UNIVERSITY OF OKLAHOMA GRADUATE COLLEGE “RAPID CITY IS THE MISSISSIPPI OF THE NORTH”: OGLALA MEN ON RACIAL TENSIONS IN RAPID CITY, SOUTH DAKOTA AND THE PINE RIDGE RESERVATION A THESIS SUBMITTED TO THE GRADUATE FACULTY in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Degree of MASTER OF ARTS By KELLY LAFRAMBOISE Norman, Oklahoma 2013 “RAPID CITY IS THE MISSISSIPPI OF THE NORTH”: OGLALA MEN ON RACIAL TENSIONS IN RAPID CITY, SOUTH DAKOTA AND THE PINE RIDGE RESERVATION A THESIS APPROVED FOR THE DEPARTMENT OF ANTHROPOLOGY BY ___________________________ Dr. Sean O’Neill, Chair ___________________________ Dr. Kristin Dowell ___________________________ Dr. Misha Klein © Copyright by KELLY LAFRAMBOISE 2013 All Rights Reserved. iv Table of Contents Introduction ............................................................................................. 1 Chapter I: ................................................................................................ 11 Pine Ridge Reservation: Home of the Oglala Lakota Nation ............................. 11 Chapter II: ............................................................................................... 36 “I Don’t Know If It’s Racism or Not, But Whatever It Is, It Sucks!” Racial Discourse in Rapid City and Pine Ridge, South Dakota ............ 36 Chapter III: .............................................................................................. 63 “Throwin’ Down Beats” and “Spittin’ Rhymes”: Hip-Hop and Gangsta Rap on The Pine Ridge Reservation ........................................................ 63 Chapter IV:.............................................................................................. 90 “The New Lakota Warrior”: Basketball, Discourse, and Cultural Construction ............................................................................................... 90 Chapter V:............................................................................................. 100 Conclusion: State Basketball Championship Games ........................... 100 Appendix I ............................................................................................ 105 “What if the Tea Party Was Black”..........................................................105 Appendix II ........................................................................................... 108 “White Privilege” ....................................................................................... 108 Bibliography......................................................................................... 112 1 Introduction On a sunny Saturday morning in August 2012 I found myself riding on the back of a motorcycle through the Badlands with my arms nervously wrapped around the torso of a young Oglala Lakota man. He is the great-grandson of an elderly Oglala man I have come to consider a family member throughout my long history of visiting Pine Ridge Reservation in southwest South Dakota. I had never been on a motorcycle before, so this initiation on the winding, and often narrow roads was both exhilarating and frightening. Jess, my guide, is a tall, athletic Oglala man who embodies the array of masculinities on the reservation: hip-hopper, basketball player, and military warrior. On the day of our motorcycle ride he was wearing baggy jeans, an Oklahoma City Thunder basketball jersey, high-top basketball shoes, and a New York Yankees baseball cap with the bill slanted slightly to the side. Jess looks like many other Oglala men I have seen on the reservation and often depicted in sensationalized television programs that highlight the hardships of life at Pine Ridge. The hardships sometimes lead to young men forming gangs or to being imprisoned multiple times in their young adult years. Jess graduated from Red Cloud High School with honors after four successful years of being a 2 star basketball player. Upon graduation, Jess scored particularly high on the military’s entrance exam and was assigned to a unit for intelligence training and weapons specialization. This gave him professional training, but also landed him on the front lines of battle in Afghanistan. During our motorcycle trip, Jess told me that despite the hardships and sadness that seem to plague his people, there is a more powerful and “spirit-lifting” atmosphere on the reservation that is deeply grounded in a connection to place, people, and history. He showed me a Pine Ridge that I had never seen before. His guidance and description of the reservation opened my eyes to a place Oglala feel a strong connection with and celebrate, despite their hardships. Jess told me that the reason there is racial tension between Oglala and non-Natives in the area surrounding Pine Ridge is because “outsiders” do not fully understand the deeper beauty and interconnectedness between the people who share a homeland on the reservation, as well as a deep, meaningful collective cultural memory tied to the many historical and current tensions between Lakota and the U.S. Government that have taken place on Lakota land. Jess explained that non-natives only see the poverty and equate that with a need for charity and faith-based missions to “fix the Indians.” He explained that media sensationalizes the negative aspects of life on 3 the reservation, in turn introducing non-Native viewers to only “the bad” without showing them the positivity and rich cultural practices that are part of day-to-day life at Pine Ridge. Jess told me that if we were to drive beyond the borders of the Badlands into Rapid City he would be “profiled” and marked as a “thug” and “no good Indian” by the Rapid City police and business owners simply by his appearance – both clothing style and phenotypic features. However, on the reservation, Jess’s appearance drew no attention and raised no suspicion, nor did it mark him as “other” or “bad.” Jess said that on the reservation, he is just a “typical young Oglala man.” Indeed, my experiences with Jess throughout the day of our motorcycle trip confirmed the premise of my research: Oglala men are profiled by non-natives, including the police, due in part to their hip-hop style of dress, and in part to a historical pattern of racial tensions between Natives and white people on the Great Plains. I have observed this pattern throughout my many visits to the reservation and Rapid City over the past two decades. A few weeks after the motorcycle ride, I was sitting with Jess in his family’s home watching television. His family was preparing for the big Lakota Nation Powwow that evening. His six year-old nephew, Jase, came into the living room after having his hair braided. He was 4 shirtless, and his pants were drooping because he had not yet put on his belt. When he saw Jess on the couch, Jase puffed up his chest and made some improvisational gang signs with his hands. Within seconds, Jess and four other men jumped out of their seats and surrounded Jase. The young boy’s father took both of Jase’s hands into his own and held them while the boy’s grandfather explained that imitating gang behavior was not allowed in their home and that Jase should return to his room and put on his belt. Jase pointed to Jess and asked why he was allowed to wear his pants baggy, and the grandfather’s response floored me. John told Jase, “Jess has been to prison. He is allowed to sag his pants. You haven’t been to prison yet so you have to wear a belt.” The word “yet” hit me in the chest as I realized that Oglala youth expect to be put in lock-up at some point in their lives. Despite his academic and basketball successes, and his stellar military career, Jess has spent time in jail and prison—an aspect of many Oglala men’s life that is not unexpected or socially classified (by Oglala) as “deviant”—rather it is almost a rite of passage and just a “normal” part of early adulthood. Jess and his family practice what they call a “traditional Lakota way of life.” They wake up just before sunrise and run to the east to 5 greet the sun and pray. Jack, the oldest member of the family, rides a 4-wheeler to keep up with the runners, while his wife, any family members who are ill or pregnant, and other elderly members meet at the clearing in their pick-up truck. Every night the family gathers to sing and pray and offer thanksgiving. Despite this family’s admirable attempts to remain strong in their traditions through regularly scheduled ceremonies, social inequalities and racial tensions in the area have resulted in some of them being profiled and given harsh sentencing within the Rapid City justice system. The expectation of jail or prison is an important factor to consider when thinking about the complexities of Oglala men and identity constructions, as well as the ways in which they present themselves in public, and how those presentations are perceived by others, especially within the justice system. Witnessing that moment when a young boy was surrounded by influential men in his life who responded to his gang mimicking behavior with compassionate concern, yet also given a lesson that there will be a time when such expressions will be tolerated, was the moment I realized that Oglala youth are profiled despite every attempt to be equal. Many Oglala parents strive to keep their children from falling into a deviant lifestyle, but at the same time understand that in reality they 6 must also prepare their children for an inevitable future that includes injustice and inequality. Sitting on the couch, contemplating what I had just observed, I realized that after many years of interest in Oglala culture and organizing service-learning summer programs, my role on the reservation shifted from volunteer, friend, and visitor to an anthropologist temporarily living on the reservation while conducting research. This shift presented challenges to the means of communication and ways of relating to my friends that I had not fully considered before undertaking the research project. Nevertheless, I proceeded to conduct my observations and interviews while enjoying time with old friends and resuming my role as “a two-legged relative” (as my dear friend Jack, Jess’s great-grandfather calls me). Jack introduced me to people I had not met on previous visits. His interest in my work was not a condition of our friendship, yet he often went out of his way to make sure I had access to information that would be beneficial to an ethnographic study of racial discourse on the reservation and in Rapid City. Based on participant observation and open-ended interviews, I describe the ways in which Oglala masculinities contribute to racial discourses constructed in everyday life on Pine Ridge Reservation and in the surrounding areas. During the summer of 2012 I spent eight 7 weeks as a participant observer of “3-on-3” basketball tournaments, family get-togethers, community meetings on the reservation, a powwow, and a police ride-along in Rapid City, the latter following a shorter but still-enlightening period spent with a group of men selfidentifying as members of a reservation gang. I used the qualitative methods of ethnographic research to gain in-depth knowledge from a perspective that did not assume a position in the existing tensions between the reservation and border town areas. I am not a resident of the reservation or border towns; my role is to analyze the discourse from multiple perspectives with the information I have been given access to. Jane Hill’s book, The Everyday Language of White Racism was the major theoretical foundation of the discourse chapter. Her work addresses the use of racist language in everyday speech patterns of white-skinned Americans. While her research focused on white racism toward Spanish speakers and Mexican people living in the U.S, the theoretical foundations of her argument apply to prejudice and marginalization of all social minority groups. This thesis offers several examples of denial, such as white people starting sentences with “Not to sound racist but…” as well as outright rejection and refusal to acknowledge that their speech is racist and offensive. However, as Hill and critical race theorist Eduardo 8 Bonilla Silva suggest, white people do not respond with apologetic understanding when accused of being racist. This is often why racial tensions continue to fester; there is no resolve and instead there is a polarized dialogue. In the case of Oglala in the Rapid City area, the polarization leads to great mistrust and unease in relations to most white people, especially the police. Oglala males have a very tense relationship with the Rapid City Police. The Rapid City Police administration is aware of the tension and acknowledges that it needs to implement strategies to repair miscommunications and mistrust. The police department actively attempts to recruit Lakota officers; however, the Lakota community has no interest in becoming a part of what several interview participants called “the oppressive system.” Part of this tension stems from a false interpretation of young Oglala masculinity by police, but also because there is a lingering discourse about militaristic oppression of native peoples that has deeply profound meaning in the social memory of many Oglala. The Wounded Knee Massacre and subsequent conflicts that have taken place at Wounded Knee, and a long history of tension with the U. S. government still shape the lives and American Indian activism movements today. Much of the racial discourse in the area surrounding Rapid City and Pine Ridge stems from these massacres and atrocities; no matter 9 how many times the U.S. Calvary, settlers, and government tried to eradicate the Lakota and imprison them, they are still surviving and thriving. These patterns of oppression and ethnocide partially explain why so many Lakota will not be police officers. There has been increasing social debate in recent years surrounding racial tensions and the profiling of Native men in Rapid City, South Dakota. This thesis presents original ethnographic data collected on Pine Ridge Reservation and Rapid City, S.D. concerning racial discourses and constructions of masculinities. The purpose of this thesis is to contribute to new knowledge of these issues through an ethnographic exploration of racial discourses by and about young Oglala Lakota men. The major findings of my research are about the complexity of Oglala men’s social networks, including their participation in hip-hop culture and basketball. In addition, this thesis highlights significant racial discourses that are constructing represented identities, which include “warrior,” “thug,” and “baller.” This thesis also analyzes Oglala men’s identities, and illustrates the relevance of critical race and anthropological theory to understanding the complex ways Oglala men present themselves in contrast to the ways their presentations are interpreted by non-Native people who live and work in the areas around the reservation. 10 Oglala men are both negotiating and constructing their identities by participating in activities that have been associated more with African American men. Recognizing the voice of marginality and inequality, Oglala men respond in a positive way by participating in hiphop and basketball, and adapt and incorporate elements of each into their own expressions of identity through particularly Oglala forms of hip-hop and basketball lifestyles. 11 Chapter I: Pine Ridge Reservation: Home of the Oglala Lakota Nation I first heard about Pine Ridge and the Oglala Lakota Nation on an episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show back in the mid-1990s when I was a high school student in Belleville, Michigan. My U.S. History teacher, Mr. Lapointe, showed the episode titled, “American Indians” in class to illustrate how colonialism has had long-term effects on the wellbeing of indigenous peoples of the lands still under settler-colonialism. I remember being completely shocked by the poverty, health disparities, and third-world living conditions, particularly on the Lakota reservation. Moreover, I distinctly remember Oprah instructing the audience and viewers that we now knew about this place, and knew what it was like for the people there, so we could never say “I didn’t know” as an excuse for not taking action, or offering humanitarian aid (The Oprah Winfrey Show 08/12/1992). That is a sentiment that has never left my conscious. Later that semester, Mr. Lapointe took our class on a fieldtrip to a powwow being held at the University of Michigan. After watching several rounds of dancing, we walked around various stands that offered food and crafts for sale in the vending area of the arena. One of the tables had information and a photo-display about a summer 12 volunteer program to build straw bale houses at none other than Pine Ridge, the same place I had seen on the Oprah show. I was compelled to become an advocate for the people of Pine Ridge by what I had seen on Oprah, and the volunteer display at the powwow. I spent several summers volunteering with housing projects, organizing food and clothing drives, and raising awareness of political and economic strife at Pine Ridge, including leadership of servicelearning alternative break immersions for undergraduate anthropology students at Loyola University Chicago. These projects have turned into a near-lifetime of involvement and commitment to a group of people and their land. I never expected to turn my commitments into a research project for graduate school, nor did I intend to turn my relationships with some of the people living at Pine Ridge into an opportunity for academic gain. However, as my academic career began to blossom, I saw no other place or people that I would want to work with and learn from than the people at Pine Ridge. Driving west from Martin into the village of Pine Ridge on Hwy. 18 is a stark reminder of the hardships of life on the prairie. Insects the size of small birds have crashed into my windshield on many visits, leaving gummy smears that are nearly impenetrable by washer fluid and windshield wipers. Pheasants fly low and do not watch for fastmoving cars; on my last visit I arrived at a friend’s home in Porcupine 13 with the grill of my van covered in blood and feathers, an event I will surely never live down. I am always reminded of this incident and asked how many winged victims I have claimed upon each return. Along the road prairie dogs play in the dry, vacant fields. Snakes slither across the highways in search of their next meal, and if you are lucky, you might see a hawk or eagle flying over the fields, or perched on a fencepost. One time I came across a flock of wild turkeys blocking the road and had to wait about twenty minutes for them to clear the road completely because at least one or two were completely oblivious to my encroaching vehicle and refused to budge. Despite only having a handful of roads to navigate on the reservation, I manage to get lost at least once per visit. One day while conducting fieldwork, I was chauffeuring my friend from her workplace in Manderson to Oglala Lakota College in the village of Kyle. I had driven the path I have taken for years; after about thirty minutes my friend asked if I knew where the college was. She then proceeded to tell me that there was a much shorter way to cross from Manderson to Kyle which would cut about seventy miles off my normal route. Once she composed herself after heartily laughing