Editors' note: Indian Country Today is thankful for the early thoughts shared below by former editor Jose Barreiro, long-time friend and collaborator of John Mohawk. Barreiro currently serves at the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian.
BUFFALO, N.Y. - Indian country lost a major luminary with the recent passing of Sotsisowah, the Seneca author and traditionalist known in the broader society as John Mohawk, Ph.D.
Mohawk, 61, was pronounced dead at his home in Buffalo on Dec. 12. He is mourned by large numbers of people, expressing the most heartfelt condolences to the family and close relatives of this beloved man of wisdom.
A longtime professor at the State University of New York at Buffalo, the highly talented and engaging scholar was a motivating force in the Indian traditionalist movement and the national and international indigenous initiative of self-sufficiency and self-assertion of the contemporary era. Mohawk's essays and speeches from the early 1970s, through his genial direction of the national Indian newspaper, Akwesasne Notes, from 1976 to 1984, were pivotal contributions to the development of intellectual capacity in the Indian movement. From his academic perch, Mohawk developed enlightening university courses while sustaining a wide-ranging program of writing and community educational and oratorical forays. In recent years, he had been an opinion columnist for Indian Country Today.
Intensely steeped in the spiritual ceremonial traditions of the Haudenosaunee people through his foundational longhouse culture at the Cattaraugus Reservation in western New York, Mohawk was one of those rare American Indian individuals who comfortably stepped out into the Western academic and journalistic arenas. He was an enthusiastic participant in his own traditional ways, a legendary singer and knowledgeable elder of the most profound ceremonial cycles of the Haudenosaunee. As a scholar, he represented the Native traditional school of thought in a way that was as authentic as it was brilliantly modern and universal.
Mohawk wrote several important books and articles, among which is the classic ''Basic Call to Consciousness,'' a seminal work that catalyzed Native thinking and understanding of global history in a way that was superbly useful. Later, along with Onondaga elder Oren Lyons, Mohawk edited the important book ''Exiled in the Land of the Free,'' which gathered the significant thinking around foundational American Indian rights. His research and writing on ''Basic Call to Consciousness'' was typical of his style as an activist scholar. It was largely written during the winter and spring of 1977 in the deep woods of upstate New York, where the author was often prodded by the visits of Haudenosaunee chiefs, clan mothers and other elders, to whom he would read his developing prose and who would comment deeply on the manuscript.
Many will credit John Mohawk as the major intellectual and strategic force behind the surge of Haudenosaunee activism of the past 30 years. Many more know and respect him for his many expressions on important national and international issues. While he published and lectured widely, Mohawk generously gave much of his intellectual prowess directly to community issues. At moments when traditionalist life was threatened, he worked diligently to establish strategic directions for the longhouse and other traditionalist governments. One remembers many instances in which Mohawk made a huge difference in dangerous moments of interethnic and political conflict. Many are the times when he forsook professional glory or advancement to join the battle lines, where he employed his powerful intellect to save life while always pressing the demand for Native peoples' unique sovereign rights.
A strong defender of national and international human rights, Mohawk was a mentor to hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Indian and non-Indian college students and young professionals, many of whom have gone on to fulfill important posts. He was a great and loyal friend, one who could tease you to tears while marveling your life with incredible sweetness, consistency and human value.
John Mohawk was self-effacing to a fault. Easily admired and even revered, he shunned and suspected any such feelings. This came out of his natural deep integrity. He was wont to tell enraptured audiences, ''Remember one thing, if you remember nothing else I've told you: I am not a star!''
He was wrong on that one. John Mohawk was - is - a star.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Is Apocalypto Pornography?
by Traci Ardren
A scholar challenges Mel Gibson's use of the ancient Maya culture as a metaphor for his vision of today's world.
