The great alcohol debate
PINE RIDGE, S.D. — When Oglala Sioux tribal leaders took testimony on the reservation's alcohol ban last year, Lily Mae Red Eagle shared her story.
She told them how her oldest son was run over by a drunken driver. How her youngest shot himself in the head years later, ending his own life. How two of her granddaughters died in alcohol-related car accidents.
She told of all she had lost, hoping they would keep the ban.
"I lost two children and two grandchildren to alcohol," she said. "That's what made me mad."
Tribal leaders agreed with Red Eagle and voted last year to continue the reservation's alcohol ban. Still, the debate over legalizing alcohol continues.
Those who support ending it see alcohol sales as a way for the money-strapped tribe to stay afloat and generate revenue for treatment and economic development. They also see it as a way to choke the massive alcohol trade taking place in such border towns as Whiteclay.
"I think we should take advantage of the profits that it could bring," said Terry Mills, chairman of the Oglala Sioux Empowerment Zone, a government-sponsored economic development agency.
Alcohol sales should be legalized only if the revenue would benefit treatment and other social programs, he said.
Rampant alcohol use is already a problem on the dry reservation, where some put the alcoholism rate at 80 percent. Others say less than 70 percent of tribal members are addicted to alcohol.
But ending the ban would exacerbate alcohol-related problems, argues one woman who fights the war daily.
"You're just perpetuating your own sickness," said Terryl Blue-White Eyes, director of Anpetu Luta Otipi, the reservation's only alcohol and substance abuse treatment center.
When the issue came up in Pine Ridge last year, Blue-White Eyes contacted treatment officials from 28 tribes that legalized alcohol in recent years to find out if they saw increased funding from alcohol sales.
None had, she said.
Alcohol use and sales have been illegal throughout most of the Pine Ridge Reservation's 115-year history. In fact, those who've researched the issue say the only time alcohol was legal was in 1969, when two of the reservation's nine districts passed a referendum to end the ban.
The next year, a judge shut down alcohol sales in Kyle and Pine Ridge, the largest towns in the districts that ended the ban, saying any referendum to end it had to be approved by all nine districts.
In January 2004, the Oglala Sioux tribal council — lured by the prospect of alcohol sales revenue — debated ending the ban and giving the tribe control over alcohol sales and profits.
The council shelved the idea a month later in the face of heated criticism.
Lyle Jack, a Pine Ridge District tribal council member who supported ending the ban, said his district — only miles from Whiteclay — suffers more than any other from alcohol-related crimes and health problems.
"We get all the social ills, but we don't get revenue to treat it," he said.
Jack envisions revenue from alcohol sales financing treatment programs and additional law enforcement. He also sees it as a way to end bootlegging.
When the council considered the proposal last year, the tribe had just cut 150 jobs because of budget shortfalls. Tribal leaders who supported ending the ban estimated the tribe could earn as much as $7 million a year from alcohol sales.
Jack said the tribe is again considering cutting jobs to make up for budget gaps, although he doubts the issue of ending the ban will be brought up again any time soon.
"It's a very sensitive issue," he said.
On the day the council voted down the proposal last year, about 500 supporters of the ban marched in Pine Ridge. High school students joined elders in shouting and hoisting signs that read "Remember Our Children" and "Please Don't Bring Poison to Our People."
"The tribal government should never ever get involved in selling alcohol," said Leon Matthews, a Pine Ridge pastor. "If it ever became legal, it should be done by private proprietors."
A month before she quit drinking in June 1982, Lily Mae Red Eagle found her youngest son dead on the floor of her Kyle home. He had shot himself in the head.
The 83-year-old blames alcohol for his death and for those of two granddaughters and a second son.
Lakota people have been denied alcohol for so long they see it as the forbidden fruit, something to pursue at all costs, if only as an act of rebellion against those they see as their oppressors, she said.
Legalizing alcohol in hopes the Lakota might learn to control their drinking, she said, would only create more problems.
"I don't see any future in this."
She told them how her oldest son was run over by a drunken driver. How her youngest shot himself in the head years later, ending his own life. How two of her granddaughters died in alcohol-related car accidents.
She told of all she had lost, hoping they would keep the ban.
"I lost two children and two grandchildren to alcohol," she said. "That's what made me mad."
Tribal leaders agreed with Red Eagle and voted last year to continue the reservation's alcohol ban. Still, the debate over legalizing alcohol continues.
Those who support ending it see alcohol sales as a way for the money-strapped tribe to stay afloat and generate revenue for treatment and economic development. They also see it as a way to choke the massive alcohol trade taking place in such border towns as Whiteclay.
"I think we should take advantage of the profits that it could bring," said Terry Mills, chairman of the Oglala Sioux Empowerment Zone, a government-sponsored economic development agency.
Alcohol sales should be legalized only if the revenue would benefit treatment and other social programs, he said.
Rampant alcohol use is already a problem on the dry reservation, where some put the alcoholism rate at 80 percent. Others say less than 70 percent of tribal members are addicted to alcohol.
But ending the ban would exacerbate alcohol-related problems, argues one woman who fights the war daily.
"You're just perpetuating your own sickness," said Terryl Blue-White Eyes, director of Anpetu Luta Otipi, the reservation's only alcohol and substance abuse treatment center.
When the issue came up in Pine Ridge last year, Blue-White Eyes contacted treatment officials from 28 tribes that legalized alcohol in recent years to find out if they saw increased funding from alcohol sales.
None had, she said.
Alcohol use and sales have been illegal throughout most of the Pine Ridge Reservation's 115-year history. In fact, those who've researched the issue say the only time alcohol was legal was in 1969, when two of the reservation's nine districts passed a referendum to end the ban.
The next year, a judge shut down alcohol sales in Kyle and Pine Ridge, the largest towns in the districts that ended the ban, saying any referendum to end it had to be approved by all nine districts.
In January 2004, the Oglala Sioux tribal council — lured by the prospect of alcohol sales revenue — debated ending the ban and giving the tribe control over alcohol sales and profits.
The council shelved the idea a month later in the face of heated criticism.
Lyle Jack, a Pine Ridge District tribal council member who supported ending the ban, said his district — only miles from Whiteclay — suffers more than any other from alcohol-related crimes and health problems.
"We get all the social ills, but we don't get revenue to treat it," he said.
Jack envisions revenue from alcohol sales financing treatment programs and additional law enforcement. He also sees it as a way to end bootlegging.
When the council considered the proposal last year, the tribe had just cut 150 jobs because of budget shortfalls. Tribal leaders who supported ending the ban estimated the tribe could earn as much as $7 million a year from alcohol sales.
Jack said the tribe is again considering cutting jobs to make up for budget gaps, although he doubts the issue of ending the ban will be brought up again any time soon.
"It's a very sensitive issue," he said.
On the day the council voted down the proposal last year, about 500 supporters of the ban marched in Pine Ridge. High school students joined elders in shouting and hoisting signs that read "Remember Our Children" and "Please Don't Bring Poison to Our People."
"The tribal government should never ever get involved in selling alcohol," said Leon Matthews, a Pine Ridge pastor. "If it ever became legal, it should be done by private proprietors."
A month before she quit drinking in June 1982, Lily Mae Red Eagle found her youngest son dead on the floor of her Kyle home. He had shot himself in the head.
The 83-year-old blames alcohol for his death and for those of two granddaughters and a second son.
Lakota people have been denied alcohol for so long they see it as the forbidden fruit, something to pursue at all costs, if only as an act of rebellion against those they see as their oppressors, she said.
Legalizing alcohol in hopes the Lakota might learn to control their drinking, she said, would only create more problems.
"I don't see any future in this."
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