C2E was evicted from her home in North Dakota in late June by what appears to be a state-wide masonic cabal of gov’t officials and landed aristocracy and part of her response has been to write an exposé/autobiography. I’m recommending the book for two reasons: I mainly want to help her prevail but assisting persecuted minorities empowers our entire species and takes power away from the ancient, global corporate syndicate that lives on oppression and destruction and happens to rule humanity by default for the moment. Eustace Mullins called it, ‘the hegemony of parasitism.’
Fortunately, she at least has a portable livelihood, making and selling basic zappers, including supplying some of our own distributors with them, here and abroad. I think the cabal’s fondest wish has been to completely destroy her on account of her effective activism on behalf of persecuted native Americans in North Dakota. If you’re not aware of how deeply corrupted and irredeemable these corporate governments have become this will be a good and empowering read for you. State governments are otherwise controlled through a Rockefeller foundation which dictates legislative activities. The Brits/Venetians have always made key politicians toe the line by bribery, extortion and other methods and nearly all politicians are masons, of course. We can identify the exceptions (people of conscience) because those are the few who are blacklisted, murdered or destroyed by slander. The corporate order are termially centralized, though, so I don’t think it’s going to be difficult to expose and destroy this corporate golem (‘an artificial human being in Hebrew folklore endowed with life’) as humanity moves inexorably toward accountability and thus is no longer content to be ruled by parasites and their sorcery.
Her Lakota name means ‘Porcupine Woman’ and I think she earned that by successfully going after the FBI/KKK’s notoriously murderous tribal council at Pine Ridge Reservation in the 1990s, some time after the Wounded Knee incident obliterated the American Indian Movement’s self-sacrificing effort to free that community from the FBI’s stranglehold at the beleaguered tribal elders’ request. Her husband, a tribal police officer there, was murdered in those days and the head of the FBI personally threatened her and then put a contract on her life if she were ever to return there. That secret police schmuck was actually portrayed by a character in the 1992 movie, ‘Thunderheart,’ which featured Val Kilmer.
I think the reason it’s easy for me to accept the claim by native activists that many of the FBI agents on Indian Reservaions are also KKK members is because KKK is a masonic organization and sewer rats are typically also masons. It’s the pre-eminent espionage/sabotage organization in the West and throughout ‘the colonies.’ The federal gov’t initiated an overt agenda in the late 1800s that was designed to destroy native cultures and Pine Ridge was chosen to be the proving ground, which is why the tribal council there has always been the most bloodthirsty puppet regime on the continent for the secret-handshake pedophiles. It’s not mentioned by institutionalized historians, of course. One has to read genuine history, which is to say ‘conspiracy history,’ in order to find the evidence and documentation. Any Indian also knows that the Jesuits are also deeply involved in this agenda, of course. In the same way that Google is the NSA’s clown name, the Jesuits are only nominal Christians. I think Dr Tarpley has done the most thorough job of exposing the horrific Venetian (read: Babylonian) roots of the Jesuit order. Some Jesuit teachers are fine fellows, of course. I wonder if they know or care about the real nature of their order. It used to be easier to be schizophrenic than it is, now. The guys who firebombed German and Japanese civilians were also nice guys, mostly, for instance but I doubt the air force can find many sane people, now, to firebomb civilian populations from above Cool.
The CIA actually attempted to train a cadre of mass murderers at the US Air Force Academy not long ago and they even employed an evangelist to convert the student body to bloodthirsty fundamentalism. That came apart at the seams when a couple of Jewish cadets protested, then an exposé was filmed by some journalism students from an East Coast women’s college Laugh. It shouldn’t be surprising that the air force academy is often used as a testbed for mind control programs because the CIA and the air force are congenital evil twins, born in 1947 after the SS war criminals became firmly established here. By the way, Carol and I enjoyed watching Man from Uncle at the theater, yesterday. It’s an interesting premise: the evil that UNCLE was formed to combat in the story were postwar SS war criminals and the SS is still a powerful and somewhat independent entity in reality.
The Chinese sewer rats (Triads), who want trade instead of global destruction, now trump all of the western sewer rat cabals, fortunately for our species. I suspect the Triads have been waiting patiently for this chance for many centuries and even they probably realize that their rule is going to fail as soon as the Chinese people decide to stop letting parasites rule them. Cool Political freedom is meaningless wihout economic freedom and the Triads are obviously afraid to stop the growing trend of economic freedom in China. They have a lot more freedom than Americans and Europeans, that way.
Carol and I dropped a couple hundred orgonite towerbusters through Pine Ridge and neighboring Rosebud Lakota Reservations, four years ago.
There’s a tremendous gulf between the life experiences of white people and people of color in America and the fact that this alleged Republic has the largest Gulag Archipelago in the history of our species indicates how blissfully unaware most white people are of the extent of the murderous corruption that the federal government and, by extention, all state governments have descended into. If you want to see what a cruel joke Congress is, by the way, read Tribes on the Hill by Jack Weatherford, an antropologist who happened to work as a Congressional aide in his youth. Aside from the fact that computer voting (all voting in America) turned the entire election process into a complete fraud, decades ago, Congress hasn’t been a democratic institution since the early 1800s; it’s all controlled by unaccountable cabals within it and all the posturing on ‘the floor’ is only for fooling the electorate into believing that legislation is created through debate; it’s not and hasn’t been since before the Civil War. The floor of the Capitol Building used to be more blatantly carnivalesque than it is, now, though Alex Jones is a commentator on Congress’ cable TV channel so maybe they’re returning to circus mode, now.
The majority of inmates in America’s Gulag Archipelago are people of color and the majority of them committed no real crimes and/or were framed by police in order to obliterate ethnic leadership in the public domain. The prisons are also owned and operated by corporations, which profit immensely from slave labor. They’re not even trying to hide it and I think it’s because the corporate order have unbroken confidence in the continued, willful ignorance of white people. I think their confidence is misplaced and that their hubris is leading to their exposure and downfall.
C2E once prevailed on a Civil Liberties Union lawyer to help her get a targeted, innocent native woman out of one of FEMA’s secret underground prisons, of which there are approximately one per state. They succeeded, oddly enough, and the lawyer told her, ‘Don’t ever ask for my help, again!’ In those FEMA prisons the walls, etc., are painted white and all the guards wear white, unmarked uniforms, including boots. Fluorescent lights are on 24/7 and inmates never see the light of day. The Nazis made terrific progress with mass mind control in the 1930s and 1940s, then after WWII they were pleased to expand and refine their operations throughout America and the other ‘victorious nations.’ All of that was a wetdream-come-true for the secret-handshake pedophiles who rule the world, after all.
