………Why? Why must it always be the same? The white man thinks he owns us, owns our land, and can dictate everything we do and say! What's the use in fighting? We can never win! We're a forgotten people living a third world existence in the richest country on Earth! Where's the justice in that?! The Hell with college! It can't teach me anything the white man doesn't want me to learn!

………Joe's thoughts fell silent as his eyes trailed west to the horizon. The sunset painted fire on the Black Hills. He shook his head and sighed. It was no use. He knew it. Things would always be the same. He was Indian, not white. That was the way it always would be. A fire in the hills; this is not my land.

………"This is your land," came a soft elderly voice from behind. "Perhaps it is a fire in the heart that you need, my son."

………His eyes wide, Joe turned to see an elderly man standing by a gravestone. Joe took him in head to toe, and chuckled. The old man was wearing ceremonial buckskins. The shirt and leggings were decorated with beaded strips and weasel tassels. His beaded moccasins were made of white elk skin. His hair was long, gray, an eagle feather tied above his left ear.

………"Why the Hell are you dressed like that, old man!" Joe was contemptuous. "This is December...1992." There was a deliberate pause between the month and year.

………"Yes, December, 1992," the old man echoed. "In Wanicokan Wi. In the Moon When Horns Break Off."

………The old man joined Joe at the fence which surrounded Wounded Knee's mass grave. They turned to the grave, rested their arms on the fence, and peered west to the Black Hills.

………"Yes, yes, fire in the hills," the old man voiced softly.

………"More like blood on the land," Joe answered. "The blood of my people."

………"The blood of many people," the old man said.

………"Who are you; why have you come?" Joe questioned.

………"Who I am does not matter," the old man answered. "I have come because you have called to me."

………"Called to you! I haven't called to you!"

………The old man paused; his eyes sparkled red in the sunset. He grinned and glanced at Joe. "You may think not, but you have. You are troubled, not sure of yourself. That is why I am here."

………"You don't make any sense, old man."

………"Joseph, there are many ills in this world, ills which you have no knowledge of..."

………"What I don't know, I don't care about," Joe interrupted. He wondered how the old man knew his name, but wasn't about to ask. He brushed past the old man and walked around the fence to the opposite side. The old man slowly followed. Together they stood in silence and watched the red light of the setting sun dance across the Black Hills.

………"My people, that is what I have knowledge of," Joe suddenly said. His words were soft. Guided. "My people are dying, my culture is dying, and there is nothing I can do about it. I am just an Indian in a flood of white men. No one cares about us."

………"Ah, and the white man are like blades of grass on the prairie," the old man voiced a thought of long ago.

………"What?" Joe asked.

………"It is nothing," the old man replied. "Perhaps there is knowledge which you are not aware of. Perhaps there is knowledge that the white man is not aware of, knowledge that someone like you can teach to the white man."

………"Yeah, right!"

………"Let me tell you of four things - of Indian children, of greed, of relationships with other peoples," the old man paused as he turned his eyes to the Black Hills. "And of the land which is our Mother."

………"Hah! The white man would never listen. They never have."

………"I think they would, given time," the old man said. "They know our world is ill. You can see it every day, everywhere - in the newspaper, on the television, on the streets. They'll listen and come to know us for what we are, and were. We have to reshape the way we think, the way we view things..."

………"What does that have to do with greed, children, the land, and relationships with others?" Joe interrupted. "You talk in circles, old man." 

………"All right, Joseph," the old man began. "Let me tell you of our love for the land. You can not watch your television for fifteen minutes without hearing about another toxic waste dump or another endangered species. You know that to our people nature is more than just a collection of water and landforms. It is our religion, our way of life. We treat Mother Earth with respect. Everything must be kept in balance. We disrupt this balance and tragedy will result."

………"You tell me!" Joe exclaimed. "The white man has disrupted nature ever since he came to our lands - his pollution of the land and water, his wasteful killing of the buffalo, wastes he leaves everywhere he goes. Always the same! It will not change!"

………"Perhaps," the old man replied. "As long as there are those who think like you. Defeated before you have started."

………"You don't understand, old man," Joe replied. "We have had centuries of abuse from the white man. It can't be changed. He lies, cheats, steals. It will always be the same!"

………"I do not deny this," the old man said. "I only ask you to understand. I know the histories, I was there."

………"Take the Sand Creek Massacre. Colonel Chivington and the Colorado militia attacked Black Kettle's small Cheyenne camp. Black Kettle came out of his lodge waving a white flag and an American flag. Still the army came. One hundred and seventy nine of our people died. One hundred and thirty seven were old men, women, and children. There were forty six Arapaho in the camp. Only four of them survived. Chivington reported over a thousand warriors killed. And you speak of lies?"

