Preserving Values

The powwow, or wacipi, offers a present-day representation and expression of Lakota cultural practice, while also acting as a space of colonial resistance. When dancers enter the circle, they boldly affirm Native identity, past and present, taking part in an act that ‘resist[s] colonialization and assimilation’ (Axtmann, 2013, p. 124). Powwows have always been dynamic—preserving cultural values while also allowing for new practices and meanings to surface. The powwow discussed in this article is a Lakota powwow in the Great Plains. The term ‘powwow’ is a Narragansett Algonquian word that refers to a spiritual leader and medicine man, later coming to refer to a gathering of medicine men (Jennings, 1976). These communal and spiritual gatherings were a part of Lakota traditions. For example, the Oceti Sakowin, translating to the Seven Council Fires, or bands/tribes, of which Lakota are one, are historically nomadic and migratory peoples that would move from area to area depending on season or the hunting of buffalo. As different groups would disperse to various areas, they would use these spiritual and community gatherings to bring together entire tiospayes, or extended families.

During this time, colonial presence brought great violence and dispossession. For instance, the Great Sioux Reservation boundaries were first set with the 1851 Fort Laramie Treaty and again in 1868. These Treaties were quickly nullified by the U.S. once gold was found in the Black Hills in 1874. White miners moved into the area within a few years and the Lakota were ordered off the land and onto their much smaller reservation. By 1889, the Great Sioux Reservation was cut by 11 million acres and the U.S. government deemed all Lakota found off reservations were enemy combatants (Marshall, 2012). This all culminated in the 1890 Wounded Knee Massacre where near 200 men, women, and children were gunned down by the U.S. Seventh Calvary.

It was also at this time that Native spiritual gatherings and prayer was legally made illegal through the 1883 Religious Crimes Code. This effectively pushed all Native spiritual practices underground and medicine men into hiding. The protection and preservation of these practices persisted for multiple generations through to the 1978 Freedom of Religion Act that finally lifted the ban on Native spirituality. Natives found to be breaking these laws faced upward to 30-year prison sentences. The late 1800’s also ushered in Indian boarding schools, separating thousands of Native youth from their families and further breaking relational and land-based practices. Both the outlawing of Native spiritual practices and boarding schools lasted nearly four generations, with the Carlisle Indian Boarding School in Pennsylvania opened in 1879 and the last boarding school closed in 1973. Native spirituality was outlawed from 1883 to 1978.

This environment of violence, erasure, and assimilation was the context in which contemporary forms of the powwow emerged, acting as a way to carry on particularly traditional practices. Powwows served as community gatherings and were eventually broadened and opened up for multi-tribe participation in the early twentieth century. Dancing takes the form of prayer, allowing for the powwow to function as a celebration, prayer, and ceremony. Often being multi-generational affairs, the powwow played a significant role in cultural preservation, continuance, self-affirmation, and resistance. Through powwows, ‘power is manifest as physical, social and spiritual, and individual and communal […] as individuals relate with one another, with visitors, with others who have passed on, and with a higher power’ (Axtmann, 2001, p. 18). One Lakota elder explained what a powwow is by saying, ‘It’s everything all wrapped into one, it’s a gathering, it’s the center’. The powwow is a sacred, celebratory space where old and new traditions enter into a complex dialogue, allowing for new traditions to emerge and old traditions adapt. It is a site that is reflective of the thriving and dynamic nature of culture and tradition in the face of oppression.

The Lakota have been the historic enemy of the US military, possessing a long and bloody history of military engagements with the US government. Why then is the valorization of the military such a significant aspect of the powwow? Moreover, Native Americans have among the highest rate of military service in the US (NMAI, 2020). Even taking into account the highest rates of military service, it is still striking how prominent the valorization of the military is throughout Lakota powwows. What can explain this?

Militarization can be defined as a ‘step-by-step process by which a person or thing gradually comes to be controlled by the military or comes to depend for its well being on militaristic ideas’ (Enloe, 2000, p. 3). This also includes the normalization of military symbols and ideals—toys, TV, music, video games, and fashion (Singer, 2009; Stahl, 2009; Turse, 2008). This process constructs notions of necessity and worth associated with military service and needs and goes beyond merely enlistment in military service or war-fighting to encompasses the subtle normalization process of military demands and militarized suppositions. It is a process in which military service becomes valorized, remembered, and celebrated.

