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Black Mesa – A Navajo Sacrifice Area

What if I told you that there is a place where indigenous people are exploited? Have their historical rights been taken away? Their religious freedom has been completely violated? What would you do if I told you it’s been going on for over 30 years and is still happening with very little change? Would you believe me if I told you this happened in America? Some of you may not be surprised, but some may be surprised to hear that the Black Mesa situation has been brought to the attention of the United Nations Commission on Religious Freedom, and there are many books, articles, and publications about it, however, if If you ask ordinary people in the United States if they know about this, the answer is definitely no. For 10 years I have been asking myself, from the first time I heard this story, how could this be? How could the people of a country built on democratic principles ignore a situation so grave and so injustice? For me, the Black Mesa situation is a microcosm of the whole world. I often say to myself, if this can happen to people in our own country, our own people that we should cherish, the caretakers of our country, those before us, etc., then one day, these actions will not be limited to them. It is a stepping stone, a harbinger of the future.

The Black Hills, also known as the Big Mountain, is a beautiful desert in the northeastern tip of Arizona. It is also a desolate land with few houses, mainly sheep and other livestock. It is home to the Navajo Nation and the Hopi Tribe. These two peoples have been sharing and living peacefully on this land since time immemorial. But the US government, which governs these peoples, drew its own borders in 1974, leaving more than 10,000 Navajos (Dine’, “the people”) and about 100 Hopi families on the wrong side. This land is sacred to these peoples. It is a physical representation of Mother Earth. So when one finds out that these borders were drawn to develop the land for underground resources (coal, uranium, and natural gas), the irony is too great. The people whose land was taken didn’t even benefit from these resources themselves – they didn’t have electricity, running water or plumbing, not even a telephone. They survive in this world through livestock and agriculture as always. Yet that very existence is now under threat to light up cities like Las Vegas and Phoenix and water many golf courses in the desert. All Dean knew was that the wells had dried up, the wildlife was gone, and the vegetation for the sheep to graze was dwindling. Like most of these stories, these tragic events and measures were sanctioned by corrupt elements in their own governments, greedy leaders who enrich themselves at the expense of their own people.

The U.S. government decided to tackle this homelessness problem by relocating these Dane families who now find themselves on the Hopi reservation to track housing conditions in the Phoenix suburbs. This didn’t work out for obvious reasons like most of these families didn’t know how to survive in urban areas. Many cannot afford mortgages because they cannot find work, not least because a large proportion of those relocating are elderly, non-English speaking and illiterate. As a result, many of these elderly people, other than sheep herders and land farmers, began to resist such relocation and are still fighting for their right to remain on their ancestral lands 30 years later.

The U.S. government, through the Bureau of Indian Affairs, then called on the Hopi Tribal Police to take action, allowing them to implement and enforce laws that would make life harder for rebellious families and allow them to leave voluntarily. Such as confiscating their livestock because they are trespassing, not allowing them to gather firewood because it is theft, and even bulldozing their homes and sacred spaces.

In 1998, my conscience demanded action. I went to Montenegro to spend a few months with an elderly couple, helping them with their daily tasks and looking after them. Winter is an unforgiving time in Mesa. Many older resisters died in the winter because the temperatures were below zero and wood was hard to come by, many were sick and without wood for warmth they froze. I also went to witness atrocities. For the record, families with white people living with them will not be harassed by the Hopi police because white people in this country have a voice in the media and if anything happens to white people on Mesa it will be all over the airwaves. What this situation needs, and always needs, is domestic media attention.