………Joe turned from the old man and sat in the grass. He crossed his legs, trained his eyes on the Black Hills. The sky was veiled in a deep violet, the fire over the Black Hills now faded to crimson. Behind him darkness shrouded the land.

………"And what of the children?" Joe softly voiced another of the old man's four topics.

………"Ah, the breakdown of the American family," the old man replied softly. "A sad fact. The value of family is disappearing. Unwed mothers, single parents, forgotten elderly. Child abuse...

………"In the old days among our people the family was not only strong, but it spanned many generations. The children were raised by their parents, aunts, uncles, and elders. We believed it best for a child to learn from as many people as possible to give them a more well-rounded education. I believe there is a lesson to be learned there... 

………"Child abuse was unheard of in the old days. Even Lewis and Clark often commented in their journals how Indians never struck their children."

………"You make it sound so simple," Joe replied. "But it's easier said than done."

………"Yes, that is true," the old man said. "But it can be done if one sets their mind to it. Words can only go so far."

………"Yeah, so far," Joe voiced his thoughts aloud.

………The dark of night covered the land like the gathering of the white man. The old man turned silent as Joe's thoughts turned to the histories he knew, the histories of his people so slanted by those who took the land from his people.

………He thought of Wounded Knee, that fateful day of December 29, 1890 when Chief Big Foot of the Miniconjou Lakota arrived with three hundred and fifty old men, women, and children. Big Foot's people had come with a white flag, had come for refuge with Red Cloud's people. Still, three hundred and been slaughtered by the akicita. Joe laughed to himself. What had the old man said? Words can only go so far? Yeah, just like Little Big Horn was called Custer's Massacre when it was really a military operation, and the massacre here was called the Battle of Wounded Knee. Some battle! Yeah, a battle when they win, and a massacre when they lose!

………Joe shook his head and stared into the gathering darkness. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. It was the old man standing next to him. Joe saw a light sparkling in the old man's eyes. The old man grinned. He had an arm load of fire wood.

………"Let us walk down the hillside," the old man said softly. "I do not wish to build a fire here on this sacred ground."

………The night air was soft, but bitter cold. The flames of the campfire crackled; embers climbed into the sky on a current of warm air. The orange firelight bathed their faces. The beads on the old man's warshirt twinkled.

………"Wounded Knee," the old man voiced. "You were thinking of Wounded Knee."

………"Yeah," Joe agreed.

………"A tragedy. Did you know that Big Foot gave the white man back his words? He told the soldiers all he wanted for his people was 'life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness'?"

………"How about Wounded Knee in 1973?" Joe suddenly asked.

………"Yes, 1973," the old man said. 

………"My uncle was there," Joe said softly. "Two hundred Indians and a handful of whites occupied Wounded Knee." Joe kicked at the campfire as his memory scanned the facts. His voice became aggravated. "Do you know why they took over Wounded Knee? Do you know why?"

………"Poverty, powerlessness, and violation of civil rights."

………"Yeah, not too much to ask, is it?" Joe said, adding, "And the Feds came with armored personnel carriers, Phantom jets, and three hundred FBI agents armed with M16s!"

………"Yes, I know the story," the old man said. "I was there. The federals said they would look into corruption on the reservation; twenty minutes later they broke their promises. The agreement was never fulfilled."

………"And you say things can be changed?" Joe was incredulous. "Huh! It'll always be the same!"

………"You fail to see what Wounded Knee DID accomplish in 1973," the old man said. "It rekindled Indian dignity and self pride."

………Joe remained silent, thinking of what the old man had just said. It was true. Wounded Knee did rekindle Indian dignity and self pride. The world saw what had happened. But it still wasn't enough. There had to be more, much more.

………"What about greed?" Joe returned to the old man's four points. He turned his eyes to the old man and waited for a reply.

………The old man was thinking, staring into the fire. "Greed," he finally said. "One of the seven deadly sins."

………"One of the white man's seven deadly sins," Joe said coldly.

………"True enough," the old man replied. "You and I both know the white man has enough greed to go around. I can give you a list of actions caused by greed. The White Earth Settlement Act of 1987 is a good example - 200,000 acres stolen from the White Earth band of the Chippewa. A court ruling showed the government to be the thief. Yet, the thief dictated the selling price as a restitution to the tribe.

………"There is also your people, Joseph, the Lakota. The Missouri River was granted to the Lakota in the Treaty of 1868. Today there are six major hydro-electric dams on the river that produce over a billion kilowatts, yet, most of the people on reservations have no electricity.