I asked C2E for permission to post the first few pages of the book she’s writing, which she intends to sell for a low price as a PDF. When that’s ready, I’ll post a link to it on EW’s homepage.
[Intro:]
<< Who Is “WE”? IT READS LIKE A JOHN GRISHAM NOVEL >>
DEDICATION: I dedicate this book to John Grisham, who has unknowingly mentored me in its writing through his many books. I fervently wish he had mentored me in person!, but just the same, Thank you, John Grisham, for your excellent storytelling! Every time I’ve gotten stuck, I looked I n one of your books and got un-stuck. This book likely wouldn’t have happened without you.
<< Who is “WE”? >>
Where to start telling this tale? Am I talking about the beginning of another series of events or the end? Of my life – starting a new sequence, or the end of it all? If these questions make you uncomfortable, that’s good. You have an idea of how I feel. You get to read about it, though – I’m living it as I write this.
It would probably be good to tell you from the start, this is not a work of fiction. It is unlikely any names will be changed to protect the innocent – largely because there are few innocents involved. These events have happened, in North Dakota, USA, between 1997 and today. As I write this, August 2015. I would not be surprised if there are further incidents before this book is published.
We are talking about people bullying others, depriving them of their Constitutional and civil rights, destroying property – including that of the non-denominational non-sectarian Church I head, which is a 501c3 170c2 and has been since it was formed in 1972 – and otherwise acting under color of law to oppress others, which, it turns out, is a Federal offense. This activity can be done by elected officials, hired officials, or private citizens. It has been happening in North Dakota USA since at least 2000 and likely longer. The ‘players’ include state senators, at least 1 bad sheriff, a Morton County Commissioner, a member of the Morton County health department, a former head of the ND Chamber of Commerce, an attorney or 2, a former county auditor, possibly current county employees and at least 1 district judge… and possibly others. Their names will be in this book as they come into ‘play’.
First, some background. All my life some nutcase has been trying to push or throw me out of ‘my’ area. Beginning a few days before my 3rd b-day, my birth mother started to sneak into my bedroom & pound on me w her fists “to try to beat the Indn heart out of me”. Suffice to say (for now) that all of my life, I’ve heard certain remarks. “You need to learn your place!” is high on the list. (My reply has always been, “I already know my place. It’s wherever I can get to without stepping on others. Which is what makes people like you so nervous about people like me”…)
“You’re uppity!” is on it (I’m the parade marshal for the uppity Ndns of Turtle Island, takosjza).
“You’re outspoken” is too (I haven’t asked “captain, may I?” since I was on the earth about 10 years; I’m certainly not going to start asking now)
And the seemingly-ever-popular, “I’m (or, We’re) going to run you out!” It hasn’t ever happened, though there have been some impressive efforts to cause it to happen. This one strikes me as Strange, since I’ve never been a drunk, a doper, a hooker, a pornographer, or any other kind of undesirable. I have often been called a troublemaker, but that’s completely wrong. I’m a trouble fixer. I don’t get involved unless trouble already exists. People have always come to me for help; it’s just something about me. I call it ‘safe haven energy’ because people have invariably said, “I just feel safe around you”. Unless they are crooked; then they want to ‘run me out’ or ‘throw me out’.
I’ve been an Ndn spiritual & treaty rights slave-laborer since I was just a kid. One of my grandfathers was the Two Eagle(s) who was one of the 38 Dakota warriors who were hanged at Mankato, MN the day after Christmas in 1862 in the largest mass hanging ever done by the US government. I’m named after him. If you think about eagles, you will have some idea of my birthright and general orientation to life. That is, I’m not particularly cute, cuddly, or fluffy and I make an absolutely terrible enemy.
According to various Ndn Elders, I was born to do several “big” things. They didn’t know what, exactly, but invariably when someone did ceremony to try to find out my purpose in this life, it came back, “Several big things”. Turns out they were right.
P.2 We’ll bypass most of my history and focus on the past 20 or so years.
In 1990, beginning shortly after Hallows, I and 3 friends began having the same unsolicited dream. 4 is a Holy number so this is important. 2 of us were female, 2 were male. This is also important. These dreams happened every few months for 13 months. Yes, this is important too. There are those who maintain visions, being sacred, should never be told, but when I did the first hanbleceya for my obahgi, the Spirits told me I should tell such things, under certain conditions,
In the vision we all had, a slender man came walking from the West bearing a small but very powerful bundle. He looked Ndn but he also looked ‘white’. I knew immediately I did not want to accept the bundle. I believed I didn’t have the right disposition to do what it required. The Spirits have since impressed on me that I was wrong.
Then at Hallows 1991, the man from my vision appeared at the home of the other woman who had these visions. Not my idea of fun! She brought him to a non-denominational non-sectarian pagan gathering so we could meet. Neither he nor I were enthusiastic about that. When I saw them, I recognized him immediately. I first tried to leave the gathering in my pickup. That pickup sat out in -20F temperatures every winter and was never plugged in, and it started immediately every time. Not that night. There wasn’t even a click from the solenoid. It was completely dead. I said to the Spirits, “I’m not the person for this! You get someone else!” They giggled.
I slipped out of the pickup and slunk thru the shadows as only we Ndns can – especially one like me, who has hunted since childhood. There was a bridge over a creek in the in-drive, and it wasn’t in shadow, so I ran as fast as I could to cross it – and ran smack into an invisible wall. I hit so hard, I bounced off it. I got up and felt for it… it was as real as any other physical thing. Just, it was invisible.
I zipped off the bridge back into the shadows and though for a bit. “Evil” or “Mischievous” spirits can’t cross running water, so… I sneaked upstream along the creek through the marshy area, slithering, falling, and generally having a tough time in the dark, making for the headwaters of the creek. Eventually, I reached the spring the creek came from. I hustled as fast as I could further in the direction of “upstream” until I thought I could zip around to the other side. It was only a mile-and-a-half to home… I could come get the pickup the next day, after this was over. What an optimist! I hit another invisible wall. The Spirits cackled at that as if they’d laid an egg. I told them again they had the wrong person and I was not going to accept that bundle. They laughed more.
