ACTION: Help Save the Legacy of New Mexico's Buffalo Soldiers. Save Fort Bayard.

Photo copyright Fort Bayard Historic Preservation Society; all rights reserved.

America does not do history well. Even at its best, it's inevitably a whitewash in service to the dominant culture's mythological retelling of events that were, to put it mildly, colonialist brutality. The histories and perspectives (and even the bare facts) surrounding people of color involved in any given historical episode are always and by definition elided, distorted, or simply missing completely. Nowhere, of course, is this more true than when dealing with our peoples, the original inhabitants of this land.

Even so, the history must be preserved. Without it, there's no chance of ever getting it right. That denies our children (and their children, and on and on) the possibility of ever knowing the real facts, the real richness of this land, its peoples, its histories. It denies our ancestors their memory and legacy, threatening to erase them and their footprints completely. And it denies us our identities, our very existences as who we are.

So today, I'm going to ask you to take a moment to try to help preserve and important piece of history. It's something that, in its former and current incarnations, has always been very flawed (and that's the polite way of putting it). Currently, much historical inaccuracy is involved. A great deal of anti-Indian racism is present. And all of that needs to be fixed.

It will never be fixed if this public landmark, the historical piece of the commons for so many populations in New Mexico and across the country, is privatized or razed to the ground.

So I'm going to ask you to read the details over the jump, and then help save Fort Bayard.

Fort Bayard is a historic 19th-Century landmark that rests on the dusty plains of southwestern New Mexico, on the outskirts of the Gila Wilderness near little Silver City. It was established in August, 1866, by the U.S. military, mostly for the purpose of guarding the invading waves of white would-be homesteaders and miners from the indigenous Chiricahua Apache — who were, of course, protecting their own lands and people from colonial invaders. That's a part of the story, of course, that is completely inverted in the official narrative of Fort Bayard, a narrative in which Chiricahua warriors Nana, Victorio, and Goyathlay (known to non-Apache as Geronimo) were merely savages of the most basic (and inaccurate) Hollywood stereotypes.

Fort Bayard enjoyed a storied history even among white American military culture, hosting, at various times, such historical figures as Black Jack Pershing and General George Crook. More importantly from a historical perspective, frankly, is the fact that it was founded and staffed by Company B of the 125th U.S. Colored Infantry — in other words, by the Buffalo Soldiers. [You can read more about New Mexico's Buffalo Soldiers in my earlier post, here.] Among the Buffalo Soldiers who called it home for a time was the only [now-]known woman among their ranks, Cathay Williams, adopted the name William Cathay and masqueraded effectively as a man in order to serve. And, of course, the Buffalo Soldiers were detailed there because they were considered dispensable.

In 1899, Fort Bayard was converted to a facility of the U.S. Army Medical Department, and so it remained until the mid-20th Century. During that period, it played a role in the integration of women into the Army Medical Department, where they served as nurses. It was converted to Fort Bayard Medical Center in 1921, and it oversaw a number of medical research and treatment milestones, including a specialty in the treatment of tuberculosis. It also housed German prisoners of war during World War II. In 1965, the state bought the site and converted it to a long-term care center for veterans, which it remained until its closure in 2010 [yes, just four short years ago].

In 2001, New Mexico designated it a state historic district. Four years later, the federal government designated it a national historic landmark. But the 468-acre campus, which includes the 145,000-square-foot hospital and 80 other structures are in bad shape and continue to deteriorate. The state's General Services Department estimates that just bringing it up to code would cost a cool $128 million. Reportedly, the facility is currently costing state taxpayers $45,000 per month, all but $11,000 of which allegedly goes solely to maintaining its ancient boiler plant.

So why has this come up now? Because there's no money.

Interestingly, the media seem more than eager to lay all the blame at the feet of the Obama administration. What they fail to note is that, as nearly as I can tell, the real fault lies with Congress and its recalcitrant refusal to support a civilized budget and sound public policy. The sequester, and the unspeakable damage it has done on every conceivable front, can be laid entirely at the door of Congressional Republicans (and some cowardly and venal Congressional Democrats).

Much of that damage is cultural. True, it doesn't rank with emergencies like SNAP payments for starving families or functional schools for Indian children, but culture is nevertheless an important part of any society, and that includes its historical referents.

But all the funding to maintain Fort Bayard is gone. Federal historic preservation initiatives have been scrapped in the face of more urgent priorities. Susana Martinez's Republican agenda for the state does not include saving its history and culture — not when there are tax breaks to be given to the oil and gas industry that is busily colonizing the very earth under our feet. And increasingly tight foundation budgets have made grants from private sources impossible — certainly, nothing like $128 million is available from any source.

And now, a bipartisan team of legislators introduced a bill last month in New Mexico's "long" legislative session (which is to say, 60 whole days; this state does not do actual governance) to raze the entire campus and sell it off. The target market? Private big business. You can expect that to mean extractive industries or something similar, despite the fact that it sits at the entrance to a federally protected, environmentally fragile, historically significant wilderness area.

I don't know what the answer is. It's a huge sum, and the Fort Bayard Historic Preservation Society does not seem to have planned ahead for what it must have known was coming. A crowdfunding effort might have been enough to keep it in state hands for now, while one or more financial saviors are sought. But the bill is already before the lege, and by all accounts is expected to pass. The only possibility I can see is a massive campaign of public pressure on the state's elected officials to preserve such an important, integral part of the state's history — a temporary reprieve, while public officials and the Preservation Society buckle down and do their jobs and work to secure real and permanent funding. 

For now, the Preservation Society has a contact list posted on its Web site [scroll to the bottom of this page]. You can start there. You can also reach out to any contacts you have in areas related to historic preservation: public and private foundations; universities; history, anthropology, and cultural departments at public and private institutions; even wealthy private benefactors.

But we have to start somewhere.

Because as ill-written as this particular narrative of New Mexico history has always been, there will be no way to preserve the real story for future generations if this piece of our legacy is razed. They may also be no other way to preserve the bit of earth underneath it.

Copyright Ajijaakwe, 2014; all rights reserved.