“What about you?” She studied Toby.
There was much more to this young woman than she was letting on.
“Not much to say. I go from day to day, making sure Mom’s okay.” Toby sounded uncomfortable with the subject.
“That’s it? What about your future? What are you aspiring toward?”
“Yeah, right. I’m an American Indian. My people have no future,” she said, in a bitter tone. “Why do you think those guys bother me?”
“You mean Cole?”
Toby nodded. “And Craig. That’s his brother. They’re just reflective of the white man in general. They carry the attitude that my people—me—have no rights. In their eyes, we aren’t even human.”
Danya’s eyes filled with sorrow. She was a newcomer to the oldest racial conflict of the New World. But such irrational prejudice based on race, tribal affiliation, and religion marked the history of mankind. It seemed to be a uniquely human behavior, one that was at the root of the vast majority of global conflicts, suffering, and death. She was intimately aware of the pain such thinking had caused in Israel and the Middle East.
“I’m sorry. But surely attitudes are changing. I mean, the issue of racial inequality and injustice is at the forefront of the national dialog. It’s in the news every day.”
Toby rolled her eyes. “Listen closely and let me know when that dialog extends to the Indigenous Peoples. If you’re black, brown, yellow—sure, then white people are sensitive,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “to treating you fairly. But if you’re red, like me, forget it. We’re still invisible. Forgotten by everyone. More than five thousand Native American women go missing every year, and we are ten times more likely to be murdered than the national average. We suffer the highest poverty rate and the lowest employment rate of any racial group in the US. One in four American Indians suffer from food insecurity. Forty percent of housing on reservations is considered substandard, compared to six percent throughout the rest of the country. Statues of Confederate generals are removed from public parks and university campuses, and yet the twenty-dollar bill features the portrait of Andrew Jackson, who waged brutal campaigns against the tribes to push them off their ancestral lands, relocating tens of thousands farther west.”
Danya lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Our struggle spans centuries, and was far more brutal than even slavery.”
“Okay, I see your point.”
“No, I don’t think you do. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. For as long as this country has existed, my people have been systematically lied to by the United States government and every agency working on its behalf. Treaties my forefathers signed with the government were broken. My ancestors were murdered by soldiers in a protracted war of genocide. They even used smallpox as a weapon against my people. Following admission into the Union, California offered a bounty for Indian scalps, and legalized enslavement of Native Americans. These crimes are not discussed outside of history books. We have no advocates arguing for our rights. No one speaks on our behalf to demand proper compensation for the land and wealth stolen from all Indigenous People, by white settlers.”
Danya was shocked. Timid Toby had a beast inside, and she’d just glimpsed it.
“Why don’t you?” Danya said.
“What?”
“Why don’t you advocate on behalf of your people?”
Toby squared her shoulders and raised her chin.
“I will make my voice heard. One of many. After decades of inactivity, the Movement is being revitalized.”
“Movement?”
“The American Indian Movement, or AIM.”
“Catchy.”
“I wasn’t even born yet when the founders of AIM joined the occupation of Alcatraz.”
“The prison?”
“Former prison. It’s on an island in San Francisco Bay.”
“Yeah, I know where it is. Al Capone was jailed there.”
“And a lot of other really bad men, like Machine Gun Kelly and Whitey Bulger. They say no one ever escaped. But I’m not sure I believe that.”
“What happened to AIM? I’ve never heard of it.”
“If you lived in America in the 60s and 70s, you’d be familiar with the Movement. It even influenced Hollywood. Marlon Brando asked Sacheen Littlefeather, an actress and activist for Native American rights, to represent him at the 45th Academy Awards, and decline his Best Actor Award for his performance in The Godfather. She was both White Mountain Apache and Yaqui.”
“I didn’t know,” Danya said.
Toby shrugged. “Following many protests—some violent—the public seemed to lose interest in AIM by the late 70s. The organization suffered from poor leadership, including scandals, and eventually split into two factions. But it remains active. My generation hopes to revive the Movement. Maybe in my lifetime, we can finally make a difference and achieve equality and justice for all races.”
“I hope so. If your energy and enthusiasm are indicative, then I know you will be successful.”
Toby’s eyes brightened. “Hey, why don’t you come with us?”
Danya pinched her eyebrows. “To where?”
“To Alcatraz. That’s where we’re going to have our first of many peaceful protests. It’s a fitting location—the place where the Indian Rights Movement first gained national attention. It would be good to include your voice, your presence. We want to show that we have a diverse base.”
“I see. And a Caucasian face would help with that.”
“Not just Caucasian. All colors, all people.”
Danya thought about the invitation. Since she’d just completed a job a week ago, she didn’t have any place she needed to be. Maybe it would help ease the guilt for past sins if she did participate. But first, she’d have to do some research on the American Indian Movement. Her prime rule was to avoid contact with the authorities. And participating in a protest, no matter how peaceful the intentions, could easily escalate into trouble.
“Maybe. But first, we have a more pressing issue to deal with.”
“Right. Cole. You have a plan?”
“I always do.”
Chapter 8
Leaving the Airstream trailer parked inside the large farm building, away from public view, Danya drove her pickup to the backside of the barn, close to the range land, where it