at my ignorance, I turned around so she could show me where the mysterious road was located. Sure enough, it was quite a short-cut. 14 Turkeys and unmarked roads are only a small example of difficult navigation on the reservation. Prairie winds and dust storms are also common. I often cannot help but wonder how the homes withstand the fierce prairie winds. One day during my visit in July, 2012 the winds reached 78mph; faculty of Red Cloud High School told me to park my van alongside the school’s maintenance garage to protect it from wind damage. During a later weekend of that same visit I left the reservation to visit Rapid City (120 miles from Pine Ridge District). During my absence, a tornado hit the village of Oglala damaging several homes. Surely these depressed tin-houses cannot continue to withstand the prairie’s repetitive and relentless might. Pine Ridge, a.k.a. “the Rez,” is not unlike many American Indian reservations across the country. Spatially isolated from urban metropolises, it has long-winding roads that pass through clusters of exhausted homes, dilapidated vehicles, and sporadic trailer houses in disrepair. The soil, a mixture of dry limestone, is common of the plains and prairie of America’s Heartland. All too often the wind has blown an unpleasant dose of prairie dust into my mouth or eyes. Across the flat reservation landscape you can spot a car coming from miles away, being enveloped by the massive dust clouds it raises as it barrels down one of only a handful of roads on the reservation. Never mind trying to 15 keep your vehicle clean, the feat is impossible when travelling this reservation’s roads. It is important to understand the geographic location of Pine Ridge, because its location is strategic to understanding its proximity to places of economic activity, which are not easily accessible by many residents of the reservation. Between 1851 and 1889 portions of land in the Black Hills area of South Dakota and Nebraska were commissioned as reservation territory for the Great Sioux Nation by the U.S. government; during that period the size of the allocation was decreased by over seventy-five percent (Lazarus 1991: xviii-ixx). Today, the reservation spans 3,469 square miles (www.oglalanation.org). It is one of the larger reservations in the U.S, but compared to the size it was when the Ft. Laramie treaty was first drafted in 1851, let alone the size of territory maintained by Lakota prior to contact, it is miniscule. Since 1889 settlement of the non-reservation area has been topic of many tensions over treaty rights to lands the collective Lakota Nation feels were wrongfully stripped of their possession. There are nine Lakota reservations that together are known as The Black Hills Sioux Nation Treaty Council. These reservation lands provide a great amount of wealth for private and state operations as Pine Ridge is surrounded by a very popular tourist industry, as well as what was once part of the country’s most valuable gold source. 16 The northern border of the reservation overlaps with Badlands National Park, a preserve of ruggedly vast and expansive buttes made of 28-million year old glacial dust. The park is one of the largest fossil beds in the country (NPS.gov, 02/19/2013). One of my close friends who lives in a trailer home that sits on the edge of the National Park border explained to me that the Badlands, while largely uninhabitable, have historically provided the Lakota protection from invading army troops or enemy tribes. They also are used as places of prayer and ceremonial rituals. To the west of the reservation is Black Hills National Forest, long-established sacred grounds for the Lakota. Edward Lazarus, a law clerk for the U.S. Supreme Court and professor of constitutional law comprehensively writes about the legal and cultural history of broken promises, racial tensions, and contested court battles surrounding the Black Hills treaty rights. Disturbingly, the Lakota were stripped of all land rights to this area in 1889 after gold was discovered by General George A. Custer and his Army regimen while scouting during the Indian Wars (Lazarus, 1991:xiii-xvi). Now home to Mt. Rushmore and a profitable kitsch tourist industry, the Black Hills are a constant reminder to Oglala people of their tragic history of colonization and subjugation by the US government. 17 Jack, an elderly friend of mine from Manderson (a village on the reservation) was born and raised in the same cabin he now resides in with his wife, one son, one daughter-in-law, two grandchildren, and one great-grandson.1 He always asks me if I want to go throw rotten vegetables at Mt. Rushmore when I am visiting. Apparently, his deep dislike for the symbolism and physical presence of the sculpture has resulted in an entertaining outlet of frustration. However, as of the date of this publication I have never actually thrown rotten food at Mt. Rushmore despite my agreeing to so on many occasions. Perhaps it is a rhetorical question on Jack’s part. While the northern and western areas surrounding the reservation are frequented by tourists, the southern and eastern bordertowns are starkly rural and scarcely populated. Pine Ridge Reservation borders the state of Nebraska to the south, and to the east is Martin, South Dakota and Bennett County. Martin is a small non-reservation town with a “mostly white” population of ranchers and farm industry businesses. At one time it was a part of Pine Ridge reservation, but with the final revision of the government treaty with the Great Sioux Nation, it was removed from tribal ownership (Lazarus 1991: xxvi). Martin, like Rapid City, has its share of racial tensions that seemingly affect many reservation border towns. 1 All names, except cited authors, public figures, and those consenting disclosure in this document are pseudonyms to protect confidentiality. 18 Cultural anthropologist, Paula Wagoner describes social tensions and cultural spaces in Bennett County in her ethnography about the area that borders Pine Ridge to the east. Wagoner writes, “Tensions between whites, mixed-bloods, and full-bloods lurk amid the quiet harmony of Bennett County’s everyday rural life and emerge in moments of community crisis” (2002: 1-2). Martin is a hotbed of friction over historical land rights and settler politics, a position that often leads to contemporary tensions in current decision-making, community relations, and neighborly communications. Wagoner describes a heated town meeting in 1996 concerning the high school in Bennett County having “Warrior” as its team name and mascot (2002:19-32). The debate over Native American icons as mascots is an on-going conversation across the U.S. and Canada. Many Oglala have relocated to Martin for economic opportunities, or as is true for two of my Oglala friends, because it is mid-way between Pine Ridge and Rosebud, another Lakota reservation where Sinte Gleska University is located. For those Oglala who live in the western or far northern areas of Pine Ridge, the commute to Sinte Gleska is not feasible. Martin and Bennett County are centrally located which is convenient for those who wish to remain close to their families while commuting to school. 19 Pine Ridge is divided into nine districts: Eagle Nest, La Creek, Medicine Root, Pass Creek, Pine Ridge, Porcupine, Wakpamni, White Clay, and Wounded Knee. Each district is represented by a council member in the tribe. Of the nine districts, Pine Ridge is the most populated and has the most economic opportunity, dismal as it may be. Some tension can be found between residents of rural districts, and Pine Ridge District, or especially those Oglala living in Rapid City. As one resident of Pine Ridge District told me, “The people out in Pass Creek don’t think us over here in Pine Ridge are ‘real Indians’ because we have Pizza Hut and a post office. They say we are urban and forgot how to live like Indians.” Intraethnic rivalries exist, however as the resident continued to point out, “as soon as something happens to one of us up in the city, though, or down in Nebraska, then we all the same: urban or rural, we all Lakota.” These district rivalries became clear to me as I attended basketball tournaments on the reservation, as well as during conversations about high school basketball with men I interviewed. Just as most schools have sport rivals, so it is between districts on the reservation. The districts, while all encompassing by a singular reservation, are not homogeneous. Families are rooted in districts by a deep history that started at the formation of the reservation in 1859. At times the reservation seems endless, with a never-ending horizon of open space, 20 long-winding roads and big sky. However, for a group of people who historically migrated seasonally throughout the Great Plains region, the reservation is comparatively a miniscule area; as a result, social tensions between families and districts are not uncommon and are connected to geographic borders assigned by the treaty. Over time they have been internalized by Oglala residents. There are five high schools on the reservation: Pine Ridge, Little Wound, Crazy Horse, American Horse, and Red Cloud. Sport rivalries run rampant between Pine Ridge High School and Red Cloud (both located in Pine Ridge District). Red Cloud is a private school, owned and operated by the Jesuit Order of the Catholic Church. While many families enter a lotto for placement into Red Cloud – because of its stellar record for graduation rates and college scholarships – attending is sometimes seen as contentious and “uppity” because its students have access to better resources than the BIA and tribal schools. During my eight-weeks of fieldwork in the summer of 2012, Red Cloud offered me free housing in their Visitor’s Center. This generous offer of hospitality and support opened a lot of doors for meeting men to interview, especially basketball players who would come to play many evenings on the half-court behind the Visitor’s Center. However, it also proved to be a barrier to forming other relationships because it is the 21 rival of other schools and disliked by reservation residents opposed to the Catholic Church’s presence on their land. The relationship between Oglala residents and the reservation land is particularly remarkable in Wounded Knee District. This area is centered around the Wounded Knee Massacre Site, a mass grave of victims from the 1890 U.S. Calvary attack on a group of Lakota camping along the nearby creek. The massacre resulted in the deaths of over 145 Lakota, mostly women and children (Lazarus, 1991:115116). There is a monument with the names of the victims inscribed in marble. Very rarely have I ever seen “locals” at the cemetery. Usually, I noticed tourist buses, motor homes, or cars of white-skinned tourists walking around the mass grave. However, there are many other gravesites in the cemetery, some of which are well maintained and have newer flowers or memorabilia placed on the headstone or grave marker. Many Oglala I spoke with find the attraction of tourists to the cemetery distasteful as they feel the tourists do not fully understand the profound connections still held by Lakota to the events that occurred in the area that have formidably shaped their current state of being. Wounded Knee is also the site of the 1973 grassroots protest that resulted in an armed standoff between members of the American Indian Movement (AIM) and the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI). No 22 other area on the reservation is rooted in such deeply controversial and painful history. Other than a small road sign directing drivers toward the Wounded Knee District, there are no advertisements of the cemetery directing passersby to the monument. Most through-traffic does not leave Highway 18, the main road through the reservation. Most “outsiders” are travelling Hwy. 18 to reach either the tribally-owned Prairie Wind Casino, or in commuting between the bordertowns of Hot Springs and Martin. Due to the starkly visible poverty at Pine Ridge, “outsiders” (other than the few tourists who visit Wounded Knee) rarely stop as they pass through the reservation. Many of the homes in the housing clusters on the reservation are reminiscent of slums and welfare projects in major U.S. inner-cities. Many of the yards are littered, and some windows are broken and held together with duct tape. A curious tourist or passerby, seeking the archetypal ‘Indian’ that has been popularized in stereotypes associated with the Western genre of film and media (such as Dances with Wolves or Pocahontas), will be sorely disappointed in the reality of living conditions at Pine Ridge. Instead, they will find the results of century-old structural inequality, and a group of people who have survived (and are still surviving) dispossession, subjugation and marginalization. 23 To the unknowing eye Pine Ridge can appear to be an impoverished wasteland. But for those of us who have been lucky enough to spend time on the reservation, live amongst its residents, and celebrate its vibrant cultural practices, it is a place of laughter, knowledge, loyalty, and pride. There is so much more to Pine Ridge than the starkness and disarray often portrayed or interpreted by outsiders. The small “urban” district of Pine Ridge is the busiest place on the reservation. Most of the reservation’s businesses and government offices are in this district. Most notably is Big Bats, a combination Shell Oil Company gas station, counter-service restaurant, and convenience store, which stands at the busiest corner on the 2-million-acre reservation. I have never been to Big Bats when I didn’t have to wait for a pump, stand in line to purchase a coffee, or have to wait for an empty table in the dining area at peak meal times. Across the street from Big Bats sits the reservation’s tribal and federal buildings. In addition, a Subway, Pizza Hut, U.S. Post Office, a locally-owned coffee shop, and quite a few churches surround the nearby area and make up the reservation’s economic hub. This area of the reservation gets a lot of foot-traffic. There is a curfew, though. By 10:00pm youth under the age of eighteen can only be out if accompanied by a parent or guardian. Two high school teachers told 24 me there is a siren that sounds a warning of the curfew to alert children to head home, however I have never heard it; perhaps because by 10:00pm I was usually not in or near audible distance of the siren. Adjacent to Big Bats, on the west, is a large public park and the tribal powwow grounds. In 2011, The Tony Hawk Foundation granted the reservation a state-of-the-art skate park for the rapidly-growing interest by Native youth in the sport of skateboarding. The skate park along with a basketball court and a few scattered picnic tables seem to always have occupants and participants, though with the exception of the annual Oglala Nation Wacipi (powwow) the park was never as busy as Big Bats or the coffee shop. I noticed gang tags (graffiti) on the park signs and powwow buildings. This isn’t unusual; the reservation is tagged throughout with various spray-painted symbols and names. At the park, however, in addition to gang insignia, some of the graffiti are beautiful works of art, often depicting traditional Lakota icons. The living conditions and social environment at Pine Ridge are reminiscent of some urban projects, or ghettos. Poverty and social inequality is not unique to Pine Ridge; several places in the country suffer similar conditions. There are also key differences; tribal sovereignty separates Oglala from other minorities because they are given unique status under federal trust. However, the social inequalities 25 experienced by Oglala are similar to many other marginalized groups, both rural and urban. In his memoir, the famed “gangsta” rapper Trick Daddy shares his personal rags-to-riches story of growing up in a desolate, “ghetto” neighborhood known as “Pork and Beans,” or just “Beans”, in Miami, Florida. His description of the neighborhood is eerily similar to parts of Pine Ridge Reservation, in relation to nearby Rapid City. Just a stone’s throw away from downtown Miami, but the Beans might as well be in a foreign country judging by the way cabbies warn visitors to stay away… Abandoned corner stores, vacant lots, and crippled-looking trees line the streets…I was just another ghetto child born on the welfare dime waiting to wreak havoc in the projects… Uneducated. Unmarried. Unemployed… Only a seventh grade education to see me through… It’s like the shackles broken by my great-granddaddy (a slave) fell onto the wrists of my granddaddy, daddy, and then me… always living day-to-day trying to turn lemons into sweet lemonade but never really succeeding” (Trick Daddy, 2010:1-4). Like Trick Daddy’s experience in the projects of Miami, many of the Oglala men I met and interviewed live in a space that may as well be a foreign country in relation to the non-reservation spaces in the United States2. Many young men and women of Pine Ridge scrape whatever “lemons” they can get to attempt to make “sweet lemonade”; yet as is apparent in the words of their interviews, and visible during my 2 The Oglala Sioux Tribe, as a sovereign nation, has independent authority over the reservation’s geographic area and legal matters concerning its members. So in a way, it is like a “foreign country” within the United States. 26 numerous visits to the reservation, the “lemonade” is quite bitter but nevertheless profoundly appreciated. According to the US Census, Pine Ridge is consistently one of the top three poorest places in the country (www.oglalanation.org 2012). The BIA lists the population of Pine Ridge at 46,855 (www.bia.gov 2013). 90 percent of the residents are unemployed and living far below the national poverty line (www.oglalanation.org 2012). Life expectancy on the reservation is the second-lowest in the Western Hemisphere next to Haiti with the average age of death for men at 48 years and for women it is 52 (www.oglalanation.org 2012). Still, despite the hardships and dim realities of life on the Rez, there are many positive and progressive community efforts and tribal initiatives that offer support and encouragement for the Oglala living there. I was fortunate enough to be conducting my fieldwork during the time of the Oglala Nation Wacipi (powwow). Tens of thousands of American Indian dancers, drum circles, and artists descend on Pine Ridge to celebrate and participate in a weekend-long festival. Tents line the ditches surrounding the powwow grounds. Vendors (local and visitor) set-up food stands. The menus range from typical deep-fried carnival foods, to more “traditional” Lakota offerings such as bison stew and dried choke cherries. Of course, there were plenty of stands offering fry bread. 