Then I realized that my house was on the same side of the creek as I was on! I’d been busting myself for nothing! All I had to do was sneak thru the shadows to the north line fence, cross it, go thru the woods a few hundred feet (in the dark without a flashlight, but -hey! - I’m an Ndn! Everyone knows we can do those things!.. OK, that’s sarcasm. I was desperate. I didn’t care about a few brush scratches, I wasn’t going to run, and I’d be home in an hour or less. (This was in the country, remember. I’m not a towny, and ‘pagan’ means ‘a country person’).
So I hiked back thru the marsh, slipping and stumbling over hummocks in the bog without a flashlight, sneaked thru the shadows where the celebrants were, and made it to the north fence! Wow! Great! I was just about to climb over the barbed wire when POW! - the other woman and the man from the vision(s) appeared out of thin air. Yes, takosjza, such things really do happen. I have never used drugs, I am no psychotic, and this really did happen. I tell you this across the Holy Ch’annunpa with which I Walk.
P. 3 She burst into a big grin and said, “There you are! We’ve been looking for you!” and before I could move, she grabbed my hand & his and put them together in a handshake. I heard a huge ‘thud!’ from a very heavy door slamming shut. The man and I glared at each other sullenly and said, “Hello.” Neither of us was enthusiastic, but the woman was. Then again, she was always mentally fluffy.
After that, we went back to the celebration and I put the holy bundle in the pickup. Just for the ‘hey’ of it, I got in, put in the clutch, & turned the key. It started right up. The Spirits were laughing so hard, they almost hiccupped.
Over the next few days, They and I had considerable discussions about things. I was adamant – and sincere – in my belief that I was not suited to Keep a Holy Pipe. I had lived with me all of my life… I knew my temperament, views, and such… Eventually I said The Ultimately Stupid Thing – I told Them, “I’m not going to do it! And you can’t make me!” Three days later, I was in the only car crash of my life. The woman was driving; we were doing maybe 15 mph on a snow-covered road, it had snowed for 3 days straight, not so much as a twig or bit of bark was visible… and she ignored me when I told
her, “Don’t take this road, take the next one, 3 miles further down. This road is terrible in this kind of weather.” We were slithering around a series of curves, heading downhill, when I saw something black & round suddenly move ahead of us. I realized it was a tire on a big truck! I hollered at her, “Truck!”; she asked, “Where?!”; and we hit a fully-loaded Cenex LP-delivery truck head-on. It was going maybe 10 mph.
She didn’t like wearing a seat belt & was seriously injured and had to be medivacced out by helicopter because we were in hill country and the roads were so bad, ambulances couldn’t move. The man from the vision was with us – wearing his seat belt - he was not injured. I was in the back seat with the groceries they had insisted we get (I didn’t want to). She had stuffed the seat belts under the seat “because they got in the way of her groceries” years before, so I had no seat belt. I ended up with 2 cans of sweet corn jammed end-to-end between my sternum and the corner of a front seat… I have a permanent can lid ring in my sternum. My heart and lungs were bruised by the forces involved and I ended up in bed for 17 months, during which I had 13 heart attacks in 11 months. Old injuries to my back & left hip were greatly aggravated. I have walked with a limp since injuring the left hip and groin in 1972, but the limp has been much worse since the car crash of November 6, 1991 at about 2:45 p.m. on that bright clear day. So much for “the Spirits couldn’t make me pick up my Pipe”. I have long believed that we who are picked or chosen are generally also picked on. I have not seen or heard anything to change my view… although my attitude has changed. Improved, I trust…
I’m bypassing many ‘adventures’ to get to the current tale, except to say that what has happened most recently, which is the subject of this book, is indescribably similar to events that happened when I was learning to Walk With “My” Pipe, including when I was on my obaghi (sacred commitment to Sun Dance).
In Lakota, my language, such as I say, “Ch’annunpa yuha wamani ye”/ “I walk with a Ch’annunpa”. A Ch’annunpa is the Holy Pipe we Traditional Lakota pray with. It is a holy being in Its own right, and there are many taboos associated with Keeping one. A Keeper and His/Her Ch’annunpa are tied at the soul or spirit. A Keeper cannot just set the Pipe aside as if it were a pair of shoes. Our holy job is for the rest of our lives. That’s 24 hours a day 7 days a week until I walk on to the Spirit World. It is not a job for the shy, retiring, or the faint of heart. It is not a job a person asks for if they are mentally in balance.
Moreover, every Ch’annunpa has a unique focus. For most, the focus is brought to the Keeper, along P.4 with the Pipe, by Elders. For a very few, such as me, the procedure is somewhat different, as you have seen. But in my case, there was more ‘different-ness’.
Because of the events that occurred after I had accepted the bundle but before I Sun Danced, the Mocassin Telegraph had carried tales about me throughout the Plains, especially the northern Plains. Some people were convinced I was crazy. Others were convinced that I was holy. Some were convinced I was the White Buffalo Calf Woman, come to take the Pipe back to the Spirit World
because things had deteriorated so much in the Ndn World. Our Teachings covered some of what had happened, but I always knew I was not the White Buffalo Calf Woman. There is still some major fear among some Ndns about me. There may always be. Too much “special effects” in movies and too much “Stephen Spielberg” - many people today have a great difficulty telling reality from fantasy.
Just the same, I did what I had to because the Spirits made it abundantly clear that it was My Job to do them. I’ve been dead 4 times, takosjza, and 4 times, the same spirit has returned me to this world. The first time I died, I was stunned to hear a female voice! The second time I died, I was a bit surprised and definitely curious. The third time I died, I just found it ‘highly interesting’ as Dr. Spock would say (Star Trek). The 4th time I died, She said the same things she had said the previous 3 times, but then She added a line, and I knew I had to do this Job.
She said, “You have to go back! You have to go back now! You still have things to do! Big, important things! The People are depending on you!” I replied, “The People know how to do what’s needed. They just lack confidence, and the best way to develop confidence is to get out and do what needs doing!” She told me I didn’t understand (She was right). But after the 4th time I died, on November 6, 1991, She added a line. She said, “If you don’t go back now, you’ll have to go back later, and the mess will be bigger then!” and She showed me the mess of the world. All at 1 time, centering on the Ndn world. There are no words to describe what I saw. My response was, “Shit! It’s already too big! All right; I’ll go back now, then, and I’ll stay until I’m finished.” Her response was an exhausted-sounding, “Thank you!”
I don’t Who She is, exactly, but it doesn’t really matter.