With great trepidation I went to an advance screening of "Apocalypto" last night in Miami. No one really expects historical dramas to be accurate, so I was not so much concerned with whether or not the film would accurately represent what we know of Classic period Maya history as I was concerned about the message Mel Gibson wanted to convey through the film. After Jared Diamond's best-selling book Collapse, it has become fashionable to use the so-called Maya collapse as a metaphor for Western society's environmental and political excesses. Setting aside the fact that the Maya lived for more than a thousand years in a fragile tropical environment before their cities were abandoned, while here in the U.S, we have polluted our urban environments in less than 200, I anticipated a heavy-handed cautionary tale wrapped up in Native American costume.
What I saw was much worse than this. The thrill of hearing melodic Yucatec Maya spoken by familiar faces (although the five lead actors are not Yucatec Maya but other talented Native American actors) during the first ten minutes of the movie is swiftly and brutally replaced with stomach churning panic at the graphic Maya-on-Maya violence depicted in a village raid scene of nearly 15 minutes. From then on the entire movie never ceases to utilize every possible excuse to depict more violence. It is unrelenting. Our hero, Jaguar Paw, played by the charismatic Cree actor Rudy Youngblood, has one hellavuh bad couple of days. Captured for sacrifice, forced to march to the putrid city nearby, he endures every tropical jungle attack conceivable and that is after he escapes the relentless brutality of the elites. I am told this part of the movie is completely derivative of the 1966 film "The Naked Prey." Pure action flick, with one ridiculous encounter after another, filmed beautifully in the way that only Hollywood blockbusters can afford, this is the part of the movie that will draw in audiences and demonstrates Gibson's skill as a cinematic storyteller.
But I find the visual appeal of the film one of the most disturbing aspects of "Apocalypto." The jungles of Veracruz and Costa Rica have never looked better, the masked priests on the temple jump right off a Classic Maya vase, and the people are gorgeous. The fact that this film was made in Mexico and filmed in the Yucatec Maya language coupled with its visual appeal makes it all the more dangerous. It looks authentic; viewers will be captivated by the crazy, exotic mess of the city and the howler monkeys in the jungle. And who really cares that the Maya were not living in cities when the Spanish arrived? Yes, Gibson includes the arrival of clearly Christian missionaries (these guys are too clean to be conquistadors) in the last five minutes of the story (in the real world the Spanish arrived 300 years after the last Maya city was abandoned). It is one of the few calm moments in an otherwise aggressively paced film. The message? The end is near and the savior has come. Gibson's efforts at authenticity of location and language might, for some viewers, mask his blatantly colonial message that the Maya needed saving because they were rotten at the core. Using the decline of Classic urbanism as his backdrop, Gibson communicates that there was absolutely nothing redeemable about Maya culture, especially elite culture which is depicted as a disgusting feast of blood and excess.
A scholar challenges Mel Gibson's use of the ancient Maya culture as a metaphor for his vision of today's world.
With great trepidation I went to an advance screening of "Apocalypto" last night in Miami. No one really expects historical dramas to be accurate, so I was not so much concerned with whether or not the film would accurately represent what we know of Classic period Maya history as I was concerned about the message Mel Gibson wanted to convey through the film. After Jared Diamond's best-selling book Collapse, it has become fashionable to use the so-called Maya collapse as a metaphor for Western society's environmental and political excesses. Setting aside the fact that the Maya lived for more than a thousand years in a fragile tropical environment before their cities were abandoned, while here in the U.S, we have polluted our urban environments in less than 200, I anticipated a heavy-handed cautionary tale wrapped up in Native American costume.
What I saw was much worse than this. The thrill of hearing melodic Yucatec Maya spoken by familiar faces (although the five lead actors are not Yucatec Maya but other talented Native American actors) during the first ten minutes of the movie is swiftly and brutally replaced with stomach churning panic at the graphic Maya-on-Maya violence depicted in a village raid scene of nearly 15 minutes. From then on the entire movie never ceases to utilize every possible excuse to depict more violence. It is unrelenting. Our hero, Jaguar Paw, played by the charismatic Cree actor Rudy Youngblood, has one hellavuh bad couple of days. Captured for sacrifice, forced to march to the putrid city nearby, he endures every tropical jungle attack conceivable and that is after he escapes the relentless brutality of the elites. I am told this part of the movie is completely derivative of the 1966 film "The Naked Prey." Pure action flick, with one ridiculous encounter after another, filmed beautifully in the way that only Hollywood blockbusters can afford, this is the part of the movie that will draw in audiences and demonstrates Gibson's skill as a cinematic storyteller.
