hooked on this gasoline method of travel. Being powered by oil and gasoline is rather strange. I have never canoed the Salish Sea, at least, not like my ancestors still do. I only stare out into a body of water where my family hunted, fished and moved along and today, I start to ponder about my colonial reality. The sacred art of sustainability was taken away from us. My ancestors were deemed as a lower race and we were casted aside, placed on reserved lands, wrongfully forced into residential schools, into Indian hospitals, illegally taken from our own familial homes in the 1960s scooping, we were then doomed and forsaken on our own lands, our own waters, judged closely as primitive peoples, as Savage societies. We live a way of life that is beautiful. The Indigenous governing strategies vary and yet are always connected. We are against the very fabric and makeup of colonization. We are a race that has established a way of political cognisance, we have laws and lawyers and we have hereditary leadership and matriarchs where I come from. We gave things and stuff and items considered very sacred to us away and we are racialized for this act. Ceremony is practiced in anything we do. Shaking hands, to talking, to singing, to making a basket out of cedar, to being handed a cedar headband for the first time, not to the mention being gifted a drum and finding yourself all over again, to entering another hereditary leader’s territory. I am at a loss of words when I see the oppression weighing heavy within my family. I am unclear of the path ahead as I look towards my culture that is still for many illegal or taboo or awkward to practice being human in the colonial and petrostate regiment of so-called Kanata. Why is my family’s hereditary linage such a threat? Why is it that we are so incredibly illegal to be, to do, to act, to practice the art of human connectedness?
I am reminded that the Native canoes have also taken off for their journeys to Bella Bella. I have never joined in a canoe journey. I do not know where or who to even ask of such a noble thing. I am as I have written many, many times, still colonized. I am, however, slowly breaking this systemic tie to be worried of being human around other humans that have been indoctrinated to fear difference: To fear difference is to truly fear yourself. We are all different. That much I know is truth. Yet we go about practicing capitalism and consumerism and enjoy guzzling back gasoline whilst many Indigenous nations’ way of life is dying, being eroded, being erased.
Drifiing back, my memories of Unis’to’ten are all about the sun being out and holding onto these memories of my coastal identity, the ocean is calm, like my mind, for now. I am driving my war pony up this year to the Unist’ot’en territory: The fifth annual action/training type of camp. I am nervous. I am going once again for a second year a little more knowledgeable to who and most importantly what my family stands for, and also I am a little more educated into the world of petroleum, and most things surrounding liquid fracked gases. I drift back, I must, as I look out on the highway, I notice this, it is a mirage of water down at the end of the road, my eyes are glaring at the image, sadly, it is a memory of the tailings ponds producing and realizing I doubt my ancestors a thousand years ago had figured this is how Hul’qumi’num peoples will survive: witnessing the genocide, the mass death, of our respected Native lands and waters. We are a people uniting in the fight to hold back the erosion of our inherent rights to be human.
The little islands connected the big island of so-called Vancouver Island, are lands my ancestors once guarded and defended that have now become strewn across history as white societies property to desecrate, to alter, to maim.
We have a liquid fracked gas pipeline traveling along this island. I have seen this pipeline only once. I have not visited this pipeline since last year. Within that year, I have learned that liquid fracked gas is shale gas extraction and hydroelectric fracking in fissures in the earth. Industry injects a chemical/hot water bath to make those fissures react and explode in such a way that “natural gas” as it is known to industry, is discovered and consumed by us. The Unist’ot’en clan is safe guarding their ancestral homelands from eighteen pipelines. The four I can name off the bat are the Pacific Trails Pipeline, Trans Mountain Pipeline, Northern Gateway Pipeline, and the Pacific Northern Gas pipeline. I have been told five, soon corrected that there are eighteen pipelines.
My first grand adventuer started with the pilgrimage to Unist’ot’en back in 2012, which was met by travelling in an orange old, loveable school bus. In the middle of summer, I was excited to be included on this trip to visit with the Unist’ot’en, and thereby obtain education that is worthwhile, culturally, meaningfully, for it is education the way I know best, it is an understanding that is also not taught within white society: unsettling your mind and visiting the struggle of another person, another village, another in general. I was looking for my culture that was, and for the most part, is still being silenced by searching for those Native voices that rebuild by taking back their lands and human rights by saying that “Enough is Enough”.