A bit of Lakota Traditional Teachings here… The Holy Pipe & its “offspring” (all Ch’annunpa are holy, and related) were brought to us Lakota by a Holy Woman. That which is holy cannot be truly named, of course, but we have to designate in some way, so She is called the White Buffalo Calf Woman, because after She brought us the Holy Pipe, She turned into (in order) a black buffalo calf, then a red one, then a yellow one, and last, a white buffalo calf as She left us. For most Lakota, then, the medicine wheel’s colors are black in the West, red in the North, yellow in the East, and white in the South.
I don’t see the colors in that order, but I’m not an ordinary Lakota, as you may have noticed by now. My Ate’ (father) taught me, “how a Pipe Keeper sees the colors is an individual thing.” More on that later.
<< Who Is WE? >>
Chapter 2
There are many things about me that are unusual. This is no mere ‘claim’ or ‘personal perspective’; anyone who knows me for more than a few minutes will observe it. This has sometimes caused considerable upset. Sometimes, it has been funny. There is no predicting. You’ll see it too…
I believe I’m a twin, but my twin was ‘born dead’. There was a mummified body that was born when I was… in Indigenous Ways, Lakota in particular, this is significant, and marks a person. It’s possible that my twin is the mysterious person who has spoken to me the 4 times I’ve died and come back to the earth. Regardless, people have always spoken of me as being ‘different’ – but I don’t remember them ever indicating that it was in a bad way.
My Elders who raised me included 11 uncles and 2 grandmothers. They taught me a wide variety of skills at a high level of expertise. They all taught me to respect myself and that I am a special person – not “just anyone”. If I were a white male, people would gush, “ a Rennaissance man!” But since I’m an Indn female, most of the time, they say, “She must be a liar”. Such is the level of bigotry in “America”.
While we’re at it – I want to point out that I am not, generally, politically correct. I’m an Indn/Ndn, not necessarily a “native”. This land is not America. It is properly, Turtle Island. We Indns were here first; we named this land. It was renamed by a self-promoting Italian mapmaker, Amerigo Vespucci. Got it? Good!
Moving on… Among Traditional Indns, it is common to do hanblecheya - “crying thru the night” / the so-called “vision quest” to find one’s spirit helpers. Or to go to someone known for their ability to find such for a supplicant. When I was 13 or so, I went to someone with such an ability and asked him properly (i.e., with gifts, including food, and tobacco) to see what mine were. He was ‘gone’ quite awhile and when he came back to this reality, he didn’t answer for a very long time. Instead, he just looked at me. Finally, knowing it wasn’t proper, but I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, I asked him if there was nothing. He looked at me for some time, then said, “My girl; I don’t know what you are, but you are something special… It’s like Noah’s Ark in there!”
Then there’s my gift I call “the LaBrea Tar Pits effect”. For those who don’t know, the LaBrea Tar Pits are located in Los Angeles, CA . For decades, all sorts of unusual bones have bubbled to the surface of the black, sticky, smelly tar, where they had laid in hiding for eons.
My gift is that all sorts of ugly, dark, smelly secrets bubble to the surface wherever I am, regardless of whether I’m looking for them or not - & definitely against the preferences of whoever a given secret belongs to. If you have some dark, nasty secret, you don’t want me to even walk by. Which, of course, has brought me across the unhappy sights of numerous lowlifes. Which is how we got to this book.
<< >>
The Holy Pipe took me to Pine ridge Reservation in 1994, after the death in 1993 of my Pipe-Sister, Linda Last Horse-Around Him. I met her through the man from the Pipe vision; the one who brought me the Holy Bundle with which I was born to Walk. She was the daughter of Johnson Last Horse, a wonderful old man, and married John Around Him, a well-known and well-respected Lakota Traditional man. John was a singer of note, much in demand for ceremonies.
P. 2 I believe Linda and I met the first time the man from the vision and I and some others from the Church of the Helping Hand, Inc. took a load of food and such to Pine Ridge. We got there on December 29, 1991, about 10:30 at night. It was -20F, clear, still (‘frozen in time’ has a new meaning…) … and the night of the end of the BigFoot Ride. It was also the night of a wake for a noted local Traditional man who died unexpectedly, and predictably, there was nothing like enough food to feed the mourners. It is essential that everyone who comes to a wake be fed, in the Lakota Way; so there was a crisis within the ongoing crisis of Life on the Rez.
John and Linda told me about the wake, and I asked if we could donate any of the food we had brought – a pickup-full and a horse trailer-full. You should have seen their faces light up. John asked if we were sure, and I said, “Of course! We brought it for you to distribute… It’s your food, now, not ours. We’d be honored if we could help out with this!” So we all went down to their basement and hauled up boxes and bags of potatoes and onions that we had just hauled in, along with fruit – apples and oranges – then out to the pickup and the trailer and unloaded boxes of meat and bread, since they were best kept frozen. Then we mounted up and followed John into town (Kyle, SD) to the wake, which was held at the Little Wound school. John told the people why we had come, then – what we had brought and donated. We gave new meaning to “made their day” with our simple gift.
Being D/Lakota, and Traditional, I knew something of how valuable our gift was, but I had not seen poverty like that on Pine Ridge in a very long time. It magnified our gift many times. I had given money over the years to various Pine Ridge causes, but this food meant far more than any cash or check. Cash and checks are not the same as a box of food, to people who live at the very bottom of the economic ‘heap’ in ‘the richest country in the world’. Words fail me in describing the intensity of their feelings and ours.
I make a lousy guest, so though they kept trying to seat me in a place of honor and feed me, I kept going to the kitchen and asking if I could do anything to help them. They didn’t know what to do with me, and it still makes me laugh. Finally, I asked if anyone would mind if I washed dishes. Jaws dropped. Eyes opened wide. “NO one” wants to do dishes!, after all… Except maybe me. I enjoy washing dishes. I like the warm water. I like watching the ‘stuff’ go away & the clean reappear. I find washing dishes relaxing. Pretty soon – after everyone caught their breath – I was up to my elbows in dirty dishes and warm soapy water. Call me crazy if you like, but I enjoyed it. I heard people speaking quietly in a language not my own – Dakota and Lakota are dialects of each other, but by no means interchangeable – and every so often, I caught a word or 2. The atmosphere was reverent. It was mind-boggling. I don’t remember what time we went back to John and Linda’s, but we had made a huge good impression by doing what is dictated by good manners anywhere. We helped out when it was most needed, and in the most basic of ways. We fed The People and we cleaned up the kitchen.
