After They Have Killed Us

The engineers, with their drills and tripods, came to New Mexico's age-encrusted Pueblo of San Felipe. They pointed to the sun-baked ceremonial plaza, place of the Corn Dance, where not even an Indian is permitted to drive his wagon. They pointed to the sacred kiva, where the Indians hold their secret councils.

Slowly, with great dignity, handsome Governor Don Sanchez shook his brown head. The sun glinted from his high cheek bones, from his jet-black hair, from the strip of magenta silk around his brow. He stood firm. The engineers went away.

But they returned; they had a job to do. The floor of the Rio Grande River was rising each year, ruining drainage in thousands of acres of New Mexico farm land. Until the river was harnessed, there was the danger of flood. Something had to be done--probably a new series of dams. The soundings might have to go through the Pueblo's sacred places. There was no helping it, said the white man. And if the dams flooded the 13,000 Pueblo Indians out of their ancient homes, there was no helping that.

Governor Sanchez always sent the men away. Finally they summoned him to the Army Engineer's office, said that if he kept refusing, the Government would merely condemn his land.

Said Don Sanchez quietly: "I know you have the strong law and guns. . . . But I just can't give you the permit. Never will I do this. My people have lived on these lands for hundreds of years. The white man has promised. ..."

Years Are Short. They told him he stood in the way of progress. He said: "We Indians don't care for this white man's progress. The white man builds big things. Then he goes to war and kills and what he has built he destroys. We think this progress no good."

When the Indians found out that the proposed dams might last only 200 years they were more certain than ever they were right. What was 200 years?

Last week the white man still persuaded and threatened. The Indians watched the snow melt on the peaks of the Sangre de Cristo range, watched the water trickle down into the sun-drenched Rio Grande valley, watched the locoweed purple and the sand lizards take shade in clumps of wild four-o'clock. They and their ancestors had seen spring come to the Pueblos thus for countless generations.

Said Governor Sanchez: "We would like to say to the Government men that we would rather die, and after they have killed us they can take our land and do what they want with it. That is final."

One wise old Indian shook his head. "If the white man wants to do it, he'll find a law," said the old man. "The white man always has laws."

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