That's what we did. Rose up and defended Mother Earth. And we got our butts kicked for it (see my books).
The New Seminole were outnumbered and out-weaponized. Now I'm holed-up in the Miccosukee Embassy doing Sanctuary. Those words above pretty much sum up what got me here with a quid pro quo violent defense of the Everglades and the "colonization" of south Florida that pit our sad little "tribe" up against the Mighty White Father aka Uncle Sam. Since that time, I've been giving it a lot of thought about choosing a less "proactive" approach, something closer to Ghost Dancing rather than Ghost Making.
At the end of the 19th Century Uncle Sam had pretty much brought the continent's indigenous tribes to their knees by one massacre, broken treaty, and forced settlement onto reservations after another. It would be safe to say that their spirits had been immeasurably broken. Around 1890 a Northern Paiute spiritual leader called Wovoka had a vision that would save the 500 Nations: if they danced the Ghost Dance they could summon the spirits of their dead ancestors to fight the colonists, make them leave the land, and restore peace, prosperity, and unity to all the tribes. In desperation, the idea caught on and spread through many of the tribes.
Of course, nothing came of it except Wounded Knee and the deaths of hundreds of Lakota Sioux (including Sitting Bull) all because Uncle Sam grew fearful that a few impoverished and broken people had begun dancing in a circle-- which the U.S. Army knew was a prelude to an attack on settlers and soldiers.
Like the founder of the New Seminole, Micco Busimanolotome Osceola, I came to the conclusion that dancing and chanting wouldn't change a thing. Praying, neither. We had to "take it to The Man," as he would say. Well, that didn't work out too well for us either. Although we didn't Ghost Dance, we did have our own Wounded Knee: at a nondescript hammock deep in the Everglades we called Rendezvous Point.
But as I've been told more than once by Special Agent "Micco Mann," that we, unlike the Lakota Sioux who were only dancing, had it coming. So, in retrospect, maybe it's time for another Ghost Dance. One that embraces technology to save the world instead of violence. Maybe the New Ghost Dance is a New Seminole floating in space, dancing pow wow style between the earth and the moon and the stars; always there to remind the crew all is sacred. Maybe it will be Nokosee. Or me. Or our daughter, Haalie.
Maybe.
The New Seminole were outnumbered and out-weaponized. Now I'm holed-up in the Miccosukee Embassy doing Sanctuary. Those words above pretty much sum up what got me here with a quid pro quo violent defense of the Everglades and the "colonization" of south Florida that pit our sad little "tribe" up against the Mighty White Father aka Uncle Sam. Since that time, I've been giving it a lot of thought about choosing a less "proactive" approach, something closer to Ghost Dancing rather than Ghost Making.
At the end of the 19th Century Uncle Sam had pretty much brought the continent's indigenous tribes to their knees by one massacre, broken treaty, and forced settlement onto reservations after another. It would be safe to say that their spirits had been immeasurably broken. Around 1890 a Northern Paiute spiritual leader called Wovoka had a vision that would save the 500 Nations: if they danced the Ghost Dance they could summon the spirits of their dead ancestors to fight the colonists, make them leave the land, and restore peace, prosperity, and unity to all the tribes. In desperation, the idea caught on and spread through many of the tribes.
Of course, nothing came of it except Wounded Knee and the deaths of hundreds of Lakota Sioux (including Sitting Bull) all because Uncle Sam grew fearful that a few impoverished and broken people had begun dancing in a circle-- which the U.S. Army knew was a prelude to an attack on settlers and soldiers.
Like the founder of the New Seminole, Micco Busimanolotome Osceola, I came to the conclusion that dancing and chanting wouldn't change a thing. Praying, neither. We had to "take it to The Man," as he would say. Well, that didn't work out too well for us either. Although we didn't Ghost Dance, we did have our own Wounded Knee: at a nondescript hammock deep in the Everglades we called Rendezvous Point.
But as I've been told more than once by Special Agent "Micco Mann," that we, unlike the Lakota Sioux who were only dancing, had it coming. So, in retrospect, maybe it's time for another Ghost Dance. One that embraces technology to save the world instead of violence. Maybe the New Ghost Dance is a New Seminole floating in space, dancing pow wow style between the earth and the moon and the stars; always there to remind the crew all is sacred. Maybe it will be Nokosee. Or me. Or our daughter, Haalie.
Maybe.
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