RED LAKE, Minn., March 22 -- The trauma of sudden, violent death enveloped the broad land of the Red Lake reservation Tuesday.
As residents struggled to come to terms with the shooting rampage that took 10 lives on Monday, they huddled at tribal headquarters, grocery stores and one another's homes for comfort. Tribal police closed parts of the reservation to outsiders and warned reporters, who descended by the dozens on this snow-crusted swath of northern Minnesota, that they would be removed or arrested if they attempted to talk to residents or knock on their doors.
Val Clark said she hid in the principal's office with her daughter during the shooting rampage at Red Lake Senior High School, where 10 people died. Clark works at the school.
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Floyd Jourdain Jr., the tribal chairman, tried his best to deliver the tribe's message. "Without doubt, this is the darkest day in the history of our people," he said in a news conference. "Right now, we're in utter disbelief and shock."
But some people wanted to talk. Linda Smith has a daughter and stepdaughter at Red Lake High School -- where 16-year-old Jeff Weise's rampage ended when he shot himself -- and another daughter at the adjoining middle school. Though the schools are now closed until next Tuesday, she said her children, and others, are scared to go back.
"I don't blame the kids for not wanting to go back," she said. "They're going to feel it for a long time. It's a big loss for the community, not just for the families" of the dead.
Red Lake is small -- population 5,000 -- and isolated amid pristine waters; fields of wild rice and thick forest are barely interrupted by a paved road. The closest town of any size is Bemidji, 30 miles south of the reservation center. Minneapolis is a four-hour drive away, and parts of the reservation are so wooded and remote that they are like lands unto themselves. But Tuesday, the Red Lake band banded together.
No one could go near the high school, which was cordoned off and guarded by the FBI as a crime scene. But at one of the few open businesses, the L&L drive-in, a popular convenience store and coffee shop, residents milled in small groups, trying to sort out the facts.
For Darlene Billon, who runs the L&L with her husband, Gene, the worst part of the worrying was the lack of information. Officials released a list of the dead Tuesday, but the identities of the injured, including two students listed in critical condition, were parsed through rumor and conjecture.
"I thought about closing today," said Gene Billon, surveying his customers. "But I thought people needed to talk."
He knew at least one victim of the rampage, school security guard Derrick Brun, whom Weise gunned down as he shot his way into the high school. Brun, 28, would come by the cafe at least once a week to cash his paycheck or grab a bite, Billon said.
At 2 p.m., tribal members held a prayer and healing ceremony. Red Lake residents gathered at the parking lot of the tribal council and prayed in English and Ojibwe, chanted and drummed.
A nun from St. Mary's Mission School who attended said a fresh wreath, about four feet in diameter, was offered for any of the victims' families to place eagle feathers. The wreath was then brought to the high school and attached to its fence.
Chances are, most residents here knew someone, or someone who knew someone, who died. Everyone here knows almost everyone. And strangers get noticed.
Part of that has to do with the way the reservation operates. Red Lake is a "closed" reservation, meaning it operates like a nation within a nation. Minnesota has no jurisdiction here; the reservation runs its own police force and prints its own license plates. It also decides who comes or goes here. A sign as you enter the nation warns that outside businesses must register with the tribe or risk having their property seized.