27 The powwow grounds become a sea of brightly colored beads and feathers as dancers take to the center of the dance ground during opening ceremonies and individual competitions of particular dance categories. Men compete in traditional, grass, chicken, or fancy dancing; women compete in traditional, fancy shawl, and jingle dress dancing. The style of song, dance, and regalia differ for each category. People of all ages compete in each category; however, I noticed more young men were dancing either grass or fancy than there were dancing traditional or chicken. Likewise more young girls were dancing jingle dress and fancy shawl than there were traditional. Dancers’ regalia are handmade, and as one of my friend’s who competes in the traditional category at powwows across the country told me, “some of the icons beaded onto their vests or moccasins are specific to their particular clan or family.” Great amounts of time are spent laboring to make regalia. Pride in one’s powwow outfit is evident in the delicate handling, and careful movements between dances. During the powwow the tribe also hosts several sporting tournaments. Men’s and women’s softball, rodeo, basketball, and volleyball events are played for various prizes; a friend of mine won a handmade star quilt and received $100.00 when her team won the volleyball tournament. The powwow is an annual event that brings the 28 Lakota Nation together on historical grounds to celebrate who they are and how much they have endured throughout their history. One afternoon during the powwow I sat next to my friend, John, who is the grandson of Jack, and father of Jess. After the veterans exited the powwow dance grounds he turned to me and pulled my shoulders so I was facing him and he could talk directly to my face. He told me to get out my notepad and write down what he had to say. He wanted to be sure I understood and remembered what he was about to tell me. I want you to know that we never gave up. We didn’t lose the war. We captured the flag at the Little Big Horn. We defeated Custer and the U.S. Army. That flag is ours. These veterans fought for the freedoms and values that the Lakota people hold true under that flag because it is our flag. There are Lakota warriors over in Afghanistan right now fighting for what that flag means to us. We never surrendered. People think we were defeated, but we only live on this reservation because the white people lied in their treaties and we were duped into believing that we would be able to remain a strong nation. We claimed that flag when we killed Custer and won that battle. We are not a defeated people; we are a deceived people. John’s statement is a testimony to the legacy and social memory that still hold deep meaning in the lives of the Oglala. Many Oglala (men and women) proudly join the military as an expression of Lakota warrior identity, but also as a way to honor their ancestor’s victory at Little Big Horn where Crazy Horse and his Lakota warriors defeated 29 General George A. Custer and his regimen who were largely responsible for their plight and forced confinement to smaller and smaller territories. It is also a way to assert agency under the tribe’s sovereignty and present themselves as members of both the Oglala Lakota Nation, as well as the United States. Veterans are among the highest to receive Oglala honors. To serve in the military is one contemporary expression of Oglala warrior culture. As I was leaving a visit one morning with Jack at his home in Manderson, I noticed a young Native man get out of a large black S.U.V. in the driveway. He was dressed in full U.S. Marines uniform. He walked toward Jack, who seemed surprised by the event. Jack sprung forward and hugged the young man and they both broke into tears. It was not until they broke their embrace that I recognized the young man to be Jack’s great-grandson, Jess, who had just returned home from the frontlines of Afghanistan. To celebrate, Jack invited me to share a meal and prayerful songs of thanksgiving that evening at his home with his family and friends. That night I attended Jess’s homecoming celebration. A drum circle sang while family and friends passed a smoking bundle of sage, wafting the smoke over their heads and body; this is known as “smudging.” Jack’s wife prepared a meal of spaghetti, coleslaw, fry bread, and juniper berry wojapi, a thick berry sauce that almost always 30 accompanies fry bread. Wojapi has the consistency and sweetness of pudding. Between the dishes of food, the family had placed framed photos of Jess. All but his official military portrait were snapshots of him playing basketball or standing with his fellow Red Cloud High School basketball players. I recognized that many of the players in the photos were attending the homecoming celebration. Almost everyone in attendance took the opportunity to speak about or pray for the young warrior. In all cases, the words were profoundly emotional and filled with respect and honor. I was surprised the next morning by a phone call from Jess inviting me to go for a motorcycle ride through the Badlands. Jess said he wanted me to interview him for my project because he had a lot to say. I agreed and we set off on my first-ever motorcycle ride. He showed me where he used to go hiking, and where he used to take girls to “stargaze” (which I assumed was metaphor for acting on typical teenage hormones). He pointed out various species of birds that I had never noticed or paid particular attention to during my many previous visits. While sitting on a ledge of one of the smaller buttes we had hiked up, Jess pointed out across the horizon of flat, dry land and said, This is what I thought about while deployed. My home is here. It isn’t nearly as bad as what you read about in 31 newspapers or see on TV. No place in the world can match the beauty and strength of this place. Jess was referring to a television special on ABC’s 20/20, a weekly news program. Show host, Diane Sawyer visited Pine Ridge and reported on an onslaught of youth suicides, alcoholism, poverty, and high school drop-out rates (abcnews.go.com 2011). The program, in Jess’s opinion, was a sensationalized piece in which the “sole purpose was to tug at the heartstrings of viewers at the expense of the people at Pine Ridge.” He was also referring to the August 2012 issue of National Geographic titled, “In the Spirit of Crazy Horse” which, again, depicted Pine Ridge as depressing, impoverished, and desperate (Fuller, 2012). Jess had only seen the issue of National Geographic the night before, during his homecoming celebration. He expressed how the two stories “got it all wrong” and missed important aspects of life on the reservation. He continued to explain, So many times I wonder why people think Pine Ridge is bad. If you only think about the bad then you can no longer see the good. It starts to play tricks on your mind. Over there in Afghanistan, I saw lots of dust and rocks and I hated it. Then I remembered this exact place where we are sitting, where there is nothing but rocks and dust, but at the same time everything is right here. When I tried to fall asleep over there, I thought about the good medicine that this place offers. There is good medicine in just knowing that in this empty place there is so much love and strength. My great-grandma, grandma, or mom just have to put their hand on my cheek and I can feel the love of many generations of women. I thought 32 about my nieces and nephews, who complain about not having everything they want, but who smile and play, and are proud of our family at powwow, ceremony, and sporting events. Jess wanted me to understand the strength of social relationships (especially family), the tribe’s history, and their connection to place as they are the most valuable aspects of life at Pine Ridge. He understands that there are hardships and unfair access to some of life’s most basic needs, and I have no doubt that those things weigh heavily on his conscious, but this young soldier, in the face of war and destruction, thought about the peace, love, and “good medicine” waiting for him amongst his people at home. We chatted for a while about his experiences overseas. He continued to tell me that his choice to join the military was out of respect for his elders. He described his pride for the history of warriors in his family: When I was in Afghanistan I thought about my tiyospaye [family] and how happy we are to be a part of this beauty. I thought about my great grandpa and how he fought in Korea. I thought about my grandpa who served in the Army. They both came home. They could have left and started lives in Denver or Omaha. But they came back to this place. Of course I thought about my dad who went to college and became a teacher here, which is just as noble of a warrior as a soldier. He could have taught at a big fancy school in California. But he came back to teach the kids here. 33 Jess expressed great affinity for the men in his life, and referred to them all as “warriors.” He admitted that he is “one of the very rare youth on the reservation who have several father figures who care and take an active role in their kid’s life.” He explained that many children on the reservation live with their Unci [grandmother] or have single mothers. Having a father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all living on the same allotment of land, and all participants in his upbringing are not influences that Jess takes for granted. We left the Badlands and took a long motorcycle ride back to Manderson. We went to Betty’s Kitchen to meet up with his parents for lunch. Betty’s Kitchen is as unique of a small business as they come. The owner, Betty Black Elk, is the great-granddaughter of Black Elk, the Oglala medicine man made popular in the 1932 book, Black Elk Speaks by J.G. Niehardt. She opened a restaurant and serves customers in the dining room of her double-wide trailer home at the top of the butte behind Black Elk’s cabin. The walls of her home are covered in photos of Black Elk and other family members (historical and living). Betty serves a diverse menu of bison burgers, chicken strips, salads, and three daily specials which range from spaghetti and meatballs to Chinese pepper steak, or smothered burritos to a complete harvest-style turkey dinner. Her dining room is a great place to catch up 34 with locals who frequent her business, or enjoy lunch under her covered patio if the winds cooperate. No visit to the reservation is complete without one or two meals at Betty’s Kitchen. She advertises her daily specials on 90.1FM, KILI Radio, the reservation’s privately-owned radio station. KILI serves as a public broadcasting network for tribal and private information that pertains to reservation or tribal business. KILI also plays music with styles ranging from country Western, gospel, or classic rock to Native music performances such as flute or powwow. Local musicians can perform live on-air, and requests for specific songs can be made by calling the station or posting on the KILI’s Facebook page. The tag line for the radio station (as regularly advertised on-air) is “the voice of the Lakota Nation;” it is indeed, a voice specifically by and for South Dakota’s Native people. KILI was instrumental in spreading the word of my research project in an unexpected way. One of the first people I got to know well throughout my many visits to Pine Ridge in the past is a deejay for KILI. I made the mistake of not informing him of my research project before posting fliers around Pine Ridge District. Incidentally, this dear friend saw one of my fliers posted at Big Bats and thought he would do me a favor by announcing my recruitment of participants during his hourly bulletin announcements on-air. 35 As I was driving back into Pine Ridge District from the village of Oglala, I heard my name, project, email address, and cell phone number broadcast to the entire listening audience. Needless to say, I was shocked and a little horrified; I had only been on the reservation for five days and was not prepared to begin actively interviewing within the first week of fieldwork. Instead of stopping at the places in Pine Ridge that I had intended, I drove all the way from Oglala to Porcupine to the radio station to eat humble pie as I realized the error in my ways of not following friendly protocol to make people (who would have liked to know I was in town) aware of my arrival (especially under the pretense of conducting research). My friend found humor in his “punishment for my “crime against friendship” and agreed to refrain from announcing my contact info during further bulletin broadcasts. Despite only being announced once, I did receive several emails and phone calls from reservation residents wishing to be interviewed. 36 Chapter II: “I Don’t Know If It’s Racism or Not, But Whatever It Is, It Sucks!” Racial Discourse in Rapid City and Pine Ridge, South Dakota There is a coffee shop on Highway 18 in the district of Pine Ridge that I frequented during my stay on the reservation. The coffee shop, called Higher Ground, is usually busy, and offers some of the only fresh, healthy food choices throughout the reservation. The owner is a boisterous, Oglala extrovert who makes it his goal to personally engage with everyone who enters the shop. He greets each person as they approach the counter, and often asks questions about politics or religion to get a conversation started. When I introduced myself and informed him of my research, he asked if my work was provoked by the recent event in Florida involving the fatal shooting of Trayvon Martin, an African American minor, by a neighborhood watchman. His question sparked the interest of another patron at the coffee shop, which led to discussion by the three of us about the nationally publicized case. Our conversation piqued more interest, and we engaged in a conversation about similar racial tensions in nearby Rapid City. The coffee shop patron told me that for many native residents, watching the story about the kid in Florida on their televisions was like having a mirror held in their faces. Several participants I interviewed later made statements such as, 37 That boy that got shot in Florida wasn’t any different than what goes on around here all the time. I mean, it’s a shame, and I am sorry for his family. But shit man, we deal with that kind of treatment here almost daily. Even though the technicalities of the Trayvon Martin case differ from those experienced by Rapid City’s indigenous community, the profound experiences of racism that are familiar to many of the Lakota led them to easily relate to the shooting, and to feel their situations are equally harsh and as extreme. For some, there is no difference between the occurrences of racially heated exchanges and experiences of harsh racial tension they cope with daily, and the allegedly racemotivated killing of Martin. This gets sensationalized when viewers are subject to the propensity of the national media to not believe the victim and to side with the perpetrator, even when it could be that the perpetrator had a history of racially motivated intent. Racial tension in Rapid City, S.D. is not a new phenomenon, nor is it isolated within the city limits. Race relations between the area’s large Native American population and white settlers have been strained since before the twentieth century (Giago, 2011). However, in addition to the Trayvon Martin case being broadcast nationally (and therefore fresh on the minds of Rapid City’s Lakota residents), two major incidents involving Lakota men during the year leading up to my arrival 38 for fieldwork had fueled the tensions of a raging fire that has yet to be, or will possibly never be, extinguished. Interethnic tensions in Rapid City have gained attention following the fatal shootings of two RCPD officers in August 2011 by Daniel Tiger, a Native resident (KOTA, August 05, 2011). During an interview in Pine Ridge, a participant told me the following: That Tiger kid—he shot them three cops last year. Man, he screwed up. I mean, he prolly was all fed up and sick of cops riding his ass, but man, he shouldn’t have shot them. He made it worse for all of us [Natives]. Now the cops up there be super-patrolling the north side. Plus that old dude who got his belly carved up with KKK in Rapid City Hospital—man, I don’t know but that shit is crazy. The white people say it ain’t KKK racist shit, but you know what? We seen enough racist shit that it is hard for us to believe it ain’t. Even if it wasn’t KKK or whatever, no Indian gonna say it ain’t cuz we gotta stick together and show that we sick of it all. Within months of the officers’ deaths, Vern Traversie, a member of the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe, gained attention for alleged KKK markings carved into his abdomen while undergoing a surgical procedure at Rapid City Regional Hospital in the Spring of 2012 (Eaton, August 01, 2012). According to news reports, Traversie, a legally blind man, woke from anesthesia following major surgery on his abdomen to hear the voice of a woman who only identified herself as “one of the nurses.” She told Traversie to have someone look at his abdomen as soon as possible, and that she was very sorry for what happened to 39 him, and that he needed to contact a lawyer. She did not give her name. A member of Traversie’s family looked at his surgery scars and saw what appeared to be three “K”’s carved into his abdomen alongside the “normal” surgical incisions. The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) agreed to represent Traversie; the investigation is still ongoing. The Daniel Tiger and Vern Traversie accounts were devastating and shocked the community as any similar incident would, but they were not out-of-the-blue or random acts of racism for the city. There is a longstanding history of racist language use, experiences of racism, and racialized accusations of policy inequalities between the indigenous communities and the white residents in the greater Black Hills region. The participants I interviewed told me of numerous times they experienced racism or racist language. In 1999, in response to widespread claims of inequality and injustices within South Dakota’s criminal justice system (particularly Rapid City) concerning Native American residents, the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights conducted an investigation and community forum to determine steps that could be taken to resolve some of the tensions between Native residents and representatives of the justice system.3 By many accounts, incidents of racial tension or unfair treatment were determined to be at a heightened level in 1999 due to 3 Two other commissioned investigations were held in Rapid City concerning Native American Civil Rights in 1975 and 1981 (usccr.gov 02/24/13). 