Reflections
from the Ahnishinahbæótjibway (We, the People)
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Treaties
are still in the news. The Tuesday
Minneapolis Star Tribune featured a commentary
article by Ronald Steiner, stating “Treaties function to specify grants
from
Indians to non-Indians,” and adding that “a treaty does not go out of
date
until one of the parties ceases to exist, or both of the parties agree
to
change it.”
The
crucial issue is one which the mainstream media has
obscured: the Third Party—the Anishinabe Ojibway Nation who own and
have always
owned the land “covered” by these Treaties, and everything connected
with the
land. We, the Anishinabe Ojibway cannot
sell Grandmother Earth, because of our religion and our identity. This is why the ecology was abundant and the
permaculture was intact when the Europeans got here with their Indians. These immigrants said we were “not using” the
land, but we were sustaining the ecology and the ecology gave us food,
clothing,
medicine, identity, and everything else we needed for life. The Bureau of Indian Affairs, and their
consequent I.R.A. “Tribal Councils,” has always been external
governments,
operating under the direction and for the benefit of the immigrant
Euro-Americans. In 1979, a B.I.A. planning
report said (on
Roman-numeral page “v”) about the proposed mutilation of the
Anishinabe
Ojibway ecosystem at Red Lake, “Such a program will necessitate changes
in
certain activities and attitudes that may not be entirely acceptable to
tribal
members [meaning the Anishinabe Ojibway].”
The White man was blinded by greed, and so he said that there
was
“nothing here.” Why do they want to
destroy the ecosystem, pollute the water, and steal the fish, if there
is
“nothing here.”
The
media focus on “treaty rights” has been on FISH. Something
smells fishy here, like a rotten
red herring drawn across the real issues.
The State of Minnesota’s January 15, 1993 “Settlement Agreement”
goes
into great detail: about catch-and-release, and netting, and spearing,
and
permits, and etc., and etc. They are
engineering gridlock about fishing. The
emphasis on “environmental conservation”: catch-and-release, is because
the
water is so polluted it’s dangerous to actually eat the fish. In Wisconsin, in order to avoid the issue of
mineral rights, violent confrontations were orchestrated about “spear
an
Indian, save a Walleye,” and all of the other ugly racism that the
élite in
Wisconsin promoted. They even sold
“Treaty Beer.” What we need to do is
manufacture and promote “Treaty Tissue,” then everybody in the State of
Minnesota can be part of this crooked “Treaty.” The
Tourists can drink Treaty Beer and then use Treaty Tissue to
deal with the inevitable consequences.
Those who don’t drink beer, can use Treaty Tissue for the
Montezuma’s
Revenge from drinking the polluted water.
It’s
a certainty that some influential corporation has found
something valuable under “mineral leases” in the Treaty area of
Minnesota. The “Indians” who did not own
the land
allegedly ceded under the 1837 Treaty did not cede the mineral rights,
and
nobody’s talking about the value of the iron ore taken out of the
Mesabi Range,
either.
The
people who talk about the Treaty should read it,
particularly the Wanna-Be Indians.
Among others, Scottish Indian Trader William Aitkin received
twenty-eight thousand dollars for gratuities and influence-peddling,
under
Article 4 of the 1837 Treaty.
A CENTURY OF PROGRESS,
mismanagement, graft, rip-offs, destruction, pollution, waste, and
nepotism. According to a September 26,
1952 Red Lake B.I.A. letter, “since the construction of the Redlake
sawmill at
Redby in 1924 approximately 107 million feet of timber had been sawed
from 1925
to 1952. All but 5 million feet had
been produced from the Redlake Indian forest.
The total cut from the 105,000 acres up to 1952 was
approximately 207
million feet of timber.” This does not
include the timber plundered from the Red Lake Anishinabe Ojibway land
which
was “ceded” by Indians who did not own it, and which was never paid
for, nor
does it include the timber that was stolen—probably more again than the
recorded 207 million feet. 207,000,000
feet of sawed boards is a lot of lumber—and does not include just as
much which
was wasted. 207 million feet of timber
will build 23,000 two-bedroom 24 x 30 houses.
I don’t know how many times the people of Red Lake have been
told that
the “mill is so you can have ‘civilized’ houses.” And,
if they were placed end to end, the logs would go around the
world at the equator twice. Imagine
that: logs one after the next, extending around the world two times,
just from
half a million acres of Anishinabe Ojibway permacultural forest.
LENGBY,
Minnesota—a story told to me by Dick Anderson:
Years ago, when there were family farmers and they had chicken
coops,
and country circuses made their rounds, the Gypsies also came through
the small
towns. When they came, the farmers
always seemed to be missing a few chickens, and they blamed the Gypsies. The farmers knew that their chickens were
being stolen, but they could not catch the culprit, because the
chickens
disappeared in silence. If a fox goes
in a chicken coop, the noise would wake any farmer from a sound sleep,
and he
would come out with his shotgun and chase the fox.
Dick Anderson said he bribed a group of Gypsy boys with bottles
of pop, to tell him how they stole chickens.
He said, “I know you’re stealing chickens, but tell me how you
do
it.” They finally told him, in exchange
for pop on a hot day, but said, “don’t tell our fathers, because we’ll
get a
licking.” This is what they said:
You
go into the chicken coop or the hen-house with a sack at
night, when the chickens are sleeping on their roosts.
You take a broomstick, and tap the chicken
on the toes with the broomstick. The
chicken will step off of his roost and onto the broom handle. After the chicken is standing on the broom
handle, your partner holds the sack open, and you just dump the chicken
into
the sack. All the chicken says is “Ark,
Ark,” and then you go onto the next chicken.
If you grab the chicken and pull him off the roost, he’ll holler
and
raise a ruckus in the chicken coop, and you’ll wake up all the chickens
and
everybody else including the farmer.
I’m
not advocating a life of crime, but almost nobody raises
chickens anymore, so this is just a good story.
My
telephone number is (218) 679-2382 and my mailing address
is P.O. Box 484, Bemidji, MN 56601.
Wub-e-ke-niew
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