@oralloy,
"It feels like 1875 because natives are sill fighting for our land"
Within hours, the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe had hauled in its own infrastructure: banks of Porta-Potties, water tankers, a disaster response trailer, Dumpsters, ambulances, a refrigerated semi truck. Meanwhile, each delegation arrived with cash and food. Tons of food. I spent a day cooking meatball stew in the main kitchen and discovered, among other abundances, a four-person tent stacked to the ceiling with bags of flour. The tribe also had its own beef production enterprise. The Yakima Nation in Washington chartered a tractor trailer filled with pallets of fresh fruit and bottled water. Small donations were also received: somebody mailed four packets of Lipton noodles. When I asked how long they planned to the stay, most said, “Till the end.”
One day, it got so hot that I drove up the road to check email under the air conditioner of the Prairie Knights Casino and Resort, owned by the tribe. After days talking about spirit and justice under the big open skies, it came as a shock to hedgehog into the chilly dark cave of the casinos, ABBA tunes piped through the speakers, a television twice the size of my car. I watched 58 senior citizens disembark from a motor coach from Bismarck, 58 of them Caucasian, and as they plunked their pensions into the one-armed bandits, I wondered if they knew they were underwriting the civil disobedience down the road.