My childhood in rural Alaska was defined by three things: my Christian faith, a connection to specific land, and big oil. My Lutheran grandparents homesteaded in Alaska in the early 1960s, and the 160 acres they claimed remains one of the most sacred spaces in my life. My mother’s family still lives on that land, her brother in the house that includes the original homestead cabin. The ashes of my grandparents now rest in the middle of that land, in the family cemetery.
I thought immediately of that holy plot when I saw the images of bulldozers leveling the sacred burial site of the Standing Rock Sioux tribe in North Dakota three weeks ago. My family’s burial site is protected by the local and state government: it cannot be built on or plowed under by law. Yet no such protection was afforded a site much larger, older, and more sacred than mine. I felt the wrongness of it in my bones. Read more