I remember the last evening at Oceti Sakowin so clearly. I had begun the day with a plan, but like the few days before, ended the day surprised by the ways my plans had failed to work out in the best of ways.
I had planned on attending meetings and doing outreach ( volunteering ) at the kitchen like I had done the day before. But instead, my meeting turned into a much-needed time of debrief and process for those of us planning on heading home. My outreach time at the kitchen turned into a few hours standing at the seven councils fire or sacred fire. ( The original Sioux tribe was made up of Seven Council Fires. Each of these Council Fires was made up of individual bands, based on kinship, dialect, and geographic proximity. This fire was lit when the seven councils joined together again at Standing Rock. )
One of the wrestlings I navigated over my time at camp was this internal tension of "doing" versus "being." I place ultimate importance on what I can do, how I can be helpful, how I can meet a need—but for me, Standing Rock wasn't a place where I was needed based on what I can do necessarily, but for what I can long for, pray for, and embody. So following the invitation of impromptu process time of the morning, I went to the sacred fire and stood there. As I stood there, I found myself being welcomed into another space of intentionality and process.
A group of about 70 women walked into camp from the main road and encircled the fire. Men were asked to stand toward the back and I moved forward. For the next hour or so female elders and leaders spoke of their stories and experiences, named the pain and trauma of the sexual violence enacted on their bodies—sacred, life-bearing bodies. Women are life givers, the water is a life giver. There was this intense circular connection being made in that moment between humanity and creation, between women and water, between mother and earth. This was a connection, a reality, that was natural and infused into life for the Lakota, Sioux, and all Native peoples. But for me, a Mexican American woman, this moment of connection, this moment of story, this moment of powerful truth and vulnerability felt like a gift—an invitation—for me to connect with a power much deeper and much more real than I have experienced before.
I came to Oceti Sakowin not quite sure of all the reasons why, but guided more by this feeling of invitation. I've been drawn to activism and justice work for the last four years. My job keeps me in spaces where I'm able to educate and train people with similar desires to enter into the same kind of work, but my relationships keep me continually in this heart space where I keep asking the question of the realness of embodiment ( solidarity ); knowing the issue and critically thinking with our minds, working towards the intended goal with our bodies, and also feeling the intensity of the longing for restoration … and healing.
Standing Rock was a place of healing for me. It was a place of embodiment. What I mean by that is this: The call to justice, to stand alongside the Standing Rock Sioux to protect the water was a movement to bring an end to the finalization of the pipeline and call out the corruption of Energy Transfer Partners and to name the historical genocide of Native peoples that is happening again if this pipeline goes into effect. The call to end this pipeline, to kill the black snake ( the pipeline ), for me has become an embodied call to see and to love and to and to pray and to recognize the sacredness that we, humanity, and creation hold.
Standing Rock is a place that is allowing the healing and reconnection of humanity and creation in a way that is powerful and it has shifted me. I'm wondering how those shifts will manifest in my life. It is really more like anxious anticipation. I left there with a deep longing to love more, to honor those I see, to root myself in the sacredness of life, and to let it all change me. That is the gift of Standing Rock, that is the kind of generative justice I long for. It exists, it can be lived and felt, and I want to follow it.
After the women finished sharing and the circle dispersed, I walked back to our campsite. I paid attention to each step I took. I walked slow. When I got to our camp space I sat on the ground and held the dirt in my hands. I looked at the sunset and felt the color in my heart. Four days earlier I entered camp with so many emotions and a deep eagerness to learn and serve and offer whatever I could. That night as I sat on the ground I realized that this camp and this time had transformed and healed me in ways I will continue to recognize as I live, work, serve, and offer whatever I can to the causes and movements that seek to dignify and humanize myself and those around me.
I am humbled each time I am reminded of my time there. I pray for the water protectors, for those still at camp, for those who are protecting the pipeline, and I pray for those of us who carry this sacred message back to our communities.
Ra Mendoza, originally from Los Angeles, is a recent transplant to Chicago ( and is loving it! ). Ra works for Mission Year, a faith-based year-long service program as the recruitment/academic/diversity coordinator and is also a first year student at McCormick Theological Seminary. In work, in school, in life Ra loves people and is drawn to cultivating spaces where authenticity, vulnerability and connection can be fostered among people different from each other.
