Post by Okwes on Apr 1, 2007 22:38:50 GMT -5
Man's beliefs pit military vs. Navajos
By Electa Draper
Marine Pvt. Ronnie Tallman learned last
year that he has what his Navajo community considers a sacred gift.
(Special to The Denver Post \ Mark Avery)
Durango - Ronnie Tallman comes from a long line of Navajo spiritual
leaders, but there also were soldiers among his kin.
At the age of 19, he decided to follow in the footsteps of the soldiers,
joining the Marines in October 2004. Now he believes it was the wrong
path, that his destiny lies in healing, not fighting.
The Navajo Nation and an organization of medicine men agree. The Marines
do not, and now a federal court must decide a case that pits the
spiritual beliefs of the Navajo against United States military rules.
It started in November 2005 while Tallman was on weekend leave on the
Navajo Reservation in Arizona.
There, he says, he underwent a spiritual experience and discovered he
had been given the gift of a sacred entity known as teehn leii, a rare
form of spiritual diagnosing and healing celebrated among Navajos.
Tallman is a hand trembler. While a simple definition is clouded in the
translation from Navajo, hand tremblers are rare medicine men who can
sense people's problems and illnesses and often restore physical, mental
and spiritual well-being.
Because Navajo spiritual law holds that Tallman cannot keep the power
and serve his people if he participates in killing, for almost three
months he didn't rejoin Delta Company of the 3rd Assault Amphibian
Battalion stationed at Twentynine Palms, Calif. When he did, he applied
for conscientious-objector status.
Marines reject request
Over the course of a year, Tallman's application garnered
recommendations of approval from the Christian chaplain and
investigating officer who interviewed him to the battalion commander and
assistant commander of the 1st Marine Division. Three psychiatric
evaluations found, for varying reasons, that Tallman should be
discharged.
Then, on Jan. 13, Tallman learned his application failed. His only
recourse to deployment in Iraq is a review by a federal court.
The Marines don't simply want you to use weapons, Tallman said in his
application; the Corps teaches you "to want to kill people and to think
that killing is a good thing."
He was not ready, he said, to sing songs and join chants about killing
people.
The Dine Hataalii Association, an organization of medicine men
recognized by the Navajo Nation, has licensed Tallman as a hand-trembler
diagnostician. The process includes being tested by an enrolled member
of the association to see if the applicant sees what the member sees,
Tallman says.
Then, the applicant goes before a board and is sanctified by another
trembler in a ceremony that includes traditional songs and prayers.
Navajo Nation President Joe Shirley Jr. wrote a letter urging Tallman's
discharge because "our gifted medicine people are small in numbers."
Gen. James T. Conway, the Marine commandant, disapproved the application
after a majority of the Conscientious Objector Status Screening Board
decided that "Pvt. Tallman failed to provide clear and convincing
evidence that his claims of objection to war in any form were sincere
and deeply held."
The board believed that the timing of Tallman's religious experience and
request, coming a month after notification of his unit's upcoming
mobilization, was "simply a means to avoid combat deployment to Iraq."
He tried to avoid deployment "through argument, medical reasons and
finally unauthorized absence before claiming conscientious-objector
status for religious reasons," the commandant said in a letter to
Tallman's battalion commander.
Staff in the commandant's office declined to comment directly on the
case.
Tallman says his case is strong and he believes it was rejected because
Marine leaders do not respect American Indian beliefs.
J.E. McNeil, executive director of the Center on Conscience and War, a
nonprofit group that defends the rights of those who object to
participating in war, agrees Tallman made a strong case, one supported
by his Navajo community.
"The timing is always suspect to the military, but timing alone is not a
basis for denying conscientious-objector status," McNeil says.
Tallman was raised by his family in Tuba City, Ariz., to be a fairly
traditional Navajo, but he also was heavily influenced by U.S. pop
culture.
He was, he says, a typical naive teenager who liked watching war films
and other violent movies. He joined the Marines with the thought of
receiving training as an electrician. It was the way he could afford an
education without burdening his parents, he says.
He met the physical challenges of basic training. But when confronted
with the reality of a military culture that he felt glorified brutality,
Tallman found himself reflecting upon the traditional Navajo values.
