He paused and then he looked at me sadly. “The white man kills anything that is wild. Do you believe that Eric?” He paused again and peered pensively into the darkening sky. He had become very serious, as if he was unsure how to present his next question.
He then sadly asked, “Where are the wild people that filled this land before the white man came?” I then eagerly pointed out all the Indians who were attending the powwow. “They are here,” I said trying to sound hopeful. But he responded with a quiet, “No, these are not the wild Indians, they are the reservation Indians, they are the conquered Indians.” He then asked again, “Eric, where are the wild Indians?”
I said very softly, “They are gone with all the rest.” I had to hold back tears.
“What has the white man killed?” he asked. I reluctantly uttered the long list we had now amassed … the animals, the grasses, the birds, the wild people, and even the earth itself. For each increasingly heavy category of life now destroyed, he would tirelessly repeat the question, “Do you believe this to be true Eric?” And for each point, I had to say “Yes, this is true.”![]()
