A few years before I was born, Woody and Jack Guthrie birthed a song that comes 'round to me while crossing parts of my land in Craig County which lies as a prairie and dips down into a gully and up the other side, as if the land was attempting to become hills.
There is a cowboy buried out in the back portion. My dad always pointed where it was, sort of an Indian type of pointing, with a nod of his head in that direction. There was never a headstone and who he was and how he died are no longer known.
There is much mention of death and nameless numbers in the news and charts, numbers growing daily even in this state. I regret each loss. Where the dead are laid to rest will be known to only the few who take them since gatherings that bring large groups together have come to be dangerous in these times. Funerals I have attended in the past continued on to the graveyard and when revisiting those grounds, I am also visiting the people from my neighborhood, in their new neighborhood. (Which takes me regrettably to the Sesame Street Song, The People in the Neighborhood.)
Just this week, I was unable to attend the funeral of Larry Daylight, one of the world's finest Champion Fancy Dancers, who took great care back in the late 70's to teach my son those fancy moves. Much later, I learned the techniques required to fully bead a dance fan, a skill few can teach since there are so few artists with those skills who are willing to share those secrets.
Larry and his wife Blevins became Lay Health Advisors with LEAD Agency and could teach community and family how to protect children from lead poisoning. He was an important person in my neighborhood. How many others are we losing and failing to see laid to rest? What else is happening?
Last Wednesday I went to sleep in Oklahoma and after waking and coffee when 9:00 came my son read aloud from a Supreme Court ruling I learned I had woken up in Indian Territory, right there in the Indian Nation Woody sang about. I woke up in the Cherokee Nation. I could not contain myself as tears fell.
In 1907 our tribal government ceased to be recognized as it was. The State of Oklahoma took our schools and other public buildings as its own. Throughout the Cherokee Nation grief settled in as the powers we had held were all gone, we thought for good. But last week, with the words written by Justice Gorsuch which read like poetry. Justice. Treaties are law. Congress had failed to disestablish us.
Cherokee Nation if it was a single person, she would have been standing taller and proud beyond belief. So after the tears stopped, I stood up proud and tall, as possible.
'Way down yonder on the ... in those Oklahoma hills where I belong. I live on the land I belong on. When Cherokees were moved to Indian Territory, we were given a trade, Georgia, and our other lands in the east for the lands here. Equal value. So this is our Georgia and though our origin stories are not here, the rest of our stories are. We can value this place and run ourselves right up to the borders of our very own reservation and delight in knowing we are home.
On the far end of the Trail of Tears was a promise.
... their new lands in the West would be secure forever.
The action of the State of Oklahoma dishonored each tribal member and made those living then to feel lessened, perhaps shamed. But read this decision and over and over the State of Oklahoma is given the lecture on wrongs done and in every way the state had tried to prove the reservation of the Creeks was long gone, the court rejected. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The court all but pissed, excuse the language, on Oklahoma's reasoning and all the ways in this last one hundred and 15 years the state had justified taking our land, our resources and our pride.
All of that went away with every word of this decision. Rise up, and remember we were Nations, sovereign Nations, enough so the United States made TREATIES with us, like real countries. And those treaties are not over, dead and gone, they are the Supreme Law of the Land. This Decision said they live on and so do we.
No more Pinocchio's, we are real people, as our names would call us The People in most of our languages. We are not diminished. We are not disestablished. That would take an Act of Congress and they have not done it. They did not act.
This decision in the history of the United States is our Brown v. the Board of Education, this is our Roe v. Wade. In McGirt v. Oklahoma Oklahoma got "a talking to" as the Navajo call a session that is shy of a "go to your room" more like what is done during an intervention in the hope of bringing a loved one to sobriety.
What tribal people in Oklahoma got was some respect. Yep, those are our boundaries and we belong here and we got the papers to prove it.
Respectfully Submitted ~ Rebecca Jim
Oklahoma Hills
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie and Jack Guthrie © Copyright 1945 (renewed) by Woody Guthrie Publications, Inc., Michael Goldsen Music Inc., & Warner-Chappell Music Inc
Many a month has come and gone
Since I wandered from my home
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Many a page of life has turned,
Many a lesson I have learned;
Well, I feel like in those hills I still belong.
'Way down yonder in the Indian Nation
Ridin' my pony on the reservation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now, 'way down yonder in the Indian Nation,
A cowboy's life is my occupation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
But as I sit here today,
Many miles I am away
From a place I rode my pony through the draw,
While the oak and blackjack trees
Kiss the playful prairie breeze,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now as I turn life a page
To the land of the great Osage
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born,
While the black oil it rolls and flows
And the snow-white cotton grows
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
RSS Feed