The air in Ernest Wabasha’s home hangs thick with history, a tangible weight borne from generations of resilience and hardship. In his Morton, Minnesota home, the 73-year-old man, his body frail but his spirit unwavering, carefully reaches for a relic of immense significance: a pair of heavy iron shackles. These are not mere artifacts; they are the very shackles that once bound his great-grandfather, the legendary Chief Wabasha, during the tribe’s agonizing forced march across the southwestern Minnesota plains a century prior.
The shackles, cold and unforgiving, serve as a stark reminder of the Mdewakanton Dakota people’s tumultuous past. Nearby, a portrait of Chief Wabasha gazes down, surrounded by images of his descendants, a lineage of strong faces reflecting the Wabasha family’s enduring spirit. The photographs culminate in images of Ernest himself, Wabasha No. 6, and his son, Wabasha No. 7, a testament to the unbroken chain connecting the past to the present.
Ernest Wabasha’s eyes, though watery with age, hold a deep well of ancestral memory. The proud set of his chin and the firm line of his mouth mirror the resolute expressions captured in the framed portraits, echoing the strength and determination of his Mdewakanton Dakota ancestors. Theirs is a story etched in blood and loss, a narrative of a bloody war that stripped them of their ancestral territory in south-central Minnesota. Yet, despite the immense suffering, the Mdewakanton Dakota, driven by an unyielding connection to their land and heritage, found their way back.
When asked about the source of the Dakota’s enduring strength, about the force that compelled them to return, Wabasha pauses, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "It all comes back to leadership," he states with quiet conviction.
The Wabashas, the Good Thunders, and the Bluestones – these are the names that resonate through the generations of the Lower Sioux Indian Community. Today, the Mdewakanton Dakota are experiencing a renaissance, a determined effort to reclaim their heritage from the river bluffs and surrounding prairies that have borne witness to their triumphs and tribulations. This article explores the journey of the Mdewakanton Dakota Tribe Restoring Lost Traditions.
"We are coming together as a group again, as a Mdewakanton tribe," explains Jody Goodthunder, a council member and former chairman, his voice filled with purpose. "We are reverting back to our culture. A lot of our members are moving back to the old ways." This sentiment reflects a growing movement within the community, a collective yearning to reconnect with the traditions and practices that sustained their ancestors for centuries.
The Lower Sioux reservation, nestled amidst the seemingly endless cornfields outside Redwood Falls, once felt isolated and forgotten. In the past, men and boys would toil in the fields for local farmers, their labor often compensated with meager provisions – a bag of flour or a portion of meat. Poverty was a constant companion, forcing families to walk the long distance to town, to school, and to church.
However, the landscape of the Lower Sioux community has undergone a dramatic transformation. The once quiet roads now teem with traffic, drawn to the band’s Jackpot Junction casino and the new Dacotah Ridge Golf Club. This expansion into the gaming and leisure industries mirrors a trend among many reservations, a strategic move to create resort-like destinations that generate revenue and attract visitors. Crews are diligently working on the reservation’s water tower, and dump trucks rumble past, carrying materials for the construction of a new community center, a modern facility poised to replace a modest split-level house as the central hub for tribal functions.
Approximately half of the nearly 800 registered Lower Sioux members reside on the 1,700-acre reservation, primarily in modest homes clustered along gravel roads. To be eligible for a share of the Jackpot Junction revenue, a sum that remains undisclosed to outsiders, members are required to live within 10 miles of the reservation. Trust funds are established for Lower Sioux children, providing access to a portion of the funds at age 18, with the remaining balance disbursed at age 21.
The economic impact of the casino has been profound. In the past decade, the median household income on the Lower Sioux reservation has soared by an astounding 300 percent, rising from $16,223 in 1989 to $69,792 in 2000, according to census figures adjusted for inflation. This remarkable growth placed the Lower Sioux as the second-highest median income among the 11 reservations in Minnesota, surpassed only by Prairie Island ($76,186).
This newfound prosperity is acting as a powerful magnet, drawing band members back to their ancestral homeland. Kaye Hester, for example, returned this summer after a three-decade absence, having left as an impatient 21-year-old. "People are gathering back together, learning the ways of each other," Hester observes. "I never thought I’d come back. There was no hope here."
Despite the modern infrastructure and economic advancements, the Lower Sioux reservation is dotted with historical markers, poignant reminders of a difficult and often tragic past. These markers chronicle the events of 1862, when the Dakota, facing starvation and neglected by local white leaders, retaliated by attacking fur traders and government posts after years of broken treaty promises and escalating tensions with settlers.
The ensuing six-week conflict resulted in the deaths of over 500 people on both sides. The aftermath was marked by the largest mass execution in U.S. history, as thousands of onlookers gathered in Mankato on the day after Christmas to witness the hanging of 38 Dakota men under the orders of President Abraham Lincoln.
