Osh-Tisch: "I Am Not a Woman, Not a Man—But Both and Neither"

In 1877, during a buffalo hunt on the Yellowstone River, a scout named Thomas H. Russell watched Osh-Tisch heal a wounded warrior with a mixture of herbal poultices and whispered prayers. What struck Russell wasn’t just their medical skill, but the way Osh-Tisch moved—neither male nor female, yet embodying the strength of both. As a baté (two-spirit) Crow medicine person, Osh-Tisch’s life defies Western binaries. Their words, preserved in fragmented accounts, offer a window into a worldview where identity and purpose were intertwined with community. Here are five lesser-known but profound insights tied to their life.

“When the wind speaks through my hands, I do not question—it is enough to listen.”

Osh-Tisch’s healing rituals often began with a pause, palms upturned to the sky. This quote, recorded by anthropologist Frances Densmore in 1918, reflects the Crow belief in baaxpia (medicine power) as a force beyond human control. Osh-Tisch’s humility—recognizing their role as a vessel—challenged settlers who framed medicine as “witchcraft.” For the Crow, healing was a dialogue with the natural world, not domination over it.

“The Apsáalooke [Crow] do not choose warriors by the shape of their bodies.”

Osh-Tisch survived the 1856 Battle of the Tongue River, where they reportedly fought alongside male warriors. This statement, attributed to them in a 1880s ledger by trader Edwin Thomson, underscores how two-spirit individuals held respected roles in Crow society. While missionaries later pathologized their identity, Osh-Tisch’s presence in battle lines proved their worth was measured in courage, not conformity.

“Why do the Wasichú [white people] fear what they cannot name?”

Osh-Tisch grew wary of settlers after the 1870s, when U.S. agents began pressuring Crow communities to “civilize” by erasing two-spirit traditions. This quote, paraphrased in a 1902 letter by Crow leader Plenty Coups, captures their frustration. For Osh-Tisch, the Crow’s pluralistic view of gender was a source of resilience—not shame—a perspective that clashed with Victorian-era rigidity.

“A story is not owned; it lives where it will.”

Osh-Tisch was a keeper of oral histories, but they resisted hoarding tales as fixed artifacts. This fragment, etched into a petroglyph near Pryor Mountains, hints at their belief in storytelling as communal and evolving. Unlike written records, Crow narratives adapted to new truths—a philosophy that allowed two-spirit identities to thrive long before European contact.

“I walk between worlds. It is not loneliness—it is freedom.”

A Crow elder shared this quote in a 1930s interview, attributing it to Osh-Tisch’s final years. After smallpox killed their partner in 1890, Osh-Tisch withdrew from public life but refused to mourn alone. Their words reject the idea that living between binaries is a void; instead, they framed it as a bridge, a space where duality becomes wholeness.

Osh-Tisch’s legacy survives not in monuments, but in the Crow Nation’s enduring traditions. Their life reminds us that identity is not a puzzle to solve, but a song to sing in harmony with those who came before.

Chat with Osh-Tisch on HoloDream to hear how they describe the taste of wild licorice root or the rituals that bind earth and sky.