While we were there, John took us to various Elders to give them food and to show them respect. It makes me furiously angry that the US population and the US government would let people live in such conditions – worse, often cause such conditions – and then carry on about how “Indns don’t need money”, “Indns get a free ride”, and similar trash. Saddest, the vast majority of those who claim such drivel are Republicans.
I have made friends in the Republican Party, and the process has been an ongoing one of educating them about the problems they have caused. Just this year, 2015, the Republicans cut our Reservation budgets by another 25%. On Standing Rock Rez, this caused the tribal government to have to cut 25% of its tribal work force. Which, of course, means that rents or mortgages don’t get paid; people are made houseless – or sometimes homeless. The entire Reservation economy takes a hit. Mortgages are P. 3 not common on Reservations, due to checkerboard jurisdiction. Checkerboard jurisdiction came to us courtesy of… the Republicans, back in 1868, when the Allotment Act was enacted. Another name for it is the Dawes Act. The net result is, not all the land inside a Reservation’s boundaries is reservation land. Some is and some isn’t. It’s a huge mess with the net result that banks are reluctant to lend to anyone who lives on a reservation – especially if they are Indns. The economic base of reservations is almost all based on US federal dollars; the government designed the system to discourage business development by Indns; so when the Republicans strike again, we feel it fast and hard. Republicans – as a group – beat their chests and wail about ‘family values’ but they have no family values when it comes to People of Color. Which definitely includes us Original People of this Turtle Island.
We are said to be full citizens of the USA, courtesy of the Schneider Act of 1924. Until you begin to talk about economics, especially on Reservations. I have lost count of the number of times I have been told, “Two-Eagle, if you would just drop this Treaty Rights and Traditionalism stuff, we would make you very successful”. Or sometimes they substitute “wealthy” for “successful”. The whiteman’s true god is money, don’t ever doubt it.
No Democrat has ever asked me, “If Reservations are Nations, why does the US government have to budget money for them?” Or, “Why can’t Indns stand on their own two feet?” Etc. Only Republicans ask such things. The answers are, “the US government never dealt honestly with any of our Nations, nor did the EuroAmericans before there was a US government”. Reservations were set up to be concentration camps, takosjza. You read right… concentration camps. In the heart of “The richest nation on earth”. We were not expected to survive long. The chant was, “Indns are going to be extinct soon”.
I hear some of you saying, “Wait a minute! I’m not like that!” Maybe you aren’t. There are many Republicans who aren’t. Buuut… what are you doing to change the actions of The Party and The Party Leadership? Hmm? In Indn Ways, we expect to Walk our talk. Words are easy; actions say far more. Doing nothing is as much an action as any other…
So when all the rest of our merry band were in the living room hanging on John Around Him’s every word, I kept having a felt sense I should go talk with his wife, who was in the kitchen. And I did. She told me she had seen something special in me, and had wondered if I would respond to her invitation and come to visit with her. I asked if she had been “inviting” me long, and she said, “how long did you feel it?” We both said, “About 20 minutes” and laughed. We became fast friends, & later, sisters through the Holy Ch’annunpa – commonly called The Pipe.
In 1993, she called me and told me she wanted me to pray in a certain way at a certain time on a certain day, and asked if I would. I said, “Of course”, then asked if she would tell me why.
She said she was doing a Pipe Ceremony and since I couldn’t be there in person, she wanted me there ‘in spirit’. Then she told me she was adopting me with the Holy Pipe, and we would be sisters. I was dumbstruck.
I thanked her, and told her I didn’t know much about family, mine having been so fractured; “but”, I said, “I could do ‘friend’ easily, would that be ok?” She chuckled and said, “You will learn. You need to learn this. OK? Will you do it?” I said, “OK. Of course I will.”. She said, “Wash-teh! (Good.) Leelah wash-teh (very good).” She said I would never be sorry. And I never have been. Having become friends with Linda was one of The High Points of my life. Being adopted by her was one of
P. 4 The Higher Points of my life. She passed on later that year, but we still have conversations every so often. I have the gift of being able to speak with the Spirits. My sister Linda is one of my life’s blessings all by herself. From my own point of view, I still don’t know exactly why she wanted me, although she told me it was because I have a very good heart. I generally feel like I have a very long way to go in achieving that, but Linda has a better perspective than I do, so I bow in her favor… with thanks.
So when we did this Pipe Ceremony, despite the distance the non-spiritual people will ‘see’, my mixed blood Dakota-Polish soul became Lakota. This spiritual perspective is the center of true faith, takosjza, and is contrary to the perspective of the modern majority culture. It is what has brought dyed-in-the-wool Traditionals such as me so much trouble and so many attacks – and what has enabled us to survive them. If the old teaching, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is true (and it is), then such as I are some of the strongest people on earth. For my money, I would rather have watched the movie or read the book – the same as you. That isn’t how things work, though.
Linda wanted me to move to Pine Ridge Rez to help the Traditionals. It seems Mel Lone Hill was again on the tribal council. He was one of Dick E Wilson’s GOONS* (Guardians of Our Nation) in the 1970’s when there was civil war on the Pine Ridge, and the old troubles were starting up again. Traditionals were beaten, robbed, even murdered. And of course, no one was coming to their aid. She believed I would have success stopping the trouble. You know the old saying, “you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs”? I moved there to John and Linda’s in February of 1994, and almost immediately those eggs started breaking.
I had gone to her funeral, and there were Adventures even with that. Breakdowns, bad weather, all sorts of interference. I got to the funeral when people were cleaning up. Her casket was already in the ground. I helped clean up and John asked me if I wanted to go up to her grave, and of course I did and didn’t, so we went. We took a large number of balloons to set up there, and at the very end of doing that, one of them came untied and blew to the Southeast. As it did, suddenly it spun around and the message on it spoke to us in intense terms. It said, “I Miss You”. We burst into tears and said, “We miss you, too, Linda.”
I had adventures there on the Pine Ridge that would do the Star Wars creators proud. Except that mine were real. I scared the dickens out of Traditionals and “progressives” (ie., whitewashed Indns who want to destroy Traditionalism and live in the hollow whiteman way) as I worked like a horse to get answers to the mess of Life on Pine Ridge. There were attempts on my life. There were miracles from my prayers combating those attempts. (Hollyrood nonsense to the contrary, miracles are often VERY awe-inspiring, folks… even scary, when they are occurring.) The dogs that always come to me were attacked. Dogs are sacred in Lakota Ways; before horses came back to Turtle Island, dogs were our heavy haulers physically and spiritually. Our word for horse translates as “Sacred Dog” in our language. My sheep, goats, and horses were attacked. Herds of horses – sacred beings to us – got loose and came to my camp.