But I find the visual appeal of the film one of the most disturbing aspects of "Apocalypto." The jungles of Veracruz and Costa Rica have never looked better, the masked priests on the temple jump right off a Classic Maya vase, and the people are gorgeous. The fact that this film was made in Mexico and filmed in the Yucatec Maya language coupled with its visual appeal makes it all the more dangerous. It looks authentic; viewers will be captivated by the crazy, exotic mess of the city and the howler monkeys in the jungle. And who really cares that the Maya were not living in cities when the Spanish arrived? Yes, Gibson includes the arrival of clearly Christian missionaries (these guys are too clean to be conquistadors) in the last five minutes of the story (in the real world the Spanish arrived 300 years after the last Maya city was abandoned). It is one of the few calm moments in an otherwise aggressively paced film. The message? The end is near and the savior has come. Gibson's efforts at authenticity of location and language might, for some viewers, mask his blatantly colonial message that the Maya needed saving because they were rotten at the core. Using the decline of Classic urbanism as his backdrop, Gibson communicates that there was absolutely nothing redeemable about Maya culture, especially elite culture which is depicted as a disgusting feast of blood and excess.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Scientists Tracing DNA Find Tribes Not So Trusting
By AMY HARMON
Published: December 10, 2006
SOUTH NAKNEK, Alaska — The National Geographic Society’s multimillion-dollar research project to collect DNA from indigenous groups around the world in the hopes of reconstructing humanity’s ancient migrations has come to a standstill on its home turf in North America.
Billed as the “moon shot of anthropology,” the Genographic Project intends to collect 100,000 indigenous DNA samples. But for four months, the project has been on hold here as it scrambles to address questions raised by a group that oversees research involving Alaska natives.
At issue is whether scientists who need DNA from aboriginal populations to fashion a window on the past are underselling the risks to present-day donors. Geographic origin stories told by DNA can clash with long-held beliefs, threatening a world view some indigenous leaders see as vital to preserving their culture.
They argue that genetic ancestry information could also jeopardize land rights and other benefits that are based on the notion that their people have lived in a place since the beginning of time.
“What if it turns out you’re really Siberian and then, oops, your health care is gone?” said Dr. David Barrett, a co-chairman of the Alaska Area Institutional Review Board, which is sponsored by the Indian Health Service, a federal agency. “Did anyone explain that to them?”
Such situations have not come up, and officials with the Genographic Project discount them as unlikely. Spencer Wells, the population geneticist who directs the project, says it is paternalistic to imply that indigenous groups need to be kept from the knowledge that genetics might offer.
“I don’t think humans at their core are ostriches,” Dr. Wells said. “Everyone has an interest in where they came from, and indigenous people have more of an interest in their ancestry because it is so important to them.”
But indigenous leaders point to centuries of broken promises to explain why they believe their fears are not far-fetched. Scientific evidence that American Indians or other aboriginal groups came from elsewhere, they say, could undermine their moral basis for sovereignty and chip away at their collective legal claims.
“It’s a benefit to science, probably,” said Dr. Mic LaRoque, the Alaska board’s other c0-chairman and a member of the Turtle Mountain Chippewa Tribe of North Dakota. “But I’m not convinced it’s a benefit to the tribes.”
Published: December 10, 2006
SOUTH NAKNEK, Alaska — The National Geographic Society’s multimillion-dollar research project to collect DNA from indigenous groups around the world in the hopes of reconstructing humanity’s ancient migrations has come to a standstill on its home turf in North America.
Billed as the “moon shot of anthropology,” the Genographic Project intends to collect 100,000 indigenous DNA samples. But for four months, the project has been on hold here as it scrambles to address questions raised by a group that oversees research involving Alaska natives.
