We are on Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. It is a community that is primarily made up of the Lakota Sioux people. Now, it's been well documented that there are challenges to living in an area like this, but we're going to tell the story through a different lens.
There's not a lot happening here on the river. Crossing 3,500 square miles and three county lines, the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation is statistically the poorest place in America. It's the site of the Wounded Knee Massacre, where in 1890, US troops killed nearly 300 men, women, and children of the Lakota tribe. Today, it's home to hundreds of trailer parks without electricity or running water.
There isn't a bank or a movie theater in Pine Ridge, but there are basketball courts. This is fucking awesome. This isn't basketball, it's Res Ball.
Because the native style of this game is played one way. Fast. And it's been that way since the beginning. Music.
For decades, Indian tribes everywhere have co-opted basketball into a nonstop, run-and-gun game. And today on Pine Ridge, this tradition flows through one rivalry between the only two high schools in town. In spite of their namesake, the Red Cloud Crusaders wear the blue jersey with pride. And they've got a roster of seniors who've been playing together their entire lives.
But standing in their way is stiff competition from the younger Pinebridge Thorpes, as in Jim Thorpe, one of the greatest athletes of all time. And while the students from both teams all come from the same tribe, the rivalry splits the resin too, every year. We've been playing together since like...
7th grade? Yeah, 7th grade. You're built like a mini compact bomb. When I first saw you today I was like, that dude's got built like a man.
I had this since like 6th grade. Really? When people see the Reds it's like, dangerous and hostile and all that nonsense, but we're just friendly. I know basketball has kept you guys focused, but you're not on the court all the time.
How do you guys avoid those opportunities to, you know, make a bad decision for a night? I mean, just being together pretty much. It's because, uh... The Rez, it's in bad shape. There's a bunch of suicides.
Lost Hope. I lost my dad to suicide three years ago. So that was pretty big. At the time when he killed himself, we had a game. You went out and played after you found out.
found out? Went out and played. As soon as I got on that court, it's like my main focus was to get the win.
And after that, I went straight to his wake. I stayed there for like two days straight. It was just... I wouldn't wish that on anybody, that feeling. It just sucked, man.
What would you say basketball means to a kid growing up here? It's like hope. Hope? Why?
There's a park down here called Yo Park. Every night of the summer, there's games going on every night. And, like, kids can turn to it. So it's, like, the main focal point on the res.
For centuries, this land has been home to a sub-tribe of the Lakota people known as the Oglala. Translated from the traditional dialect, Oglala means they who scatter their own. And while traces of the Oglala heritage are still visible around the res, that name has never been more relevant than it is today.
The language itself is endangered. But the Lakota people aren't ready to give up on it yet. The seniors who line up on either side of the ball tonight, they have a lot on their mind.
Because they're not just kids playing in a high school rivalry. They're Lakota kids. And what they do, or where they go next, that's a choice that affects the entire tribe.
It's reality, you know. I can't hold on forever. I wish I could, but I can't. So I'm encouraging them to go to college. This is your last year of you guys living this life that you've always lived together.
How do you see life after basketball at Red Cloud? Oh, I plan on... Going to college for two years, get my associate's, and go to the military afterwards.
So it's pretty intense. Kind of scary to think about. He's our hero. Yeah, he's our hero.
What's it going to be like for you when he does get to go off and go to college? I'm going to cry. I'm going to be sad.
But I told him I said don't. Go. You know, just go and make your life out there. Don't stay here.
I'm sorry. It makes me get emotional. Go and make some of your life out there. Go do something.
Don't stay here like every day. I'll come up and go, alcohol can't be my thing. Go be something. Meet someone out there and make a family.
They'll come see you, you know? I want to go, but he has to go. I told him to go. So I'm happy he's going, you know? Seeing my uncles and the people around here, what they go through when they don't take the right choices, I don't want to have that.
I want to be somewhere off the res. I want my own family. And just seeing the struggles within the res, within my family, I want to be different. I want to single myself out and be different and help them at the same time. Faha ki lehinah wakamakoche, ki lehi gluha hidike.
I'm in the hallway of the Red Cloud Gymnasium right now. Inside that gym, a thousand fans packed strong. They've locked the doors and said no more people can come in....the hallway tonight for the rivalry game, Pine Ridge and Red Cloud.
The one thing that stands out to me about this style of basketball that they call res ball is that they don't need a shot clock basically. They get 35 seconds I haven't seen the clock run off more than five to eight seconds per possession. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Even the refs are getting worn out. This year's matchup between Red Cloud and Pine Ridge was an old-fashioned blowout. It was the kind of game that almost no sports fan would care about. But the Oglala Lakota tribe on Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, they cared. Around here, high school hoops mean something.
Because the kids playing it are now the tip of the spear for another fight. You talked earlier about basketball being hope. What are your hope for this place, for your home?
It's kind of like a really big part of us. We're like a sovereign nation, you know. We stick together as a people.
We got to keep our traditions alive and our culture. We got to learn so we can keep teaching the younger generations. And then we can just keep building each other back up.
Seven generations. That's how long Lakota elders say it took for their culture to come to the brink of extinction. But the conversation here is not about the past. It's about the future.
About the seven generations. It'll take to get it back.