No weapons for Tallman
Officers were dismissive when Tallman tried to discuss his growing inner
conflict with them, Tallman attorney Kate Burke says.
Then, while home on leave in early November 2005, Tallman attended a
traditional Navajo ceremony that lasted through the night. As dawn
approached, he says, he felt a flood of emotions through his body. He
next experienced a frightening tensing or cramping of all his muscles.
"I didn't know what was happening to me. I was scared. It felt like my
muscles were crushing my bones. I couldn't breathe. I panicked. I was
crying. I didn't know what to do."
The only part of him he could control was one hand.
"My hand was still at the time," he says. "It was the only part of my
body that wasn't clenched."
And there was an inner voice that told him, he says, that he would be
OK. He would come through it.
He experienced the sensations three more times and eventually felt that
his hand had become a powerful tool that could help him sense things.
His hand would tremble and move around, telling him things about his
surroundings, he says, enabling him to sense people's problems.
Tallman's hand trembling has been witnessed by other hand tremblers and
medicine men, but he hasn't had the opportunity to practice it.
Tallman was confused about what to do. He hired a lawyer and returned to
duty at the end of January 2006 to face the consequences of his
unauthorized absence and to submit his application for status as a
conscientious objector.
Tallman was disciplined with a reduction in rank from private first
class to private, he received a reduction in pay and he spent 30 days in
a military jail.
For Tallman to stay in the military would cause him to lose the gift and
possibly cause him other spiritual injury, says his uncle, Lorenzo Max.
"War and all the ugliness that is contrary to hozho (a Navajo conception
of harmony) has won out," Max said.
With the commandant's decision, Tallman will be treated like any other
soldier eligible for combat. He says he isn't being abused, but officers
aren't sympathetic.
"They think I can turn it off and on like a light switch," Tallman says.
"But these are my spiritual rights. I'm not going to pick up a weapon."
Tallman's attorneys will ask for a temporary restraining order in
federal court in California to try to prevent his deployment until the
court can review the military's decision.
"I'm nervous, but I'm strong in my belief," Tallman says, "and that's
going to take me further than the Marines."
By Electa Draper
Marine Pvt. Ronnie Tallman learned last
year that he has what his Navajo community considers a sacred gift.
(Special to The Denver Post \ Mark Avery)
Durango - Ronnie Tallman comes from a long line of Navajo spiritual
leaders, but there also were soldiers among his kin.
At the age of 19, he decided to follow in the footsteps of the soldiers,
joining the Marines in October 2004. Now he believes it was the wrong
path, that his destiny lies in healing, not fighting.
The Navajo Nation and an organization of medicine men agree. The Marines
do not, and now a federal court must decide a case that pits the
spiritual beliefs of the Navajo against United States military rules.
It started in November 2005 while Tallman was on weekend leave on the
Navajo Reservation in Arizona.
There, he says, he underwent a spiritual experience and discovered he
had been given the gift of a sacred entity known as teehn leii, a rare
form of spiritual diagnosing and healing celebrated among Navajos.
Tallman is a hand trembler. While a simple definition is clouded in the
translation from Navajo, hand tremblers are rare medicine men who can
sense people's problems and illnesses and often restore physical, mental
and spiritual well-being.
Because Navajo spiritual law holds that Tallman cannot keep the power
and serve his people if he participates in killing, for almost three
months he didn't rejoin Delta Company of the 3rd Assault Amphibian
Battalion stationed at Twentynine Palms, Calif. When he did, he applied
for conscientious-objector status.
Marines reject request
Over the course of a year, Tallman's application garnered
recommendations of approval from the Christian chaplain and
investigating officer who interviewed him to the battalion commander and
assistant commander of the 1st Marine Division. Three psychiatric
evaluations found, for varying reasons, that Tallman should be
discharged.
Then, on Jan. 13, Tallman learned his application failed. His only
recourse to deployment in Iraq is a review by a federal court.
The Marines don't simply want you to use weapons, Tallman said in his
application; the Corps teaches you "to want to kill people and to think
that killing is a good thing."
He was not ready, he said, to sing songs and join chants about killing
people.