40 the handling of murder investigations of five separate cases of Native residents in Rapid City. The Native community felt the investigations were not given the scrutiny or attention to detail common of murder investigations of white victims (usccr.gov 02/24/13). The other major complaint was that Native defendants were sentenced with much harsher punishments and prison terms than white residents convicted of similar crimes (usccr.gov 02/24/13). After hearing from over 300 residents, law enforcement personnel, prosecutors, and community leaders, the Commission on Civil Rights compiled a comprehensive document in which they listed several offenses, complaints, and concerns alongside their recommendations to appoint a Federal task force to “address the crisis of law enforcement affecting Native Americans, both on and off Indian reservations. Its focus should be on equal protection of the laws and civil rights protections” (usccr.gov 02/24/13). The commission also suggested an applied method of making formal complaints accessible to all members of the community and that procedure for Federal review of criminal cases should include the Civil Rights Division of law. Perhaps one likely suggestion to eliminate the gap between Native trust and law enforcement procedure would be to recruit Native officers to the force, as the commission suggested. However, as I learned during the ride-along with RCPD in August 2012, such efforts 41 have been unsuccessful, due not to the lack of effort on the police department’s part, rather to the complete disinterest and mistrust the Native community has in its relationship to the police. In all, the commission detailed fourteen recommendations for addressing Rapid City’s heightened racial tensions upon conclusion of their investigation. It was mentioned that most of the recommendations were repeats of previous investigations that went unimplemented (usccr.gov 02/24/13). One commission member expressed her concern that if recommendations continued to be ignored there would be another investigation in twenty years due to even more complaints and incidents of racial tension and hate crime (usccr.gov 02/24/13). Unfortunately, my research of racial tensions in Rapid City in 2011 and 2012 suggests her prediction was correct. Recent events like the fatal shootings of two officers and the alleged KKK incisions on a hospital patient’s abdomen have raised the level of racial tensions, police presence, and race-centered conversations of both the city and the reservation. Residents are reminded repeatedly through local news and media sources of the racially heated incidents. Lakota and white community stakeholders have both presented their cases in voices of self-protection and victimization. A memorial, largely attended by Rapid City’s white residents, was held on the one-year anniversary of the officer deaths. In 42 honor of Vern Traversie, there was a march down the streets of Rapid City to the hospital, largely attended by the area’s Native American residents. A sense of forced ethnic allegiance has contributed to rhetoric on both “sides” of the issues. The march included a majority of Oglala individuals supporting Traversie, a Miniconjou Lakota from the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe. The existing racial discourse in the Rapid City area allowed for the uncertainty of the markings on Traversie’s abdomen to be believed as a truly racist KKK hate crime. A pre-existing discourse of abuse and racism led the Native community not to question the validity of the accusations, but to immediately believe that such an incident was not only possible, but probable. Their response to the claims of a hate crime indicates that the incident was not isolated or random, but is part of a pattern of racist acts in the area. There is a false dichotomy of “victim” and “perpetrator” because of the nature of these and other racialized tensions. Since both of these examples involve Native and white-skinned residents, the dichotomy of blame contributes to finger-pointing and self-preservation. Allegiance to one’s own ethnicity or skin color set up tensions by construction of racialized discourse. This is a false dichotomy because discretion and understanding of the context in which these incidents occurred may not actually involve a racial motive. However, because racial tensions have 43 been present in the area for centuries, residents automatically assume racial tension as the reason for any altercation between Natives and whites. One participant informed me during an interview after a basketball game that the non-Native community reaction to the Traversie case included accusations of self-mutilation to draw negative attention to the city as an attempt to “downplay the negative image of Natives after that Tiger kid killed them cops.” This participant mentioned that the Lakota voice is silenced, or distorted by many whites in South Dakota, and that when they attempt to speak their concerns, those whites immediately accuse the Lakota of “being trouble makers and trying to make the whites look bad.” In many cases, Lakota feel they are not taken seriously, not given respect, and are discredited without question. Linguistic anthropologists, Dell Hymes and Jan Blommaert have researched the concept of “voice” as it applies to inequality and how groups of marginalized people often become “voiceless” or “silenced” (Hymes 1996 and Blommaert 2008). Oftentimes, minority groups are not given the opportunity to voice their ideas or concerns. When an attempt is made to voice their position, they are given little to no authority in majority matters, and they are often met with rejection, humiliation, and sometimes even punitive action (Hymes 1996 and 44 Blommaert 2008). Without a voice, marginalized groups continue to suffer social inequalities. As a result of having a muted voice, some members of the marginalized group begin to internalize their silenced status. They can become unsure of their voice, or fearful of retribution for voicing their thoughts. During an interview following a basketball tournament in the village of Oglala, a man who has lived in Pine Ridge District his entire life told me, “if I express my condolences to the families of those officers who that Tiger kid killed, then my own people call me a traitor.” This man felt that he could not express or sympathize with the victims’ families out of allegiance to his ethnicity and in opposition to racial tensions between Natives and whites in Rapid City. The thought of racial “harmony” or bonding between community members (despite skin color) was not even an option this man could consider. Likewise, a man from Red Shirt (a village on the far northwestern side of the reservation) told me that he did not believe the marks on Traversie’s abdomen were intentionally racist. Yet, he saw the incident as an opportunity to voice the community’s concerns and frustrations about racial tensions in the area. He stated, I don’t know if those cuts on Traversie’s stomach were intentional; they seem kind of here and there, and not really like someone meant to carve KKK on him. But I can’t say that to certain people here because the Lakotas 45 have to stick together and fight for our rights as a whole people. So, I don’t know if it’s racism or not, but whatever it is, it sucks! These two Native men allied themselves with their larger ethnic group, indicating that membership in that group supersedes agreements or interethnic relationships with the “other side” (Wagoner, 2002:124-25). For these men, fear of being marginalized within their own group held more significance than voicing their thoughts on the controversial incidents. The concept of voice inequality, as described by Hymes and Blommaert, plays an important role in the racial tensions in the Rapid City area. The police shooting and alleged KKK attack on Traversie were polarizing for Rapid City residents. Residents felt there were now only two choices to make in considering the “facts” of the incidents. Where there were once many interpretations and views, there was a forced polarization of only two: white and Native. Residents felt they could not have a subtle conversation, or an open-forum discussion about the incidents, rather, they felt they had to align with their ethnicity, an extreme position that strengthens tensions. When I asked interviewees to define racism or describe experiences that they considered racist, many struggled to narrowly define racism. Almost all participants said that the racism in Rapid City 46 was bad, or that Rapid City police were “racist assholes.” However, when asked to describe how the racism manifested, most said that it was not blatant, or like in “old days,” and that it is more “under the table,” or manifested in the form of who wields power over others, or who has more privilege or impunity. Several participants said racist language is almost always directed toward basketball players from the reservation’s high schools when they travel off-rez for games. One of the men I spoke with after a pick-up game of basketball at Red Cloud High School said, “the white players say stuff like, ‘we’re gonna scalp you!’, or ‘here come the Indians, too drunk to win’”. The stereotype of drunkenness and a reference to the historical practice of scalping, are employed by non-Native players to instill a feeling of inferiority in the psyches of the Oglala players. During an interview following a 3-on-3 basketball tournament in Pine Ridge District, a man told me that when off-rez school officials were pressed by reservation coaches about the racist language, most incidents were denied or countered with phrases such as “I don’t mean to sound racist, but of course you would play the race card here.” By starting the phrase with “I don’t mean to sound racist but…” the nonNative coach realized that his statement was racial in nature, could be interpreted as racist, and was about to accuse the Native team of being or doing something that perpetuates or confirms stereotypes. The non- 47 Native coach was accusing the Native team of “playing the race card” as a defense against Native complaints about racist speech. Reflecting the blame for racial tensions back onto the Native team, the non-Native coach made it seem like the Native team was at fault for any racial tension. Native teams were often told that the “trash talk” comments were “all in good fun.” Denial of racism, if employed, is a surefire indicator that the speaker has, or is about to utter racist speech (Bonilla-Silva 2010 and Hill 2008). Here are three additional examples of statements denying racism reiterated to me by participants: “I don’t mean to sound racist, but… those Indians would live better if they quit drinking. They can be really nice people when they are sober.” “I’m not racist, but… They would have nice things if they took better care of their belongings.” “Not to be racist, but… Y’all eat dog. I mean, I know a diet high in protein makes a good baller, so I’m guessing all you Indians got over there is dog. I heard y’all are real poor.” Statements that begin with these phrases of denial are exactly what the speaker negates them to mean by saying them in the first place. These statements provide an escape or a shield against accusations of prejudice or racism for the person speaking the phrase because no one likes to be called a racist, and seldom do people admit 48 they are racist. Typically, being accused of racism evokes a defensive response that further denies any evidence that the speaker (or what the speaker said) can be interpreted as racist. Critical race theory does not deny individual contributions to the internalized white racism in America, but more importantly it emphasizes a “collective, systematic cultural entity” (Hill, 2008:7). We must keep in mind that individual, ordinary people who do not share white supremacist beliefs can and do speak and behave in ways that advance the structural power of white racism as a whole (Hill 2008: 7, 31-36). In other words, you do not have to be a self-proclaimed racial purist to have racist notions or speak racist language. Hill states, “if language is found to be racist by its targets, then it is racist language” (2008:96). The meaning behind statements such as “I’m not racist but…” reflect ideological beliefs. Even the speaker may not necessarily be aware that their language is in fact racist. Denial is common, but as evidenced in statements such as those above, the denial is more often a defense against future accusations or interpretations of prejudice; sometimes it can be an accurate representation of how the speaker actually feels about the entire group being referenced, but statements such as these alone are not enough evidence of a person’s entire worldview. 49 Erasure, or language that refuses acknowledgement of ethnic historical context, or lived experiences of racism and injustices, suggests that the sufferings and burdens of non-whites are no more heavy or atrocious than the white people’s sufferings. Erasure silences non-whites and refuses to accept or listen to discourse on racial issues Erasure is another common form of racist language. Participants told me of times white speakers would dismiss claims that life for marginalized (especially Oglala) residents in and around Rapid City was exceptionally difficult because of social inequalities. One participant told me, “white people think they have it just as bad, or that everything my people have endured is in some way no different than a hardship they have encountered.” Beliefs such as this, or the ones below erase the historical, cultural, and livedexperiences of the person or people the white speaker is comparing himself to. These statements suggest that the sufferings and burdens of non-whites are no less heavy or atrocious than the suffering of white people. In Rapid City, erasure silences Oglala voices and results in refusal to accept or listen to Oglala complaints on racial issues. These statements of erasure are common, according to Oglala men, who recount the many times they have experienced erasure firsthand. Such declarations are often spoken in conjunction with denial, as another 50 way to reject accusations or evidence of racism. Statements of erasure reiterated to me by participants included: “I grew up poor, too; I know what it’s like.” “I am not racist, I have lots of Indian friends.” The Oglala men I interviewed said most occurrences of racist language-use happened in the area surrounding the reservation, most notably Rapid City. Six of the twenty-five Oglala men interviewed stated this same exact phrase : “Rapid City is called the Mississippi of the North.” This statement refers to the extreme racial tension and inhumane mistreatment of the minority population in Mississippi, mostly African Americans, by the white majority and government officials in power during the Civil Rights Movement. The Mississippi comparison is being made by Native residents in the Rapid City area as a rhetorical phrase used to insinuate that the racial tensions and lived-experiences of racially motivated interactions between themselves and Rapid City’s white residents are internalized as being similar to racial tensions of Mississippi’s infamous past. Native residents in the Rapid City area feel that the racially motivated incidents and racial tensions they experience are the same as those experienced in the South despite South Dakota being in the North. 51 In a conversation with one of Rapid City’s police administrators, I was informed that the Mississippi analogy was a drastic exaggeration and unfair comparison. He explained that, the use of fire hoses and attack dogs on peaceful demonstrators; domestic terrorist attacks by white-hooded KKK members; or public lynchings of minorities are not documented, nor are they daily occurrences in presentday Rapid City. The police official dismissed the comparative statement as “rhetorical discourse”, which he felt was used specifically to ignite the Lakota’s emotional feelings of angst and struggle. He feels the exaggerations are merely an attempt to stir up trouble in the community, a dramatic way to voice frustrations. In consideration of only the incongruities between the cultural discrimination of African Americans in the South versus the Lakota people on the borderlands, what police have carefully ignored is the perceptual and meaningful connection that the Lakota have associated from that time period to their own experiences of racism. Many Lakota are drawing a connection to shared history of racial violence that African Americans experienced in Jim Crow South. In short, to some Lakota, the atrocities of the Jim Crow Mississippi era are internalized, to be symbolically and emotionally as devastating as a public lynching or a KKK rally. 52 Structural inequalities and marginalization are not limited to just Native Americans. In fact, Rapid City’s Native residents recognize inequalities for many minority populations across the globe. During an interview with an Oglala resident of Rapid City, one man told me that the Mississippi comparison is not meant to lessen the extreme violence experienced by African Americans in the South either in the past, or what they still experience today. However, he said that many Natives relate to those incidents and feel their experiences are just as extreme. Any time race or ethnicity is inserted into a community conversation in Rapid City, a disconnect or barrier prevents dialogue and results in polarization of opinions and arguments. As soon as race or racism is mentioned, the community divides into Native and nonNative “camps.” There is no resolve to hear each position or argument without heated debate or mistrust building a greater tension in the conversation (or lack thereof). Once the debate has reached a boiling point, exaggerations are made as rhetorical evidence for each camp’s position. References to some of history’s most atrocious events are common in debate. Recalling popular events, especially ones remembered for their brutality or harshness, or drawing on popular atrocities invoke emotional reactions from the audience in a way that promotes a challenge to the status quo (Connerton, 1989). Oftentimes, 53 I have heard non-Native speakers refer to Hitler, Nazis, or the Holocaust to describe a person or incident that has affected them negatively, e.g. calling President Obama “Hitler” as a way to criticize his liberal leanings. Such comparisons, which in the case of the Mississippi statement are being made by Native people, are a form of erasure that lessen the uniqueness and emotional ties by victims of the actual historical event, and separate the individual significance and extreme brutality of the experience. This type of erasure is often used in rhetoric to express desperation, to bring awareness to current experiences of mistreatment and racial tensions (Bonilla-Silva, 2002:41).4 The Native people making this claim do not directly intend to weaken or lessen the painful and devastating results of the original event, but are employing analogy to influence concern and reactions from those they are speaking to. According to many critical race theorists, racism is defined as the exertion of power and privilege over a minority ethnic group (Hill 2008; Wise 2012; Bonilla-Silva 2010). A minority ethnic group has no privilege or power over the socially constructed higher class (the “whites”), and therefore reverse racism is completely invalid as a defensive theory. Far too often, we hear of a celebrity or politician express erasure by 4 Erasure denies identity, heritage, and symbolic ownership of historical and lived context. Such language constitutes an ambivalence of racial discourse (Bonilla-Silva 2002:41). 