Living on the Edge. Celine-Marie Pascale

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      Downtown Mobridge, South Dakota.

Mobridge is remarkable in that it has a restaurant and two full-size grocery stores. I shop in both on weekday afternoons and find that I am the only woman unaccompanied by a man as I wander the aisles. All of the women appear to be shopping with their husbands. In a town where everybody seems to know everybody else, I stand out – perhaps for more reasons than I can imagine. In the dairy section, I stand for a moment staring at an ordinary pound of butter that sells for $6.50. I can’t help but wonder why, after all of these years, I still expect groceries to be less expensive in poor communities. It has never been the case. The butter here is more expensive than in Whole Foods in Washington, DC. In this rural South Dakota community produce is more limited and less robust than in the DC area, and there are fewer options on the shelves. Add to these difficulties the fact that people on Standing Rock have to travel thirty or forty miles one way for a weekly shop. I wonder what that trip would be like in a South Dakota winter.

      The next day I drive out to McLaughlin. Routes 12 and 9 intersect in McLaughlin and the intersection has the bustle of an agricultural hub – grain silos and massive trucks sit just off the crossroads. The town’s main street is a couple of blocks long, and is home to a small café, a gas station, and a senior center. McLaughlin has a population of about 670. In the 2010 census, white people were almost one-third of the population; by 2019 that number had fallen to 25%. Although a lot of Native people live there, there is an overwhelming presence of white people that makes McLaughlin feel like a white enclave on the reservation. Unfriendly doesn’t begin to capture the feeling I get from other white people in the town. White people consistently dismiss my interest in the place, interrupt my conversations with Native people, and question me intently. I am too far outside of local culture to understand any of this with confidence, but it surely stands out in my experience.

      At the local senior center, I am greeted by an older white woman who sits at a Formica table. All four walls of the faux wood paneling have been covered with lacquered jigsaw puzzles completed by people who attend the center. As I quickly survey the room, I notice that the clock is one hour behind the time on my phone. When I ask her about this the woman explains: “No it’s not behind. We use Mountain time here.” A simple enough statement but said with such intensity that it seems to have a pointed significance that I don’t understand. Later, in Fort Yates, Two Lance Woman explains: “Only white people use Mountain time,” she tells me. “Indians do not recognize the Mountain time zone – everyone on the Cheyenne and Standing Rock reservations uses Central time.” This was the point the woman in the senior center was making. White-people time. It’s a very intentional assault on Native sovereignty even from within the borders of the reservation.

Ellison Thompson is a Lakota woman who lives in McLaughlin. She and her husband were both unemployed when she got pregnant. That’s when they made a deal that whoever got a job first would take it – the other, by necessity, would be the stay-at-home parent when the baby came. Ellison got the first job; her husband is now a stay-at-home dad caring for their ten-month-old baby. With a second child on the way this arrangement is unlikely to change. Ellison would like to go to back to school to complete a degree but there’s never enough time for everything that needs to get done as it is.

      Ellison works full-time as a clerk in the hospitality industry to support her family. “I’m really thankful for my employer because they do provide really good health insurance and a steady paycheck, and that’s what I need. It’s hard for a lot of people to find a job around here.” In 2016, 16.4% of the Standing Rock population earned less than $10,000 a year.²⁵ As on other reservations, life expectancy and quality of life rates are among the lowest in the Western Hemisphere; Native children face premature death rates that are three to four times higher than the national average.²⁶

      Ellison’s pre-tax income of $14,000 a year means she brings home just about $1,000 a month. She is well below the 2017 federal poverty line for a family of three set at $20,420. For comparison, the EPI self-sufficiency budget for a family of three living in Corson County, South Dakota is $62,502.

How does Ellison manage given the gap between $14,000 and $62,502? She depends on help from her family. Her salary covers the phone bill, half the electricity bill, heat, food, clothing and household items, the car payment, and baby expenses. In addition to having a husband who provides childcare, Ellison’s mom provides critical economic support: “My mom, even though she doesn’t live at our house, she still splits the bills with me and pays the rent.”

      The arrival of her baby has had a big economic impact. Ellison tells me with some surprise: “Babies are really expensive!” The cost of raising children surprises a lot of people but no one more than new parents. They can count on spending about $200 a month on diapers, formula, and baby food alone.²⁷ On top of basic expenses are the costs of clothing, furniture, a car seat, a stroller, childcare, and medical care. And the costs keep rising as children age. Ellison relies a lot on her family. “There’s a lot of single mothers here. I’m thankful that I have my husband, because he helps me so much. I don’t think I’d be able to do it as a single mom. We are just trying to get by, and that’s all we’re all really doing is getting by.”

      When Ellison’s second child arrives, they will be a family of four, and in the best case her husband will continue to provide childcare, she will keep her job, and her mother will continue to help with family expenses. The best case means keeping already limited resources stable. The best case also means hoping that Ellison’s child will be born in good health and at a normal birth weight.²⁸ Even if everything is the best case, life will become harder. This unexpected but very much wanted pregnancy will further strain already inadequate resources. The federal poverty line for a family of four in 2019 was $25,750. The EPI self-sufficiency budget for a family of four in Corson County, South Dakota was $74,098.

Ellison remains hopeful, pragmatic, and diligent. “A lot of the stuff I get is from rummage sales and [store] sales. I’ll wait until something goes on clearance before I get it, or I’ll wait so far along the line until it goes on sale vs. buying it at a high price, or I’ll order on Amazon, so I don’t have to waste gas. Because I live in a small town, I don’t have a whole lot of shopping options.” Without Amazon deliveries, Ellison would have to make the 160-mile round trip to Bismarck, North Dakota, to buy clothing and household items. It’s impossible to get anywhere without driving a considerable distance and this becomes an even bigger problem in the long and snowy North Dakota winters.²⁹ The internet service that makes it possible for Ellison to buy goods online is provided by the reservation and is itself evidence of visionary leadership. Across the country nearly 15 million people live in sparsely populated rural communities with no access to a broadband internet service.³⁰

      Like many people in struggling families, Ellison does not have a savings account. She tells me “I don’t even know how to save. I can’t save for my life, because we always need something. I always need something, whether it be an oil change, diapers, wipes, food. There’s always something.” It’s a daily struggle for her to sort out what they can and can’t afford, but even so, Ellison is quick to say that she has more privilege than others in her community. Not only does she have the support of her husband and mother – she also has a car. While you might be able to hitch a ride with a neighbor or friend to a grocery store, owning a vehicle is essential СКАЧАТЬ