………"And there is the Black Hills. They are as sacred to the Lakota as Jerusalem is sacred too the Christians, Muslims, and Jews. In 1877 the Black Hills were stolen by an act of Congress, all because of the discovery of gold." The old man paused, stoked the fire, then glanced at Joe. "Have you ever heard of the Dawes Allotment Act of 1887?"

………"Yeah, I learned about it last year in college," Joe said. "Tribal ownership of the land was terminated. The reservations were partitioned and each of us was assigned a 160 acre allotment for farming. The rest of the land was opened to white homesteaders, a segregation policy.

………"The land originally given over to us was kept in trust for twenty five years. The idea was that in twenty five years Indians would be white enough to be given their land. It didn't work out that way. Our grandfathers wanted to stay Indian."

………"Yes, and in 1905 it was determined we were not competent to own our own lands," the old man added. "So the government trust on the land was extended indefinitely."

………"Grandfather, I know about the white man's greed," Joe was impatient. "It will always be so."

………The old man paused a moment. A grin crawled across his face. He called me Grandfather. Perhaps I am getting through to him. It is possible.

………"Everyone shows greed to one extent or another," the old man replied. "It is less so with our people. You know that wealth and success with our people means you're able to give more to others. We gain in wealth and prestige by giving away. Materialism only removes one further from the Great Spirit. The Potlatch is a fine example, the feast of giving among the peoples of the Northwest."

………Something called out from the darkness. Joe looked up, his mind full of wonder. It was good to here the sound, the baying of a coyote. The animal was one with Mother Earth as was his people. It was something the white man never understood. The Indian wasn't just another fixture on the landscape, the Indian was part of the landscape - just as the trees, the hills, the grass, the rocks, the mountains, the rivers, the streams, and the buffalo were part of the landscape. This would never change. 

………In the momentary silence, Joe glanced down at his feet. He was unconsciously tugging at the grass. Next to him the old man was deathly silent. Joe glanced at him and noticed for the first time the deeply furrowed age line on his face. This man was more ancient than Joe had at first realized. But there was something else in the old man's face, something that mirrored a deep seated knowledge which Joe could only begin to guess. This man had seen and done many things. And Joe felt his power.

………"You spoke of relationships, Grandfather," Joe said softly, almost reverently.

………The old man turned his eyes to Joe and smiled. "I would call it international problems. There are many Indian nations. Our people are of one nation, Dakota. The United States is another. Yet, now we are all one with the United States."

………"Are we?"

………"Yes, we are," the old man replied. "It may not seem so, but we are. You must understand that international problems result when one culture becomes intolerant of another. That is not the way of our people. To us all cultures are important.

………"Think of it as a wagon wheel. The spokes represent various cultures, each one unique unto itself. None of the spokes could ever be removed, shortened, or lengthened, because they are all absolutely necessary for the wheel to turn." The old man paused as he gestured the motion of a turning wheel with one hand. "The turning wagon wheel is our Mother Earth, one and the same. That is what we have to show the white man. We are all of one mind, all of one nation, and the Great Spirit is above us all."

………"But the white man still condemns us and our way of life," Joe said. "Two years ago the Supreme Court attacked our religious freedom. They ruled that states have the right to pass laws that force Native American Church members to risk imprisonment in order to practice our religion. And that's just one of a growing number of Supreme Court decisions failing to recognize and protect our right!

………"In the past our people had to ask the reservation agencies permission to hold our sacred Sun Dance. Then the United States government outlawed it altogether! Who was it that came to these lands for religious freedom?" Joe's voice was laced with sarcasm.

………"Yes, and the first Amendment to the Constitution states that 'Congress shall make no law respecting the establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;'," the old man smiled. "You have done your homework, my son. It is good." 

………"Yes, Grandfather," Joe replied. "I've done my homework, all right! Like Jackson's Removal Act of 1830 - ethnic cleansing in the eastern United States, just like in Bosni-Hercegovina. And their Declaration of Independence calls us 'merciless Indian savages'. In 1954 the termination Policy was passed by Congress that ended federal obligations and services to our people; this lead to many hardships. In 1924 they granted us citizenship. Where are the rights that go with it?! They treat us as less than human!"

………"Yes, these things I know," the old man replied. He paused, glanced around in the dark, then gestured with the swing of an arm. "Look around you here. Did you know that some people want to erect a monument here at Wounded Knee as a tribute of gratitude, recognition, and respect to the American Indian? A symbolic gesture? Yes, these things I know. You know that our people would rather have the reality of respect, gratitude, and recognition."

………"You ask for a lot," Joe said softly. "You talked of greed, relationships, children, our respect of the land. Why?"