54 stating that they have many minority fans or supporters, or that their best friend is black, or that “they love their Hispanic cleaning lady” (Wise 2012). To even be in the position to make such claims further illustrates white privilege and proves fallacy in the theory of reverse racism. Having an Indian friend in no way signifies absence of racism. Interracial camaraderie is not a solid defense against, or excuse for, the everyday language of white racism because one individual cannot represent their ethnicity or social group as a whole. Tim Wise, a popular activist, author, and public speaker who writes about racism and white privilege says “personal affinity for someone who is of color, or a woman, or LGBTQ, etc says nothing about how one views the larger group from which their friend comes” (Wise 2012). He adds that whites who use their non-white friend as the reason why they cannot be classified as racist often view the larger ethnic community with some disdain, or remove their friend from the larger ethnic community as an exception to the rule by using another phrase of erasure: ”I don’t even think of them as black. They are colorless in my eyes” (Wise 2012). Wise claims that having genuine affection for a non-white person does not erase or prevent that friend from experiencing the systematic racism, mistreatment, inequality, or marginalization they encounter everyday as a non-white American (Wise 2012). I would argue that 55 such claims also reference ownership, dating back to slavery, or referencing the structural power in this country that places whites in a position of power and authority over people of color. Erasure denies these individuals (as well as their larger populations) the exceptional burden they encounter. It erases their history and cultural diversity. While white speakers may think this language aims to erase colorlines or racial borders, it is often interpreted by non-whites as attempting to erase historical atrocities and hardships that have deep rooted meaning and continued everyday lived experiences for nonwhite Americans. Erasure denies identity, heritage, and symbolic ownership of historical and lived context. Such language constitutes an ambivalence within racial discourse (Bonilla-Silva 2002:41). Rather than resisting accusations of racism, they think their language is completely free of harm or disrespect and is simply “acceptable.” Denial and erasure are types of racially motivated speech that are associated specifically with white privilege. White privilege is often misunderstood as white wealth or white power. Rather, it is a social position – based on skin color – that allows white-skinned people the ability to rarely have concern that their skin color will affect social, political, economic, or educational outcomes. White privilege often affords white people invisibility from law enforcement or other structural profiling (Hill 2008: 23-25). People who can pass as white (regardless 56 of their ethnic identity or social background) have better access to greater financial, social, and symbolic resources. In this social category, white-skin color is the only basis for achieving access. It is important to note that whites are not a homogeneous group; the concept of "whiteness" is a social construct (Hill 2008; Bonilla-Silva 2010; Tate 2003). One member of the Tre Tre Cripts (a gang on the reservation) told me of several comments that whites have made to him to claim they are now the minority, or that Indians practice reverse-racism against the whites in the area. Indians are just as racist toward white people as white people are toward them. The white man is now the one who can’t get a job and struggles to feed his family. You Indians get to go to college for free but I have to pay full price. We won the war. You need to get over it and just realize that the white man is here and we have more power. That’s not my fault. You shouldn’t hate me because of what happened in the past. Statements such as this are often spoken in conjunction with denial. Speakers of Rapid City’s privileged class often project blame or deflect accusations of racism by claiming victimization by reverse racism. Frustration and protest by Oglala (and other Native people living in or near Rapid City) are thus regarded by some of their white 57 neighbors as a reaction to skin color (not the social construct) of the “white” policy makers, denying the fact that frustrations stem from years of historical oppression and continued marginalization. By principle, Native projection of anger or a negative opinion of the social construct of whiteness does not qualify as racism; instead, it is a complaint, or reaction against inequality and marginalization. As one example, in the not-so-distant American history, those with Irish ethnicity did not receive the same white privilege as many northern Europeans. In many contexts, European constructs of social hierarchies imposed laws and social orders that made the Irish discriminated against, reviled, and did not allow them the privilege to pass culturally as "white," despite their skin color (Ignatiev1995). In time, however, the social construct changed when a group perceived as having lower class status than the Irish – non-white-skinned, and nonChristian – gained a more negative status among American society. As a result of this shift, the formerly marginalized Irish now do possess the social privilege of the “white”- having mostly unchallenged access to judicial, financial, social, and political rights (Ignatiev 1995). White privilege is a powerful social force that continues to shape lives at nearly every level of interaction, even in terms of certain ethnic sounds of names when applying for a job or traveling under heightened Homeland Security policies. As but one example, one participant told 58 me of the time his friend was not allowed to board a plane at Rapid City Airport because Transportation Security Administration (TSA) did not believe his last name (a traditional Lakota name that depicts victory in war) was “real,” and that it was “mocking” Homeland Security’s position on air-travel safety. Rapid City TSA employees are familiar with American Indian travelers. Certainly they had encountered other traditional names, especially since travelers are required to present a state or federal I.D. when boarding a plane. The participant told me that while tribal identification cards are supposed to be considered a federally recognized form of I.D., TSA either did not believe his friend had a valid identification, or they were simply giving him a hard time “because he was an Indian with a strong warrior name.” I heard about many other experiences of marginalization. The stark experience of discrimination that Oglala men experience usually comes by way of denial of the basic privileges many whites are afforded. During the first week of fieldwork I found myself sitting around a concrete picnic table at the park in Pine Ridge District with five selfidentified Tre Tre Crips.5 The five men (Nick, Dale, Warren, Vince, and Alan6) ranged in age from 18 to 25. As we sat around the table and engaged in small talk, a tribal police vehicle drove by and Nick commented, “I bet he’s wondering what the fuck a white lady is doing 5 6 The Tre Tre Crips are one of 39 identified street gangs on the Pine Ridge Reservation (Eckholm, 2009). Names changed to protect identity 59 with us over here!” When I asked why my presence among them would cause concern for the tribal police, Dale explained that all five had previously spent time behind bars in Rapid City, Sioux Falls, and Minneapolis, and that all of them are “well known in the tribal jail, too.” I asked the group to describe times they felt they were being racially profiled, or incidents of racism they have experienced in Rapid City. Vince: “Most of the racism comes from the cops. I mean, the white people that live there are racist too, but not as direct as the cops. Like the white people just think they are better and think we Indians are animals or somthin’. But the cops have some kind of agenda to come after us. Oh, and white ballers. They hate us because we usually win. It’s racist, but I think it is just more like we hurt their privileged white egos. But the cops, man… the cops are the worst.” Dale: “I had a job in Rapid City at the Olive Garden. A decent job, you know? I worked late washing up all the dishes after closing. I had to walk home. And for the first three nights – every single night – I got stopped by a cop asking what I was doing on the street at night. Always stopping me and harassing me. On the third night, I had wine spilled on my shirt and pants from the dishes at work, and the cop hauled me in. I lost my job. I got hauled in for doing my job, man. It’s shit like that that pisses me off. No white dude walking home from work gets harassed like that. We prolly deserve to go to jail for some of the shit we done. But the white people who do the same shit don’t get hauled in.” From the beginning of the conversation I noticed the tone of the men’s descriptions was more about being exempt from the protections provided by white privilege rather than blatant racist language or 60 physically violent acts of racism. These Lakota men know that racism is grounded in structural and symbolic violence and inequalities, such as unbalanced discretion in sentencings or fines charged against Natives versus non-Native defendants in South Dakota’s justice system (see my analyses of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights 2000 investigation in Rapid City, S.D. on pages 33-35 of this thesis). They know that white people, especially white police officers, have power and privilege and that the justice system usually only works for the privileged. Privilege allows whites to “get away with” practices, policies, and language at the expense of non-whites, or at the least, to not be held accountable in certain incidents where non-whites would be punished or burdened. A current theme in “white” discourse is that whites (especially white men) are becoming victims of a politically correct “war” against their elevated social position. This blatant form of erasure illustrates how some whites misinterpret racism and use racist language to insinuate that minorities are somehow burdening whites and gaining dominance within the structure. Another example of erasure as defined in critical race theory, comes from sociolinguistic anthropologist, Angelina Castagno who records racially coded language between teens in two demographically different California high schools where teacher-instituted silence, and erasure of race as a topic of discourse has become institutionalized. 61 Castagno states, “…acts of silencing create and perpetuate an educational culture in which inequalities are ignored, the status quo is maintained, and Whiteness is both protected and entrenched” (Castagno 2008: 314). She highlights the systematic erasure of ethnic difference as these two schools silence any speech about such racial difference, or racial topics that may come up. Castagno concludes by saying that the school’s policy of color-muteness erases critical thinking about real-world issues and denies both whites and non-whites discussions that could be important for working toward structural and ideological social change. This systematic silencing of racial discourse also happens at Rapid City Central High School. Two participants told me that while they were students there they seldom encountered racism in the classroom because any such talk about what it meant to be Indian or white was often met with disciplinary action, or at the least a stern look from the teacher. Once outside of the classroom, racial discourse was heated and contentious. One participant told me, If they would teach about our local cultural differences, or if they would let us talk about it in class then the teachers could referee the tension and teach us how to keep our cool. But when they make you be quiet about it, and make it seem like talking about it is bad then we don’t know how to deal with it in the real world. So when we call them racists because they are saying wrong stuff about our culture, we get treated like hostile Indians trying to stir up trouble. 62 Some white individuals employ racist language as a response of accusations to racism, erasure, or white privilege. Oftentimes these accusations are met with hostility, offense, and denial. An ambiguous recognition of racism by whites illustrates the internalized presence of racism and racial discourse often “believed” to have been eliminated from American society after the Civil Rights Movement. Erasure, or “color-blind racism” is thought (by whites) to be a safe way to express their internal feelings about an ethnic or “other” group with a shield, or disclosure of denial that the speech is indeed racist (Bonilla-Silva 2002:41). Language that suggests denial of racism, erasure of the cultural history of ethnic minorities, and the myth of reverse racism (or white victimhood) is fluid within American discourse. 63 Chapter III: “Throwin’ Down Beats” and “Spittin’ Rhymes”: Hip-Hop and Gangsta Rap on The Pine Ridge Reservation Despite the common belief that racism is a thing of the past and that post-Civil-Rights America has overcome its painful racist past, white language still includes racial discourse and tones of blatant (and ambiguous) racism. Denial, erasure, and the myth of reverse racism are all “powerplays” of white privilege. However, there are some hip-hop artists who are challenging unacknowledged racial discourse and the social inequalities that remain rooted in American society by using their lyrics and style to “speak back” to denial, erasure, and privilege. These artists are drawing attention to the seriousness of racial discourse and hopefully forging a path to social change and acknowledgement that white racist language is an everyday aspect of whiteness and American society. One way that white privilege can be demonstrated is by illustrating certain incidents of “power-plays” in current events, i.e. thinking about what the consequences would be had the agents or people involved been non-white. In a predominately white, or whitecontrolled society there is no such thing as “American Indian privilege,” or “Black privilege.” Therefore, many minority groups have taken to the hip-hop stage in performances of protest. 64 One hip-hop artist, JasiriX, demonstrates the complete powerlessness of non-white-Americans in his rap song that hypothetically illustrates the “social chaos” and political backlash that would occur if the Tea Party was a black political movement. The entire lyrics of “What if the Tea Party Was Black” can be found in the Appendix of this thesis; the following is the chorus: What if the tea party was black? Holding guns like the Black Panther Party was back! If Al [Sharpton] was Rush Limbaugh and Jesse[Jackson] was Sean Hannity and Tavis [Smiley] was Glenn Beck would they harm their families? If Sarah Palin was suddenly Sistah Soaljah, would they leave it with the votes or go and get the soldiers? Y’all know if the tea party was black the government would have done had the army attack! [JasiriX 2009] As racial discourse, this relates closely to the same feelings of Vince and Dale, two of the Tre Tre Crips I interviewed, as they stated that white people are allowed impunity and leniency with legal matters, but the justice system does not allow for similar treatment of Lakota in South Dakota. JasiriX’s lyrics present hypothetical situations in which black people would be carrying weapons, threatening the life of a white president, or practicing their right of free speech to include hate speech, all acts that white Tea Party advocates have committed without reprimand. The lyrics paint a vivid picture of how unacknowledged 65 occurrences of racial discourse control and maintain the presence of racism and white privilege in America. Similar to many other Native youth in North America, such as those featured in the film “Found Voices” about urban Aboriginal youth producing rap music and participating in the hip-hop lifestyle, young Oglala men have taken the hip-hop identity for themselves as a way to perform their discourse of resistance (Found Voices 2003). While this “adoption” of a lifestyle most common among African Americans is justifiably an assertion of anti-white-privilege discourse, it is also seen as a movement away from standard Lakota social norms toward a more diverse interpretation of individual identities.7 Hip-hop offers Oglala men an opportunity to perform their thoughts on racial tensions and marginalization via the hip-hop lifestyle. I spoke with an Oglala college student who was wearing baggy jeans, a white T-shirt with the words “Nativez” written in graffiti font, and a blue and black bandana tied around his wrist (all typical of a hip-hop style). He expressed the relationship between Oglala identity and the hip-hop style. He stated, Hip-hop is the new kind of warrior. To be a warrior you have to be tough. To be hip-hop is to be tough. We still men. We still warriors for our people. We just dress differently now. We didn’t conform to the white man’s 7 The movement away from standard discourse norms is known by linguistic anthropologists as heteroglossia, the internal diversity of language and symbolism (O’Neill, 2013:3). 66 style. We are still resisting just like others who have felt the wrath of white control. This young man’s definition of a warrior combines his cultural traditions with the appropriation of a non-Native worldview and cultural performance. The past two decades have seen a rapid increase of hiphop culture on Pine Ridge. A drive down the roads of most of the reservation’s communities will reveal evidence of the shifting identity of the younger generations from a more “traditional” expression of self, to a hip-hop performance. Most of the men I interviewed expressed an identity in the hip-hop lifestyle. Still possessing many of the traditional definitions of “warrior,” a shift in expression of masculinity has altered the gender construction of many male youth of Pine Ridge through hip-hop cultural practices. Hiphop embraces the aggressive and fearless notions typical of warriorhood. Self-described as a “thug” identity by many of the men I interviewed at Pine Ridge, the shifting embodiment possesses a more urban lifestyle than traditional indigenous masculinity (Archuleta, 2005: 5-6). The shift is implemented through changes in dress, speech registers, and popular music genres. Embodiment of the hip-hop culture is a response to, and participation in a global youth movement as the style has become mostly pan-hip-hop, with nuances by culturally diverse youth adherents. 