15 April 20
RSN: Mort Rosenblum | Broken Arrows, Forked Tongues
Mort Rosenblum, Reader Supported News
Rosenblum writes: "Up here where an Apache chief and an Army general once made peace meant to last, stirring views overlook a diminished America, a money-talks nation in the grip of newcomers who believe it belongs only to them."
Mort Rosenblum, Reader Supported News
Rosenblum writes: "Up here where an Apache chief and an Army general once made peace meant to last, stirring views overlook a diminished America, a money-talks nation in the grip of newcomers who believe it belongs only to them."
OCHISE STRONGHOLD, Arizona — Up here where an Apache chief and an Army general once made peace meant to last, stirring views overlook a diminished America, a money-talks nation in the grip of newcomers who believe it belongs only to them.
Before the road narrows and climbs to forests and rocky peaks, I saw a sign on a shabby ranch-house fence: “TRUMP — Keep America First.” In today’s lingo, that means send intruders back where they came from. Fair enough. Adios, dude.
My t-shirt had a different message. Along with a sepia-tone photo of four carbine-wielding warriors in deerskin boots framed by an outline map of Arizona, it read in old-timey letters: “Homeland Security, Fighting Terrorism since 1492.”
Apaches and other tribes have been around for nearly a millennium. Spanish missionaries came in the 1500s. This was Mexico until 1853. Arizona has been a state only since 1912. We “white eyes” outsiders are the “aliens.”
Today, crisp piney air evokes Cochise’s time when cellphones were no-G smoke signals, tweets were for the birds, and “fox” referred to a shifty carnivore that eagles ate for lunch. Land deeds were inconceivable. But not only snakes had forked tongues.
That 1871 treaty with the general soon fell apart as people moved West. Ranchers and settlers wanted land. After a renegade band killed a corrupt whiskey seller, the U.S. Cavalry mounted up. Blood spilled again for 15 more years.
I learned the history when I camped here as a kid. Since then, I’ve watched hubris, greed, and stupidity too often misguide American foreign policy. Small incidents trigger big conflicts. At home and abroad, this is far worse than I’ve ever seen.
Arizona, once blue then red, is as politically purple as its majestic mountains. And it is a crucible of two heated issues as Trump tries to shape America in his own image: Who belongs; and who holds title to natural splendor, scarce water and mineral wealth.
On a break from isolation to avoid the killer virus Donald Trump allowed to run wild, I took a slow ride through Indian country and ranchland I knew in the 1960s.
The old whistlestop town of Willcox was mostly locked down, but at a sparse open-air market, I met a crusty coot with a long, straggly white beard in a shirt proclaiming him a Vietnam vet. He was still pissed that pacifists stopped America from finishing the job.
“I’m not worried about that virus,” he told me, with a dismissive wave, then hacked mightily. I skipped my usual routine — a handshake while asking for a name — and just wrote down Gabby. “I had the flu when I was a kid, and I figure I’m immune.”
Gabby echoed what I’ve heard with resolute intensity since 2016: America needs Trump to make it safe and respected in the world. “He says what he means, no ifs, ands, or buts,” Gabby said. “You can oppose him, but you’ll find out you’re wrong.”
Cochise, like Geronimo who fought to the bitter end, was a Chiricahua Apache from sky-island mountains nearby, spectacular rock formations that loom 6,000 feet above high desert, with 375 species of birds. Deer and black bear remain, but jaguars are gone.
Driving up the Chiricahuas, the only Indians I saw were two motorcycles made in Iowa, along with two Harley-Davidsons, all kitted out in Hells-Angels fashion. Their riders were mild-mannered couples on holiday. We talked pleasantly until I mentioned Trump’s inaction on the virus. All four eyed me narrowly and roared away.
At Cochise Stronghold, U.S. Forest Service posters implore visitors not to disturb relics and remains. It is illegal, they say, but also vital so that future generations know what came before them. Yet a forked-tongue president plunders the West outrageously.
To the southwest, bulldozers plow up Tohono O’odham burial grounds and ceremonial sites at Organ Pipe National Monument to build a barrier with no practical purpose beyond firing up Trump’s base. It devastates wildlife habitats and fragile desert ecology.
