Canyon Country Zephyr page 23

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It is easy to understand why the Indians would dream of their past. The world they inhabit today, on the reservation, pales in comparison. The poverty experienced among the Indians on the Pine Ridge Reservation is so debilitating that most of the rest of Western Dakota resorts to pretending it isn't there. Pine Ridge was only an hour or so drive from my middle school, but I hardly knew it existed. I certainly never saw it. Neither did any of the other white kids I knew. Who can blame our parents for not taking us there? The life expectancy of a Native American growing up on Pine Ridge is roughly the same as that of a Ugandan, around 47 years for a male and 52 years for a female. And the unemployment rate on the reservation is over four times the rate in the rest of the country. This extreme poverty leads to crime, alcoholism and a general lack of hope, which pervades not only the reservation but also the Northern, predominately Indian, side of Rapid City.

Driving through the nice side of Rapid City, it is always hard to believe there are homeless people around at all. But, when I used to walk around the downtown, it wasn't unusual to see a few men passed out drunk against the sides of buildings. A few lingered under the big trees by the creek, or under the bridges. If they were drunk, then they weren't accepted into the shelter, even in the winter. And many were drunk. In the first light of morning after the deepest chills, police gathered up the frozen dead.

What I notice most every time I drive back to South Dakota are the changes: a new subdivision has replaced pasture; a new stoplight has replaced the four-way stop; the old highway, which had two lanes, now has four. Tourism brings more affluent people every year, who proceed to build mansions on the hills overlooking I-90 or buy 16,000 square foot cabins which lie empty 9 months a year. In the pursuit of money, the small poverty-stricken towns have cleared pasture-land for subdivisions. Ranches owned for generations are sold each year and they become "Ranchettes." The new inhabitants don't move to South Dakota to run cattle, or to join in the rural communities. They move for the scenery, the rock climbing, and the skiing. And so they may not even notice that, while the towns welcome the revenue from espresso shops and mountain bike stores, the corn-

It's a common tale across the West—

the lament of the native-born.

The authenticity of a Western town

usually lies in its poverty.

THE BACKBONE...#7

munities are disintegrating.

It's a common tale across the West—the lament of the native-born. The authenticity of a Western town usually lies in its poverty. Communities are banded together by shared fears—that cattle prices will fall, feed prices will rise, groceries will be more expensive or jobs will disappear. When an opportunity for growth and wealth arises, who could turn it down? The scenery of the Black Hills has fed the souls of Indians and pioneers for hundreds of years. But, until recently, the land was only valued for its worth to agriculture and industry—and that value was minimal. Paradoxically, now that the land is being valued for its organic worth and beauty, it is at the most terrible risk for destruction. Like the other "beautiful" places in California, Utah, Colorado, that incredible beauty is becoming the commodity of developers, bartered for ever-rising prices.

REMEMBER...ALL WEB SITE LINKS ARE HOT...JUST CLICK & GO...

So here's my prediction: like every other "boom" the area has known, the New West boom will bring a lot of money to very few people—most of whom arrived in the area with plenty of money already. The people I grew up with, waitresses and construction workers and ranchers, will all stay poor. Most likely, they'll get even poorer. The reservation and the Indian neighborhoods will continue their steady decline. In time, the only economy will be tourism. New Westerners will hang windcatchers in their windows and decorate their living rooms with cowboy paraphernalia. And all the lives which built the myths of the Hills—the lives of Indians, Miners, Ranchers— will fade into the past.

TONYA MORTON can be reached at: tonya.a.morton@gmail.com

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	It is easy to understand why the Indians would dream of their past. The world they inhabit today, on the reservation, pales in comparison. The poverty experienced among the Indians on the Pine Ridge Reservation is so debilitating that most of the rest of Western Dakota resorts to pretending it isn't there. Pine Ridge was only an hour or so drive from my middle school, but I hardly knew it existed. I certainly never saw it. Neither did any of the other white kids I knew. Who can blame our parents for not taking us there? The life expectancy of a Native American growing up on Pine Ridge is roughly the same as that of a Ugandan, around 47 years for a male and 52 years for a female. And the unemployment rate on the reservation is over four times the rate in the rest of the country. This extreme poverty leads to crime, alcoholism and a general lack of hope, which pervades not only the reservation but also the Northern, predominately Indian, side of Rapid City. Driving through the nice side of Rapid City, it is always hard to believe there are homeless people around at all. But, when I used to walk around the downtown, it wasn't unusual to see a few men passed out drunk against the sides of buildings. A few lingered under the big trees by the creek, or under the bridges. If they were drunk, then they weren't accepted into the shelter, even in the winter. And many were drunk. In the first light of morning after the deepest chills, police gathered up the frozen dead. What I notice most every time I drive back to South Dakota are the changes: a new subdivision has replaced pasture; a new stoplight has replaced the four-way stop; the old highway, which had two lanes, now has four. Tourism brings more affluent people every year, who proceed to build mansions on the hills overlooking I-90 or buy 16,000 square foot cabins which lie empty 9 months a year. In the pursuit of money, the small poverty-stricken towns have cleared pasture-land for subdivisions. Ranches owned for generations are sold each year and they become "Ranchettes." The new inhabitants don't move to South Dakota to run cattle, or to join in the rural communities. They move for the scenery, the rock climbing, and the skiing. And so they may not even notice that, while the towns welcome the revenue from espresso shops and mountain bike stores, the corn- It's a common tale across the West— the lament of the native-born. The authenticity of a Western town usually lies in its poverty. THE BACKBONE...#7 munities are disintegrating. It's a common tale across the West—the lament of the native-born. The authenticity of a Western town usually lies in its poverty. Communities are banded together by shared fears—that cattle prices will fall, feed prices will rise, groceries will be more expensive or jobs will disappear. When an opportunity for growth and wealth arises, who could turn it down? The scenery of the Black Hills has fed the souls of Indians and pioneers for hundreds of years. But, until recently, the land was only valued for its worth to agriculture and industry—and that value was minimal. Paradoxically, now that the land is being valued for its organic worth and beauty, it is at the most terrible risk for destruction. Like the other "beautiful" places in California, Utah, Colorado, that incredible beauty is becoming the commodity of developers, bartered for ever-rising prices. REMEMBER...ALL WEB SITE LINKS ARE HOT...JUST CLICK & GO... So here's my prediction: like every other "boom" the area has known, the New West boom will bring a lot of money to very few people—most of whom arrived in the area with plenty of money already. The people I grew up with, waitresses and construction workers and ranchers, will all stay poor. Most likely, they'll get even poorer. The reservation and the Indian neighborhoods will continue their steady decline. In time, the only economy will be tourism. New Westerners will hang windcatchers in their windows and decorate their living rooms with cowboy paraphernalia. And all the lives which built the myths of the Hills—the lives of Indians, Miners, Ranchers— will fade into the past. TONYA MORTON can be reached at: tonya.a.morton@gmail.com
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