………"Just to show you our way of life was not bad," the old man replied. "It is up to the young ones like you to realize this, to teach others, to show them the way to an understanding. This is what the white man needs, understanding."

………"I can't do it alone, Grandfather," Joe said.

………"Ah, but you can start," the old man replied. "Others will follow your example."

………"How?"

………"By doing what you do," the old man said. "Stay in school. Learn what is being taught. But you must learn to listen, my son, for listening is different than hearing."

………"But it is a white man's school."

………"All the more reason to remain in school," the old man said. "There are new words these days - political correctness and revisionist's histories. These words may be good, but they may be bad as well. Remember, my son, professors do not know everything; you have to live IT to KNOW it. I have lived it."

………"I don't understand," Joe said.

………"Ah, but you do understand."

………"You mean that I am Indian, and only I can truly know what it means to be Indian."

………"In so many words, yes," the old man said. "Look at it this way. A Christian cannot speak of Buddhist Doctrine based on his own Christian beliefs. Likewise, a white man cannot speak of Indians based on his own white beliefs. Only an Indian can truly speak of Indians based on his own beliefs. A white man cannot know what it means to be Indian. He may read all there is to read, but in the end it doesn't make him an Indian. And there are those who say the measure of being fullblood is in your thinking, speaking, and singing - if your heart is truly Indian, regardless of skin or hair color. This is also true."

………"But what can I do?" Joe asked. "All the reservations have problems. There are no resources, the land is undesirable, people are unskilled, there is no outlet for free enterprise, we have the lowest income per capita, we are the poorest of the poor."

………"Things take time, Joseph," the old man said. "Take things one step at a time. Consider this, the pressing problem is that our culture is in danger of becoming extinct. Two hundred years of forced assimilation has done everything possible to dilute and destroy our world. The greatest hope for survival is the tribal colleges. That is where your answer lies. The tribal colleges were formed to keep the old ways alive, to reintroduce our old ways to a generation of Indians who may know nothing about their heritage."

………Joe remained silent, his eyes on the dwindling flames of the campfire. Slowly he rose and walked out of the circle of light created by the campfire. In the darkness he stared to where he knew the Black Hills to lie. The tribal colleges. That's the answer. We must teach our people and regain our respect before we can expect others to respect us. We must learn from the errors of the past, both white and red, and build a new future for all of us.

………The old man interrupted Joe's thinking. "Your thoughts are good. Building a new future for all of us."

………Joe spun around and gazed wide-eyed at the old man. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

………"It is of no matter," the old man said.

………The old man rose from where he sat, the fire light dancing off his ceremonial buckskins. He was a vision from the past, adorned for a Sun Dance, the ghosts of his people mere fleeting shadows dancing in the gray area between the fire light and the black of night. Joe could hear the drum, the sacred songs sung to the drum, the laughing and shouting and crying of the people, the yapping dogs, the racing horses. It was in his heart, and in that instant Joe knew his past. More importantly, he knew his future.

………"If for nothing else, remember this," the old man began as he approached Joe at the edge of the campfire's light. "There was once another Joseph, the man from which you were given your name. He was a Peace Chief of a band of Nez Perce. In 1879 he went to Washington and spoke to people gathered there. This is what he said: 

………"That is a dream I have," Joe said softly.

………"All men must dream. That is the way of things."

………"You never told me who you are," the thought suddenly struck Joe. 

………"Blood of your blood. Like you, I am Joseph Horn Cloud." The old man grinned, then added, "Do you not think you should rest?"

………Joe smiled and nodded to the old man.

………The dawn was gray; clouds overcast the sky. Joe awoke and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The campfire was out. It was cold this day in December, this anniversary of the 1890 Wounded Knee Massacre. Still, Joe felt a warmth he had never felt before. He had an understanding he never had before. Thanks to the old man, old Joseph Horn Cloud.

………OLD JOSEPH HORN CLOUD! Joe jumped to his feet and glanced around. The old man was gone. Not a trace of him anywhere, not so much as the soft soled imprint of an Indian moccasin. Joe smiled. He knew. There wouldn't be any trace.

………Joe turned and walked back up the hill to the fenced in mass grave. He glanced at the grave marker, then entered the gate to the grave. Joe walked to the grave marker, knelt, scanned the names. He found what he was looking for, a name he knew would be there. The name was Joseph Horn Cloud. Father of my Grandfather.

………Joe stood and raised his hands to the sky. He breathed deep the cold clean air. A pride only an Indian would know rose in his heart and soul. "I am Joseph Horn Cloud! Indian!" he cried, then thought better of it. "No. Joseph Mahpiya Ptehe omakiyab! Lakota!"