There are multiple contributing factors to military enlistment in the US, falling into two broad categories: demographics and family background (Lawrence and Legree, 1995; Stone et al., 1993; and Nieva et al., 1997) and individual-level factors. It is no surprise that lower income, marginalized communities have had higher rates of enlistment, given the social mobility incentive structure such as job training, access to education, travel, etc. (Phillips et al., 1992; Segal et al., 1998; Bachman et al., 2001; National Research Council, 2003; Tsinnajinnie, 2011). Within this context Black and LatinX communities have had historically disproportionate enlistment rates (Kleykamp, 2006). When parents serve in the military their children are more likely to enlist (Paris, 1984; Kilburn and Klerman, 1999; Segal and Segal, 2004), though it’s also found that less parental education correlates to increases of childhood enlistment (Bleeker and Jacobs, 2004; Bois et al., 2005), as are young people coming from single parent households (Bachman et al., 2000). Overall, it has been shown that those who enlist are generally economically poor, rural, and/or from ethnic or minority groups. They are more likely to have been raised in single parent households, with parents without a college education, and/or with parents who have served in the military. Both demographic- and individual-level explanations stem from external factors—structures of underachievement, inaccessibility, or circumstances of lack. Though these factors undoubtedly impact Native rates of military service, they do not paint a complete picture. Turning to what this article refers to as colonial transference provides another explanation.

The Lakota culture (and the societal roles of males, though not exclusively) is intimately connected to warriorhood. Warriorhood, and the values it represents, were curtailed and outlawed by various US Treaties and laws that banned Native possession of arms and hunting. Along with learning how to craft a bow, shoot an arrow, and to engage in combat and self-defense, warriorhood and hunting taught young Lakota men about their role in Lakota society—how to protect and provide for their family and for the People. Over time and through series of suppressive laws and regulations, one of the only available (and legal) expressions for these traditional values was through the avenue of US military service. Being a warrior was much more than just being a soldier or being able to fight, it was the act of becoming one who is able and willing to sacrifice for the good of the People, one who cares for the vulnerable and upholds the principles and safety of the society.

Sitting Bull describes, ‘For us, warriors are not what you think of as warriors. The warrior is not someone who fights, because no one has the right to take another’s life. The warrior, for us, is one who sacrifices himself for the good of others. His task is to take care of the elderly, the defenseless, those who cannot provide for themselves and above all, the children, the future of humanity’ (LaDuke and Cruz, 2013, p. 3). Though widely circulated (even amongst the Lakota themselves), this quote cannot be verified (see Chadwick, 2012).

Bravery and sacrifice were at the heart these values and were central in being a ‘good relative’, a notion that is of utmost importance in Lakota culture. ‘Our people are warriors’, Maryanne tells me while we’re sipping on our hot drinks, ‘we’ve always been warriors, always’. Already into her 80’s, Maryanne, along with a small group of other older members of the community, have taken on efforts to ensure the continuation of traditional Lakota ceremonies. On the wall behind her is a three-foot braided string of wild turnips (timpsula) and to her side an Abalone seashell the size of an ash tray with the burnt remnants of sage. ‘The military is a way to continue our warrior society’, she explains, ‘We’ve always been warriors, we’ve always been fighters’.

This reverence for warrior values is illustrated in many aspects of the powwow. I was once approached midway through a powwow by an older Lakota woman named Martha. We spoke for some time and she invited me over to her family area—a cluster of eight folding chairs, Gatorade bottles, and snacks. When I sat I noticed her granddaughter was donning ornate regalia that featured what looked like a vintage image of a Lakota man in military uniform. Martha hand-sewed her granddaughter’s dancing regalia and the image was of Martha’s great uncle, a Lakota code talker from World War II. We sat in the family’s chairs in the front-row and she told me about her uncle, ‘They are the ones who protect us, they fought for us to live’. She reaches over and holds the tail end of her granddaughter’s regalia, looking at the portion emblazoned with her uncle’s image. ‘They fight for the right to live and for those who cannot fight for themselves’.

The concept closest to soldiering in Lakota is akicita. The meaning of akicita (or ogichidaa in Anishinaabe/Ojibwe) differs, however, from the English word soldier in significant ways. ‘When I speak of the akicita of the white people I mean the soldiers’, explains Thomas Tyon (1992, p. 28), an older Lakota man described in 1897, ‘But akicita never means a soldier of the Lakotas, except when a Lakota is in the army of the white people as a soldier’. Akicita can be used in multiple ways and has various meanings. As a verb, it can be seen as hunting for something or searching for the ‘right way to do something’ (Tyon, 1992, p. 28). As a noun, it most commonly refers to camp officers designated by tribal leadership to act as ‘policeman’ and keepers of peace. It can also refer to those who are charged with protecting and organizing the camp as it moves from various locations, protecting the People during these vulnerable camp transitions (Tyon, 1992). Formed into various akicita societies, the akicita protect the People and help maintain order and proper social functioning.