67 The Oglala men I interviewed did not express their awareness of hiphop being a global phenomenon, however they did acknowledge it originating with African Americans. The negative association by non-hip-hoppers of the style’s overlap with some African American crime rates has not prevented Oglala men from attraction to the hip-hop lifestyle. Participants told me about times they were wrongfully profiled by police who were suspicious of illegal gang activity based (in the feeling of the participants) solely on appearance or speech jargons. As one man I interviewed explained, the police see our clothes, man. They see that we wearing ball jerseys and think we gang bangers. We just dress like this because it is what guys our age wear, you know? We be wearing our Pine Ridge High or Red Cloud jerseys, you know? Red Cloud has blue jerseys and Pine Ridge has red. Cops think that we be wearing Crip and Blood colors like in Los Angeles or something. And they think we be reppin’ some street shit. We ain’t causin’ no shit when they pull up and start harassin’ us. And we ain’t wearin’ jerseys for colors or gang signs. We just reppin’ our ball team, you know? Clothing is an indicator of identity. As this participant describes, basketball jerseys, especially red and blue ones, seem to be signifying gang affiliation to Rapid City police officers. But as this Native man explained, the jerseys are a representation of the men’s affiliation and pride with their high school basketball teams. They do not associate the colors of 68 their jerseys with their admitted affiliation with a reservation gang. There is a drastic disconnect in interpreting gang affiliation by clothing alone, as Oglala men claim their gang affiliation is not signified by a particular basketball jersey, rather that the jersey is a source of pride and celebration of reservation basketball, a positive and strong aspect of Oglala culture. Another interviewee stated, they think because we throw down beats, or have rap playing on the radio, or talk all ghetto that we automatically guilty of some gang bang shit. This participant feels police are targeting or marking Oglala men as “gang bangers” based on their interest and participation in rap music, and their use of a “ghetto” speech register. He feels the police relate certain performativity with criminal behavior. He went on to state, Blacks and Indians ain’t the only ones listenin or dressin like Tupac. Shit, man. What’s that word they call them white boys saggin’? Wigger. Man, these jails ain’t full of wiggers. They full of blacks and Indians. And let’s not forget that there are some pretty fucked up white gangs out there too. Aryan Brotherhood, right? Again, a participant points out that they are marked, or do not share the same privileges as white men who also self-identify as gang members. He articulates that while men also dress in 69 the hip-hop style and listen to rap music do not have the tendency to be arrested and sentenced to prison. Not all hip-hoppers, or fans of rap music associate the lifestyle to crime and gang activity. A few of the men I interviewed described the hip-hop identity as participation in a wider movement of youth, or as a popular style of dress and music that they associate with simply because it is pop culture. One man I interviewed before a basketball tournament, who was listening to rap music on his iPod before the interview began, said: hip-hop is like…. just a young guy thing. It is kind of about race, but really it is about being young and a part of a style. You know what I mean? You can be Indian, black, or Mexican and still be a rapper or throw down some beats in your mom’s basement {laughs}. Hip-Hop originated in the streets of the Bronx (Condry, 2007:31). The first hip-hoppers were African American men, expressing their experiences of marginalization, racism, classism, ageism, and discrimination through rap lyrics, rap being the musical genre most associated with hip-hop. “{Rap} is the tension between the cultural fractures produced by postindustrial oppression and the binding ties of Black cultural expressivity that sets the critical frame for the development of hip-hop” (Condry, 2007:31). The range of lyric content 70 and dance styles, combined with political and economic undertones, set hip-hop on a stage that swept first North America, then becoming a global phenomenon. A global acceptance of hip-hop (by many subaltern youth) shifted the tone of the performance style to incorporate aspects of many marginalized groups, not just Black Americans. For example, Ward Keeler, an anthropologist at the University of Texas, describes the ways in which Burmese youth have adopted hip-hop, and nuanced their own version of the style and sounds using uniquely Burmese instrumentation and rhythms (Keeler 2009). Indeed, they have also related to the anti-hegemonic discourses of hip-hop. The Burmese language has to be modified tonally to emulate a more “American” hiphop sound (Keeler 2009: 5). Appropriation of hip-hop and the rap music genre has been a global movement of resistance and reaction, many times as a decolonization discourse. Bordieu’s concept of habitus is defined as “the set of socially learned dispositions, skills and ways of acting that are often taken for granted, and which are acquired through the activities and experiences of everyday life” (Richardson and Skott-Myhre, 2012:9). Habitus refers to lifestyle, values, dispositions, and expectations of social groups and are acquired through daily activities and everyday experiences (both profound and mundane). Habitus is the aspects of culture that are 71 anchored in the body or daily practices of individuals, groups, societies, and nations. It includes the totality of learned habits, bodily skills, styles, tastes, and other non-discursive knowledge that might be said to “go without saying” for a specific group (Bordieu 1977). Hip-hop, as a worldview, sub-culture, and physical expression of resistance can then be thought of as the habitus of some marginalized, underprivileged places and spaces. Hip-hop is a habitus for Oglala men. The hip-hop culture is anchored in body as well as the daily practices of individuals and as a group. The habits are learned, indeed constructed through repetition and constant inundation of hip-hop cultural practices and norms. In line with Bordieu’s definition, the body movements, gestures, style, speech registers, and discourse “go without saying” or are not consciously planned or activated, rather they “just happen” (Bordieu 1977). Hip-hop as habitus recreates social spaces (“hoods”) by informing both insiders and outsiders how to identify, categorize, manipulate, and understand its cultural aspects (Richardson and Skott-Myhre, 2012:11). Oglala youth are taught through the habitus of hip-hop what is, and what is not acceptable behavior or symbolism for members of the hip-hop habitus. What is commonplace and typical for youth identifying as hip-hop is seen by non-hip-hoppers as non-normative, deviant, and rebellious. 72 This is evidenced by statements by participants who experienced this clash of cultural practices in Rapid City. We was at a ball tourney in Rapid City once. We walked into a restaurant after our game. We all had on our jerseys and was hyper because we won, you know? And it was like we had some disease or something. The place cleared out like they was afraid we was gonna start shit or something. Well… [Dale] was spittin some rhyme and prolly scared some em’! {Laughs}. Yeah, I remember going into places in Rapid City and people just stare like they are expecting us to do something. Like we some kind of spectacle. When we stare back they get uncomfortable {laughs}. These participants described incidents when their cultural difference was the subject of tension in Rapid City between the men and non-Native residents. The clash of cultural practices resulted in awkwardness of public space-sharing. Both men felt they were being watched either out of caution, or as a “spectacle” such as a circus sideshow or out of interethnic curiosity. The habitus of hip-hop that is comfortable for Oglala youth becomes “unnatural” when non-Natives have negative reactions to their practices. “Habitus naturalizes the attitudes and behaviors of residents in particular areas, street corners, and meeting places and makes [hiphoppers] appear natural, as if they were innate parts of our being” (Richardson and Skott-Myhre 2012:11). In the same way, the habitus of 73 non-Natives becomes apparent when clashing with the hip-hopping youth. Hip-hop as habitus naturalizes the performance and attitude of protest to the point it becomes the “normal” worldview for its participants. Hip-hoppers are no longer aware that their practices are hip-hop, rather they are just everyday “behaviors.” However, a hiphopper’s habitus is not the only habitus that is a naturalized way of thinking for participants of the hip-hop culture. They are a part of other sub-cultures as well, such as reservation, family, basketball, and school or work. They often code-switch their speech registers depending on who they are communicating with just as everyone else does. We are never rooted in only one cultural milieu. Foucault’s concept of heterotopia, or places and spaces that function in non-normative conditions, can be applied to hip-hop as a global phenomenon. Foucault describes heterotopias as places of otherness, which are neither here nor there, that are simultaneously physical and mental, such as the space of a phone call, or the moment when you see yourself in a mirror (1967). Foucault’s notion of heterotopias that I argue exemplifies hip-hop is the concept of Heterotopias of deviation, which are institutions where society places individuals whose behavior is outside the norm; he used asylums, 74 prisons, and rest homes as examples (1967). I argue that hip-hop as a lifestyle of otherness can also be included. Hip-hop is a heterotopia of deviation partly because of its anti“white” discourse; it is “occupied by individuals whose behavior deviates from the current average or standard” (Foucault 1967:4). In these “places of otherness,” hip-hoppers deviate from their standard roles within marginalized populations to create an alternative compensation or place where their ideals and norms are acceptable and encouraged. Hip-hop rebels against white privilege and power. As a heterotopias, hip-hop can be thought of as a space, or a place of being where adherents can freely be themselves in an antinormative condition. Combined with hip-hop as a habitus, hip-hop as a heterotopias is a naturalized way of being in a space where the group’s practices are not questioned or punished. It is important to note that hip-hop may have started as an antidominant discourse, but through appropriation and mass marketing campaigns that use hip-hop to benefit a capitalistic market, hip-hop, and its glorification of wealth and status, has in some ways become a dominant discourse. There are still some factions of hip-hop, such as amongst Native Americans, who still identify with the original foundations of hip-hop. This is perhaps why many of the Oglala men I encountered were listening to Tupac even though he has been 75 deceased for almost two decades and is considered by many hiphoppers as “Old School.” As Foucault states, “it might be said that certain ideological conflicts which underlie the controversies of our day take place between pious descendants of time and tenacious inhabitants of space” (1967:1). Hip-hop as a heterotopia provides a space for its adherents to live in the here-and-now and speak back to the powerplayers who oppose change and individuality. Hip-hop is not seen as an individual practice, however its critics see it as an individual resistance movement. Since many Oglala men perform a hip-hop identity, “outsiders” see them collectively as a single entity of deviance. To those who subscribe to its tenets, hip-hop is a lifestyle and a worldview. Chuck D of the iconic hip-hop group, Public Enemy, says “hip-hop is a culture of creativity, but more importantly it is the legitimate voice of color” (Rausch 2011:45). Hip-hop lends a voice to non-white, mainstream society. Through a performance of protest, the artists entertain an audience through theatrical displays of movement and sound. Some anthropologists would go as far to say that the artists are ethnographers (Calzadilla and Marcus 2006: 95-116). The reflexivity of rap lyrics takes into account the rap artists’ position and role in the culture, and how they shape what others learn from their art. 76 While hip-hop pioneers from the Bronx created styles unique to African Americans, they also developed a slang language (register), created fashion styles, and musical and lyrical structures meant to represent their neighborhoods (“hoods”). People across the world adopted similar practices inspired by America’s heterotopian citizens (Hess 2010:vii). It would seem as though color and voice are practices that seek ways to be expressed on larger stages; hip-hop, as expressive culture and a heterotopia, allow Oglala voices a time, space, and place to be heard by the non-Native residents of Rapid City. Hip-hop is inherently territorial. “The roles of place and region are central to hip-hop culture” (Hess, 2010:vii). Identity and loyalty to one’s “hood” are central to the character and voice of the hip-hop artist. In the case of Oglala and other Native American hip-hoppers, place and space are particularly sensitive, yet important aspects of their art. Constructions of spatial imagery by specifying area or zip codes, street names, and other territory markers create illustrations of loyalty and connection to lands, ancestors, people, and place unique to the artist and their audience. At Pine Ridge, Oglala men who perform a hip-hop identity often spoke of loyalty to certain districts, schools, and businesses on the reservation. Some of their tattoos were specific to the name of their housing cluster, or the high school they attended. 77 Many hip-hop lyrics address race. Mostly these references are made by African American hip-hop artists about white appropriation of the hip-hop culture (Tate 2003). However, in the example in Appendix 2, Macklemore (a white rapper) acknowledges his white privilege and his role in an anti-“white,” or non-normative movement to call attention to racial discourse, misappropriation, and erasure. While hip-hop performances are usually projections of marginalized discourse by subaltern youth who become anti-hegemonic and revolutionary, Macklemore and other white rappers are recognizing their place in hiphop, and rather than appropriating the culture, they use the stage to voice their acknowledgement of their privilege. Hip-hop gives a voice to the formerly voiceless, but in the case of Macklemore it gives a new voice to an artist who is otherwise an “outsider” to the marginalization of his fellow rappers. This break from the norm is a new kind of racial discourse, one where speakers acknowledge their role in internalized and ambiguous racism. Macklemore and others who adhere to similar ideology are stating their concern for the racism and marginalization of non-whites. Macklemore’s song, “White Privilege,” is calling attention to the artist’s ability to perform in a genre originally created by minorities without any of the burdens of ever being anything but white, or having the historical context of a marginalized ethnicity or social group. Macklemore is 78 conveying that he gets to sell albums and concert tickets, and “act” like an “authentic” hip-hopper, but at the end of the day he is white and escapes the racism and racist language that minority artists do not have the privilege of escaping. Media is a window to the “outside world” for groups like Oglala youth. Youth are constantly inundated with images and sound bytes of the idealized person. In his research on Navajo youth and television viewing habits, scholar Sam Pack explains that Navajo youth are acculturated into non-Native youth movements through television content. Because television does not show Navajo norms, the Navajo youth become accustomed to non-Native culture through their relations to television content. Pack says, “by presenting subaltern audiences with an idealized ‘other,’ television compels the emergence of an objectified ‘self.’ Because they look and act differently from those in the mainstream, Navajo youth create oppositional identities by understanding themselves first in relation to, and then against standardized models” (Pack, 2008:136). Television is a mode for subaltern youths’ identity construction; an aspect that in context is true for white youths as well. Like the Navajo described by Pack, Oglala youth are compelled to adhere to standardized notions of an “objectified self.” They adopt much of the standard or mainstream style as shown on MTV or other 79 popular youth television networks, but add aspects of “Oglalaness” to make it their own. An example of this is found in the iconography of graffiti or tattoos, common expressions of hip-hop culture. Oglala men that I interviewed had rap lyrics tattooed on their arms that inverted “Pine Ridge” into the text rather than “Compton” or “Bronx,” two of the largest urban centers of hip-hop and rap culture. Pine Ridge is spatially isolated; therefore Oglala youths connect with the “outside world” mainly through television and the internet. In the way that Pack describes how Navajo youths’ frame of reference expands to include objects, sounds, and lifestyles they would not normally see otherwise, Oglala are also integrating outside influences (Pack, 2008:137). Oglala youth have been inspired by the rags-toriches lyrics of many hip-hop artists, and fascinated by the subaltern messages of resistance and self-determination in hip-hop and rap lyrics. Oglala sometimes struggle to obtain the same material culture as seen on television, similarly to Pack’s suggestion that Navajo youths remain just out of reach of many of televisions influences. Pack states, “The lifestyles advertised on television are simply unrealistic. No matter how much they strive to acquire the material possessions or become like the rich beautiful people who flaunt them, these [items] will always 80 remain out of reach” (Pack, 2008:140). Hip-hop provides an outlet for the frustrations of a marginalized life on a poor, isolated reservation. One insight into rap's move to the mainstream is its increased use in television commercials, especially those marketed to minority audiences or youth in general (Quinn, 1996:68). Consumer goods such as shoes, fast food, and soda employ hip-hop in advertising because those products are accessible by poor youth, more so than higher-end merchandise. Again, as Pack suggests, television introduces an idealized other, and in the case of affordable goods, lower-class youth relate, and buy into the myth that these things provide happiness (Pack, 2008: 139). In so doing, youth are influenced by the tone and style of hip-hop and identify with the idealized “other” by emulating the performance. Oglala youth conform to a unique style relating to, and sometimes in opposition of the wider, mostly African American hip-hop sub-culture. Resistance can be fun; it offers a sense of power to those who do not normally wield any. Similarly, lyrics (used to express resistance) can be thought of as a type of weapon. By wielding such a weapon, Native hip-hop artists attempt to take power away from those they perceive as having deceived or defied them. There are Oglala rap artists, however I did not meet any of them, nor did I hear any Oglala rap music during most of my visits to the reservation. 