11/28/2016
Firstly, let me say that I am uninjured and free.
However, I cannot say that I am safe. I cannot say that I have not eaten pepper spray, been sprayed in the face with a fire hose in below freezing weather, or been dazed by concussion grenades and tear gas. I cannot say I haven't had those locked arm-in-arm with me on either side struck with batons. That I haven't stared down military officials—I won't bother calling them police—with a pumping heart and the most prayerful eyes I can summon while they assess me as an object of tactical awareness.
I cannot say I haven't watched friends shot, that I haven't heard people working beside me say how they watched a girl scream after her arm was nearly destroyed by a military explosive, that I haven't watched freshly made family slammed to the ground, arms twisted, crutches ripped away as they were kidnapped.
No, I'm not safe in the face of the police state.
But safety is no longer the bottom line. Safety is the hidden rallying cry of comfort in a troubled time like this. There is great risk in confronting the hydra-headed Black Snake of empire, gobbling up anything that looks like culture or community or... life.
These times—OUR times—are asking something of us, are making the meaning of our lives. They are asking us to bear active witness to the death of this empire, of the all-consuming maw of the dominant a-culture. And I find myself chained to the call.
I will be here to the end, whatever that looks like. My body belongs to the land, to these times, to those I love, be they human or animal or tree or living stone. I will beat my chest and cry with grief, I will pray to the gods and ancestors and unborn that I be of service, I will love fiercely at every opportunity.
The Lakota have a term that has long been with them, that was particularly centered in their confrontations long ago with this dominator force, and I'm beginning to understand it, shakily and haltingly, but with a kind of determination I can barely describe.
While I'm not certain the translation is earnest, the sentiment is clear: It is a good day to die.
It is a good day to meet the ends and purpose of this life.
Hoka hey.
-Eric Chisler
- Rob Wilson Photography