The Age of AIM:The American Indian Movement turns 46

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the age of aim the circle.jpgClyde Bellecourt was naked, locked in

a dark, solitary cell in the bowels of Stillwater State Prison.

Almost two weeks had passed since the 32 year-old Anishinaabe inmate

had been forced into that cold concrete dungeon; he awoke

contemplating suicide.

Bellecourt’s path to Stillwater had

begun long before, while still in the fifth grade. He ran away from

school on the White Earth Reservation, where he was often beaten for

acting out. Even as a child, Bellecourt rebelled against a system

that denied the history and culture of his people. He was judged

incorrigible by local authorities and sent to the Red Wing State

Training School, a juvenile correctional facility.

Years later, lying raw against his

stone bunk at Stillwater, Bellecourt remembered the cries of boys

pleading for help as they were sexually molested by the Red Wing

reformatory’s priest.

As he considered taking his own life,

Bellecourt heard someone whistling “You Are My Sunshine” outside

the cell door.

He wondered: Who the hell whistles a

song like that inside a prison?

He heard someone call out, "Is

there a Clyde Bellecourt here?"

It was the voice of Eddie

Benton-Banai, an Anishinaabe prisoner from Round Lake, Wisconsin.

Benton-Benai asked Bellecourt for help organizing Native prisoners

for an Indian folklore group.

Their eyes met through the peephole of

the cell door seeding a partnership that would eventually blossom

into the American Indian Movement, perhaps the most influential

indigenous organization of the 20th century. Bellecourt and

Benton-Banai succeeded in convincing a majority of the prison’s

nearly 200 Native prisoners to join their group.

Speaking at the celebration of the

46th anniversary of the American Indian Movement on July 28,

Bellecourt said those prisoners coming together to learn about their

traditions constituted “the first Native American Studies course in

America.”

Upon release later that year,

Bellecourt continued to organize Native people on the streets of

Minneapolis, where police brutality, the education system, health

disparities, alcoholism and unemployment were destroying lives.

AIM attracted a strong grassroots

following, particularly among displaced urban Indians and by 1972 had

drawn worldwide attention to the abysmal condition of Native America.

AIM supported the occupation of Alcatraz island in 1969; led the

takeover of the BIA building in Washington D.C. in 1973 and battled

the federal government at Wounded Knee for 71 days later that year.

These actions led to the development of social justice services for

Native people, Indian Gaming, the enforcement of treaty rights, and

the revitalization of language and spirituality.

the age of aim the circle 2.jpg

Those honored at Black Bear Crossings

in St. Paul were Bellecourt and three other pillars of the American

Indian Movement: attorney Larry Leventhal, photographer Dick Bancroft

and AIM Grand Governing Council board member/activist Pat Bellanger.

Some 300 community members attended the event.

The four honorees took turns at the

podium, reflecting on AIM’s record of achievement, spanning six

decades. They were joined by, among others, singer Larry Long,

Bellanger’s daughter Lisa Bellanger and Black Bear Crossings owner

David Glass.

“It’s important that we recognize

the work these four people have done for the American Indian

community,” Glass said. “Clyde Bellecourt and his cohorts have

been able to impact their community more than any elected leaders

I’ve known.”

AIM was instrumental in the creation

of many local and national non-profit organizations, including the

Legal Rights Center, Indian Health Board of Minneapolis, Heart of the

Earth Survival School, Red School House, International Indian Treaty

Council, MIGIZI Communications, American Indian Opportunity

Industrialization Center (AIOIC) and the National Coalition on Racism

in Sports and Media.

“They were a small group of people

who stood up to the federal government and changed the course of

history. AIM made an invisible population visible,” Alan Yelsey

said, a member of the National Coalition on Racism in Sports and

Media. The organization recently scored a major victory when

Washington’s NFL team lost their patent rights to the Redskins

nickname. Yelsey attended the anniversary celebration to toast the

past, but said AIM must continue to look forward. “I’m here to help

AIM finish the job of insuring equality for all Native people.”

Lisa Bellanger, whose mother earned

the name ‘Grandma AIM’ after years of dedicated service, recalled the

price her family paid for their association with the Movement, which

the Nixon administration labeled a terrorist organization. “Police

cars drove by with huge spotlights shining into our house. Our phones

were constantly tapped. Our house was ransacked every once in a

while.”

Bellanger shared a childhood memory of

watching her mother leave home for Wounded Knee. “She went all

over Minneapolis accumulating medical supplies. When she left I

wanted to go with her, but my grandma said I was too little. My mom

crawled through the back country with those supplies to get into

Wounded Knee. Once inside she fixed and cleaned a lot of weapons. She

had spent time in the woods with her uncles and brothers and knew all

about caring for firearms. She was the little Indian chick from the

city who showed the warriors how to do it.”

the age of aim the circle 3.jpgPat Bellanger explained her passion

for the AIM struggle. “Before AIM,” she said, “there was no

news coming out of Indian Country. The government felt they could do

whatever they wanted to Native people. The feds announced they were

going to terminate the tribes, and all of us Indians were supposed to

accept it and live like happy Americans. I didn’t like that idea.”

AIM Grand Governing Council Chairman

Keith Lussier encouraged the many young people in attendance to seek

out the history of the American Indian Movement and keep it alive.

"Listen closely to the stories of the people being honored here

tonight. Learn what they’ve done for us. They’ve led us into battle,

brought us home and written our history. We are who we are because of

them.”

Now 78 years old, Bellecourt maintains

a commanding presence at the microphone and in the boardroom – a

member, or so it seems, of every Native nonprofit board in town. In

his remarks to the gathering, he addressed the suggestion that he

might be slowing down. “They said I was incorrigible then. Well,

I’m incorrigible now. And I’m going to continue to be incorrigible.”