Tag: Navajo

Letter to Stephen Miller #3

Lucy Moore

August 21, 2025

Dear Stephen:

If you ever run into Elon please don’t say anything about our correspondence. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he is a very jealous person, and I wouldn’t want to cause any conflict between the two of you. After all, he has cookie shee– uh, cars — to sell and you have puppet strings to pull. The future of our economy and our country rests in your four hands and you mustn’t get distracted by personal pettiness. You must keep your eyes on the prize… not sure what it is… maybe two front row seats in hell?

But I digress. It has been a busy week and I hope you will appreciate the 5-things-I-did because you are my current inspiration. I have your picture on my desk and I’m really grateful for your satanic look. It is a great motivator.

  • A group of us met on zoom to exchange acts of resistance. You wouldn’t believe how creative and energetic a bunch of irate citizens can be. I know you think we are all White ex-hippies, over 90 and needing a nap.  (Yes, I hang on every word you speak in public, hoping to get a glimpse of humanity. No such luck today when you let the sun shine on you (be careful!) and spoke at Union Station. But enough about you.) We do the usual things – marches, zoom trainings, phone calls, donations – but we are also thinking outside the box. How about a billboard on the interstate between two major cities?  They’re not as expensive as you might think, and the possibilities are endless. I’m pushing for a picture of you dangling your orange puppet with some line like “where did I put the scissors?”
  • There’s a fantastic podcast called “Down to Earth: Planet to Plate.” The host interviews people promoting regenerative agriculture and healthy food production (that may be new to you since all your days are spent behind that black curtain, and I can’t imagine what you eat… Cheetos Flamin’ Hot, deviled eggs with El Diablo sauce, red hots candy and a big slice of devil’s food cake? No wonder you have a pallid look.) But back to the podcast, it really is excellent – informative, inspiring, full of good ideas for resistance. I listened to one by a Montana rancher which made my mouth water for one of his healthy, happy cows. (I bet you thought we were all vegans, too.)
  • I helped a Navajo rug weaver sell at the country’s biggest Native American arts market last weekend. It was so rejuvenating to spend time surrounded by beautiful weavings and watch people’s faces soften as they stepped out of the heat – both weather and politics – and opened up to the wonder of an artist’s work. These weavers use the same traditional looms of their ancestors, card and spin their wool, dye it with native plants. I find it comforting to know that a practice can survive hundreds, even a thousand, years, rooted in a community that is committed to place and culture. Whatever evil you cook up, Navajo weavers will be there, working the loom, decades – no centuries —  after your schemes are dead and gone.
  • I picked up a dog-eared copy of the Constitution at a used bookstore. Looked as if the previous owner frantically searched the pages for a way to save the country before tossing it into the give-away box. But that didn’t discourage me. I am working my way through it, and am struck by Article 3, Section 3:

Treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying War against them, or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort. No Person shall be convicted of Treason unless on the Testimony of two Witnesses to the same overt Act, or on Confession in open Court.        

I think consorting with Putin, clearly an enemy of the country, is treason, and certainly there are a lot of witnesses. The lovefest in Alaska, red carpet and all, qualifies, and I’m sure he received significant “aid and comfort” from Trump. I suggest, Stephen, that you pick up a copy of the Constitution somewhere. I’ll point out sections of interest for you so you don’t have to read the whole thing.

  • Finally, I want to recognize that you, too, have been busy doing (way more than 5) things this week. Your output and impact may be greater than mine, but we are growing in strength and someday, there we will be, all ages, genders, shapes and colors, angry and ready for a fight. Every outrage you utter just makes us stronger.

In the meantime, here’s hoping you take a few days off and give us all a break. The volcano on the island of Hawaii is lovely this time year – infernal heat, rising sulfur. I think you’d enjoy it.

Have a nice day!

Lucy

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Gift from Down Under

Lucy Moore

For decades we hosted a party for friends who come every August to attend, or sell, at Santa Fe Indian Market, the biggest event of its kind in the country. In the old days, upwards of 200 people would show up, some we knew, many we didn’t. It was a lot of fun and a lot of work, and we retired the party a few years ago. But this year we had Maori visitors Rina and Tai from New Zealand and decided to make a small comeback.

We reduced the guest list to about 30 hardcore original partygoers, mostly Native. Navajo friends came and made mutton stew and frybread, a staple of the event. A friend brought beef from his homeland in South Dakota, and we made sure that vegetarians did not go home hungry. Rina and Tai tried making fry bread, amid much laughter, and ate their share. Here was a handful of Indigenous people from opposite sides of the world, together, as friends, sharing stories, finding so much common ground.

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Red, White and Blue

Lucy Moore

My mother was born in 1914 and was raised in between the wars to love the American flag. She remembered fondly parades on the Fourth of July and other occasions where the flag was carried with loving pride. She was an activist in the 60s, and critical as she was of our government for the Vietnam War and for civil rights abuses, she hated to see the flag defiled. She always saw it as a beautiful symbol of our best intentions and held that affection for it through protests, marches and demonstrations.

From a generation younger, I missed out on that innocence. Burning the flag, your draft card, your bra – it all seemed fair game to me.  For me the flag came to represent a blind and heartless nationalism. In fact, like many of my kind, I chose not to display a flag on the Fourth of July, or any other time. It seemed to have been high jacked by “the other side,” or more accurately, I abandoned it and let them have it. 

faded glory on Roberto’s truck window

My husband, a Vietnam veteran, has hung onto the flag, refusing to let it become a pawn in the “us versus them” battle. He realized after a few months of combat, that he and the others were not there to defend democracy but to support an unpopular government.  Like so many in every war, he fought for his fellow Marines and to survive until his tour was up. Angry as he was at the US government for the lies it perpetrated to justify that war, he never gave up on the flag and wears a flag decal on the back window of his truck.

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