I've struggled to find words to describe Standing Rock.
I've sat before a blank white page and blinking cursor hoping that I could capture the thoughts, prayers, hope, and sense of heartache my journey to the Oceti Sakowin Camp gave birth to.
Because what can you say about the place, the people, the movement that make you call into question your notions of what is just, what your activism can look like, and the interconnectedness of all things?
These weren't things I anticipated wrestling through when I made the decision to go to Standing Rock. Like many others, my journey began as I watched news of this place in North Dakota roll in across my social media timelines.
Hashtags like #WaterIsLife and #NoDAPL punctuated first-hand accounts and stories from unknown news outlets about a conflict of some sort between a group led by indigenous people and an energy company. Seeing these posts with increased frequency over the course of the months made me pay attention. Made me share. Made me want to to give what I could to support the people who referred to themselves as water protectors—these people, who, by all accounts, were pursuing justice for the indigenous population, sacred land, and sources of water that sustain life.
My friend Teresa and I ended up in conversation about this one day while running errands. She too had seen, shared, and felt the pull to support the community assembled at Standing Rock. We spoke of what it would mean to facilitate space where people could "offer up their bodies, time, and sacred space to share in community with the indigenous community and allies already present in prayerful and ceremonial protection at Standing Rock" during a time where it's necessary to hold the tension between familial convenings and the brutality of erasure—the observed Thanksgiving holiday.
Conversation turned to planning and plans became action for us, 11 volunteers from the Chicagoland area and beyond, and our incredible network of supporters who sent us to North Dakota with their thoughts, prayers, and nearly $7,000 donated to support the community assembled there.
We arrived at the Oceti Sakowin Camp just after 4 a.m. Nov. 24, the dark stillness of predawn masked the fullness of the space and the people therein.
I can't recall how quickly I fell asleep but I remember being drawn out of my slumber by a call to prayer. "Relatives, wake up! It's time to pray! This is what you're here for!"
This IS what we were here for.
The Oceti Sakowin Camp was founded upon prayer, respect, compassion, honesty, generosity, humility and wisdom. We were aware of these commitments as well as the expectation that we hold awareness of ceremonial posture at all times because our preparation to enter this space included reflection on the histories and values of the Lakota Nation of whom we were guests.
These commitments and this posture shift the atmosphere of a space and temper the minds of the people.
There was something different, something unique to be found here.
When you are encouraged to silently offer words of life for the needs and concerns of those around you, your gait shifts and your attentions find new foci.
When you participate in direct action that consists of holding space in sacred circles, with your arms locked together with friends and strangers, you're pushed to reimagine what activism has the capacity to be.
When you communally offer up prayers for the protection of those who sprayed your friends with water cannons allegedly laced with mace and anti-freeze in freezing weather, you are oriented to see empathy exercised in profound ways.
When you are privileged to assist and bear witness to those who prepared food for thousands exercise mindfulness and thanksgiving in how they chopped, stirred, and otherwise worked with ingredients that would nourish their fellow water protectors, you see the degree to which love and community tempers every single facet of the life and function of a place you will forever call sacred.
I wish it was possible to share the gift of every story I got to hold.
I wish I could do justice in describing the beauty of a place whose rolling hills hold the sacred remains of the ancestors but are marred by the dotted presence of machinery, floodlights, and men who think weapons are an appropriate counter to prayer.
I wish that more people would support the water protectors present at Standing Rock. They are putting their personhoods, their very lives, on the line in defense of the rights of the indigenous, the environment, and the well being for millions of Americans who are not only dependent on the protection of the Missouri River but also the waters that sustain life across our nation.
Statement: While recent events such as the Army Corps of Engineers easement decision, camp reduction for winterization, and extinguishing of Oceti Sakowin's ceremonial Sacred Fire have led people to believe the work of this movement is complete, that is far from the case. To stay up to date with the best ways to support the Standing Rock water protectors, visit www.ocetisakowincamp.org .
Alicia Crosby has always been the type of person to color outside the lines—a trait that comes in handy as the Co-Founder and Executive Director of Center for Inclusivity ( CFI ). Having worked in religious, social service and community empowerment contexts over the years, she saw a need to address the spiritual, systemic and interpersonal harm people experience through the promotion of inclusion and equity for all people through her work and through her activism.