The Dine Hataalii Association, an organization of medicine men
recognized by the Navajo Nation, has licensed Tallman as a hand-trembler
diagnostician. The process includes being tested by an enrolled member
of the association to see if the applicant sees what the member sees,
Tallman says.
Then, the applicant goes before a board and is sanctified by another
trembler in a ceremony that includes traditional songs and prayers.
Navajo Nation President Joe Shirley Jr. wrote a letter urging Tallman's
discharge because "our gifted medicine people are small in numbers."
Gen. James T. Conway, the Marine commandant, disapproved the application
after a majority of the Conscientious Objector Status Screening Board
decided that "Pvt. Tallman failed to provide clear and convincing
evidence that his claims of objection to war in any form were sincere
and deeply held."
The board believed that the timing of Tallman's religious experience and
request, coming a month after notification of his unit's upcoming
mobilization, was "simply a means to avoid combat deployment to Iraq."
He tried to avoid deployment "through argument, medical reasons and
finally unauthorized absence before claiming conscientious-objector
status for religious reasons," the commandant said in a letter to
Tallman's battalion commander.
Staff in the commandant's office declined to comment directly on the
case.
Tallman says his case is strong and he believes it was rejected because
Marine leaders do not respect American Indian beliefs.
J.E. McNeil, executive director of the Center on Conscience and War, a
nonprofit group that defends the rights of those who object to
participating in war, agrees Tallman made a strong case, one supported
by his Navajo community.
"The timing is always suspect to the military, but timing alone is not a
basis for denying conscientious-objector status," McNeil says.
Tallman was raised by his family in Tuba City, Ariz., to be a fairly
traditional Navajo, but he also was heavily influenced by U.S. pop
culture.
He was, he says, a typical naive teenager who liked watching war films
and other violent movies. He joined the Marines with the thought of
receiving training as an electrician. It was the way he could afford an
education without burdening his parents, he says.
He met the physical challenges of basic training. But when confronted
with the reality of a military culture that he felt glorified brutality,
Tallman found himself reflecting upon the traditional Navajo values.
No weapons for Tallman
Officers were dismissive when Tallman tried to discuss his growing inner
conflict with them, Tallman attorney Kate Burke says.
Then, while home on leave in early November 2005, Tallman attended a
traditional Navajo ceremony that lasted through the night. As dawn
approached, he says, he felt a flood of emotions through his body. He
next experienced a frightening tensing or cramping of all his muscles.
"I didn't know what was happening to me. I was scared. It felt like my
muscles were crushing my bones. I couldn't breathe. I panicked. I was
crying. I didn't know what to do."
The only part of him he could control was one hand.
"My hand was still at the time," he says. "It was the only part of my
body that wasn't clenched."
And there was an inner voice that told him, he says, that he would be
OK. He would come through it.
He experienced the sensations three more times and eventually felt that
his hand had become a powerful tool that could help him sense things.
His hand would tremble and move around, telling him things about his
surroundings, he says, enabling him to sense people's problems.
Tallman's hand trembling has been witnessed by other hand tremblers and
medicine men, but he hasn't had the opportunity to practice it.
Tallman was confused about what to do. He hired a lawyer and returned to
duty at the end of January 2006 to face the consequences of his
unauthorized absence and to submit his application for status as a
conscientious objector.
Tallman was disciplined with a reduction in rank from private first
class to private, he received a reduction in pay and he spent 30 days in
a military jail.
For Tallman to stay in the military would cause him to lose the gift and
possibly cause him other spiritual injury, says his uncle, Lorenzo Max.
"War and all the ugliness that is contrary to hozho (a Navajo conception
of harmony) has won out," Max said.
With the commandant's decision, Tallman will be treated like any other
soldier eligible for combat. He says he isn't being abused, but officers
aren't sympathetic.
"They think I can turn it off and on like a light switch," Tallman says.
"But these are my spiritual rights. I'm not going to pick up a weapon."
Tallman's attorneys will ask for a temporary restraining order in
federal court in California to try to prevent his deployment until the
court can review the military's decision.
"I'm nervous, but I'm strong in my belief," Tallman says, "and that's
going to take me further than the Marines."