the crooked path of the conscious

I'm entering my ninth week at Re-Member and on Pine Ridge. My momentum has significantly slowed down.

Last weekend, as I was driving home (back to Re-Member) from Pine Ridge, I looked out the window and saw the street corner of the one big four-way intersection in town, where the post office/employment office/Billy Mays community center sits. It looked just like a street corner. The street light was on and gave it the muted yellow look that street lights tend to cast. It hit me then that this was just a normal street corner. We talk a lot about being "on the rez" and how the things we experience are emblematic of living on the rez--example: when we heard that the tire on the van we were driving may or may not fall off while we were on the road, the two staff members who were with me and I just shrugged. That's how life goes on the rez. But this is the status quo for a lot of people. I think, also, that if I were to live here, I'd have to live here, not live in an idea of Pine Ridge or what it should be.

This is an odd thought, but I think part of why I feel comfortable here is that the inconsistencies of our national rhetoric and overarching narrative are physically apparent here. In NYC, there is poverty on the streets and in the buildings, but there are tons of non-profits and public announcements and also nice places that do a very good job of screening out everything and everyone that may make someone feel uncomfortable. Here, though, I'm aware of power politics everywhere. The Subway is owned by the BIA Superintendent (who has the means and the clout to get a loan and start a business?). The tribal government office sits next to the BIA office. The gas station has a steady clientele buying cigarettes and fried food, while the produce aisle in the overpriced supermarket (the only one on the rez) is usually deserted. People approach us in parking lots when we drive Re-Member vehicles, asking us whether we can fix their trailer or their house or their plumbing. The roads instantly improve when you leave the rez. Hitchhikers on the roads come in all shapes and sizes. Marginalization is almost palpable in the air.

I know I want to devote my time and energy to public service in some form, but the delegation of aid is difficult to bear. Someone called the office the other day with a work request; part of the ceiling had caved in, they had rattlesnakes climbing up a deteriorating outhouse and were afraid for their toddlers, and needed new siding for their trailer. I had to tell her that I didn't know when we would be able to come out, and that we may not even be able to come out until the next season, which starts in March 2010. It was a position of power that I felt incredibly uncomfortable occupying.

People talk about how satisfying it is to be able to meet the family that they've just built something for--like meeting the kid in a wheelchair who now has a wheelchair ramp to go in and out of his house on, which you built. I understand that to a certain extent, but I have to be honest and say that while I feel a little bit of the satisfaction that comes with completing a project well, meeting the family and inviting them to lunch still feels invasive and uncomfortable. I don't know if it's because I become painfully aware of my privilege, or because I don't want others to have to publicly recognize their poverty or need... I just know that my ultimate goal will always be working to make interactions like these unnecessary. I guess the trick is figuring out how to make the most of them while they are necessary.

I don't know if any of that made sense. The days are starting to drag a little, now that the end is in sight. I have a whole new continent to explore. I will miss the sky and the storms and the constant socializing here, though.