Judgment at Alcatraz Dave Edlund (detective books to read TXT) 📖

“My recollection is that gunfire was exchanged by both sides,” Toby said. “Law enforcement officers were also injured.”

Leonard nodded. “And during the trial that followed, in which the government sought prison sentences for my brothers, the US District Judge saw through the charade and dismissed all charges due to government misconduct. It was not the last time that AIM protestors were railroaded. My uncle, he didn’t trust the FBI. He was protesting in Washington, DC, in 1979, and he burned a US flag on the steps of the FBI headquarters. He said it was because you burned the flag if it was desecrated, and the treacherous actions of the government amounted to dishonoring the flag, the nation. Twenty-four hours later, his family was murdered in a house fire.”

“Murdered?” Toby raised her eyebrows.

“That’s right,” Sacheen said. “Of course, the tribal authorities investigated, but they were in league with the FBI.”

“Another conspiracy theory?”

“There are many facts not included in the government’s account,” Sacheen said. “During the 1970s, there was a lot of tension and conflict between the FBI and American Indians, mostly members of the Oglala Sioux Nation. You should research the Pine Ridge and Wounded Knee incidents. There is good reason to believe that the FBI was working to suppress activism they viewed as radical. They funded a group of counter-activists, under the direction of Dickie Wilson, who rose to be tribal president of the Oglala Sioux in a rigged election. He established a special police force that violently opposed peaceful protests for Native American rights.”

“My grandmother was murdered in that house fire,” Leonard said. “Along with my uncle’s wife and unborn child, and their three young children. My cousins.”

Toby looked into Leonard’s eyes, seeing genuine grief.

“I’m sorry. That was a violent period in American history. The Black Power movement peaked. So did the organization of Latino farm laborers.”

“True. And Native Americans were not spared from the wrath of an oppressive government. In June of 1975, two FBI agents entered the Pine Ridge Reservation. You know, that was a dangerous time on the rez. Dickie Wilson’s vigilante group wanted to keep the status quo, to keep the red man under the thumb of the Bureau of Indian Affairs.”

“I know something about that,” Toby said. “Those two lawmen were murdered in cold blood. You can’t justify that.”

Leonard’s mouth turned down. “And by what evidence do you conclude it was murder? Because the FBI said so? As I said, that was a dangerous and violent time on the reservation. Everyone was poor. They knew nothing else their entire lives. So when two strangers come into the community in everyday cars, not wearing any uniforms, and produce weapons—tell me, how would you respond?”

Toby didn’t want to dwell on how she would react. She wanted to think she was better than to give in to fear and popular prejudice. But was she deceiving herself?

When Toby didn’t reply, Leonard continued.

“You know, there were a lot of people there, all shooting their guns. Who fired the shots that killed the FBI men? Everyone fled afterward. They knew it was bad, and that it would only get worse. Two of my brothers in the Movement were arrested and put on trial. But the judge agreed that they’d acted in self-defense. Only later was Leonard Peltier arrested in Canada and extradited to the US. The FBI had learned from their previous failures to get convictions in federal courts, so they had written statements from a few members of the tribe that implicated Mister Peltier in the murders. That was enough for a guilty verdict, even though those witnesses told the court their statements were forced by the FBI.”

“I sympathize with your frustration over what you see as a miscarriage of justice. I really do. But 1975 was a long time ago.”

“And I have a long memory. The relations between Native Americans and the US government have been festering, like a fetid wound that won’t heal, for a hundred fifty years. It was no coincidence that the agents were killed on the Pine Ridge Reservation. That is part of the Sioux Nation. The Sioux signed a treaty with the government in 1868, that promised a vast territory, including the Black Hills, in perpetuity. That promise, like so many others from the white politicians, lasted only a few years, until gold was discovered in the Black Hills. The Sioux were forced off their land. Naturally, without compensation. Then the government built a monument on lands they’d stolen by chiseling the faces of four US Presidents into sacred Lakota Sioux granite.”

“History cannot be changed,” Toby said. “In time, the rights you seek—we all seek—will be realized. But only if your organization works with the politicians to make that change through law.”

“No. The politicians cannot be trusted. They are only interested in their own financial reward.”

“If you fight the system, you’ll only lose.”

“My uncle and my brothers in AIM, they all tried to work with the system. We have been trying for more than four decades.”

“These are different times. You can’t hold on to the anger forever.”

“I can.” Leonard’s eyes smoldered with the fire of repression. “The federal government has never stopped waging a war of deceit and violence against Native Americans. Sacheen and I have dedicated our lives to correct this wrongdoing. We have forsaken our own family so we can be the voice of right and reason that will be amplified ten-thousand-fold. The heinous and cowardly crime against my family that took my kinfolk from this world so many decades ago triggered a cascade of events that is about to reach its climax. When our work is done, Sacheen and I will live the remainder of our days in peace on my family’s land, where we will raise our children. The end will be the beginning of a victorious movement, having gone full circle. Our people will break the chains of oppression, shake free from the cycle of poverty and crime. Only then will our