What the real deal is coming down to is standing against greed:
“Three companies, Kinder Morgan, Pembina Pipelines, and Endbridge Inc. each propose dual pipelines to transport not only dirty bitumen, but also condensate as a diluent (along with the cocktail of heavy metals, hydrocarbons, and poisons from the extraction and slurry process to turn solid bitumen rock into flowing mock oil).” http://unistotencamp.com/?page_id=26…
I have much to learn about corporate greed and the way in which industry has forcefully enslaved Mother Earth as white suited men go merrily on to search endlessly for profit. The journey, some 1200 kilometres for me, was a trip remarkable in scenery, greenery, and rivers. The water in this state of BC is safe to consume, at least, when you outrun the city limits and enter the back country, not to mention entering the deep country of the Unist’ot’en territory. The Wedzin Kwah is mighty and graceful, poetic and charming in its story to thrive here in the colonial world, and flowing under constant threat from industry. I think about an oil spill when a pipe ruptures near the Unist’ot’en and their Wedzin Kwah. The river on Unist’ot’en territory is a main source of drinking and cooking water, will be obliterated just like what has happened with the mighty Athabasca I recently witnessed. One oil spill and all of the protection and work on an ancestral level the Unist’ot’en have been doing, will be undone due to the petrostate of Kanata and by our addictions for lusting after tar sands and what tar sands offers: unsustainable greed.
I had arrived at the action camp, tired, exhausted, I adorned my Grandma Dorothy Henry’s sacred blanket my mom had lent me (when my grandma past away, this blanket sat in a big house for cleansing, so it was uniquely special I wore it for bridge protocol), oh, and my cedar headband was at the bridge with me. As I stood awaiting to explain my reason to be, that river remained the two territorial markings, crossing one territory, leaving kanata behind…driving along the long stretch down the dirt rocky road, to then be walking those final steps from Gitdumden to Unist’ot’en territories. The free, prior, informed, consent protocol was about to commence. The ceremony at the bridge is sacred, it is something I appreciate witnessing and taking part in. The art of explaining who I am as a ceremonial, culturally based gesture, this is not uncommon being Hulq’umi’num. This ritual has just always been done this way for tens of thousands of years predating colonial occupation and for me, is commanded that I must. The lands I am a guest on are the actions built, created and kept of Indigenous peoples asserting their sovereign rights. Protocol is a way of looking into and inquiry on knowing who I am, where I have traveled from and if I work for industry or any other form of colonial construct that is destroying their homelands. The two biggest resources I have learned about in many Indigenous communities are the lands and waters. So if we allow all these unwarranted laws created by colonial band politics is to suddenly destroy those two things without our given or written or verbal consent. If and when we decide to take those two resources and sell out to industry, greed, or Kanata then we are culturally destroying ourselves as a people. We are entrusted to safeguard our homelands and taught not to sell out to things like industry, or to corporate, or to the petrostate’s greed. We are angry, we must be angry, angry at the colonial system that has invaded our way of life and eroded our hereditary leaderships; a policy of intergenerational forethought on how to keep our people in tune with their cultural normalities. Not this destruction is beautiful ploy industry tactfully structured within this present day existence.
The thought of just being back on Unist’ot’en territory brought out the Native songs playing into the night. Travelling through my headphones and moving swiftly into my soul in such a way, I found myself suppressing my voice in not knowing if I am allowed to sing these songs. I, at the camp, sleeping comfortably in a hammock, cried out for the pain of my Indian family and the damage we do by separating issues and then separating ourselves. Everything to do with the destruction of Unist’ot’en lands and waters are directly led with any and all Indigenous struggles quickly designed to defend our inherent responsibilities. Governing structures made to protect our way of being on the land. We must never sell out to industry or sign shady corporate deals. When this process takes over, corruption is the only thing being consumed and without warning, our food and water sources are forever at risk and degradation is now our way of doing things: this is how our cultural morals are eroded. I have witnessed that once a “bought” Chief signs over lands and waters, those inherent rights I speak of means an entire village will be seen as corrupt; instead of culturally safeguarding our territories we are seen as a “for sale” type of people.
For many Indigenous villages, taking back sovereignty is quite empowering and selling out is clearly not the case in many places I have visited, been a guest on territorial lands, societies of Indigenous peoples that have each expressed strong opposition towards corporate or industrial or Kanatian interest. Many Indigenous nations live by fending off industry or corporate expansionism muscling in on the reservations: systems spouting false hopes in times of desperation offering up large cash grabs and fabricating little room for real growth so we must be and remain sovereign. We have watched on too many times as our corrupt leaders sell out to industry without his/her peoples consent. From here, the fate of the village is rather grim: we fade, we die, we are no more, and we then disappear.