At issue is whether scientists who need DNA from aboriginal populations to fashion a window on the past are underselling the risks to present-day donors. Geographic origin stories told by DNA can clash with long-held beliefs, threatening a world view some indigenous leaders see as vital to preserving their culture.
They argue that genetic ancestry information could also jeopardize land rights and other benefits that are based on the notion that their people have lived in a place since the beginning of time.
“What if it turns out you’re really Siberian and then, oops, your health care is gone?” said Dr. David Barrett, a co-chairman of the Alaska Area Institutional Review Board, which is sponsored by the Indian Health Service, a federal agency. “Did anyone explain that to them?”
Such situations have not come up, and officials with the Genographic Project discount them as unlikely. Spencer Wells, the population geneticist who directs the project, says it is paternalistic to imply that indigenous groups need to be kept from the knowledge that genetics might offer.
“I don’t think humans at their core are ostriches,” Dr. Wells said. “Everyone has an interest in where they came from, and indigenous people have more of an interest in their ancestry because it is so important to them.”
But indigenous leaders point to centuries of broken promises to explain why they believe their fears are not far-fetched. Scientific evidence that American Indians or other aboriginal groups came from elsewhere, they say, could undermine their moral basis for sovereignty and chip away at their collective legal claims.
“It’s a benefit to science, probably,” said Dr. Mic LaRoque, the Alaska board’s other c0-chairman and a member of the Turtle Mountain Chippewa Tribe of North Dakota. “But I’m not convinced it’s a benefit to the tribes.”
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Seminole Tribe of Florida Buys Hard Rock
LONDON (AP) -- The Seminole Tribe of Florida is buying the Hard Rock business, including its massive collection of rock 'n' roll memorabilia, in a $965 million deal with British casino and hotel company Rank Group PLC, the tribe announced Thursday.
The Hard Rock business includes 124 Hard Rock Cafes, four Hard Rock Hotels, two Hard Rock Casino Hotels, two Hard Rock Live! concert venues and stakes in three unbranded hotels.
With it, the tribe acquires what is said to be the world's largest collection of rock memorabilia, some 70,000 pieces including Jimi Hendrix's Flying V guitar, one of Madonna's bustiers, a pair of Elton John's high-heeled shoes and guitars formerly owned by Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton and Chuck Berry.
''This is a proud moment for the Seminole Tribe of Florida and for all Indian tribes,'' said Mitchell Cypress, chairman of the elected Tribal Council. ''It is also an opportunity for the Seminole Tribe to diversify its business operations and help a very successful company to achieve even greater growth.''
Cypress and Seminole Gaming Chief Executive James Allen said in a statement the tribe would work with Hard Rock International management to build on existing growth plans.
In addition to its two Seminole Hard Rock hotels & casinos, the Seminole Tribe owns and operates five other casinos in Florida. More than 90 percent of the tribe's budget now comes from gaming revenue.
Nearly 3,300 Seminole Indians live on and off reservations throughout Florida. Rank said it would keep the Hard Rock Casino in London but under the Rank Gaming brand.
''We have maximized the value of Hard Rock through this disposal following a thorough strategic review and competitive auction,'' said Rank Chief Executive Ian Burke.
The sale, which is subject to shareholder approval, is scheduled to be completed in March.
The Hard Rock business includes 124 Hard Rock Cafes, four Hard Rock Hotels, two Hard Rock Casino Hotels, two Hard Rock Live! concert venues and stakes in three unbranded hotels.
With it, the tribe acquires what is said to be the world's largest collection of rock memorabilia, some 70,000 pieces including Jimi Hendrix's Flying V guitar, one of Madonna's bustiers, a pair of Elton John's high-heeled shoes and guitars formerly owned by Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton and Chuck Berry.
''This is a proud moment for the Seminole Tribe of Florida and for all Indian tribes,'' said Mitchell Cypress, chairman of the elected Tribal Council. ''It is also an opportunity for the Seminole Tribe to diversify its business operations and help a very successful company to achieve even greater growth.''