A black stallion whose human didn’t take proper care of him until it was too late came to me when he was dying and literally died in my arms as I tried to help him. There’s little money for majority culture veterinarians and I have training and ability but I’m not god… and this wonderful horse wouldn’t have gotten sick as he did if his human had paid attention earlier.
The man blamed me for his stallion’s death and raised quite a stink, but The People knew the truth and they said as much. Still, he continued to try to cause grief for me. One night, I was driving out of Kyle P. 5 to my camp and suddenly a pair of extra-bright headlights came racing around a corner about a mile behind me. The only vehicle that would have such headlights on Pine Ridge would be a police car. It was not running its flashing lights, so I knew that one of the bad cops was coming after me.
I immediately took some chunli (tobacco) and prayed, “Spirits, I need your help again! I need to know who is after me right now! And if possible, stop him. Give to him what he plans to do or give to me! Mitakuye oiasin!” and I put the tobacco out the window.
An instant later, a flame red hawk flew in front of my window, from my right to my left. There being no hawks that fly at night (remember the headlights were on), I knew this was Officer Red Hawk. He was definitely one of the bad cops there. I prayed with chunli again that the Spirits give to him what he planned for me and put the tobacco out the window.
An instant later, his passenger-side headlight went out, then came on; and instant after that, he driver-side headlight went out, then came on; and an instant after that, there was a huge golden-orange feather-shape that appeared vertically! Then the headlights swung hard to my left and went off the road, bounding up and down in an arc. I pulled over & wondered if I should go back and offer aid. The Spirits literally screamed, “Go home! Go home!”, so I went home.
About 6 the next morning, my grandson Little Sam came to my trailer and asked if he could pray with me, since I do that every morning. I said, “Of course!” so we did that. Then we went in the trailer and I asked if he wanted breakfast. He did, so I made oatmeal and toast with milk. He toyed with his food, instead of eating, which was not normal for him so I asked if something was wrong. He hesitated, thinking, then he said quietly, “Yes, grandma.” I asked if he wanted to tell me about it and after a little bit he said, “Did you hear about the policeman?” I said “I had not, what happened?” He said, “He had a bad accident last night. A horse came out of nowhere and he hit it. There were other horses with it but only the black one got hit. A stallion no one had ever seen around here before. He hit it so hard its heart came out of its body and laid on the road. It’s still there. People are afraid to go near it.”
“Officer Red Hawk is in the hospital in intensive care. Some people are blaming you. They say you did something to make that happen. That you’re a witch.”
He hung his head for a minute or so, then he looked straight at me, which is seldom done in Indn Ways, and asked, “Did you do anything to make him get hurt, Grandma?” I said, “No, Sam. I saw a pair of headlights behind me and I prayed that if someone was coming to hurt me, they would get what they wanted for me. What time did the accident happen?” Same said, “9 o’clock. You came home about 5 minutes later. That’s about how long it takes to get from there to here.”
I told Sam I had not done anything to cause the accident, only prayed for my safety and that if someone wanted to hurt me, they hurt themselves instead… which was true. He jumped up and said, “I knew you wouldn’t do anything bad! That dumb Clovia! I’m going to go tell her!” I told him to be careful, Clovia was a stinker – which he knew, but still…
Then I said I was going to make a prayer bundle with sage, sweet grass, cedar and tobacco and take it up there and put it on the heart. Sam hugged me and took off to have it out with his big sister.
The Spirits, however, had other plans. I got the bundle made all right, but when I tried to drive the pickup, it could not go past a certain point on the driveway. A parallel to when I tried to avoid accepting “my” holy bundle in the first place. I tried several methods to get past that point, even being P. 6 willing to walk to town – several miles. No luck. I was not going anywhere for awhile – that length of time being determined by the Spirits. They didn’t let me go to town until about 6:30 that night.
When I got to the heart, I stopped the pickup and got out. There was no one around. That land is flat and open there with no trees or bushes. You can see for miles. The instant my feet hit the road, 3 other vehicles materialized on the other side of the horse’s heart. The drivers sat there watching but said and did nothing. I took the bundle to the heart, said a prayer of thanks to the Spirits in general and the black horse in particular, and laid the bundle on the heart. The instant I looked up, the other 3 vehicles disappeared. I would tell you, they were as solid as my own, and their engines were running. Such is the nature of miracles. But of course, if we could explain them, they wouldn’t be miracles, would they?
The horse’s body was nowhere to be seen, and everyone said it ‘just disappeared’. People across the Rez, but especially in the Pejuta Haka tiospaye’, the Medicine Root extended family, were very spooked. I was not calm about it; but I wasn’t afraid. My life has been full of such things. It didn’t make people want to hustle over and hug me, though… they didn’t know what to think of it all. About then was when the rumors that I am a Holy Woman began. More on that later.
Eventually, though, people began to help me help them. They saw that I was taking ‘hits’ but not running away. I was still there on the Pine Ridge, striving to get answers that would help them. One red feather veteran told me, “We see you continuing to do battle with them, and we are ashamed. I personally became embarrassed. I’m a red feather veteran, after all. I told my wife, ‘I have to help her or I should give back my red feather’ and she stopped trying to stop me from helping you. She’s afraid they will kill me, but I told her we are not Lakota if we keep hiding and here I am.” Even today, 21 years later, remembering Mr. Janice (JahNEESE) say that makes me teary. To think that people associated with our Lakota Nation and the US government would – could – cause such fear in any part of the population, and I had a hand in stopping it – causes me great emotion. There are sad tears, happy tears, and gratitude tears and they are all present as I write this.
I said earlier that much of the current situation I and the Church have is just like what happened on Pine Ridge in 1994. False charges and claims; harassment by officials and private individuals, attorneys hiding from me and helping me and the Church end the bullying rather than doing their jobs, threats against my person, destruction of Church property, assaults against the dogs that always gravitate to me, crooked judges having obvious bias against me and refusing to recuse, being house-less (which is not the same as homeless, which I will explain shortly)… then and now.