81 Rap music, especially gangsta rap, is an outlet of frustrations of silencing and marginalization that is often experienced by Oglala men. Already marginalized, Oglala youth use rap and hip-hop as a reaction or response to the further backlash and disapproval of the music style by those who criticize it. Writing and performing the lyrics provides a release of emotion. Audience cheers and encouragement reify the hurt pent up inside the hearts and minds of the artists and listeners. Rap is emotional discourse. One could “see into” the hearts of the performers and gain a better understanding of their sociopolitical and economic hardships just by examining the poetry of the lyrics. There is a growing interest in Native produced hip-hop and rap music. Frank Waln is a Lakota rapper from Rosebud Reservation, located adjacent to the town of Martin to the east of Pine Ridge (rpm.fm 03/14/13). He resides in Chicago and participates in the city’s alternative music scene. Waln travels around the country, including back to South Dakota, to perform for Native youth and university Native student organization events. He has won several music awards and produced several albums, yet I did not hear his music being played on the electronic devices of the men I interviewed, or during hip-hop segments on KILI Radio. Another Native rap artist, Saint Mike, a Navajo from California, frequently visits Pine Ridge Reservation, but resides in Washington 82 D.C. and is the curator of Native hip-hop for the Smithsonian (reverbnation.com 03/14/13). Saint Mike has received awards and recognitions for his music and commitment to promoting Native syncretism in the hip-hop world. I worked with Saint Mike prior to his position at the Smithsonian, while he was a youth mentor and teacher at the American Indian Center (AIC) in Chicago. He is a positive role model, and the youth at the AIC seemed to relate to him and had an affinity for his presence in their lives. The rap I heard recited by young Oglala men on the reservation were covers of major songs by African American rap artists who have produced albums with major recording studios. I never heard these young men reciting the words of Native rappers, even prominent Native artists. For reasons I did not explore, Oglala men are choosing to listen to and recite African American rap, particularly that of hip-hop’s original moguls. The group of Tre Tre Crips I sat with was listening to Tupac on an iPhone that played in the background while we talked. I asked what song it was, and they said they did not know the name, but almost all of them were rapping along to the lyrics: They claim that I'm violent, just cause I refuse to be silent./ These hypocrites are havin fits, cause I'm not buyin it./Defyin it,/ envious because I will rebel against any oppressor, and this is known as self-defense./I show no 83 mercy, they claim that I'm the lunatic; / but when the shit gets thick, I'm the one you go and get. – Violent, by Tupac (1991) Relating to Tupac, Oglala hip-hoppers are reflexive in their discourse, displaying an awareness of their own relationship to the lyrics they hear. Issues such as extreme poverty, violence, suicide, alcoholism, sex, and loyalty become dominant discourse. There is empowerment that comes with participation in the wider hip-hop culture by identifying with something that is essentially their own, or shared with others who have lived similar lives. Mainstream lyrics often describe something similar to that of a young Oglala man’s life. Lyrics that describe hardships common in an Oglala man’s life, and the fact that sometimes the artists themselves are still being marginalized despite the wealth and fame that come with recording studio contracts, make the idea of performing hip-hop music, or posting videos of themselves on youtube.com covering a major rap song a unique Oglala product by virtue of it being an extension of their identity, even if they do not share social similarities with the original artist. Rap with lyrics about violence and misogynistic representations of women has a reputation in the wider, mostly-white youth media, and the minds of many middle-to-upper-class Americans as being heavily deviant. Known as “gangsta rap,” this style of hip-hop has violent lyrics, 84 explicit language, sexism, and rage (Bruce, 2000:123). These value judgments against poetic license and artistic interpretation further marginalize the expression of the lived-experiences of the performers. In the case of Oglala men who impersonate “gangsta rappers,” the value judgments are made with class, race, age, and ethnicity included. Clearly, violence, sexism, and rage are aspects of indigenous culture, remnants of a history of colonialism, oppression, and genocide (MunozLaboy, 2007:615-616). The atrocities of colonialism are similar between African Americans and Native Americans. Gangsta rap lyrics often resonate with Native youths. Prominent African American gangsta rappers such as Nas or Ice Cube construct a rap subgenre based on the lived-experiences of drugs, wealth, sex, and gang violence. “Mainstream media continues to criticize rap for its supposed glorification of gang culture and violence; other groups find rap offensive for different political reasons” (Quinn, 1996: 65-66, 69). Rap provides the performer, as well as the audiences the opportunity to unite and participate in a response against subjugation and resist the dominant economic and political order by voicing their positions on current events, or the legacy they still relate to of historical atrocities (Quinn, 1996:66). Indigenous youth relate to the lyrics of record-label gangsta rappers. 85 Just as their definition of “warrior” is similar to other cultural definitions of masculinity, marginalization is not specifically African American, Latino, or indigenous. The effects of classism and racism are experienced cross-culturally. Oftentimes, Oglala youth would identify with lyrics that address similar emotions and living conditions of their own. They identify with the context of many rap lyrics. At some point rap becomes the voice that many Oglala feel has been silenced through generations of subjugation. As one resident of Pine Ridge explained, I can relate to the words of a lot of these black rappers. They have also been profiled and misunderstood. They are angry about how their people have been treated and how they still get treated by racists and wealthy white guys who say rappers are just a bunch of criminals. I know people see me and think I am just a deadbeat, drunk and angry Indian. I don’t even get to stand up for myself. I am told to remain silent every time they [the police] suspect me of something wrong. Then a judge tells me to be reverent in his courtroom. Then the guards tell me they will put me in solitary if I don’t keep my mouth shut. I’m not allowed to talk to the people who really need to hear me. This young Oglala man explains the attraction and relation to the style of hip-hop that was made popular by African American artists. He says that he has something in common with the black rappers, especially in how they are perceived by white people. He suggests that rap is the only voice minority groups have because in all aspects of the 86 justice system, they are silenced, sometimes with the threat of harsh consequences if they speak up for themselves. Associating with the hip-hop style due to commonalities of marginalization and subjugation, the majority of participants I interviewed were dressed in hip-hop styles, spoke with a hip-hop slang, and define themselves as “thugs.” One participant told me a thug is “a guy who has to do whatever it takes to protect his own, get by, and have any kind of say-so in this fucked-up world.” Another said the term describes “a young non-white man persevering through hardships, or doing what one has to do to survive in a world that is out to get you.” Their definitions were reinforced by another Tupac song that played on the iPhone during the Tre Tre Crip interview, “Definition of a Thug Nigga.” One of the participants stood up and rapped along: I played the cards I was given, thank God I'm still livin./ Pack my nine til it's time to go to prison./As I'm bailin down the block that I come from, still gotta pack a gun/case some young motherfuckers wanna play dumb./ I guess I live life forever jugglin/ But I'll be hustlin til the early mornin cause I'm struggling./Like drinkin liquor make the money come quicker./Gettin pages from my bitch it's time to dick her./ I ain't in love with her, I just wanna be the one to hit her./Drop ‘er off and let the next nigga get her./That's the way it goes, it's time to shake a hoe, make the dough/ Break a hoe when it's time to make some mo'./I keep my finger on the trigger of my Glock./Ridin down the block lickin shots at the punk-ass cops/ And spittin game through my mobile phone/The type of shit to get them hoes to bone./My Definition of a Thug Nigga./ (Tupac, 1997) 87 One of the Tre Tre Crips followed the performance saying, “That’s what it’s like, ya know? We gotta hustle and do whatever we gotta do to provide for our kids. Ain’t nobody gonna give me a high paying job, so I gotta get by doin what other guys won’t do, ya know?” He was describing the hardships of making an “honest living” on the isolated reservation. However, another of the gang members followed his statement with, “Yeah, but we ain’t shootin’ people or raping girls. We got kids and we got moms who expect better of us. At least I don’t think of my girl as a hoe or bitch. She’d prolly kick my ass to the curb if I called her that!” Therefore, while some Tupac lyrics resonate, such as those of having to be streetwise while sustaining life by illegal means, other aspects of Tupac and gangsta rap are not resonating with Oglala men. Gangsta rap is popular with Pine Ridge youth. The reservation is troubled by gang activity or what some participants I interviewed called, “modern-day warrior societies” who have shifted from traditional representations of the Oglala warrior ethos to the more urban and “thug” identity associated with gangsta rap. There are generational tensions as a result. The elders of Pine Ridge express discontent with the new image. The community struggles to keep their homes and residents safe from gang violence. This is not unique to Oglala hip-hop; 88 many global interpretations and adoptions of hip-hop, especially gangsta rap have similar results (Munoz-Laboy 2007). What may have started as a way to express frustration and find a sense of belonging and loyalty has resulted in crime and violence. Many Oglala elders and tribal leaders blame gangsta rap for the situation at Pine Ridge; however one must consider that the circumstances that led Oglala youth to relate to, and be attracted to the sub-culture are tangible and meaningful aspects of Oglala life. In a magazine interview, Rex Smallboy of the indigenous rap group, Warparty, expresses his disapproval of young Natives accepting the gangsta rap lifestyle. A lot of these up-and-coming Native rappers are doing gangsta rap. What I tell some of these new artists is to be honest with themselves in their music. A lot of young Native people are really taking to rap music. I hope we as artists take them in a good direction. The kids on my Rez mimic what they see with gangsta rap. They sell drugs, they carry guns, they are starting to do drive-bys, and people have even been shot and killed out here. I don’t think that’s right or Indian (Redwire, 2003:30). Within the Native community, some rap artists do not approve of gangsta rap or the message often portrayed of violence and devaluation of women. Smallboy hopes some of the older rappers in Native communities will use their position as one of mentor for positive messages, rather than expressions of anger and retaliation. Smallboy 89 has a definition of “Indian” that does not include gangsta rap definitions of “thug.” He sees a drastic difference between using rap and hip-hop as a stage for resistance to subjugation, but not as a stage for messages of practices that do not align well with traditional beliefs and practices within their specific tribal contexts. There are deeper meanings for the fierce participation in and profound ownership of a gangsta rap identity on Pine Ridge. While some youth remain loyal to the teachings and wishes of their grandparents to stay in tune with traditional Lakota spirituality and the warrior ethos, it is clear that newer generations are shifting the definition of “warrior” to be more in-line with the definition of a “thug.” 90 Chapter IV: “The New Lakota Warrior”: Basketball, Discourse, and Cultural Construction Jeffrey Lane, a sociologist at Princeton University, writes about the cultural similarities between the hip-hop lifestyle and basketball as a popular cultural phenomenon. Lane describes the parallels between two predominately African American practices. He states, “In the interwoven circles of rap music, basketball, and drug culture, the hangouts, automobiles, ideology, jargon, and sexual partners of each group are frequently one and the same” (2007:xii). Many NBA players have Tupac lyrics tattooed on their bodies, and some players appear in hip-hop music videos. Close relationships are shared between hip-hop moguls and NBA stars. As Lane mentions, some players, such as Allen Iverson, have criminal records which include charges of illegal gun possession and suspected gang activity (2007:xii). Likewise, many of hip-hop’s biggest recording artists have criminal records, such as Tupac, 50 Cent, Lil Wayne, and Ja Rule (Huffington Post, 05/25/2011). It is no secret that NYPD actively profiles and keeps surveillance of these rap moguls (Lane, 2007:xiii). Their connections to gang activity, lyrics about personal involvement in violent acts and drug use, as well as public threats of violence and gun possession, illustrate the reason for NYPD’s suspicions. These artists, as well as professional 91 basketball players, are cultural references for their fans; young people look up to them and think that emulating their lifestyle will afford them the same social, economic, and professional opportunities; likewise, their “thug” identities oftentimes communicate a message of “preferred masculinity” to youth who otherwise may not have positive male role models at home (Gangland, 2010). The NBA is oftentimes synonymous with hip-hop. It is important to note that not all hip-hoppers are “thugs,” therefore not all basketball players who portray the hip-hop style are representative of the same lifestyle synonymous with gangsta-rap. However, in the minds of many Oglala men I spoke with, the two are not easily distinguishable because the clothing, jargon, symbolism, and fan base are often one and the same. Despite the popularity of hip-hop among basketball players, the NBA issued a dress code for all its players in 2006 (Lane, 2007:xi). The association prohibits players from wearing baggy jeans, bandanas, or clothing/accessories displaying gun or drug references. They also require random drug testing, and mandatory etiquette workshops to teach the players how to behave in a non-hip-hop fashion(Lane, 2007:xiii). The NBA felt most adamant that clothing style was the main indicator of a player’s identity. 92 The ban on baggy jeans and all hip-hop associated symbols was a reaction to the perceived notion that those items either influenced, or impelled the wearer to participate in “thug” activities, but moreover they felt the spectators would associate the NBA with an image of deviance (Lane, 2007:xiii). Lane states, “Although hip-hop had become institutionalized in the NBA as a meaningful part of players’ lives and a commercial force essential to the NBA’s standing in popular culture, the league, always careful in the handling of the genre, plainly changed its relationship to it” (2007:xii). As a result of the relationship between hiphop and “thug” practices, the NBA made the decision to change the way in which professional players promote an image of the NBA to a wider audience. This relatively new change in the NBA’s mandated image has not changed the attraction to the sport by young hip-hoppers, “thugs,” or most non-white youth players and fans, such as those of Pine Ridge, South Dakota. The change in image has not been adopted by popular audiences, instead youth and young men remain agents of the hip-hop style. When some of the men I interviewed told me about their attraction to basketball as a lifestyle, it was unanimous that basketball’s hip-hop image was still being perceived and consumed by fans; the “cleanedup” image, in the words of one Oglala man, is “stupid and unnecessary.” In the minds of many basketball fans, the NBA can 93 attempt to detach itself from a hip-hop image, but fans will continue to relate the two as inseparable. The Pine Ridge community has a deep love for the game of basketball. I met and interviewed most of the Oglala men I interviewed during “3-on-3” basketball tournaments that were held at various halfcourts throughout the districts. In 3-on-3 basketball the teams play for ten minutes; at the end of the clock the team with the most points advances. The winner of the tournament takes home the purse which is the total amount of the entry fees. The prize depends on how many teams enter the tournament. I was invited to my first game by the owner of the coffee shop. He told me to show up early so he could introduce me to some of the players. Thirty minutes before the tournament was scheduled to begin, four young Native men wandered onto “Hedlund’s,” the half court behind the coffee shop. Two men were wearing long, satin-like basketball shorts, high-top sneakers, and T-shirts from a school or tribal tournament they played in the past. Two of the men were wearing Denver Nuggets jerseys and Denver Broncos hats symbolizing their allegiance to the city and professional sport fandom in Denver, CO. (Denver is the closest major U.S. city to the reservation.) All but one of the four men had short “buzz cut” hair, while the other had two long braids. 94 Within ten minutes at least twenty-five more men showed up at the court. The informal tournament policy is that a team of three pays $10 to join. Their team name is entered onto a bracket sheet, and as soon as enough teams are entered the tournament begins. The team names are creative and reflect a hybrid of popular culture and local, or Native influences. The first two teams to compete were PR Playas and Hoop Homies. Others team names included Bull Sitters, O-Balla, Ridge Kingz, and Never Wounded. These names are “hybrids” of a hip-hop or “ghetto” register, but they also have references to Oglala cultural aspects as well as some deep historical ties to Oglala places. Bull Sitters refers to both the contemporary phrase “bull shit” or, in verb form, “to bull shit,” which means to exaggerate, fabricate, or imposter (Urban Dictionary 03/14/13). It also refers to the historical Lakota Chief, Sitting Bull, who is considered one of the greatest Lakota warriors of all time. O-Balla is a play on the words “Oglala” and “Baller.” And Never Wounded refers to the men’s home in Wounded Knee District and also pays homage to the Wounded Knee Massacre. Team names play an important role in making basketball a uniquely Oglala practice. The 3-on-3 tournaments were highly competitive, but usually not a stage for emotional aggression or contention between rival gangs. Only one fight broke out during the fifteen tournaments I attended, and 95 the crowd and players quickly ended it with disproval and shame of the two men fighting. Players on the court restrained the two fighters, players on the sidelines booed and shouted for the fighters to “knock it off,” and tournament officials announced that fighting would result in automatic disqualification of both players. In this incident, the fighters refrained from taking the fight any further and excused themselves from the court. Alternative players stepped-in to play in their place. As one of the player’s girlfriend explained to me, the basketball court is a place of respect and honor, not war. She said that anytime Oglala come together such as at a basketball game or traditional ceremony, they are a loyal and respectful “family,” regardless of social “rivalries.” I frequently overheard conversations between players arranging rides and forming informal teams for a future tournament held at another location on the reservation. Friendly rivalry and sarcasm were exchanged between opposing players while sitting on the sidelines waiting for their turn to play. Some comments were typical sports banter such as, “You goin’ down, old man! You ain’t no baller!” This statement was made by one younger player to his older brother. The younger brother had a toothy grin on his face as he poked fun at his older brother’s age and perceived lesser basketball skills. 