I had the great honor of staying at *Smith’s during that time. (*I have changed their names in this article to protect them). But as my time with them continued, they were referred to as “Grandma” and “Grandpa” by me. I stayed with them to help them, to see for myself what was going on up there, but I think in the end, they were more helpful to me. When someone of relative privilege goes to a place without the basic amenities and comforts of home, it forces you to be truly within, calling out to your deeper nature. In this experience, you discover what you really are made of. It gets down to your core and just simplifies everything. No more taking tap water, flush toilets or hot showers for granted. Things and their worth become unimportant when you focus more on what really matters in life. How much does a person really need to feel fulfilled and happy? What is happiness? Is it derived from things, or is it grateful after a hard day of shepherding and chopping firewood? The beautiful exhaustion that comes with having an actual relationship with the land and the creatures on it. I learned to talk to myself and listen. I wonder, what issues in life am I willing to fight for?

I also helped grandma and grandpa. I was there when the Hopi Rangers walked into their homes with semi-automatic pistols and started grilling them in a language he knew they didn’t understand. When grandma needed to see her heart doctor, I was there to take care of the goats and sheep, a 3 hour drive from Phoenix. When the snow was so deep, I brought the cattle home alone and terrified, because after walking all day in the snow, ice balls formed in their fur, and their weight was so heavy that they couldn’t bear it anymore. I can’t walk anymore. Relying on this new inner strength, I found a stick and began knocking snowballs off the goats until I could get them up the hill and home safely.

I am also humorous there. Participating in slaughtering sheep for the first time, there is a lot of small work to do. Slaughtering a sheep and preparing the meat is a whole day process. Feast every part of the sheep. I watched my grandma sit and empty the intestines into old coffee cans, then rinse them with hot water. She removed the sun-dried layer of fat and began wrapping the cleansed intestines. She then puts the wraps in fresh water to keep them fresh. She motioned for me to do something with the gutted bowl of water and dirty coffee can. I don’t understand why she wants me to put the clean intestines in the dirty coffee can. So I pretended to do so and she nodded. So I dumped the guts into a coffee can. I pretty much threw everything away when she started yelling. She came up to me with another bowl of clean water and motioned for me to wash my bowels out of the coffee can. That’s when I realized that all she wanted me to do was pour dirty water from the cleaning bowl into the coffee can. I feel terrible. But instead of being angry, it became the running joke of my stay. She started calling me “dygyss” (some form of “stupid” or “git”), and even when we had visitors, she would tell how stupid biga’ana (white girls) pour clean food into sheep manure The story eaten in. Maybe she’s still telling that story…

I got many gifts there, but the most precious gift they gave me was the gift of humility. The gift of knowing how much space I take up in the world. The more you know, the better. Quality over quantity is always the gift of gratitude. This humility has nothing to do with weakness, but is perhaps the most powerful human attribute of all silent forces. Give when you have nothing, never think you know something. Since then, I’m thankful that I don’t have to sleep with one eye open and worry about freezing to death or having my home demolished in my absence. After all the pain and sorrow these Dine resisters have gone through at the hands of outsiders, they accepted me enough to invite me into their homes, eat the food I made, and take a place for me in their families, which is An overwhelming feeling; how advanced, tolerant and understanding someone on the verge of losing everything can become. It really changed the way I think. Even now, nearly a decade later, as I sit here writing this, I still have tears in my eyes because I still have so much to learn and I wish I had done more. While I was there, I even considered staying with my grandparents and continuing to help them as my life’s work. But I knew I had to go back to my own life, and it was my job to bring those lessons back and apply them to my own life, away from the serenity and simplicity. And tell people what’s going on there, in a beautiful and desolate land full of people “walking in beauty”.

As an update, most of the content remains unchanged on Black Mesa. Grandpa passed away of old age about 5 years ago. The 80-something grandmother continues to spend her years alone on her land with her flock. Last November, she suffered a minor heart attack after a harassing confrontation with a Hopi ranger while herding sheep. To read her statement, visit: (Link: [http://www.blackmesais.org/elderstakeaction.htm] ) is currently continuing her case, with a pre-trial date of March 12.

“When you think about it, in all 50 states, human rights and civil rights are reported on TV every day. What’s going on at sea is reported every day. We have the same thing here. We’re human, but our laws are broken . All these people have their rights violated. They are broken.” —Percy Deal, Dine’, Hardrock Chapter

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