Lakota rites of passage depended upon warriorhood traditions. ‘[Military service] is similar to going away to learn how to be a warrior’, Andrew tells me, ‘There is no place else to test your skills’. Andrew, a youthful Lakota man in his mid-50’s with a gruff voice and imposing demeanor that belie his slight stature, tells me: ‘There are other ways you can be a warrior, but the quickest way is to go to the military, and that is what I did—US Marine Corps’. He tells me about his family ties to Lakota warriors of the past, as well as the significance of warriorhood and rites of passage. ‘When the boys get of age, they usually go to the military’. Military service, and the attendant values of warriorhood, provided a pathway for Lakota young men to learn and enact cultural values through evolving outlets. ‘I never pushed my children into joining any type of military service’, Andrew tells me, then starts naming two, three, then four of his kids and nephews who served in the military. ‘I don’t push them into it, it was always their choice, my parents never pushed me into it either’. Natalie, Andrew’s wife, asserts as she walks by, ‘We don’t push our kids, but they know their dad is a Marine … and they still want to be what their dad was’. This was central to a Lakota way of life, particularly for men coming-of-age. ‘In order to continue being warriors, you went to war’, explains Maryanne, ‘we couldn’t go to war with each other anymore’. At the end of the Indian Wars (which largely ended with the Massacre of Wounded Knee) guns ownership and hunting became outlawed. Any Lakota who ventured off reservation were to be treated as an enemy of the state by the US military. Warrior practices were banned, leaving no ‘legal’ outlets for the continuation of these important cultural practices. The Lakota people, however, chose not to lose their traditional ways, adapting to their new colonial realities.

Cultural values passed on through warrior traditions faced a period of eradication and suppression. The Lakota choose to adapt rather than to lose important traditions, causing cultural practices to embody new forms—forms deemed ‘acceptable’ to the dominant US culture. Military service was one primary means of continuing the cultural practices of warriorhood. Turning to examples of survivance and colonial transference at the powwow—including use of warrior staffs and US veteran flags, Lakota sacred numbers and duration of military service, and Lakota Flag Song—we see how traditions were preserved through practices taking on new, yet familiar, forms.

US military veteran flags encircle the circular dancing area, attached to flag poles that rise well above the circular arbor. Each flag represents a family member of the audience who has served in the US military, with some passing away while serving abroad. These were the flags bestowed upon families and used to cover caskets during funerals.

Veteran flags play such a central role to powwow celebrations that local Lakota newspapers have described them as ‘Raising of the Flag Celebrations’. The practice of encircling the powwow with flags derives its origins from before Euro-American contact (Schmittou and Logan, 2002). The Lakota did not historically use flags. Instead, they surrounded gathering grounds with warrior staffs. Flags were first introduced to Native people by Europeans and Euro-Americans. US flags began to be used in powwows after World War I, when the first Native veterans were returning home with American service experience. Natives were not granted US citizenship until 1924, making WWI Native military service voluntary.

The Lakota used staffs to represent various societies in the tiospaye, or extended family or community. This was particularly the case, though not exclusively, with warrior akicita societies. Individual warriors carried staffs and upon their passing were used in celebrations and ceremony as a way to honor their sacrifices and bravery. These were the staffs used historically to surround the celebration grounds. With warriorhood traditions outlawed and US military service an acceptable alternative, traditional practices were altered—Lakota warrior staffs were replaced by US military veteran’s flags. Another way colonial transference can be seen is through durations of military service.

Durations of US military service, most commonly four years but also to seven, coincide with traditional Lakota warriorhood practices. Young Lakota men, when coming of age, needed to learn values of bravery, sacrifice, and self-sufficiency to become a warrior. These values were important for the coming-of-age of young men and central to being a good relative. At the age of thirteen, traditionally, boys would be sent off to the far boundaries of the Lakota territory, particularly to the North to help protect the tiospaye against marauding rival tribes. These young men would learn the ways from older warriors, while also serving to reinforce areas where the Lakota were most vulnerable. They would learn fighting techniques, tactics of stealth and cunning, hunting and tracking, and how to practice discretion and discernment—when to kill or when to count coup. They learned about their cultural and social roles and expectations, as well as how to continue carrying out the Lakota way of life.

