An Open Letter to Russell Means

Dear Brother Russell,

I was deeply saddened to hear of your cancer. To me, you have always been a symbol of resistance. Indeed your unrelenting stance for Native American rights, your proud carriage, and your commitment to the struggle was deeply etched in my mind as an adolescent doing support work for the Native rights struggle. Many years have passed since I invited you to address a gathering on indigenous rights—under the auspices of Jamaat al-Muslimeen—at a church near American University in Washington, DC circa 1983. You shared the dais with Palestinian and Kurdish speakers. Afterwards, you stayed with Damu Smith in his French Street Northwest DC home. I was then about 15-years old, and it was my first independent organizing experience.  Inspired to no end by Wounded Knee ('73) and disgusted by the railroadings of activists which followed, the conference was something I felt compelled to do. Because my background is fundamentally Islamic, I included Palestinian and Kurdish representatives in the hopes that the representatives of these three oppressed groups as well as their audience at the conference might find common ground with each other through the commonality of their respective struggles. And, although you didn't know me and I had yet to establish myself as an activist, you generously accepted my invitation.

After the conference where you spoke, my great admiration for AIM led me to organize a chapter of the Leonard Peltier Support Group in the DC area (I was still a teenager). The LPSG-DC invited Steve Robideau, Chief Billy Tayac, Winona LaDuke, and others to speak at various times (all in the late 1980s). Chief Tayac also introduced me to Titus Smith [medicine man from Rosebud] during his visit to the DC area to raise funds and awareness for Rosebud.

Your words to me during your brief visit—that one must never lose sight of one’s roots— became particularly relevant, and a few years after the American Indians-Palestinians-Kurds conference (where you spoke), I graduated from high school, and left shortly thereafter for South Asia, with the aim of writing about the travails of people in my part of the world. Because of this, I became, for a time, out of touch with the Native American struggle.

In recent years, I admired from afar your bid for Pine Ridge chairperson, your outspoken stance on Thanksgiving, the publication of Where White Men Fear to Tread, and much else.

These days, I am the Vice Chair of the Baltimore-Washington, DC Chapter of the Jericho Movement, which seeks freedom for all political prisoners, including Leonard Peltier. And I still work with Jamaat al-Muslimeen, the Muslim organization founded by my father, Dr. Kaukab Siddique, which stands strong on a variety of peace and justice issues, and lends strong support to the struggle to free all political prisoners (the numbers of Muslim ones have, unfortunately, multiplied these days). I have always held the belief that in the face of grave injustice, “silence is complicity.” The political prisoner issue is one which touches my heart because clearly any one of us who refuses to join the ranks of the silent complicit masses risks becoming a political prisoner.

On the more personal front, I am also a runner (and have been since I was a teen). In recent years, I become more serious about my running, and have done seven marathons (each of 26.2 miles). I heard about the Crazy Horse Marathon held each October in the Paha Sapa, and because of its location as well as my admiration for the warrior after whom it is named, immediately became interested. As you may know, the marathon takes place in the Paha Sapa, and used to be called the Black Hills Marathon. It is organized by Whites, and starts at the Crazy Horse Monument. I doubt very much that the race organizers or most of the participants realize the significance of the Paha to the Lakota. Or the fact that the Crazy Horse Monument itself—carved by a Polish man into the Black Hills—is an eyesore and a grave affront to many Native People.

I am considering running the race in Leonard’s name. I would wear a tee-shirt calling for his freedom, and use my participation in the event to call attention to his case and for a pardon for him (in keeping with the ongoing Jericho campaign). I would start the race with a prayer for him as well as for you, that Wakan Tanka give you strength in your fight against cancer.

But first, I wanted to ask you three questions:

1. Is it even appropriate to run through a sacred land, such as the Paha Sapa? Or should friends of Native people, like me, not participate at all in such an event?

2. IF it is not an affront to the Lakota for a non-Indian to run through the area, can you, as Pine Ridge Chairperson elect (I really think you would have won the election, had the playing field been level) give me permission to run there?

3. Alternatively, can you share this letter with the appropriate Lakota elders for their response? Basically I’m asking for a “visa” from Native People before I enter the area to run, as I believe all visitors to sacred Lakota land should do. Although I’ve trained hard for the marathon, I don't want to run it without the permission of the Lakota, so if it is not forthcoming, I will back out of the race.

I feel ashamed to trouble you with my personal requests in the time of your illness, so if you cannot help me, do not feel badly. I pray for your return to full health.

Thank you for your help.

In struggle and solidarity,
Nadrat Siddique