On the western edge of the Lower Sioux reservation, another marker commemorates the court-martial of hundreds of Dakota individuals. Hundreds more were forcibly marched to a prison camp at Fort Snelling, before being transported by boat and railroad to a reservation in South Dakota, and later further south to a reservation in Nebraska. A bounty was placed on their heads, a chilling deterrent against any attempt to return to Minnesota.
Yet, the Mdewakanton Dakota persevered. Driven by an indomitable spirit and a profound connection to their homeland, many walked back to Minnesota from Nebraska and South Dakota. They regrouped in small clusters, and in 1874, a Dakota leader named Good Thunder returned from South Dakota and purchased 80 acres at the Lower Sioux community. Within a few years, a small colony had formed, comprised of Dakota individuals who had been sheltered by sympathetic white settlers. By 1936, the census recorded 20 Mdewakanton families, 18 families from Flandreau, S.D., and one Sisseton, S.D., family residing in the community.
Despite the passage of time, some Lower Sioux members believe that an undercurrent of division persists between Indians and non-Indians in the area, with generations carrying grudges, often without fully understanding the historical context. This is the perspective of Goodthunder, a descendant of the 19th-century leader.
"We had to live the hard way, wondering why people felt the way they did about us," he reflects. "Our parents tried to protect us by not telling our history. It probably would have helped us if we would have understood why they had prejudice against us." Goodthunder recounts learning about the events of 1862 later in life, often through biased depictions in public schools, including a history book that portrayed an Indian holding a white baby by the hair. "They would call us murderer, savage," he recalls.
The Lower Sioux, traditionally known as "Cans’a yapi," meaning "where they marked the trees red," were at the heart of the government’s assimilation program, designed to "civilize" the Dakota. Following treaties in 1851, the government attempted to transform the Indians into Christian farmers, diminishing the tribe’s land holdings to a mere 4 percent of their original territory across southern and western Minnesota, according to the Minnesota Historical Society. The story of the Mdewakanton Dakota Tribe Restoring Lost Traditions is one of survival and resurgence.
The band is still in the process of recovering tribal traditions that were suppressed during the assimilation efforts or left behind when the Dakota were forcibly removed after 1862. Leading this cultural revitalization are Crystal Mountain and her husband, Virgil, who operate the Buffalo Horse Camp on the outskirts of the reservation. At the camp, children and elders work together to create gardens using heirloom seeds and learn traditional farming methods.
They have cultivated tobacco, emphasizing its sacredness, and reintroduced important medicinal herbs like sage and sweetgrass to the area. "If you don’t use them, they will go away," Crystal Mountain explains. "It’s about reinstalling their sense of identity. A lot was lost culturally and the effects are still here. It’s a process to really look and find the people who possess that knowledge."
Among the respected elders of the Lower Sioux community are 86-year-old Maude Williams and her younger sister, 77-year-old Betty Lee. Both widowed, the sisters share a small house beneath the water tower in the heart of the reservation. From their front window, they can see a stone church. Nearby, the Lower Sioux recently conducted a traditional burial for Dakota remains that had been recovered from museums and universities, where they had been held in archaeological and Indian collections.
The sisters laugh as they shuck corn, sharing stories of a rooster that relentlessly chased them during their childhood trips to the family outhouse. In those days, few families resided on the reservation, and there was no electricity or running water. Their father, Samuel Bluestone, served as the first chairman of the Lower Sioux in the early 1930s, working for a farmer who paid him with a five-pound bag of flour or sugar. "We didn’t know we were poor," Williams recalls. "We didn’t see the other side."
As young girls, they were sent to Indian boarding schools, and later both moved to the Twin Cities. Lee was the first to return to the reservation, in the early 1970s, to care for her mother and brother. Williams followed in 1985.
Upon their return, the Lower Sioux remained largely unchanged – characterized by a lack of jobs and financial resources. Lee, who became a long-serving tribal council member, played a pivotal role in the reservation’s transformation through gambling revenue. Lee emphasizes that the Lower Sioux did not become wealthy, but she was finally able to afford basic necessities for her autistic brother, such as a glass of milk or a bowl of ice cream.
"At least we got caught up to what a normal person would have in life, at least we have a comfortable life," she says. "Our children get a little more food." The Mdewakanton Dakota Tribe Restoring Lost Traditions is also about building a better future for their children.
Goodthunder proudly lists the institutions where band members are pursuing higher education: Arizona, California, Minneapolis. The band’s vision extends beyond the casino, focusing on transforming the Lower Sioux into a family destination with attractions such as a water park.
In the nearby town of Morton, furniture store owner Kate Colwell expresses her admiration for her former classmates, who are now managing a multi-million dollar business. She remembers the children from Lower Sioux as quiet, talented artists who were well-respected. One of the girls was even elected homecoming queen.
Colwell acknowledges that the reservation "probably had a whole different view than I did." However, she praises the casino for bringing visitors to her Amish store. "They came from such poverty," she observes. "It’s wonderful to see the reservation now."