I suppose in a sick way, this is what Klanata and industry desires more and more from Indigenous peoples. Stronger than ever, we, as sovereign nations, are birthed into this world to find the ancestors homelands spoiled from a corrupt regime already illegally occupying, taking down forests soon cultivating cities encouraging the destruction of Indian villages as pure, tar sands replacing canoes, disposable nations instead of sustainable occupations.
I feel that corporate bought states are quickly creating laws that make Indian peoples unlawfully living on our ancestral territories. We are now a people fighting off the colonial state and many are working hard by recreating sovereign laws and sustaining a life surrounding the practices to consume clean water. In this day and age, that is too much to be asking for. I have witnessed many sources of many rivers and lakes that have become mass open wounds of death, almost like looking at open grave sites that no one really wishes to talk about or explain that consumerism is total land suppression and cultural alienation…leading me right into the theories of an environmental type of racism.
The struggle of Indian peoples is near invisible within and surrounding much of white society. The mark of marginalization is built around theories of injecting fear into a Native society’s way of life. This fear quickly becomes oppression, soon turning into suppression and then depression. The mixture of these three things can easily lead towards suicide or suppressing our own ideals that we are not human and our culture is evil and anything heathen is simply not okay, not acceptable to be something white people seemingly despise, loathe, fear, hate. The pain is our connection, the struggle is what well unites us and the will to move forward is our strength to work as one. The reality for white society is Indian pain is seemingly not a real issue; our voice is no longer carrying weight. The day arrives that speaking becomes a way to break systemic racial silencing yet we will never be fully understood. Living by a code, the outside force is moving quickly to operate illegally to decimate, shift, and move metals, minerals, trees, mountains at an alarming rate.
For me, those are the ideals of profiteering. We then react by creating the space to open the lacerations of emotional turmoil, which in my personal experience remains a tool for healing (safe spaces, safe talking circles, free from white judgement and ridicule). The scars are fluid in our movements to reconcile not with colonization but on our way of coinciding as one entity searching for culture yet we are dropped fast, we then feel alone, suddenly left with too many questions and no one person to help answer why we are hurting, why many of us are in constant pain. The welt of white privilege is then run deep across our souls. Rekindling with each other is done on a very humanistic scale and where our Native bond grows. Laughter is a plain I tap into as much as I can.
Sometimes to help me cry, sometimes to help others heal through laughter. Indigenous peoples are strong. We are not weak; being at a guest on Unist’ot’en lands, this strength is witnessed within our ability to shelter and gather around those that are hurting, crying or in need of a general check-in, or to push out intruders. I do not look to pervasive curiosity, I do not need to fully know where your ancestors hail from, I do not need to know what this color red means or why does it rain, or ask if I can touch your hair. I just need to hear a laugh or see a smile. I will smile and say “hello” and I, for the most part, get a “hello” back soon leading us down a road built for meaningful conversations on our struggles and what we face daily under consistent strain (white people probing for all the answers or seeking the meaning of life). Suddenly, we are family, the bond grows and we look to reach farther in this modern occupied white age on how to break free from the prison of colonization.
A saying I heard back on Unist’ot’en Territory:
“We just want clean water, clean medicine, and clean lands”…
We have been pushed so incredibly far to see and be white indoctrinated to the point where we vision ourselves as wretched, vile, lesser than the whites. I realize, in looking at decolonizing every aspect of my life that somewhere in Native historical contexts, dehumanization quickly took over me. I, for me, and my understandings of how westernization plays into my life, I do not fear being Indian. Instead, I fear the very essence and idea of all the humanistic qualities we carry as an Indigenous people. We must then work together to nurture the art of working past the disgruntled image white society made for us, wrongfully. I suggest we then take all that confusion and frustration to a compassionate level, teach those capable that we have taken anger as normalized and turned them into tears, moving along with us on the long road from the removal and displacement of self-identity, right back into the human beings around us that, even though we were white educated to loathe, despise, hate, fear, or be jealous of other Indigenous peoples, we must create safe spaces to be, well, there for each other. I suggested within myself, holding back ten years ago that no, do not harbor your confusion, angst, fear, doubt or worry, simply be you, complexly enough, be human. I understand through the ages of white suppression that white society taught us brainwashing, whitewashing tactics and I know that these immoral practices to segregate can be and are presently being, unlearned. We just need time to heal and love ourselves.
