The Navajo Generating Station near Page permanently shut down this week. It was a long-time coming for the largest coal-fired power plant in the West, as the industry faces increasing competition from natural gas and renewable energy. But it’s a double-edged sword for hundreds of Navajo tribal members who worked there. Jobs on the Navajo Nation are scarce, the unemployment rate is high, and the tribal government has had its share of corruption. In this week’s Poetry Friday segment, New Mexico-based poet Rick Abasta talks about the dilemma, within the framework of his poem, Roadside Collection.
RA: I think right now with the closure of these coal mines for our tribe, there’s a good chunk of our tribal revenue that’s no longer there. And we need to reach out and get into self-sustaining businesses, clean energy, wind and solar. We have a solar farm just outside of Kayenta right now, and we need to build more of those so we can continue making energy, not buying coal mines in Wyoming or other places and trying to make a go of it. That energy and that time is over. It’s time for us to expand and broaden our vision for our tribe.
We’re sitting on about $2 billion that’s been saved through the permanent trust fund for our tribe. This whole time tribal delegates and council after council after council have been trying to get into that money and drill into that money to find ways to fund their pet projects. And, we don’t need to spend that money in that fashion. When that was created back in the mid-80’s by the 15th Navajo Nation Council – and at that time Chairman Peterson Zah – they knew that the time would come in the future when the natural resources wouldn’t be there anymore. And so they started with that permanent trust fund that grew and grew and grew to its current state today. So, we need to be very strategic if we are to spend that money and not spend it just to get votes is how I see these guys trying to fund their pet projects with that.
Today, I’m going to read for you Roadside Collection. For this poem I was actually outside picking trash. During this time, I was unemployed. This was probably around 2010 or so. At that time, our tribe was dealing with corrupt politicians in our tribal council who had squandered $30 million of money that was earmarked for the indigent and the poorest of our tribe. This was known as the “discretionary fund debacle.” So, it was a quid pro quo exchange of services between these council members, and they were giving each other money from this pot of cash, they were giving it to their family members, they were giving it to their friends. And $30 million that was originally supposed to go to the poorest of our tribe, went into their pockets. Some of these guys went to jail, some of these other guys got away scot-free. So, during this time I couldn’t get a job anywhere, and I was outside picking trash, the council was in session, and I was just thinking about this, and I was angry.
ROADSIDE COLLECTION
Howling winds spit
angry, hateful words
against all humanity.
Di?i?ji?? ayo?o ni?yol.
Trash strewn about:
remnants of poverty
and self-loathing.
Ts’iilze?i? ?a’ na?hi?la?a?h.
Road kill observed:
animals die daily
in an effort
of dodging failure.
?e?e?cha?a?’i? e?i? di?i??dzid nahalin.
Like this town,
I lack class.
Day by day,
it is survival.
T’a?a? shi? t’e?i?ya? se?zi??.
Unemployed and negligent,
I am guilty
of American idiocy
and failed dreams.
Jo? t’a?a?’a?ni?iltso ch’e?e?h a?deiit’i??.
Standing in defiance,
I pick trash
against screaming winds
and welcome reality.
Ach’i?’ nahwii’na? baa ntse?skees.
Poetry Friday is produced by KNAU's Gillian Ferris. If you have an idea for a segment, drop her an email at Gillian.Ferris@nau.edu.
