I walked slowly, careful not to make a sound in this desolate town. There was a deafening silence as I scurried down the block. Then, suddenly, I didn’t feel as alone as I did earlier as I neared the house at the end of the street. I knew that no one was there, that the whole town was abandoned, but I couldn’t help but feel like there was someone watching me. Slowly, as if something was pulling me, I walked to the house and opened the door. As I did, a loud creak filled the neighborhood with noise. I flew into the air at the sound and looked around despite myself knowing better. Cautiously, I crept into the cream-colored house and looked around its sky blue interior. The house looked too cheerful compared to its dull neighbors and it made …show more content…
I can not think of anything more sadistic than this act of injustice. I cannot believe that no one in Texas agrees with my thoughts to save the Cherokee and other tribes, it feels like I am alone in this hate-driven world. I remember the times when I considered myself one of them. During this time, I was troubled and they were the only ones who took me in. Despite my differences, they treated me like their own, which is more than anyone in this nation can say. Now, looking back, it may seem that the natives are the only ones with a true heart. In this town, they all think that the Indians are savages and kill them without getting to know who they really are. I think that the natives are the only ones with a true spirit and do what is good everyone, while the townspeople only think about themselves. Because of them, I try to do things the way it should have been done throughout history and treat everyone with compassion and acceptance. Instead of solving our problems with violence, we should adopt the ways of the misunderstood, the peaceful, and the wholehearted Native Americans. I can hear the screams of the Texas Rangers preparing to go out, I must go and try to stop …show more content…
The people, they don’t understand. Deep in my heart, or maybe my soul, there is a voice telling me I’m doing the right thing. I passed the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to help congregate the different races in this nation. Whenever I doubt myself and what I am doing I just think about the Hispanic kids that I taught back in Texas and what they must be going through as I write this. I still remember what it was like to teach them. Seeing the hope on their faces and knowing that they were just like everyone else, maybe better, but they were still treated differently. I remember the "Mexican children going through a garbage pile, shaking the coffee grounds from the grapefruit rinds and sucking the rinds for the juice that was left" (Block). All I ever wanted to do was help them, and now I’m getting a chance to do just that, but it seems like everyone is trying to stop me. I must try harder, every day, every minute, and every breath to help those kids earn the rights they
On December 29, 1890, the army decided to take away all of the Sioux weapons because they weren’t sure if they could trust those indians. Some people think a deaf man did this, but one man shot his gun, while the tribe was surrendering. Studies think that he didn’t understand the Chiefs surrender. The army then opened fire at the Sioux. There was over 300 indians that died, and one of them was their chief named Bigfoot. This is an example of how we didn’t treat Native Americans fairly, because if it was a deaf man then we probably should of talked it out before we killed all those innocent
It really made me sympathize with what the natives went through. I gained an appreciation for President George Washington and the sectary of war Henry Knox when they wanted peace with the Indians and to buy the land from the natives that settlers illegally settled in. I was disappointed to read that Knox and many others thought of the natives as uncivilized and wanted to civilize them so that they would integrate into society so the settlers could take their land. I think it was wrong to see the natives as uncivilized and want to civilize them to take their land. I was disturbed that Andrew Jackson approved and signed the Indian Removal Act because I consider the Act immoral. I think it is unjust for a group to consider themselves superior to another group, like the settlers did, and force the inferior group to
Growing up as a Latina in a small conservative town was not always an easy thing. I often faced presumptions that I would not graduate high school or amount to much in life because of my background. I knew that I would have to work twice as hard to accomplish my goals and prove to myself and my peers that the stereotypes made of Latinos and our success were nothing more than thoughts by people ignorant to our abilities and strengths. I was always determined to achieve my goals, even when others doubted or implied that I couldn’t.
One of the darkest times in American history was the conflict with the natives. A “war” fought with lies and brute force, the eviction and genocide of Native Americans still remains one of the most controversial topics when the subject of morality comes up. Perhaps one of the most egregious events to come of this atrocity was the Sand Creek Massacre. On the morning of November 29th, 1864, under the command of Colonel John Chivington, 700 members of the Colorado Volunteer Cavalry raped, looted, and killed the members of a Cheyenne tribe (Brown 86-94). Hearing the story of Sand Creek, one of the most horrific acts in American History, begs the question: Who were the savages?
The Native Americans were promised a large amount of private land for their families to live on forever in peace. As time went on throughout the years, Native Americans started to see their land shrink by acres. This was unsettling to many of the Natives and would start to raise problems with the white soldiers. By having the Promised Land taken away from them it would only start to add fuel to the fire before the Indians would attack back. Taking of land was of several items that would start to enrage the Indians. The next item that I took away from class was how the U.S. would continuously steal from the Native people and made it evident in the video. The U.S. would continually steal Native American money for their benefit. This would not help the Indians moving forward in trying to provide a life for their family. U.S. agents would withhold Native Americans money that was given to them from their federal government. It was the payment for the land that U.S. bought from them. The United States (US) would continue to make numerous treaty violations by having to make Natives make payments to Indian agents who would use the money for what they want. With all of this occurring, it caused an increased number of families to stricken of hunger and adds to the never-ending hardship among the Dakota tribes in Minnesota. This would all boil over to having the Great Sioux Revolt that would trigger the infamous Dakota
Whilst there has been countless attacks on the Native American people the Battle of Wounded Knee, if you can in fact call it a battle, is the event that can be held as the most accountable for the destruction of the native American culture; the obliteration of their hope and dreams. The Battle of Wounded Knee resulted in the death of three hundred Native Americans, half of which were women and children. White Plume, in the article In the Spirit of Crazy Horse, explains that “the whole Sioux Nation was wounded at that last terrible massacre, and we’ve been suffering ever since”. This sentiment is expressed throughout the remaining article as well as in Sherman Alexie’s Reservation Blues.
