I facilitated a meeting recently in a community that had been damaged by a major polluter. Land and water were contaminated and local activists were coming together to push for cleanup from state and federal agencies. Some organizations had filed lawsuits that were making their way, slowly and expensively, through the court system. Others had been organizing events to spread information about the contamination and build lobbying support in the legislature. Some were working with junior and senior high school students in hopes that they would take up the cause and hopefully see results in their lifetimes.
The conversation focused on the litigation. Lawyers presented updates: more money was needed, it would take more time, the outcome was uncertain. They asked for continued support of the legal remedies. “We can’t give up now.” “This is the way to force a cleanup.” “We need to bring justice to the community.” No one doubted the commitment, and often sacrifice, of these public interest attorneys.
Finally, a leader of a neighboring Native American community spoke. She was old, she said, and tired of the fight. She had been in the center of it for a long time, raising money in small amounts to support the lawsuits, organizing protests and making placards, testifying at the legislature and speaking with congressional delegations who came to visit. She was grateful for younger generations who were coming forward to take her place. She would be there to encourage them and pass on the lessons she had learned.
But, she said, for her the fight was over. She was exhausted physically and spiritually, and was withdrawing from the litigious world. “I need to listen to the land and water,” she explained. “The nature around us can feed our souls with energy. The resources may be damaged but they can still sustain us, and we can help heal them with our attention and our prayers. I want to take time to be with the water, sit by the river, till my field. This is how I can care for the water, maybe even heal her. I want to plant corn and watch the water flow through the ditch. This is who I am as a Native person and this is what I do.”
She ended by saying that this was a sustainable strategy for restoring the environment, one that could actually nourish the community instead of draining it. “Sharing stories from our lives and from our culture, can provide healing for ourselves, our neighbors and even our natural resources,” she said.
For me, her story had already opened my heart and mind. I saw that there is a field of battle that is predominantly White, litigious, expensive, and complex. Yes, the payoff can be great. A victory can mandate cleanup. The cleanup may happen, or not, sooner, or probably later. She was not saying “drop the lawsuits.” She hoped they would have success in mandating cleanup. She was simply reminding us that there are other ways to care for the natural resources, other fields — not of battle, but of healing — and hers was a field of corn. We should each find our own strategy that nourishes, not exhausts, us. We should each tell our own story, relate to the land and water and wildlife in our own way. The results may surprise us, she said with a smile.
14 thoughts on “Sometimes You Just Want to Stop Fighting”
this sounds like the Terrero mine guys against the Upper Pecos Watershed…as it gets into the cours, which of course it is doing, the local voices get shut out and discouraged. Great comment.
Many thanks, Ellen. Yes, it could be the Upper Pecos and the opposition to exploratory drilling…and probably a lot of other places around the country, and world! I tried to make it as generic as possible but it is a real situation and real Native heroine.
Very moving. As an octogenarian, I empathize. But I am lucky to get a good dose of nature every day as I limp around Galisteo, and my culture offers no such solace. We “newcomers” owe it to those we have deprived of comfort, and to the waters, valleys and forests we must protect.I can only hope that I have passed some of the values I’ve learned from Native nations to the next generations….
Rest easy, Lucy. You have indeed, both in your writing and your living. Thanks for reminding us newcomers that this land is not ours to “discover.” It’s been stewarded for a very long time by those already here, and their ancestors.
Thank you for this….confirms my deepest yearning and inner knowing….
Thank you, Nancy, that’s a powerful affirmation. I appreciate it.
Lucy, I don’t know how you do it, but every time I read your blog, my soul is lifted. Thank you .
So glad, Karen. It gives my soul a little boost to send a story like that out there into the ether. Thanks for receiving it with love.
That is so beautiful – thank you!
Thank you, Teri. Happy to see you subscribed.
I also return again and again to the water, in my case the Pecos River, for continuity and energy and gathering light and quiet. Coming onto eighty, I frequently question whether I want to or can continue my activities (mostly I do, but some drop away) – but I never question the healing power of sitting by the water!
So true! And my friend’s belief is that not only does it heal us….we also can contribute to healing it.
Your strategy is divine.
Keep on keeping on,