It started in the dark. On the night of February 27, 1973, a caravan of cars and trucks snaked across the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. About 200 Oglala Lakota and followers of the American Indian Movement (AIM) were inside. They weren’t just driving; they were taking a stand that would freeze the nation for 71 days. They headed straight for the tiny hamlet of Wounded Knee. Why there? Because history has a way of bleeding into the present. It was the site of the 1890 massacre where hundreds of Lakota were slaughtered by the U.S. Seventh Cavalry. By morning, the town was seized, trading posts were occupied, and the occupation of Wounded Knee 1973 had officially begun.
Things got real, fast.
The federal government didn't just send a few marshals. They sent an army. Within hours, the village was surrounded by federal agents, FBI snipers, and armored personnel carriers (APCs). The contrast was wild. On one side, you had activists with hunting rifles and shotguns. On the other, the full tactical might of the United States government. It looked like a war zone because, for those inside, it was one.
The Powder Keg: Why Wounded Knee?
You can't talk about 1973 without talking about Dick Wilson. He was the tribal chairman of the Oglala Sioux Tribe, but a lot of people on the rez hated his guts. They called his supporters the "GOONs"—Guardians of the Oglala Nation. Critics accused Wilson of being a puppet for the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) and using his private militia to terrorize anyone who disagreed with him.
The tension was thick.
People were tired of the corruption. They were tired of the poverty that felt designed to keep them down. When an attempt to impeach Wilson failed, the Oglala Civil Rights Organization reached out to AIM leaders like Russell Means and Dennis Banks. They wanted help. They wanted the world to look at Pine Ridge and see the injustice.
Honestly, the occupation wasn't just about a local political feud. It was a massive middle finger to a century of broken treaties. The occupiers demanded a Senate investigation into the treatment of Native Americans and a fair review of the 1890 Fort Laramie Treaty. They weren't asking for handouts; they were demanding sovereignty.
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71 Days Under Fire
Life inside the perimeter was a mix of boredom, terror, and spiritual awakening. There were nightly firefights. You’d hear the thud-thud-thud of heavy machine guns from the federal lines, and the defenders would scramble for cover in the shallow trenches they’d dug into the frozen earth.
Despite the lead flying through the air, there was a sense of purpose.
They declared themselves the Independent Oglala Nation. They held traditional ceremonies that had been suppressed for decades. Marriages were performed. Children were born. It was a reclaiming of identity under the barrel of a gun. But the cost was high. Food was scarce. The feds cut off the electricity and tried to starve them out. If it weren't for sympathetic pilots dropping supplies from small planes, the occupation might have folded in weeks.
The Casualties
It wasn't bloodless.
Frank Clearwater, a Cherokee man who had just arrived to help, was resting in a church when a bullet tore through the wall and hit him in the head. He died. Then there was Lawrence "Buddy" Lamont, an Oglala Lakota from the reservation. He was hit by a sniper's bullet in April. His death hit the community hard. He was buried right there at Wounded Knee, near the mass grave of his ancestors from 1890.
A U.S. Marshal, Lloyd Grimm, was also shot and paralyzed during the standoff. The violence was constant, gritty, and deeply personal.
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Media Circus and the Brando Moment
One of the weirdest and most effective parts of the occupation of Wounded Knee 1973 was how it played out on TV. This was the first major Native American protest to get wall-to-wall media coverage. Journalists were literally sneaking through federal lines to get interviews.
Then came the Oscars.
Marlon Brando won Best Actor for The Godfather. Instead of showing up, he sent Sacheen Littlefeather, an Apache and Yaqui actress and activist. She stood on that stage in front of the world and refused the award on his behalf. She cited the "treatment of American Indians today by the film industry" and the ongoing events at Wounded Knee. The crowd booed, but the message was sent. Suddenly, everyone knew about the siege in South Dakota.
The Aftermath and the "Reign of Terror"
The occupation ended on May 8, 1973, after a negotiated disarming. The government promised to look into the grievances. Did they? Kinda. There were meetings, but the systemic change the activists wanted didn't happen overnight.
What followed was actually darker.
The years after Wounded Knee are often called the "Reign of Terror" on Pine Ridge. Violence between the GOONs and AIM supporters spiked. Over 60 people were murdered or disappeared in just a few years. It was a brutal time. It also led to the 1975 shootout at Oglala, which resulted in the controversial conviction of Leonard Peltier—who remains in prison to this day, a point of massive contention for human rights groups.
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What Most People Get Wrong
People often think Wounded Knee 1973 was a failure because Dick Wilson stayed in power and the feds didn't hand over the land. That's a shallow take.
The real impact was psychological. It sparked a massive resurgence in Native pride. It proved that Native people weren't "disappearing" or "vanishing" as the old tropes suggested. It led to the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act of 1975, which fundamentally changed how tribes interact with the federal government. It gave tribes more control over their own destiny.
Actionable Insights: Learning from Wounded Knee
If you're looking to understand this period deeper or support the ongoing issues within indigenous communities, here is where you start. Don't just read a Wikipedia page and call it a day.
- Read the primary accounts: Check out Lakota Woman by Mary Crow Dog. She was there. She gives the raw, unpolished version of what it was like to be a woman in the trenches.
- Support Tribal Sovereignty: The legal battles started in 1973 are still happening. Groups like the Native American Rights Fund (NARF) work on these treaty issues in actual courts today.
- Visit with Respect: If you visit the Wounded Knee site, remember it’s not a "tourist attraction." It’s a cemetery and a site of immense grief. Keep your voice down, don't take photos of people without asking, and support local Lakota artisans directly.
- Fact-Check the Narrative: Look into the "Wounded Knee Trials." Most of the hundreds of charges against AIM leaders were eventually dropped due to government misconduct, including illegal wiretapping and witness intimidation.
The occupation of Wounded Knee 1973 remains a scar and a badge of honor. It was a moment when a group of people decided that being killed was better than being ignored. Even today, if you go to Pine Ridge, you can feel the echoes of those 71 days. It wasn't just a protest; it was a desperate, loud, and ultimately transformative cry for the right to exist on their own terms.
To get a full picture of the legal fallout, research the 1974 trial of United States v. Banks and Means. The presiding judge, Fred Nichol, eventually dismissed the cases, famously stating that the "waters of justice have been polluted" by the FBI's handling of evidence. This legal precedent remains a cornerstone in studying federal overreach during the civil rights era.