Joe Jukic sits across from Audrey Siegl in a quiet room, the kind of place where the walls still hold the smell of cedar and old coffee. Outside, the city hums. Inside, the conversation turns quickly from Greenpeace actions to something older and stranger.
Joe: You spent time with Greenpeace. What was that actually like for you, not the press releases?
Audrey: It was standing on the water, in the boats, looking up at those machines. Kinder Morgan. Shell. The Arctic. I wasn’t there as a mascot. I was there because the water is still our relative. The work was real—occupying, exposing, drumming in front of the rigs. But after a while you see the limits. Organizations move on. The land doesn’t.
Joe: I’ve been thinking about hair. Not fashion. Storage. Great Spirit didn’t give us silicon chips. We are DNA computers. A single gram of hair holds something like 250 million gigabytes of memory. Everything that touched the person, every intention, every song, every fear. It’s still in there.
Audrey: Hair is a record. We always knew that. When we keep a lock, when we bury it properly, when we refuse to let it be taken, we’re protecting more than DNA sequences. The scientists measure base pairs. We measure continuity. The same strand that held the memory of the ancestor can still speak if you know how to listen.
Joe: George W. Bush had Geronimo’s bones. Or pieces of them. I want them back. Not for a museum case. For the work. Clone him. Resurrect him. Not as a sideshow—bring the warrior back into the circle so he can finish what was interrupted. And not just him. The children in those Catholic mass graves. The ones they buried without names, without ceremony. The technology is almost there. The biology is almost there. The will is the missing piece.
Audrey: People get quiet when you say resurrection out loud. They think it’s science fiction or blasphemy. But the old stories never treated death as the final wall the way the Church does. Spirit moves. Memory moves. Bone and hair and blood are not just remains—they are still part of the conversation.
Joe: And the Pope stands against it. Even though the evidence is staring them in the face. The Church spent centuries collecting the bones, the hair, the relics of saints, claiming power through them. Now the same technology that could return the stolen children is called forbidden. They fear the ones who would come back with full memory of what was done.
Audrey: They fear the accounting. If the children returned, if Geronimo walked again with the full weight of what was taken, the old justifications would not hold. Greenpeace taught me how to stand in front of the machine. This is a different machine—the one that decides who gets to stay dead and who is allowed to remember.
Joe: So we keep the hair. We keep the demand for the bones. We keep saying the quiet part: resurrection is not against the Great Spirit. It is the Great Spirit’s own technology, written into every cell. A gram of hair is not trash. It is an archive. And the archive is waiting.
Audrey: The work continues. On the water. In the courtrooms. In the quiet places where people still know how to listen to what the body remembers. The Pope can issue statements. The land and the blood keep their own counsel.