Cypress and Seminole Gaming Chief Executive James Allen said in a statement the tribe would work with Hard Rock International management to build on existing growth plans.
In addition to its two Seminole Hard Rock hotels & casinos, the Seminole Tribe owns and operates five other casinos in Florida. More than 90 percent of the tribe's budget now comes from gaming revenue.
Nearly 3,300 Seminole Indians live on and off reservations throughout Florida. Rank said it would keep the Hard Rock Casino in London but under the Rank Gaming brand.
''We have maximized the value of Hard Rock through this disposal following a thorough strategic review and competitive auction,'' said Rank Chief Executive Ian Burke.
The sale, which is subject to shareholder approval, is scheduled to be completed in March.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Praise for Gibson Film, Quandary for Oscar Voters
LOS ANGELES, Dec. 4 — With some early reviews lauding the audacity and innovation of Mel Gibson’s bloody Mayan epic, “Apocalypto,” Hollywood’s tight-knit community of Oscar voters may find itself facing a difficult dilemma in the coming weeks: Will they consider the film for an Academy Award?
Since Mr. Gibson’s drunken tirade against Jews last summer, many people in Hollywood swore — both publicly and privately — that they would not work with him again or see his movies.
But that was before the critics began to weigh in on “Apocalypto,” a two-hour tale about a peaceful village of hunter-gatherers who are attacked and enslaved by the bloodthirsty overlords of their Meso-American civilization.
Mr. Gibson wrote, directed, produced and financed the film, much as he did “The Passion of the Christ,” his surprise 2004 blockbuster; the Walt Disney Company is distributing the film.
“Apocalypto,” which will open on 2,500 screens across the country on Friday, is as different from a typical Hollywood film as Mr. Gibson’s last one: it features unrelenting, savage violence, is told in an obscure Mayan language and uses many nonprofessional actors with a primitive look born far from Hollywood.
Since Mr. Gibson’s drunken tirade against Jews last summer, many people in Hollywood swore — both publicly and privately — that they would not work with him again or see his movies.
But that was before the critics began to weigh in on “Apocalypto,” a two-hour tale about a peaceful village of hunter-gatherers who are attacked and enslaved by the bloodthirsty overlords of their Meso-American civilization.
Mr. Gibson wrote, directed, produced and financed the film, much as he did “The Passion of the Christ,” his surprise 2004 blockbuster; the Walt Disney Company is distributing the film.
“Apocalypto,” which will open on 2,500 screens across the country on Friday, is as different from a typical Hollywood film as Mr. Gibson’s last one: it features unrelenting, savage violence, is told in an obscure Mayan language and uses many nonprofessional actors with a primitive look born far from Hollywood.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Tribal religion trumps eagle protection
by Brodie Farquhar
Judge’s ruling regarding ceremonial eagle killing could send case to Supreme Court
More than a century ago, a young Arapaho warrior murmured a prayer under his breath as he killed the rabbit he had captured earlier, then propped the dead animal onto a pile of sticks perched atop a large rock. He hunkered down next to the boulder, covered himself with a hide, and patiently waited for a bald eagle to investigate. As the eagle landed on the rabbit, the young warrior reached up and snatched the eagle’s talons, threw another hide over it and swiftly killed it with his hands. The raptor’s feathers, wings and hollow bones would play an important part in the tribe’s Sun Dance ceremony.
The description of this ancient ritual was passed on to Northern Arapaho tribal elder Jerry Redman by his grandfather, harkening back to when his tribe lived in northern Colorado near what is now Estes Park. Today, the Arapaho are divided into northern and southern branches, confined to reservations in Wyoming and Oklahoma. But tribal traditions endure, and although the eagles are now shot, rather than killed by hand, their ceremonial importance remains paramount.
The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has different priorities, however. Last year, the agency charged Winslow W. Friday, a Northern Arapaho, with violating the Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act by shooting a bald eagle on the Wind River Indian Reservation in Wyoming for use in the Sun Dance. Congress banned killing bald eagles in 1940, then updated the law in 1962 to protect golden eagles as well, because they look like immature bald eagles.
