According to the 2000 U.S. census, of the 16,673 residents of Hill County, which includes both Havre and Rocky Boy’s, nearly 80 percent are white, and slightly more than 17 percent are American Indian. In March, whites made up 38 percent of the inmates at the jail, and Indians made up 56 percent.

Are more Indians than whites in jail in Hill County because they commit more crimes, or is it because they’re more closely scrutinized?

Lt. Russell Ostwalt, who has worked at the Havre Police Department for 17 years, is quick to say the police treat all people in Havre equally.

“It’s very simple for us,” he says. “We follow the law. Our response is exactly the same no matter who we’re dealing with.”

He’s proud of the fact that two of Havre’s 17 officers are Indian. And while he knows that people in the community sometimes accuse others of being prejudiced, he’s emphatic that there’s no room for racism if you’re an employee of the Havre Police Department.

One of the force’s two female officers, Cathy Huston, seems to embody Ostwalt’s philosophy of equal treatment for all. During a ride-along, she talks openly about the challenges of working in a border town. But she’s also careful when she speaks, aware that race is a controversial subject. Huston says she’s learning how to be more sensitive to racial issues by attending conferences and listening to other people’s perspectives.

“Before, I used to say, ‘It doesn’t matter if you’re red, white, green, blue, or brown,’” Huston says. “But then I learned that I’m not supposed to say that, because it offends people.

“I didn’t know that before,” she adds. “Now, I just say, ‘It doesn’t matter who you are.’”

Big Knife is a timid boy, his mother, Charlene Big Knife, says months after the incident as they sit in their dining room. Two young boys peek out from the kitchen while a dryer hums in the background.
“J.C. was a quiet kid when he was in junior high. He didn’t go out and make friends,” she says.

Photographs of Charlene Big Knife’s children line the walls. A basket of bananas forms the dining room table’s centerpiece, while books like “The Wizard of Oz” and “Little Women” are neatly stacked near the computer on the neighboring desk.

As she feeds her 10-month-old daughter breakfast, Big Knife says she’s angry that Big R employees would accuse her son of being dishonest. “Chances are I’ll have to go back there someday, but I’m not going to spend a lot of money there,” she says.

J.C. Big Knife is wearing jeans, an Adidas t-shirt, and a baseball cap that has “USA” written on it. He’s been competitive in the rodeo circuit – he’s a cowboy, his mom says – since he was 13. He listens to his mom as she speaks. “Now, when he rodeos, he goes all over the place, and he makes friends,” she says.

Down the road from Big Knife’s house, his grandpa has a vacuum strapped to his back at the Rocky Boy School. Joe Big Knife works for the school district as a custodian and a bus driver. He chuckles when he’s told that Kohler denied that Big R employees accused his grandson of shoplifting. “It would be bad for his business if people found out how he treats Indians,” Big Knife says.

Big R has documented the conversation between Kohler and Joe Big Knife, Kohler says, but he refuses to share that file with the media. “What would be the point?” he asks.

Whether these exchanges are racist are a matter of perspective. But racism is based on stereotypes, says Betty Kijewski, a community organizer for the Montana Human Rights Network, a group based in Helena that works to challenge bigotry and intolerance. “Stereotypes are perpetuated pretty convincingly,” she explains, “and people buy into those.”

A lack of understanding of different lifestyles, she says, contributes to stereotyping. “It’s a defense mechanism,” she notes. “If there is a perception that someone is different, then they are perceived as a threat.”

Treating someone based on how they look certainly isn’t an isolated occurrence, she says. “Oppression looks the same no matter who you’re looking at. If you go to the South,” she says, “you’re going to have store owners saying they have to watch blacks.

“I don’t know why we’re so afraid of each other.”

It’s Saturday afternoon at the Golden Spike. A few people are sitting at the bar, and a few others, including Tammy Farmer, the bartender, are shooting pool. Farmer wasn’t working at the Spike Friday night, but she says the scene doesn’t sound unusual.

“There are good Indians and there are bad Indians that come in here,” she says. “Here, the bad ones are not so much tolerated.”
If Indians were made fun of last night, she says, there was good reason.

“The bad ones are showed the door,” she says. “They were probably drug dealers.”

She says it’s easy to tell the difference between what she calls a “good Indian” and a “bad Indian.”

“You can tell by the way they are, how they dress. How they carry themselves,” she explains.

In between pouring drinks, Farmer explains why she thinks there are tensions between some whites and some natives at the Spike. “This is a working bar,” she says. “People in Havre work for their money. If you look at the population out there [at Rocky Boy’s], they’re able-bodied, but they make more money sitting at home watching the mailbox.” In other words, she says, people at the Spike don’t have much respect for people content to live off the government.

In actuality, there are no per capita payments at Rocky Boy’s, nor do children receive any money when they turn 18. There is an office that provides temporary assistance to people who qualify, but those people are required to be searching for employment and to complete training or perform 20 hours of community service per week.

But Farmer also says she personally doesn’t respect what she calls a “lawless” reservation. Her truck was stolen one night from the Spike, she says, and ended up at Rocky Boy’s. It was impossible to get the law enforcement official on the reservation to fill out a report, she says, adding that she later “exploded” at the officer over the phone.

“I said, ‘I’m so sick of your kind coming down here and stealing from us white folks,” Farmer recalls.

“But I’m not prejudiced,” she adds quickly. “There are good Indians too.”

Click Images to Enlarge

Ken Blatt visits Havre and the local
4-B's diner regularly. Some residents of Rocky Boy's say they don't visit town often because they feel they face prejudice in Havre.

Along with his sister Jordan, J.C. Big Knife (pictured second from left), once attended school in Havre, but has since transferred back to the high school on the reservation. Pictured above (from left): J.C.'s cousins Quinton, 7, and Irvin, 12, along with J.C.'s mother Charlene and sisters Shawna, 10 months, Jordan, 13, and brother Carson (on the end), 11.

The stretch of land between Havre and Rocky Boy is vast and vacant; both communities are secluded.

The Rocky Boy's Reservation has only a few businesses, so many people choose to travel to Havre to work or to send their kids to school.

Joe Big Knife recounts an incident at Big R involving his grandson J.C. and says that this isn't the first time he felt he has encountered racism. Big Knife says that as a young man he was once refused medical treatment for a broken leg because of his skin color.