I don't cry for social issues very often. My family wasn't here when these things happened. I'm not absolved, however. There's some blood on my hands. A lot.

The next fucking time you want to send your money to Haiti or some other place you'll never see, take a little of that money and drive to South Dakota. Stop in Mobridge, see Sitting Bull's grave.  There's a reservation there, too. Go ahead. Stop and gamble a little.

Continue on to Wounded Knee at Pine Ridge. Just remember how nice it is to believe that the worst things in life can't exist in this great country. How comfy it would be to believe that the third world doesn't exist here.

Because it does. And it's our fault.

I mean it and I don't give a shit if you pulled the trigger or not. You are allowing it to exist, as am I.

Read about the Sioux (our word, it means Snake) and the Lakota (their word). Wonder why so many of the first nations have retained in our collective thinking the names their enemies gave them. We need to do a lot more than feel bad about this. We need to understand it. We need to give them back the land that is their own.

Give them back the Black Hills. It's a shitty, paltry gift. We give them something that should already be theirs. Nevertheless, it's what we must do.

"I have met the enemy and he is us" Walt Kelly

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