The justice system present in the United States is one of fairness, equality, and human rights. In a court of law, all men are created equal and have certain unalienable rights that nothing or no one can take away. What is to happen when these rights are denied, abused, or ignored? It is a frightening outcome when unruly factors destroy the basis of this system. As a victim of injustice once said, “People have prejudices, people have fears, people have hates. These things cloud our ability to reason.” Injustice has a tendency to overshadow reason. How can one feel safe in this country, when no one is totally safe from the sometimes unjust scrutiny of the law? If justice rests on one being innocent until proven guilty, what is to happen when one is to be guilty until proven innocent?
One of the main forms of violence in the Old West was murder; the rising tension between the American soldiers and the Native Americans was a main contributor to this violence. An example of this strain is the Sand Creek Massacre. American soldiers attacked unaware Native Americans of the Cheyenne and Arapahoe ethnic groups. All men, women, and children were killed and/or tortured. There were no survivors. “Two soldiers drew their pistols and shot her [a little girl]”, portraying that these sort of crimes came about regularly in the West (Document G). Another example of this is the Battle of Beecher Island. The Battle of Beecher Island, also known as the Battle of Arikaree Fork, was the armed disagreement between soldiers of the U.S. Army and a few Native American tribes. According to Document H, there were “at least 50 [men dead]; perhaps as many as 200 [men] were wounded” (Document H). Adding on to the uneasiness between the Native Americans and the white soldiers, many killings were encountered by foolishness, not battle. The Native Americans and the soldiers wanted to prove that their race is more macho and better than the other. Even though Document L states that “113 [people] recorded no trouble with the Indians”, Document M detects many problems with the Native Americans resulting in “919” troops killed (Document L, Document M). The white soldiers in the Old West would have loved to kill the Native American’s buffalo popu...
It was approaching dusk as the conspicuous line of dark vans entered the reservation. These vehicles served the purpose of furnishing transportation for about 30 members of a Cleveland area youth group, whose mission was “to bring good news to the badlands';. In short, the group was ministering to the Indian children of the Pine Ridge Reservation, which was in close vicinity to the natural wonder found in the foothills of “the badlands';. The trip became a tradition for my church and I traveled there on three separate occasions. Each year, the team received a welcoming that could be described as anything but inviting. In fact, the first year the trip fell on the Fourth of July and as we drove in, our vehicles were bombarded with fireworks. I could never really grasp why we were so despised. After all, our intentions were commendable. The matter became clearer after I read Zitkala-sa’s “American Indian Stories';. Within this text, a Native American expresses her beliefs that actions similar to ours serve merely in altering culture.
Later that day a lady came storming into the room shouting, “they are ready for you guys!” I was in my last bits of energy and falling asleep. The last thing I remember was leaving that nasty, smelly room and getting on a truck. From there everything else is history, we crossed the border without being caught and met up with one of my aunts, in Arizona. Then, traveling to Oregon in where we would start our new lives. The ride from Arizona to Oregon was fascinating and it all seemed out of this world to me, there were buildings, cars and trees, all in which I had never seen before in my life back in Mexico. It all seemed too good to be true, was I in a dream. The most thrilled I had was when I saw my old man waiting for us at the door of our
It was just a normal day. I was living at home with only me, John, and my mom. My dad had died trying to protect the village from a wild animal from the forest. My mom wanted me to go to the market and get some food. So I did. As I made it to the market I could see all of the things being traded. I went to were the food was being traded and traded some stuff for some food. As returned home I noticed a couple of strange voices I didn’t notice. I walked into the house. It got dead silent. Then all last I heard were gunshots until everything went black.
A heightened sense of confusion began to slowly increase with every heartbeat, and my eyes darted rapidly in attempt to analyse my surroundings. This task proved to be immensely difficult, as I had very little light at my disposition. A single candle burned slowly in the corner, dimly lighting the room, and eventually revealing the unavailability of a door, and the absence of windows. Briefly, I was comforted by the darkness; the way it enveloped me, like a jacket does on a brisk December morning. Soon, an inevitable paranoia set in, merging into my brain, and refusing to leave. Up until now, I had neglected to think about how I ended up alone, and in the confinements this room. Having easily lost track of time, I had noticed a continuum of loud noises beginning to emerge, and each frequency bouncing off the cold walls from every direction. Was I really
“Come over here, Buddy We are going on an adventure!” Excited she ran after me. It was as if she could actually understand me. I took one final look into my hideout before I shut the door, for wherever I was going or headed, I surely wasn’t going to be returning. Even though I spent most of my time down there being afraid of dying, it was the only safe place I could go and I will miss that place. It had been my home for so long, and probably was where I would have been spending the rest of my short lived life if I hadn’t felt this sense of uneasiness. I sighed deeply, and began shutting the door. “Calm down, Buddy”, I muttered as he was barking at something. He had a tendency to bark at objects and things that actually never existed, so I didn’t think twice about it. However when I turned around, I laid my eyes on something, or rather yet someone.
Somewhere in the still of the night, my being, my very soul seemed to just float about my house. I am calling my body my house because I am leaving it behind. I left it right there still, cold, and lifeless. When I opened up my eyes I stood in front of a gate. This was no ordinary gate; it was made of pearl, one huge pearl, and the likes of which no man has ever seen. It opened as if by magic, but actually I was invited to come in. The light of this city was so bright and pure that it seemed to bring with it a flood of peace.
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.