The Lie of Sanctuary: Sand Creek Begins

An illustration of Native Americans approaching Fort Lyon under a white flag, unaware of the impending betrayal.

What Happened?

In the heat of the Civil War, Colorado’s Governor John Evans had his eyes on another battle—one that could catapult him into national politics. He wasn’t fighting Confederates. He was targeting Native people.

On June 27, 1864, Evans issued a proclamation instructing all 'friendly Indians' to report to military forts for protection. To the Cheyenne and Arapaho, the message was mixed and ominous. Forts were often sites of violence. And a second proclamation encouraged settlers to 'kill and destroy' any Native person deemed hostile.

Meanwhile, Evans was building a 100-day militia and handed command to Colonel John Chivington, a former preacher turned self-styled war hero. Chivington wasn’t interested in peace. 'I long to be wading in gore,' he reportedly boasted. His goal was a dramatic assault—any Native village would do.

One Cheyenne chief—Black Kettle—chose a different path. Fresh from a visit to Washington, D.C., where he met with Abraham Lincoln, Black Kettle believed peace was still possible. He led his people to Fort Lyon and was told by Major Edward Wynkoop to camp at Sand Creek, 40 miles away, with promises of safety.

But Wynkoop’s protection didn’t last. As autumn turned cold, Chivington saw his political moment slipping away. His soldiers hadn’t fought anyone—and they were ready to go home. On November 29, he launched a dawn raid on Black Kettle’s peaceful encampment.

What followed wasn’t a battle. It was a massacre. Over 700 soldiers attacked a sleeping village of mostly women, children, and elders. More than 230 Cheyenne and Arapaho were slaughtered. Many were scalped and mutilated. Human remains were paraded through Denver.

Black Kettle survived—but the betrayal devastated his people. The U.S. government launched investigations, and national outrage grew. Evans was forced to resign. Chivington slithered away from accountability but never recovered his reputation. The so-called 'victory' became a permanent stain on American history.

The Sand Creek Massacre wasn’t an isolated incident—it was the product of genocidal policy, political ambition, and racist dehumanization. Today, it stands as a brutal warning about the costs of abandoning truth, justice, and basic human dignity in pursuit of power.

Why It Matters

This moment reminds us how language can be weaponized—how 'sanctuary' can mean slaughter when power is unchecked and conscience ignored. The Sand Creek Massacre wasn’t an accident of war; it was the result of calculated betrayal. We honor truth by naming it. And we build peace by remembering the cost of its absence.

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