When young boys were sent away, they were sent away for four years. Upon their return, they would be full-grown men, formidable warriors, and able to take care of the People and be a good relative. They would then be able to marry, protect their family, and provide for the larger tiospaye. ‘That was normal’, says Neil, a Lakota artist and fluid Lakota speaker, ‘See, you’re gone at thirteen, so when you come home you got the right to choose your wife and protect your family from there forward’. Neil is in his 50s and, as we speak in his living room, to my left is a wall of photographs of family members in military uniforms—from soldiers with their arms around each other to more formal headshots. A picture of a young Neil in his Army uniform is surrounded by other photographs of family members, some dating back to the early 1900s. ‘All the Lakotas went to the full max, just to show them that we did it … If you’re in the National Guard, you were just a weekend warrior, that’s what we’d call you’. He shares with me his family history of US military service—a great grandfather in World War I, an uncle who was a Lakota code talker in World War II, and his two nieces who currently serve in the Navy. His late wife’s family was similar, a great grandfather who served in World War I and grandfather in World War II.

‘It hit our culture right on the head’, Neil says, ‘because it’s four years or seven years’. ‘Those are our numbers and are based around our beliefs’. Many Lakota choose military service as a full-time commitment for four or seven years.

For accuracy, first-term enlistments require four-year active duty and two-year inactive duty commitments. Depending on enrollment timing, this process can reasonably extend into seven years.

The tradition of sending young men for four years to vulnerable areas of the territory was an important coming-of-age practice that allowed for young males to learn the warrior way, how to be a good relative, and their role in society. They gained the skills needed to protect and to carry out traditional Lakota ways of living and culture. The sending off of young men (for four or seven years) to learn from other Lakota warriors was interrupted and suppressed. US military service became an alternative and, again, we see traditional ways of life being altered and transferred to new, ‘colonially-approved’ practices. Colonial transference can also be seen through the Lakota Flag Song.

Before the four men in the circle pick up their assault rifles an echo rounds off the surrounding ridges, the Lakota Flag Song had been sung, not the US National Anthem. This is noticeable given the visibility of the twenty-two US flags flying on poles affixed to the surrounding arbor.

The singing of the Flag Song occurs at the beginning and end of each powwow session—two sessions a day for two days, though many powwows last a series of days. The Flag Song can be read in multiple ways that serve distinct purposes: On one hand, it can be read in a way that satisfies colonial demands, placating and gesturing to the pragmatic navigation of colonial realities and, on the other hand, as continuation and reinforcement of Lakota traditional ways of life, a determined expression of sovereignty and agency.

The Lakota Flag Song lyrics read: Tȟuŋkášilayapi, tȟawápaha kiŋháŋ /oíhaŋke šni hé nážiŋ kte ló /Iyóȟlateya oyáte kiŋháŋ /wičhíčhaǧiŋ kta čha, /léčhamuŋ weló.

This commonly translates to: The flag of the United States / will stand, indestructibly. / Because of the Flag, / the People shall live, / and flourish. Quite simply, a pledge of allegiance. When translated into Lakota, the Flag Song takes on different meanings.

Take, for instance, the first line Tȟuŋkášilayapi, tȟawápaha kiŋháŋ, or ‘The flag of the United States’. Tȟawápaha, is commonly translated as ‘flag’. Though traditionally, as previously mentioned, the Lakota did not use flags. Tȟawápaha (the first part of the line), therefore, can also translate to staff. Secondly, Tȟuŋkášila (the second part of the line), translates to ‘grandfather’. Grandfather for the Lakota translates to the Creator or Great Spirit, whereas grandmother refers to the earth. Moreover, the first white Americans, upon encountering Native peoples, encouraged the use of grandfather to refer to the US president and, more symbolically, the US government. What this means is that the first line of the Flag Song can either mean ‘The flag of the United States’ or ‘The staff of the Creator’—two significantly important translations, both serving very distinct ends.

The Flag Song was created just after World War II during a time when practicing Native spirituality and prayer had been outlawed since 1883, or roughly sixty-years (Red Cloud Indian School 2014). These bans were well underway for multiple generations by the time the Flag Song surfaced. Violations carried a penalty of up to 30 years imprisonment (Zielske 2010). The Lakota Flag Song became a way to carrying on a core Lakota value—prayer to the Creator—while still being understood as demonstrating allegiance to the US government.

The Lakota Flag Song is a central aspect to powwows, as well as many other Lakota ceremonies and events. As an expression of sovereignty, agency, and resilience, it stands as an example of colonial transference where genocidal realities faced by Native peoples led to new expressions of traditional cultural values and practices. These acts preserved and protected traditional ways of life. The Lakota Flag Song acts ‘colonially-approved’ stand-in for the US National Anthem in a manner that placated dominant racist ideologies, while at the same time carrying on a major aspect of Lakota life: prayer.