Smugglers tunnel under, climb over, or cut through. Most contraband moves through ports of entry in trucks and trains. Drug lords and gang leaders come in the front door with faked documents. Only desperate small bands risk crossing the hostile desert. Yet while a pandemic demands full attention, crews push ahead on the Wall.
New regulators enable miners to gouge out natural beauty on public land. A federal judge has blocked the $1.9 billion Rosemont copper mine on sacred ground near Tucson that would send its profits to Canada. But Trump is rapidly packing appellate courts.
Beyond physical impact, Trump has picked up on the ugliest undercurrents in American society. He tells fearful, hateful people what they want to hear. Evidence notwithstanding, they tune out all the rest.
Coronavirus has hit Indian reservations hard, as flu did in 1918. Diabetes, cancer, heart disease and asthma are rife. Health care is limited. “This could be like a wildfire,” Kevin Allis of the National Congress of American Indians told The Washington Post. “We could all get wiped out.”
As settlers moved into Apache lands in 1861, peace was still possible. But George Bascom, a young lieutenant, falsely accused Cochise of a raiding a ranch and abducting a 12-year-old boy. When Cochise went to meet him with family members in tow, Bascom tied him up in a tent. He escaped alone, seizing hostages after he fled.
Cochise tried to negotiate. Bascom refused. The missing boy reappeared and said his captors were from a different Apache clan. By then, Bascom had hanged Cochise’s brother and two nephews. Cochise had killed three hostages. And war raged for a decade.
One trooper’s diary summed up the lesson Americans have yet to learn: “Tread on a worm, and it will turn — disturb a hornets nest and they will sting you — So with savage Indians: misuse them and you make them revengeful foes.”
Countless Hollywood westerns portray Apaches as vicious killers, kidnappers, and thieves. “Broken Arrow” dug deeper in 1950. It would be skewered today as politically incorrect; Jeff Chandler, smeared in red, plays Cochise. But it shows bitter enemies can find common ground with earned respect and diplomacy.
Tom Jeffords, an Army scout turned government Indian agent, spent months with Cochise, winning his trust. General Oliver Howard rode up to the chief’s stronghold and agreed to cede the Dragoon and Chiricahua mountains as protected territory.
But after four quiet years, renegades killed a crooked whiskey seller. Settlers demanded protection from “terrorists.” Fort Bowie added reinforcements. When Geronimo finally surrendered in 1886, Chiricahua Apaches were sent to Florida on a trail of tears.
The grim reality of “manifest destiny,” as America pushed west against all obstacles, natural or human, helps answer that hoary question about the wider world: why do they hate us?
Cochise and Jeffords often came to mind as I reported on abrupt American policies shifts, broken promises that left allies in the lurch and turned pacified people into adversaries seeking payback. The Kurds, again and again, are blatant examples.
Americans tend to see “primitive” societies as easily manipulated, not realizing that they are committed to codes of honor and blood revenge when wronged. Many are outraged when friends the United States takes for granted refuse to follow it into folly.
No one is “for us or against us” as George W. Bush declared when he widened his response to 9/11 into a diffuse global war on terrorism. That only magnified the threat geometrically and cost well over $6 trillion, money we could use at home about now.
That is ancient history for people who follow their leader in any direction his lies direct them. For them, birthright and tradition count for little. Money and guns prevail. America is first, and nothing else matters.
Land titles, obviously, are now essential. Too many people share limited space, and parents pass on property to their kids. But no one really owns land that has been here for millions of years and will be here when we go.
Cochise took Jeffords and the Army general at their word. Had settlers and soldiers not reneged on their treaty, Apaches might still be up here sharing their land with visitors who respect their ancient spirits.
To Indians, breaking an arrow meant peace. But in a superpower that arms to the teeth and wages needless war, “broken arrow” is now a term for a nuclear weapon gone astray or triggered by accident with devastating result. Something has gone wrong.
Mort Rosenblum has reported from seven continents as Associated Press special correspondent, edited the International Herald Tribune in Paris, and written 14 books on subjects ranging from global geopolitics to chocolate. He now runs MortReport.org.
Reader Supported News is the Publication of Origin for this work. Permission to republish is freely granted with credit and a link back to Reader Supported News.
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