Crazy Horse and Joseph Marshall III

Since my previous post referenced the renowned Lakota author Joseph Marshall III, it is with great sadness that I inform you of his passing into the spirit world on April 18. It is somewhat coincidental that he departed the day following my discussion of Crazy Horse. His literary works and historical insights have profoundly influenced my perspective. I frequently revisit his writings, particularly those concerning Crazy Horse, as I seek to make sense of the world, especially in times of great suffering. While our political ideologies may differ, his depictions of the last generation of free Lakotas is authentic. And I am very critical of the term “authentic” when applied to American Indian history.

As a historian, one encounters the necessity of engaging with library shelves containing volumes of U.S. apologia of various orientations concerning the theft of a continent and the associated genocide of its Indigenous peoples. A sense of frustration and predictability can often mark this experience. For example, the predominant narrative trajectory concerning Lakota historiography, as articulated by non-Lakotas, generally follows this pattern: initially, the portrayal depicts us as violent savages; subsequently, we are reframed as noble savages. Eventually, the representation culminates in depicting an archetypal image of American Indians: dwelling in tipis, donning headdresses, engaging in war cries, and riding bare-chested across expansive plains. The arrival of Kevin Costner’s Private Dunbar further popularized this image, leading to a widespread belief that others, if they tried hard enough, could become us.

Additionally, some assert that we were latecomers to our own site of creation—territory which we purportedly appropriated—aggressively displacing others until we finally got what was coming to us. (Imagine them telling Christians that Adam and Eve were invaders within the Garden of Eden.) Recently, a Finnish historian has endeavored to restore our rightful position in the historical narrative, concluding that we were imperialists in our own right, akin to the Comanches, competing against our expansionist counterpart, the United States of America. It is noteworthy that most of these authors have neither resided in Lakota Makoce, nor have they mastered the Lakota language, spoken to Lakota experts, or investigated the extensive archives of Lakota knowledge and textual materials. My academic qualifications in history required fluency in at least one foreign language, ideally corresponding with a regional specialization. Mastery of a foreign language is a prerequisite for conducting thorough archival research in a foreign nation. What credibility would we attribute to a Russian historian who lacked proficiency in the Russian language and did not undertake travel or study within Russia? (The answer may suggest otherwise, given the prevailing anti-Russian sentiments in the United States; however, the central argument remains intact.) So why give so much credibility to historians and writers who lack these credentials?

On the other hand, Joseph Marshall, or Joe as I called him, possessed these qualifications. He was a first-language Lakota speaker, and much of his referenced knowledge comes directly from the Lakota oral tradition. Having lived among and been closely related to many of the finest practitioners of Lakota oral history, he provides unique insights. For instance, The Journey of Crazy Horse includes no footnotes or non-Lakota references. Instead, Marshall lists numerous Oglala and Sicangu elders in the book’s sources section, his primary references. Several elders were just a generation away from when Crazy Horse walked the earth. I am unaware of any contemporary histories of the nineteenth century that rely so heavily on oral traditions as primary sources. Marshall exemplified the strength of Lakota knowledge. He was more than a historian; like the elders who served as his archives, he became a living memory for the Lakota people.

I first met him at an American Indian education conference in Oacoma, South Dakota, in 2010. Since that time, his books have occupied a prominent place on my shelves and have been included in many of my high school syllabi. A former student of mine, now an adult, once showed me that they still possess their well-worn copy of “ The Lakota Way, “ which I assigned in my Oceti Sakowin studies course years ago. I have gifted his writings to friends, family, and acquaintances more than any other author, owing to their unwavering commitment to portraying an unapologetic Lakota perspective.

Since the U.S.-backed Zionist genocide in Palestine, it has been hard to ignore the parallels between American Indians and Palestinians. But it’s one thing to pity the victims of genocidal war and quite another to try to understand why they continue to resist, despite facing enemies equipped with more technologically advanced weapons and a propensity for extreme violence. Marshall inspired me to write about Palestinian and Lakota resistance. In the analysis section of The Journey of Crazy Horse, trying to understand Crazy Horse’s spirit of total resistance, Marshall asks the reader to:

[T]hink of the emotional impact if suspicious and pushy people suddenly drove an armored troop carrier into your quiet suburban or rural neighborhood, deployed men with guns, made unreasonable demands that couldn’t be satisfied, and opened fire, killing and wounding your friends, neighbors, and relatives. Any[one] who witnessed such a horrific incident would be suspicious and distrustful of such intruders forever.

Palestinians don’t have to imagine this scenario. They are living it. Lakotas lived it, too. And that’s what Marshall’s books did to me. They humanized the Lakota warriors of the last free generation who did not live on reservations. They were deeply scarred and defined by the horrors they witnessed. Their terror and pain were their motivations for resistance; they were acts of self-defense and survival. And it became more than that. Their courage and skill to defeat their enemies turned them into legends, inspiring future generations. They broke the spell of inviolability that surrounds the colonizer. They tore him from his horse, just as Palestinians in sandals pulled him from his tank, forcing him to confront his mortality, reminding him that we may not be equals in this world, but we are all equals in death. They did this in the face of terrible danger, remaining steadfast and humble protectors while confronting their own shortcomings as human beings, as sometimes imperfect relatives and lovers.

I have observed this same spirit reflected in the eyes of Water Protectors and veterans of the Red Power Movement, aware that they may not live long enough to witness the results of their sacrifices. They embodied the spirit of Crazy Horse. Marshall conveyed it as a living memory for all future generations of the Lakota people and our allies, rather than as an idealistic fantasy of violence and adventurism. This unique essence of recognizing a higher power, or living for a greater purpose, has the potential to inspire ordinary individuals to achieve extraordinary feats. That’s what makes it powerful. It moves people, and, using their only possession—their life, people make history with it.

For that, we know Joe Marshall joins the ancestors. His gift to us was not stories about the best days of the Lakota Nation in the nineteenth century. His gift was that, if we embody the spirit of Crazy Horse, our best days are in front of us.

This piece first appeared on Red Scare.

The post Crazy Horse and Joseph Marshall III appeared first on CounterPunch.org.