The school was technically called "Riverside," but I'm going to use the name of the town (Anadarko) from here on out because it's cooler, and because we've already had more Riversides than I can keep track of.
I'm not entirely sure if the sunrise ceremony happened or not, because I was in a muddled daze for most of the morning. I miss sleeping. Also, it was very cloudy; and it rained a little, off and on, for the bulk of the day.
I do remember rushing around in the morning setting up speakers, microphones, and cameras. All of these things turned out to be useless because the electrician went on vacation and there was no power.
I should mention, at this point, that we were in a field. The school refused to let us onto their grounds, so we took over a nearby field. During the opening procession, where the Hoop and things are ceremonially marched up to the front, the police showed up to make sure we didn't cross the line. We needed to stay where we belonged.
Unfortunately, this picture was snapped over my shoulder in an effort to be clandestine and not draw attention to myself. The police car is just off to the left -- I missed it. I'm going to see if someone more daring than myself got a clearer shot. You can see the barricades, anyways. There was also a staff guard on duty. Someone said there were rumors that we were going to riot. We did not riot.
So, anyways, there was no electricity and all that setup was for naught. My final solution was to charge one camera at a time in the cigarette lighter of the van -- a necessary annoyance because this trip has destroyed my lithium batteries' ability to hold a charge. A full charge, once good for an hour and a half or more, now lasts no more than 15 minutes.
As far as sound, everyone just had to shout. It was a real shame, because these were some of the best stories we've heard so far.
There were many of the same kinds of stories mentioned before: a lot of hurt and anger that runs right down to the core. We're also getting a lot of stories about growing up in families that never said "I love you" and limited physical contact to handshakes. A lot of adults are still wounded by childhoods with distant, cold, parents and they had a chance to speak.
One woman, who seemed very sweet and maybe a little simple, told a bitter story about going to school in Anadarko. She was ostracized by the other students and spent the first part of her childhood alone. Then, what seemed like more teasing suddenly spun out of control -- she was gang-raped until she lost consciousness. She never reported it, but someone reported it for her: she was called into the office and beaten for "being out late." That was the only action the school ever took.
Another woman worked for Sherman (California). She witnessed some older boys sodomizing a younger boy. When she reported it, she was fired. On her way out, she saw the older boys and a staff member taking the younger boy into another building; the older boys all carried baseball bats. She was unable to get anyone interested in hearing her report, and eventually had to move to Oklahoma to find an Indian school that would hire her.
One of the most touching moments for me was a lady who said that her father had told her to be here today. He was at one of the earlier stops, somewhere on the coast, and had called her to tell her about our Journey. Crying, she admitted that this was the only time in her life that her father had ever called her, for any reason.
A local minister stood up and gave a very moving apology for the crimes committed in the name of Christianity. This felt more natural to me than the apology in Albuqurque; as a minister, he has some authority to speak on behalf of Christians. Or, maybe it just says more about me that I need to look for that authority. However, it was a heartfelt and well-delivered apology; I felt a little misty-eyed at the end. There's no doubt that we have blood on our hands -- Christians have done some great evil against the Indian people; I feel the guilt and grief starting to weigh on me more heavily.
There was another filmmaker there, a very nice young lady named Erin. She also runs a filmmaking business, and is working on a documentary about race relations and the clashes that occured in Oklahoma for their dodecatennial (or something). Apparently, the state sponsored good-tyme historical reenactments for the whole family (now with 35% more parades than real history!), but neglected to mention the local tribes. Or any Indians at all. Anywhere. In any way. This apparently ticked off a few people, who protested this historical whitewashing. So, if a movie about this topic comes out as filmed and directed by Erin Someoneoranother, go check it out.
Marlin teased me about the time I spent with Erin for several days afterwards. We only talked about camera equipment. Seriously. I can't help it if she happened to be particularly attractive. Such things happen, no one's fault.
One of the neater moments of Anadarko was when the mayor stopped by. He read something for a while -- that part wasn't so interesting, and I kinda tuned him out. But then he finished and summarized it into a useful soundbite. Basically, he said Anadarko was honored that we'd stopped by; and declared that forever after, June 3rd would be a holiday in town -- everyone would remember that we came and then they'd talk about forgiveness for a while.
That's pretty freakin' awesome. They made us a holiday.
The Mayor Reads
So, Anadarko was a step forward for the Journey. It was good energy, was full of good people, and we got the support of the local governement despite being shut out by the local school. On the other side of the coin, the filming was terrible because there was no sound and most of my more useful filming tools require electricity. So, you may just have to take my word that this was a good stop.
Oh, and we also avoided tragedy. One of the chairs collapsed at one point and a rather large guy fell backwards and skewered himself on the big metal tent stake. In all seriousness, this could have been very, very bad. He's a lucky guy that he walked away from it; we're lucky, too.
Pretty name, "Erin," don't you think? What? What? I'm just saying...
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