Remembering Debbie Dogskin $$PLAIN_TEXT_PREVIEW$$

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DECOLONIZING YOUR NEWSFEED

 

The Fort Yates, North Dakota mobile home where 61-year-old Debbie Dogskin fatally froze on the Standing Rock Reservation on Feb. 2, 2014 (Tom Stromme)

 

OUT IN THE COLD | 02.19.21

 

When an autopsy concluded six years ago that Debbie Dogskin had frozen to death on the Standing Rock Reservation, the Sioux County Sheriff and the Associated Press felt it necessary to report something else - that toxicologists had yet to determine whether the 61-year-old tribal elder had been drinking or drugging at the time. Captioned below the photo to describe the tinny, unheated mobile home where she died that subzero night was a choice word: “rundown” (slide 2 of 6).

This week, as news compassionately and appropriately centers around the dozens of lives claimed by a pair of winter storms that have iced over America, I can’t stop thinking about Debbie. Like the youngest Texan to have died a few days ago, the Lakota woman in 2014 went to sleep without heat and never woke up. Both of their fates were sealed in the midst of a seasonal energy crisis. But the difference in their deaths lies in the reporting. There has not been parity.

While some accounts have described these bone-chilling days as “apocalyptic,” sadly it is a common occurrence across Indian Country, although woefully ignored. There’s hardly a person that hasn’t lost a friend, an uncle, a cousin, or a grandparent to hypothermia or exposure, including myself. The problem is - no one is talking about it. It’s not a mistake then that the latest CDC data shows the highest rates of weather-related deaths are on average five times as high in low-income counties versus high-income ones - many of them in Indian country.

In searching for data to cite, I found the most up-to-date and relevant information, not in an energy or housing report, but in a random proposal to the FCC by the Oglala Nation. Tribal leaders were making the case for more robust cell phone towers when they mentioned the high rate of hypothermia-related deaths that could be avoided if only they had better cell phone coverage. The problem had led to people dying in cars or in homes in pockets where they couldn’t make calls.

In 2014, the year Debbie died, it was a propane shortage that led fuel prices to spike, making life more difficult for cash-strapped Natives in the Dakotas. That winter, the Standing Rock Tribe had secured just $5,194 in government heating assistance sparking a grassroots “Heat the Rez” campaign to purchase wood stoves for homes across the reservation. Later, Rob Port, a conservative blogger in Fargo, villanized the lead fundraiser and poverty-shamed tribal citizens in the process. “The Native Americans must lift themselves up,” he wrote.

Like-minded callousness surfaced in Texas, this week, from an unhinged mayor ranting about power outages to his constituents on Facebook: “Quit crying and looking for a handout!,” wrote Tim Boyd of Colorado City who has since resigned.

Again, I can’t stop thinking about Debbie. I remember when she died and the commentary had connected her passing to the frozen deaths of her Lakota ancestors on Dec. 29, 1890 at Wounded Knee. This week, someone mentioned the water that had been weaponized on protesters at Standing Rock on a subfreezing night in November. Others raised the more sordid story of the “Starlight Tours” in Saskatoon, Canada.

I know I’ve gone a bit dark in this edition of Indigenously, but these are winter days of reflection. I’m anticipating, soon, that the news cycle will be picking up at a swifter pace as we approach and pivot from the confirmation hearing of Rep. Deb Haaland for Secretary of the Interior. In case you missed it, next Tuesday, Feb. 24 is the big day. Here’s what you need to know.

Until then, stay safe and warm and check in on an elder,

Jenni ❄️

 

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ENDORSEMENT

 

Two winters ago, Loren Anthony, a professional actor from Gallup, New Mexico, said he was out on the Navajo Nation delivering firewood when he found an elder lying in the mud, weak and confused. “I picked him up and carried him inside like a baby,” Loren recalls. He got him out of his wet clothes, started him a fire; the entire time, the man kept asking Loren if he was his son. He told a reporter that if he hadn’t been there, the elder would’ve frozen to death.

Loren founded a volunteer group, Chizh for Cheii (Firewood for Grandfather), that has harvested, cut, and delivered free firewood to Navajo families in need for nine years. Normally they take time off, but the coronavirus has kept their heartwork going and going. The group fundraises here and their social media updates are always so uplifting and inspiring. Please explore 🔥.

 

FEEDBACK

 

“Thank you for sending me to Troop 9629, Jenni. I ❤️ the Hopi Girl Scout.”

Terry, Boise, ID

Hope you ordered some yummy cookies like me, Terry.

Send me your thoughts, good, bad, or otherwise here. I always appreciate hearing from readers, always.

 

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The Indigenously newsletter is produced by Jenni Monet (Laguna Pueblo)

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