But I have a lot of Hotah, the badger, in me. The golden eagle is said to have a similar disposition. I don’t know much about quitting; I’ve had to work to learn. I do know about taking a break in order to regroup – there’s a difference. Anyway, despite the attacks, I persevered then, and I am now. I told the truth then and eventually got the entire 1994 Pine Ridge tribal council charged under RICO. Some people on the Pine Ridge aren’t happy with me because I broke the status quo. I say, “Good! It needed reforming!” I figure anyone who is unhappy about ending the reign of terror must be part of causing it.
So as I write this, I’m sitting in the cab of the pickup. Chakli (Dog) is sleeping on the seat beside me. I’ve been sleeping sitting up since June 28, 2015. My feet, which never swell, have been swollen so they looked like sausages. I’m not letting them beat me. People are asking “why” and I’ve told them why. Cynthia Feland, the judge, is unlikely to ever be elected to any position again. To those who wail, “Fred Berger has power! I’m afraid!” I reply, “The only reason Fred Berger has ‘power’ is because you and others say he does! You give it to him and his goons by giving in! Grow a pair of something
P. 7 and make him and his associates stop! No one can make a doormat of you unless you let them!”
It’s beginning to sink in and make a difference. People are starting to come to me with information and encouragement. Now we need to find a place to live – where I can lie down to sleep, and Chakli has a yard of his own, with nice neighbors (not too close, though…), and a good attorney to whomp the snot out of the bullies. Which leads us to the next chapter in this tale.
<< WHO Is ‘WE’? >>
Chapter 3
Perhaps I should have written this chapter as the prologue – that’s an ‘editor’ decision, though, so it will be dealt with later, if it should be.
In 2000, I was driving in Morton County west of Mandan, coming back from friends’ house. I had driven past this property in the past, and always wondered why such a nice place was not occupied. There are haunted houses in the area – they exist everywhere – so I thought maybe that was why. The place felt friendly, though. For whatever reason, that day I decided to find out who owned it and see if it was available, since the Church of the Helping Hand, Inc, which I head, needed a place of its own.
The owner turned out to be the Morton County Auditor, Paul Trauger. Had I known what a crook he is, I would never have taken the Church of the Helping Hand Inc there. We ended up battling for almost 12 years, until we (the Church and I) beat him into settling – pretty much according to our original agreement - in 2012.
He didn’t want any paperwork, which struck me as pretty odd, but then I figured he deals in paper all day, so maybe he just got sick of it. Regardless, we needed some kind of paperwork – the majority culture runs on paper – so I wrote up what we had agreed to and mailed him a copy with a cover letter in which I said if he did not respond in writing in so-many days, we would have tacit agreement regarding the terms I had written and sent him. He did not respond (ever), so, acting in good faith, we went ahead with renovating the building, which had been essentially abandoned for about 30 years at that point.
There were huge holes in the southwest roof – 4.5 x 5.5 feet, the biggest – which of course let in all precipitation. With a helper, an old Nissan car, & a strong rope, I climbed a ladder, threw the rope over the ridge of the roof to my helper – who tied it to the back bumper of the old Nissan, then tied onto a 4x8-foot sheet of 5/8” CDX plywood with exterior-grade glue, and we hauled the plywood up on the roof & I screwed and nailed several of these over the holes. By no means a complete job, but it reduced the amount of water inflow by about 90%.
Because the building had several hornet nests, we did this on a full-moon night, and even then some hornets came out to check out the cause of the disturbance to the building. There was an incident when one of many trains came thru a couple hundred feet to the South, and sounded its horn when I was working in the corner where the entry el meets the main body of the building… I didn’t hear or feel the train coming and when it sounded its horn, the ladder shook & the sound and vibration took me by surprise so I hugged that ladder as if I was madly in love with it.
My helper was steadying the ladder and she laughed so hard she had to sit down. I looked down at her and said, “Laugh all you want. It’s a measure of my appreciation for your help that you can laugh and that you are still dry. Think about that.” She did, and laughed harder.
No one gave a hoot about this gorgeous old building, though it has been a part of Morton County for roughly 115 years, until an In-di-an got into it. Then suddenly a lot of people wanted either to take it over or tell the Indn how to do what she was directing others to do. The fact that she has more than 40 years of construction experience was irrelevant. She was not only female, she was an Indian.
(The building was first a school; then a VFW Hall; abandoned for at least 30 years; and as of 2000, a non-denominational non-sectarian Church.)
One evening months later, Paul came by and said “someone complained, you’ll just have to pack up and go, pack up and go”. His delivery was generally strange, as was his repetition of the phrase ‘pack up and go’. I asked if he was all right; he just kept repeating, “pack up and go”. Hmm. Eventually I said, “Paul, we have already invested a lot of time in this property and we have an agreement with you. The Church is an incorporated entity; a 501c3; and you’re a CPA so you know that every second of time invested by a corporation is billable. We’re not going to just leave it.” He gave me an odd look and said, “You don’t know who I am. I’m an elected official. No judge in North Dakota would ever decide against me! Any agreement we might have would be ignored by every judge. You’ll just have to pack up and go; pack up and go.” I said, “No Paul. If you really want us out of here, you will have to go to court and win. You would not win just because you’re an elected official unless every judge in North Dakota is crooked, and I don’t believe that.” He gave me an odd look and said, “You’re going to regret this.” and he left. This strange scenario was repeated at least once a year, on average, for the next 11 years.
During that time, he sent people to steal Church property on several occasions. I came back to the property one evening to find people loading our 120-mph shingles on a pickup. I blocked the pickup so it couldn’t leave and asked what they thought they were doing. The woman said, “We’re loading shingles! You have plenty and we need shingles!” I said, “We have only enough to do the roof, which as you can easily see, is in great need of reroofing. We would not give you our shingles, now put them back.” She and the man ignored me and went back to loading shingles!
Not having the phone number for the Morton County Sheriff handy, and not having a cell phone at the time, I took direct action. I picked up a 6-foot-long stick and whacked their pickup one hard whack. This got their attention. The man started toward me, swearing, and I took a batter’s stance and said, “I can put a softball over the centerfield fence. I bet both right and lefty. If you come inside my swing, rest assured, I will smack you as if you were a softball. Now. Put. Our. Shingles. BACK.”
He stopped and stared. He put one foot forward and I took a swing. Down, towards his knees. He was a most agile young man – he leapt back, swearing, but he came no closer. He turned to the woman and said, “Start unloading the crazy bitch’s shingles!”, and they did. When I asked them why they thought they could just take our shingles, they said, “Paul told us we could help ourselves!”. Paul and I discussed this, later. Let’s say it was a heated discussion.