96 Another statement I overheard was, “Geez, [Joe] brought his ballet shoes tonight; look at him dance with [Rick] trying to get around his shot block!” The mentioning of ballet shoes and dancing was an attempt to emasculate a player’s court presence. It may also be a play on words or an attempt to describe [Joe] as a graceful player with quick footwork on the court. One comment I heard, “Looks like you had too much fry bread for dinner, man” was made by the scorekeeper to his nephew who was noticeably tired and slow to keep up with the game. The comment insinuates that fry bread, greasy and high in glucose, is known by Oglala men to be a poor choice in food before a basketball tournament, but seemingly irresistible or at the least, what is commonly available. Dialogue between players varied from jabs at people’s speed on the court to memories of past games when one player made a particularly remarkable shot, or error. Nevertheless, the mood remained focused on the game and rarely hostile. At the end of each round rivals would shake hands and oftentimes sit next to players from opposing teams and laugh and exchange friendly conversation. Sometimes new informal teams were being arranged, and players were seeking a third or fourth player to replace someone who could not play due to court dates, work schedules, or injuries. 97 Basketball challenges all of the media and mainstream representations of Pine Ridge as being only a desperate and miserable wasteland; as long as there was a ball, a hoop, and ample light (provided by street lamps, car headlights, or a setting sun), Oglala men were smiling, having a great time, and playing hard. Many of the men I interviewed said that basketball was “their life.” Their earliest memories included a basketball and dreams of playing for one of the reservation’s high school teams. It is interesting to note that none of the participants mentioned having aspirations to play on professional teams. The goal went no further than high school. One of the men I interviewed stated that his aspirations to play for a reservation high school team were out of loyalty to “his oyate [people], and not to the sport in general.” Playing for the NBA is outside of the cultural boundaries of reservation basketball. However, several men stated that their sons dreamed of playing professionally. Masculinity on the reservation is often measured by a love of basketball. All of the men I interviewed mentioned being a “baller” as a characteristic of ideal Oglala masculinity. Whether they had “Hoop Dreams” (the vernacular term for rags-to-riches basketball stardom) – such as the sons of the men I interviewed - or just wanted a place to be accepted and take their minds off the hardships of life in America’s poorest place, every participant said basketball was the image of the 98 new “Lakota Warrior” because the community has respect and appreciation for the young, strong, and courageous ballers. The reservation’s star athletes are promoting positivity and success in the face of media representations of hopelessness and despair. As warriors, the ballers represent their people on a larger social stage, proving negative stereotypes wrong. Their skills on the court show they are strong and talented, and even more so, it shows that Oglala men are working hard to provide positive influences for the younger generations by earning the respect of their elders as talented athletes. Only the strongest amongst them make the high school teams, furthering the image of warrior as an identity of youth and masculinity in Oglala culture. During the 3-on-3 tournaments, Oglala residents would line up and shine their car headlights on the court when the sun started to set to illuminate the court so play could continue. Since there were no bleachers or chairs on the sidelines, except player benches, people would honk and cheer from inside their vehicles when a good shot was made, or a 3-pointer went in the hoop. Young children would give their fathers and uncles high-fives and excitedly describe replays of the round’s highlights. The basketball court is a place where Oglala men and boys come together and acceptable masculinities are constructed. Basketball is a habitus for Pine Ridge. 99 High school basketball games are also important social events and with significant associated cultural practice on Pine Ridge. The high school gymnasium bleachers fill for each game during basketball season. Much of the community shows great enthusiasm and support for their athletes, especially “ballers.” The high school basketball court, again, is a place where Oglala men gather in a place of respect and honor. Whether at high school basketball game, or at summertime outdoor 3-on-3 tournaments, the goal of the men is simple: win. Oglala men take great pride in their game. They respect the court, the rules, and each other while playing basketball. I observed earnestness and honesty in their handshakes, and heard heartfelt wishes of congratulations or acknowledgement upon close of each tournament. While sitting on the player’s bench, learning the rules and format of the game, one man told me, “If Crazy Horse were alive today he would be proud of these guys. Look at ‘em…. They know when to be strong and stoic and when to laugh and encourage one another.” Basketball has seemingly become the activity in which Oglala men assert their warrior-like practices, which is acceptable to traditionalists and tribal leaders, more so than the “thug” style of warrior that is asserted through Oglala men’s participation in the hip-hop lifestyle. 100 Chapter V: Conclusion: State Basketball Championship Games Approximately six months after my departure from the field, several of my friends from Pine Ridge contacted me to tell me that both Red Cloud and Pine Ridge High School Boy’s basketball teams were competing in semi-final rounds of the South Dakota State Basketball Championship. Subsequently, the Pine Ridge High School Boy’s team has advanced to the final rounds. Equally as impressive, the girl’s basketball team from Pine Ridge High School made it to the final round of the state championships and placed second in the state. The hard work and dedication of reservation basketball programs culminated this year in high achievements and displays of superior skill and determination. Despite the positive achievements of Pine Ridge High School’s basketball teams, some white community members in the area continued a negative, racially imbued conversation about the socioeconomic status of the reservation’s youth. During a phone conversation with Jack, I learned that white spectators at the girl’s semifinal game, held in Rapid City, chanted “Go Back to the Rez!” Jack interpreted this chant as similar to a “lynch mob down in Alabama.” 101 Jack and other Oglalas in attendance saw the chant as a threat against their freedom to leave the reservation. Jack also said that during the semi-final game’s coverage on a local news station, the coach of the team defeated by the Pine Ridge Lady Thorpes8 said, “It’s a tough loss but at least my girls have futures.” This statement suggested that youth from Pine Ridge do not have a chance of a future beyond high school basketball, or that the girls are only good at sports, but not academic or professional skills. In response to this comment, the Rapid City Journal published an article titled, “High School Basketball: Lady Thorpes Aren't Just Athletes.” An interview with their head coach, Laura Big Crow, clarified that the young women on her team are excellent students and good members of the community, participating in variety of activities outside of sports. They want to be in school, they want to get good grades, and a big part of that is so they can play athletics… that is why athletics are so important, and now these girls are prepared to have successful futures. It will be exciting to watch them move into the next part of their lives.’’ [Schulte 2013] The article mentioned that most of the young women on the team also made it to the state championship in volleyball in the fall of 2012. On both occasions, as their bus returned to the reservation the teams were greeted by residents lined up along the road cheering, Pine Ridge High School’s athletic teams are named in honor of Jim Thorpe, the Sac and Fox Olympic runner and 1912 gold medalist. 8 102 holding banners, and waving Oglala flags. The article said Pine Ridge High School held a community celebration in honor of the basketball team’s second-place title (Schulte 2013). Clearly, the community has great pride in the achievements of their youth, something non-Oglala people in the area do not acknowledge, much less understand. Jack also referred me to a blog posting that responded to a public Facebook update by a woman who attended the final round of the championship. A screenshot of the Facebook comment was included in the blog post. The status update stated, “Hmm. Pine Ridge is the ‘poorest reservation in the country (fact)’ but yet it’s girl’s basketball team has a CHARTER BUS? Hmm………. I think their money could be going elsewhere.” Below the status, a commenter posted, “They turned in all the empty Budweiser cans they had about 300 truck load”(sic) (heidiroo.blogspot.com). These comments reflect a widely held view that Pine Ridge’s poverty and high rates of alcoholism should prevent the high school from having a nice bus to transport its athletes to away games. Jack informed me that the bus was purchased with grant money, and not with tax dollars or tribal funds. Regardless, he added, it is not a stretch to consider that non-reservation teams may have purchased their buses with tax dollars. However, those mostly white schools do not have their purchases publically scrutinized as Pine Ridge does. 103 As of the date of this writing, Pine Ridge High School men’s basketball team is preparing for its state championship game. During our phone conversation, Jack expressed his concern for the safety of the players and their fans as the public’s response to these negative, racially motivated comments by non-Natives has once again elevated racial tensions in the Rapid City area. Nevertheless, he stressed, the Pine Ridge community will continue to cheer for their team and celebrate their success. After our phone call, I was reminded of the motorcycle trip when Jess told me that despite the hardships and sadness that seem to plague his people - and are often emphasized in public commentaries broadcast by non-Natives - there is a strong sense of loyalty, togetherness, and pride at Pine Ridge that is deeply grounded in a connection to place, people, and history. He was the one who showed me a Pine Ridge that I had failed to see before, in spite of all my years of visiting the reservation and working with the people there. During that day on the motorcycle, I came to understand the ways in which Oglala connect with and celebrate their place in the world despite their hardships. Furthermore, despite the negative racial discourse so often projected onto them, the Oglala community continues to celebrate the successes of their athletes and warriors. 104 Oglala celebrate their successes and are proud of their heritage, not only when their youth receive outside recognition. They are proud even when they know that rather than bringing a positive light to their community, media portrays negative stereotypes. They do not stop having pride in their rich cultural practices and successes in the face of negative broadcasting; they counter it with community celebrations and continued participation in activities that highlight the positivity. 105 Appendix I “What if the Tea Party Was Black” Lyrics by JasiriX What if the tea party was black Holding guns like the Black Panther Party was back If Al was Rush Limbaugh and Jesse was Sean Hannity And Tavis was Glenn Beck would they harm they families If Sarah Palin was suddenly Sistah Soaljah Would they leave it with the votes or go and get the soldiers Yall know if the tea party was black The government would have been had the army attack What if Michael Baisden was on ya FM dial For 3 hours every day calling the president foul Would they say free speech or find evidence how To charge him with treason like see he’s unamerican now What if Minister Farrakhan prayed for the death Of the commander in chief that he be laid to rest Would they treat it as the gravest threat or never make an arrest Even today he’s still hated for less What if President Obama would have lost the election Quit his job so he could go talk to the left and Bash the government for being off of direction 106 Fraught with deception And told black people they want all of our weapons And we want our own country and called for secession Would he be arrested and tossed in corrections For trying to foster aggression Against the people’s lawful selection Our questions What if the tea party was black Holding guns like the Black Panther Party was back If Al was Rush Limbaugh and Jesse was Sean Hannity And Tavis was Glenn Beck would they harm they families If Sarah Palin was suddenly Sistah Soaljah Would they leave it with the votes or go and get the soldiers Yall know if the tea party was black The government would have been had the army attack What If black people went on Facebook and made a page That for the death if the president elect we prayed Would the creators be tazed and thrown in a cage We know the page wouldn’t have been displayed all these days What if Jeremiah Wright said that everybody white Wasn’t a real America would you feel scared of him If he had a militia with pictures that depict the president as Hitler 107 They would kill and bury that Wait What if Cynthia McKinney lamented the winning of the new president And hinted he wasn’t really a true resident With no proof or evidence Would the media treat it like a huge press event They would have attacked whatever group she represents They would have called her a kook on precedent And any network that gave her due preference Would be the laughing stock of the news so our question is What if the tea party was black Holding guns like the Black Panther Party was back If Al was Rush Limbaugh and Jesse was Sean Hannity And Tavis was Glenn Beck would they harm they families If Sarah Palin was suddenly Sistah Soaljah Would they leave it with the votes or go and get the soldiers Yall know if the tea party was black The government would have been had the army attack 108 Appendix II “White Privilege” Lyrics By: Macklemore Now nod your head and wake up. I see so many people lost who really try to pretend But am I just another white boy who has caught on to the trend When I take a step to the mic is hiphop closer to the end? 'Cause when I go to shows the majority have white skin They marketed the windmill, the air flair and head spin And white rappers albums really get the most spins The face of hip hop has changed a lot since Eminem And if he's taking away black artists' profits I look just like him Claimed a culture that wasn't mine, the way of the american Hip hop is gentrified and where will all the people live It's like the central district, beacon hill to the south end Being pushed farther away because of what white people did, now Where's my place in a music that's been taken by my race Culturally appropriated by the white face And we don't want to admit that this is existing So scared to acknowledge the benefits of our white privilege Cause it's human nature to want to be part of something different Especially when your ancestors are European Christians 109 And most whites don't want to acknowledge this is occurring Cause we got the best deal, the music without the burden Of being black in a system that really wants you to rock Cause all you need is a program and you can go and make hiphop And we hate the mainstream cause we're the ones that took it Now we listen to Aesop Rock and wear t-shirts that say Brooklyn But it's not about black and white right I mean good music is good music regardless of what you look like But when you don't give them props isn't that selfish? That's like saying rock was actually started by Elvis So where does this leave me? I feel like I pay dues but I'll always be a white MC I give everything I have when I write a rhyme But that doesn't change the fact that this culture's not mine But I'm gonna be me so please be who you are This is something that's effortless and shouldn't be hard I said I'm gonna be me so please be who you are But we still owe 'em 40 acres now we've stolen their 16 bars Hiphop started off in a block that I've never been to To counter act a struggle that I've never even been through If I think I understand just because I flow too That means I'm not keeping it true, nope 110 Hiphop started off in a block that I've never been to To counter act a struggle that I've never even been through If I think I understand just because I flow too That means I'm not keeping it true, I'm not keeping it true Now I don't rap about guns so they label me conscious But I don't rap about guns cause I wasn't forced into the projects See I was put in the position where I could chose my options Blessed with the privilege that my parent's could send me to college Now who's going to shows the kids on the block starving Or the white people with dough that can relate to my content? Marketed the music now adapted to the lifestyle What happened to jazz and rock and roll is happening right now Where's my place in the music that's been taken by the media With white corperations controlling what their feeding ya I brought up aesop rock but I'm not even dissing dude We love hiphop and what do you think caucasians are listening to And I speak freely when I write this If a black emcee examined race there goes half their fan base, white kids And this is so true. and we didn't even have to fight the system We just went and picked up the microphone too And we got good at it so we should be rapping 111 But only supporting them is like burning Jimmy and buying Clapton Now Clapton's incredible. but no Jimmy no foundation So here comes history and the cultural appropriation White kids with do rags trying to practice their accents From the suburbs to the upperclass mastering a language But hiphop is not just memorizing words It's rooted in authenticity something you literally can't learn But I'm gonna be me so please be who you are This is something that's effortless and shouldn't be hard I said I'm gonna be me so please be who you are But as I'm blessed with the privilege, they're still left with the scars Hiphop started off in a block that I've never been to To counter act a struggle that I've never even been through If I think I understand just because I flow too That means I'm not keeping it true, nope Hiphop started off in a block that I've never been to To counter act a struggle that I've never even been through If I think I understand just because I flow too That means I'm not keeping it true, I'm not keeping it true 112 Bibliography 20/20 2011 “Children of the Plains”. 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