Todos el Sitting Bull

I just had a moment reading the end of this article and thought I'd share.

Restoring Dignity to Sitting Bull, Wherever He Is.

In an office in Fort Yates sits Ron His Horse Is Thunder, the chairman of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe and a great-great-great grandson of Sitting Bull. A lawyer by training, tall and lean, he expresses support for the Mobridge effort to honor his ancestor in a manner befitting the man. But when asked whether he believes Sitting Bull is buried on that bluff, he slowly shakes his head no.

Then where is Sitting Bull?

LaDonna Brave Bull Allard, a tribal historian and storyteller who is overseeing improvements to the Fort Yates grave site, tries to explain. “A person like Sitting Bull was never meant to just die and disappear,” she says.

Yes, but where is he?

Smiling patiently, the woman opens her arms and spreads her hands.

Beautiful. And why not?

The post title comes from a rude-seeming reference (which is not meant to be taken as the gist of my point), but I mean it respectfully, because it, too, harkened to such a beautiful moment that it's imprinted on my mind.

When my pals PM and JM and db and I were in Argentina [::siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh::], we were hiking one day on a remote island in the Beagle Channel, an island uninhabited by humans, a beautiful, pristine, perfect place. At the start of our hike our hike leader was explaining a few things about our three-hour jaunt and at the end of his speech one of our group piped up w/ the quintessential tourist question: where are the bathrooms? The guide looked at us with a smile and said with a sweep of his hand, "Todos el bano."

In other news, Sitting Bull's great-great-great grandson's name is poetry.

Comments

[belledame222]

Hm.

Somehow it doesn't have quite the same ring as "Sitting Bull is everywhere" to say "the toilet is everywhere," to me. nonetheless, i can dig the general sentiment.