Sharing Our Stories of Survival: Native Women Surviving Violence Read Free Page B

started with taunts through the store
down one aisle then another
continued into the muggy heat
that took one’s breath away
hearts racing,
we turned toward our version of home
 
we kept close to one another
“Stay near the houses,
they wouldn’t want witnesses,” Jocelyn whispered.
we could see the rooftop of our dorm,
when they made their move
then we made ours
 
run! Is what instinct told us
what Mother said to do in that situation
I could feel ancestors next to me
felt long black hair brushing against my sweaty face,
was it my own or someone else’s?
 
we were caught in the tall dry grass
bordering campus
 
I felt dead dry stalks pushing through my t-shirt
realizing nothing thrives in this state
except the hate which was delivering
blows to my face and head
 
I swallowed blood, smelled the fear
coming from the skinhead
who was kicking me in the ribs
I heard cries, screams
and above everything else . . . rage
 
I remember a flash of black boots
I remember the words
“Dirty stupid squaws, get out of our state!”
“All you stupid squaws need haircuts!”
then I saw the flash of a switchblade
gleaming in the hot September sun
 
I heard my Grandmother’s voice screaming,
“Move, Makoose, move!”
I felt the strength & love of my family with me
as I began to kick, scream and rage
against my attacker
my friends did the same,
I believe our helpers were with us
 
soon we heard screaming breaks on asphalt
I saw a flurry of Indian boys
friends on the football team
Just getting out of practice
 
my last image of my attacker
in his black t-shirt gleaming in the sun
as he ran with his fellow skinheads
for the high ground, like a war party
was on their trail
 
I felt strong arms lifting me up
holding me, trying to stop
the bleeding from my nose, lip and eye
the wounds near my ribs
these scars I still carry
 
they never found our attackers
I guess all skinheads look the same right?
 
I didn’t tell my parents for two years
when I did, we had a healing ceremony
for the whole family
 
sometimes, late at night, nightmares haunt me
I wake up sweating, shaking & clutching my ribs
where your knife made contact
 
someday you, like my scars
will fade away
 
My Grandmother tells me this.
 
Sally Brunk (Lac du Flambeau Ojibwa)

Chapter 2
    Sexual Violence: An Introduction to the Social and Legal Issues for Native Women
    CHARLENE ANN LAPOINTE

When I am gone (to the spirit world), remember to always be good to your sisters because it is through them that I will be with you.
—ADELINE STELLA BROKEN LEG-LAPOINTE
(SPIRIT JOURNEY, FEBRUARY 3, 1999)
    O ne night as Ina (my mother) lay physically weakened and her spirit began sacred preparations for her spirit journey, she spoke those words to misuŋkala, my precious younger brothers. The power of her message influenced me much later because, as a mere mortal being, my emotions at that very moment were a hair’s width from panic! I felt a sense of myself as a small child that didn’t know what to do because her mother was leaving for a different world. I could neither stop her nor figure out a way that I could go with her without violating our ancient taboo on suicide.
    Toward the end of Ina’ s earthly journey, I spent a lot of time with her in hospitals and was thus blessed as a witness of spiritual phenomena that we Native people speak about only in privacy with our families. Whenever I recognized that Ina was traveling in the spirit world, I sat reverently and respectfully in the knowledge that our ancestors were talking with her and helping her to prepare for her journey. I paid close attention to her side of the conversations because I wanted to remember her words. I wanted to take quiet time later to pray and reflect upon the spiritual meaning of her sacred talk.
    Ina’ s advice to my brothers was powerful in its simplicity. On the surface level, her words meant just what she stated, that my brothers should be good to their sisters after she left for the spirit world.