THE BOOK IS FINALLY DONE!

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 Finally - after only fifteen years in the making and a lot of blood, sweat and tears - The book is finished.


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This is a true story of an American tribal member who, after coming to know Jesus Christ, realized just how much liberal policies within tribal and federal government were hurting his extended family.  

Roland grew up watching members of his family die of alcoholism, child abuse, suicide, and violence on the reservation. Like many others, he blamed all the problems on “white people.”  

Beth Ward grew up in a middle class home in the suburbs. Raised in a politically left family, she also believed that all problems on the reservation originated with cruel treatment by settlers and the stealing of land. Meeting her husband, her first close experience with a tribal member, she stepped out of the comfort of suburban life into a whole new, frightening world.

After almost ten years of living with his alcoholism and the terrible dangers that came with it, they both came to realize that individual behavior and personal decisions were at the root of a man’s troubles, including their own. After coming face-to face with the reality of Jesus Christ, their eyes opened to the truth of why there is so much Dying in Indian Country.  

What cannot be denied is that a large number of Native Americans are dying from alcoholism, drug abuse, suicide, and violence. The reservation, a socialistic experiment at best, pushes people to depend on tribal and federal government rather than God, and to blame all of life's ills on others. The results have been disastrous. Roland realized that corrupt tribal government, dishonest federal Indian policy, and the controlling reservation system had more to do with the current pain and despair in his family and community than what had happened 150 years ago.  

Here is the plain truth in the eyes of one family, in the hope that at least some of the dying in Indian Country — physical, emotional, and spiritual — may be recognized and prevented. Unfortunately, persistent public misconceptions about Indian Country, misconceptions sometimes promoted by tribal government and others enjoying unaudited money and power, have worked to keep the situation just as it is.

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• “Roland truly has encouraged many people…the last trip to D.C. was a testimony to God’s faithfulness.” Rev. Robert Guthrie, B.Th. M.A. –Professor, Vanguard College, AB
• “…he earned my deepest respect, and…made heroic and very honorable attempts to improve the lot of Native Americans in this country.” Jon Metropoulos, Attorney, Helena, MT
• “‘Dying in Indian Country’ is a compassionate and honest portrayal…I highly recommend it to you!” Reed Elley, former Member of Parliament, Canada; Chief Critic for Indian Affairs in 2000; Baptist Pastor, father of four native and metis children
• “I truly admire Roland for the message he was trying to have heard.” Ralph Heinert, Montana State Representative
• “He was a magnificent warrior who put himself on the line for the good of all…. I can think of no-one at this time in this dark period of Indian history who is able to speak as Roland has.” Arlene, tribal member
• “…hope emerging from despair… This is a story about an amazing life journey.” Darrel Smith. Writer, Rancher, South Dakota
• “He’s a Christian now you know… I saw him crying on his knees on my living room floor. I was there.” Sharon, tribal member
• "...truly gripping, with a good pace." Dr. William B. Allen, - Emeritus Professor, Political Science, MSU and former Chair of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights (1989)

Read More:

• Website: dyinginindiancountry.com
• Twitter: twitter.com/WriteBethWard
• Facebook: www.facebook.com/DyingInIndianCountry

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Wilson Began Using Again -

Wilson began using marijuana again after about two years. I joined him. He always knew where to go to get it. Sometimes he got it from Shirley. Most of the time he went to the tribal housing project. I usually waited in the car, watching him as he disappeared between the white buildings for fifteen minutes or so while he went into one apartment or another. I never followed him into the projects, but occasionally I went with him into the house of one of his other dealers and stood just inside the door while Wilson, laughing and talking, did business with his friends.

One place, the home of a young man and wife, was always dark inside. Children were sitting on the couch, amid blankets and clothing, sucking their thumbs and watching TV. The guy would be bagging the weed on a kitchen table cluttered with beer cans and ashtrays. When he was finished, he'd weigh the bag on the small scale. We wouldn't stay long and I never remembered their names.

The weed wasn't important to me at first. I joined Wilson just for something to do. I was working jobs that lasted a month or two at a time. (Well, I either walked away from the jobs or was fired.) Sometimes Wilson worked too, along with visiting the blood bank twice a week. He was also still trying to go to school. But primarily he and his family taught me how to use the welfare system. We made use of food stamps, General Assistance, fuel assistance, and picked up free cheese and butter once a month when the government offered it. In addition we picked up free food and clothing at various churches. With each program, we told the staff whatever we had to in order to get what we wanted.

"If you want to get anything, you have to lie about it," Wilson’s family told me.

I was willing to use other people’s resources rather than my own whenever possible, but when I did have a job it bothered me that only my money was used to buy groceries. Wilson frequently saved his plasma money for a bag of marijuana. But as time went on, I began to want Wilson to take his blood money for that purpose. I also knew I was getting extremely lazy. The marijuana made Wilson lazy too. He dropped out of school. It bothered me that we were getting that way. It felt ugly, and only fed the loathing I already had for myself. Off and on, I quit smoking with him.

Our relationship was getting stormier and stormier. Wilson was quick to temper and I felt as though I was walking on eggs all the time. He wasn't physical with me, but he could get very hostile, giving me the silent treatment for up to a week if I made him angry. I never felt that I had any freedom to say "no" to him or his family.

Many of our arguments had to do with his two older girls. I was missing things and suspected the girls had taken them. At one point, I found my mother's engagement ring, which had been stored safely in my jewelry box, hidden in the dirt of a houseplant. But Wilson wouldn't admit there was a problem, preferring to blame me for the missing items.

The weekends with the kids began to take a toll. For the most part they just refused to listen to me. After I scolded little Joy for jumping on the bed, she ran to her dad screaming and crying,

"Beth beat me up!"

Later, in the car, this same innocent child with big brown eyes leaned over to me and whispered,
"my Ma's going to kick your ass...."

When Misty was given a prescription lotion to apply before bed, I told her to bathe first, then use it.

She immediately went to her dad, "Do I have to take a bath? Beth said I had to!"

"Nah, you don't have to take no bath!"


And despite asking the girls to clean their area before leaving on Sunday evening, I inevitably spent that evening picking up toys from all around the apartment, sweeping up the kind of dirt four children always leave behind, and restraightening the spare room.