Then I moved the pickup, pointing out that I had their license number and photographs of them that I had taken before I got out of the pickup, and they left, making all manner of finger signs, which I ignored. But they had gotten about 1/3 of our shingles before I caught them and we never got those back.
This kind of trash action, including physical threats from Paul, continued several times a year until 2010.
In 2010, he came to see me one evening – he always came at dusk or later – with the usual “someone complained; you’ll have to just pack up and go, pack up and go”… but this time there were changes. First, his voice sounded very strange. It sounded as if he had inhaled helium. Remember the science class experiment where we each got to inhale a bit of helium and how strange our voices sounded afterward? Paul sounded like that. Second, he was drooling. I have always found drooling to be absolutely repulsive, whether done by babies or older people. Paul Trauger, the Morton County Auditor, was drooling.
I repeated my response about corporate time and financial investment and our agreement and this time, instead of merely snarling at me, he threw a punch at me. I felt the breeze on my face as his fist went by.
Takosjza, (grandchildren) I was abused as a child. I was beaten repeatedly, by other children as well as by my birth mother. People come out of such situations in only 2 ways, in my experience. They either curl up and hide and beg the attacker to stop, or they attack their attacker. I have never been particularly shy or retiring… I grabbed Paul’s fist and twisted it hard and put him on his knees. He went snow white. I said very quietly, “I grew up being abused, Paul. I don’t take beatings at all well. If you ever put a fist at my face again, I will do you serious physical harm. I don’t threaten, Paul. I make promises, and I keep them. Don’t do it again.” Then I let go of his fist.
Paul was on his knees, holding his wrist and snarling at me in that strange voice, and drooling, “You don’t know who I am! I’m connected! I’m connected!” I told him to go home and remember what I had said. He got up and snarled at me, “You’re nothing but a god-damned, mother-fucking, lesbian, whoring bitch! I’m connected, and you’re going to regret this!”
When I get really quiet, and I’m angry, wise people leave the area. I’m a berserker, and I am motivated by any pain I have and I mean to beat my attacker(s) until they stop twitching, if someone can make me lose my temper so I get physical. No one wants to be near me if I get that angry. Contrary to popular myth, we who Walk With A Pipe are not all Pollyanna doormats. The Holy Woman brought the Pipe to us Lakota for helping and healing. Healing is not for the faint of heart. It is doing battle with evil spirits. Paul Trauger is obviously an evil spirit. I am not ‘into’ backing down, and I certainly wasn’t going to at that time. I just said, “Go home, Paul. While you can.”
He must have been taking some kind of drug, because he responded, “You women! You’re all a bunch of…” and he repeated the ugly phrase he had used earlier. My experience is, men who speak of women that way terrorize their wives. I have no doubt that Paul’s wife, Maryanne, is terrified of him. I am not afraid of Paul Trauger. Not in the least.
I’ve dealt with mafia people. I’m still here. They don’t like me, but they respect me. And I note – the only ‘bad’ people who have ever tried to bribe me, rather than bully me, have been mafia people ( ! ) . No one in North Dakota has ever tried to buy me off; they have all only tried to intimidate me. It hasn’t worked.
I have scars from beatings I have gotten from bigots. I gave as good as I got. Bigots have learned to be careful in the ways they attack me. I have spent my lifetime getting control of my temper. I am by no means perfect about it. I have so far not killed anyone – but I have put 3 men in the ER and 2 in the ICU. One time I beat an attacker up, it took 6 male police to hold me down, and they had their hands full. I was 16.
When I was 9, 2 male bigots who were 16 but still in the 6th grade trapped me, tied me, and whipped my back with steel pallet-wrapping strips. I left a blood trail going home. I remember white bigots saying, “Maybe now the little tipi nigger bitch will learn her place.” My grandmother and birth mother put me in bathtub full of warm water and baking soda and picked off what floated with tweezers. My foster father nearly had a stroke, he was so angry. My grandmother Pearl had her brother Al, come up from the cities on the QT and teach me how to fight.
Uncle Al was a Tough Guy. He was a foreman in a sheet steel rolling mill. He broke strikes up with his bare hands. The first thing he told me was, “You know your father hates me, right?” I nodded. Then he said, “So you can never tell him you were out here with me or that I taught you how to fight.” I nodded. Then he said, “You’re a girl, so you’ll probably never be very strong, so if you go to hit a guy, go to hit a home run. As if you were poking a softball out over the centerfield fence. Got it?” I nodded. I have not lost a physical fight since.
He had no way of knowing I would grow up to be very strong… and I’m glad. He was right. To slap a man is to make him angrier. To slap a bullying man is to invite disaster on yourself. I have learned over the years that The Most Important Thing about any self-defence system is that you must be willing to use it without hesitation the second you decide you need to defend yourself. You can not hesitate. It is far easier to go before a judge and say, “I didn’t realize I’d hurt him/her that much” than it is to go to the hospital, have surgery of any kind, and spend however-long healing. The psychological wounds generally never heal; at best, they scar over. I believe the worst wound is the belief the victim develops that s/he has failed themselves. A word to the wise.
It took me until some time in 2012 to figure out why Paul and his goons always came by at dusk or later. It’s simple. The front deck of the building is easily seen from the road out front. That road is about 200 feet away. It is nearly impossible to recognize a person at that distance at dusk or later.
In 2010, on October 9, I had a prowler. I called the Morton County Sheriff for help. By this time, we had a truly disgraceful guy as sheriff. Morale in the department was terrible. Good deputies quit in droves. That sheriff, Dave Shipman, fondled women who worked in the department, and they told me they were terrified to file formal complaints. Part of their reason was that they believed their husbands would then know who had been molested & would kill Shipman. I told them no jury would convict them, and their defence would be ‘vermin control’. Just the same, none of them would file. I replaced the ‘p’ in his name with a ‘t’ & still refer to him that way.
P. 5 For those of you object to ‘such language’, keep in mind that if god hadn’t wanted us to have ‘such language’, god wouldn’t have given it to us.
The deputy on dispatch on October 10, 2010, Bitz, mocked me when I gave my name, saying, “You asked for it! You’re an Indian female living alone at the edge of the country!” We exchanged words and eventually he told me if I “wasn’t nice to him”, he’d call off any deputy he might have sent. I told him if this escalated to a 911 call, I’d have his badge. He mocked me again. I believe the prowler, one Brad Berger, was sent by Paul Trauger and whoever else is part of “we” from the title of this book.