Transition is difficult, the drive was rather complicated knowing I am leaving a place I have come to love, my ancestral home territory of the Hul’q’umi’num; although, I hope to keep supporting the Unist’ot’en in every avenue of my creative lifestyle. The art of saying “goodbye” is more of a “see you later” type Native clause since we are all over the map, working on different campaigns, different projects yet we remain connected at the roots-roots of our hearts for what is at stake. The fabric of the world is being taken apart seam by seam and many stand idle at the destruction of the planet. I do not know how many places exist where an Indigenous clan is taking back their right to cultivate sovereignty. I do enjoy being a day dreamer and think that we all are in our own ways. The realities of Indigenous understandings of living in unison have dulled and faded, never fully changing colour, never really going away. I urge we stop the madness, working as one and not against the lands and waters, keep at bay the colonial concept to conquer and divide. Forgot the opposite, backwards, wayward concepts that are found in every corner of colonization to secretly hate thy neighbour.
I had suddenly watched myself leave Unist’ot’en territory, a day early at that. In returning and driving in reverse the 66km dirt logging road, I hit so-called “civilization”, it was just still there, all the lights, sounds and sights. I mean, for me, it was indeed like being dropped out of the ancient times, almost like “leaving the 1800s” I said to a close friend I ran into at a gas station nearby, reuniting with this strange alienated and somehow modernized world I have always known, once partially respected even, to disrespecting their colonial laws and tactics that many look by further supressing my Indigenous sovereignty. Interesting to discover how quick I can become adjusted to the groove of the back country and how devastating my reality truthfully is, well, still heavily colonized…“where to go from here”…I have taken a road break in a safe space. I feel distant even still from those around me. I think in my head: “Does the colonial world really understand what is traveling just blocks away from them?” Pipelines, refineries, tanker traffic, racism, sexism, oppression of culture, suppression of self, no one seems to notice. If the colonial world has not figured it out by now, I am sure tomorrow is another day to help push real world education.
I have headed for home and civility is grossly comfortable, for me this colonial world is lazy and easy to slide back into or crawl back into like a silk shirt or buying a cup of espresso or flicking a light switch or utilizing the fridge and freezer or the natural fracked gas stove living in my house I operate to cook with. The grocery store and coffee shops and gas stations and high pressure fracked gas and tar sands pipelines are all filled with warning signs indicating that I must flee this hybrid way of living of fighting industry and tar sands and fracked gas and deforestation and driving my vehicle. I, at the time of protocol, arrived with an open mind and I then left looking to pry it back open. In driving along the highway, indicating that I have hit the colonial British Empire, somewhere in history, these Indian lands became so-called Kanata (well, “(kkk)Canada”).
I reside heavily in an occupied ideology where industry and corporate create this magical lines white society claims as the utmost rules. And what is worse, well, this fucking government is the monkey dancing along to the rhythms and sounds of coins jingling in oil barons over worked hunger and his political pockets and parliament bills are being eroded that once sought to continually hand down intergenerational knowledge to safeguard our respected ancestral homelands, all guarded and protected all aspects of lands and waters yet for many in the western world, for many that are white, they even conjured up laws to make these Hul’qumi’num ways a joke.
As if my ancestors were a fallacy I created in a picture book, stuck filling in the lines, careful not to step out of my bounds, my means, or be smacked back into place. The island I call home is at the very least severed from how Hul’qumi’num peoples lived by a code of being responsible to care for the natural environment for those yet born, so they may have shelter, food, warmth, skills passed down to survive, and repeat the caring of land and water process for the next guardians, so many areas of this island I reside on were once protected, as opposed to now barely any areas are neglected. Modern day white reserves so they may progress forward and strangle the life from those lands and waters Hul’q’umi’num peoples were entrusted with to defend.
Millions of Indigenous peoples do what klanatians forgot: to actually “stand on guard for thee”; yet Natives, or anything not white, are seen as terrorists, pagan drones, problematic equations that can be solved from letting go of humanity, and suddenly erasing those Savages from their actual place of birth.
Anyway, angered, I drove back into white society knowing this is an environment with shifted perspectives of what sustainable is, and is not, congressional idiots thriving on a bacterium infested petri-dish where big bags of royalties ring in the sounds that shall erase all life forms from the map entirely, of course, this is also largely thanks to our own addictions, and also due to the industrialization and corporatization of so-called Klanata: “GOD SAVE THE QUEEN”; but please don’t. I fear that as long as the tar sands’ coins are continually being tossed their capitalistic corrupt government way, our Native lands and waters are in serious danger of becoming extinct: The system is indeed fucked.