The map showed that the road Chad and I were following continued in a straight line. We began to doubt the veracity of this as the asphalt ended, and the rutted dirt path began. The dirt slowly turned to mud as we progressed. Above us, some of the gray sky drifted down in soft mist. Around us, the mute landscape was dotted with shacks and the rusted hulks of old automobiles. We finally decided that we had made a wrong turn and backtracked, bumping back onto the asphalt and taking a left at the first intersection. A short while later, we arrived at the expected intersection. The map makers had just depicted an ironed-out version of the road, not deeming it worthwhile to indicate some bends and turns that seemed pretty major to us. I guess we shouldn't have been too surprised.
We turned left and headed deeper into the morning quiet of the Pine Ridge reservation. We arrived at our destination soon afterwards. The monument we pulled up next to was a simple, green roadside plaque, describing the massacre at Wounded Knee - a massacre that was just one more example of what fear and greed can provoke. We spent some time reflecting on the past, and more time reflecting on the present. Across the street and up a slight hill was a small graveyard. We walked up to it and along the small rows of overgrown graves. The world was quiet. The world was very quiet here.
Back down by the monument, if monument it can be called, another car pulled up, and a man got out to read about what fear does to people. We approached him as we angled back towards my car. He snapped out of his reverie and looked at us.
"It kind of makes you ashamed to be an American," he said with a last glance at the sign.
"I've never been proud to be an American," replied Chad.

What is it with the whole concept of being "proud" to be an American? I thought pride was what a person feels when looking back on some sort of accompishment. How many of us had to work at being Americans? That would only apply to people who immigrate here from other countries. The bumper stickers and t-shirts would be more truthful if they read "grateful to be American". Catch-phrases, slogans, and tattered flags on antennas seem to have replaced thought and compassion. It's really too bad. The concept of accountability is also very obviously among the missing. Maybe it's buried in a small grave somewhere, along with patience and reverence. And countless others.

and no, struggling in the birth canal doesn't count as work.

Music strengthens the spirit...and provides a soundtrack for my words: Maja Elliott "Truth"