In October, U.S. District Judge William Downes dismissed the charges against Friday, saying that while the government must protect eagles, it also has a compelling interest in preserving Indian tribes and their cultures. The ruling could set the stage for a Supreme Court battle pitting American Indian culture against the government’s mandate to protect the national bird.
Sacred roadkill
Tribes across the West use eagle feathers for ceremonial purposes. Yet for the most part, the only legal way to obtain the feathers is from the National Eagle Repository in Commerce City, Colo. The repository is the collection point for eagles killed by cars, power lines, starvation, poisonings and illegal shootings. American Indians can apply to receive feathers or whole birds for use in a variety of religious ceremonies.
Using these "carrion birds" for ceremonies, though, is unacceptable to many Arapaho tribal elders. The elders maintain that religious ceremonies require that eagles be taken in a prayerful and traditional way. The fact that Friday shot rather than trapped the eagle is irrelevant, says Redman: "We live in the modern day and don’t use bow and arrow." The rifle was simply a tool, he says; Friday’s prayer and attitude are what mattered.
Besides, the demand for eagle parts and carcasses far exceeds the supply at the repository, meaning tribes may have to wait six months for feathers and three and a half years for whole bodies. And although the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has the power to issue lethal take permits for eagles, it has made little effort to inform American Indians about the availability of such permits, which are rarely issued to tribes and never to individuals.
Judge’s ruling regarding ceremonial eagle killing could send case to Supreme Court
More than a century ago, a young Arapaho warrior murmured a prayer under his breath as he killed the rabbit he had captured earlier, then propped the dead animal onto a pile of sticks perched atop a large rock. He hunkered down next to the boulder, covered himself with a hide, and patiently waited for a bald eagle to investigate. As the eagle landed on the rabbit, the young warrior reached up and snatched the eagle’s talons, threw another hide over it and swiftly killed it with his hands. The raptor’s feathers, wings and hollow bones would play an important part in the tribe’s Sun Dance ceremony.
The description of this ancient ritual was passed on to Northern Arapaho tribal elder Jerry Redman by his grandfather, harkening back to when his tribe lived in northern Colorado near what is now Estes Park. Today, the Arapaho are divided into northern and southern branches, confined to reservations in Wyoming and Oklahoma. But tribal traditions endure, and although the eagles are now shot, rather than killed by hand, their ceremonial importance remains paramount.
The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has different priorities, however. Last year, the agency charged Winslow W. Friday, a Northern Arapaho, with violating the Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act by shooting a bald eagle on the Wind River Indian Reservation in Wyoming for use in the Sun Dance. Congress banned killing bald eagles in 1940, then updated the law in 1962 to protect golden eagles as well, because they look like immature bald eagles.
In October, U.S. District Judge William Downes dismissed the charges against Friday, saying that while the government must protect eagles, it also has a compelling interest in preserving Indian tribes and their cultures. The ruling could set the stage for a Supreme Court battle pitting American Indian culture against the government’s mandate to protect the national bird.
Sacred roadkill
Tribes across the West use eagle feathers for ceremonial purposes. Yet for the most part, the only legal way to obtain the feathers is from the National Eagle Repository in Commerce City, Colo. The repository is the collection point for eagles killed by cars, power lines, starvation, poisonings and illegal shootings. American Indians can apply to receive feathers or whole birds for use in a variety of religious ceremonies.
Using these "carrion birds" for ceremonies, though, is unacceptable to many Arapaho tribal elders. The elders maintain that religious ceremonies require that eagles be taken in a prayerful and traditional way. The fact that Friday shot rather than trapped the eagle is irrelevant, says Redman: "We live in the modern day and don’t use bow and arrow." The rifle was simply a tool, he says; Friday’s prayer and attitude are what mattered.
Besides, the demand for eagle parts and carcasses far exceeds the supply at the repository, meaning tribes may have to wait six months for feathers and three and a half years for whole bodies. And although the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has the power to issue lethal take permits for eagles, it has made little effort to inform American Indians about the availability of such permits, which are rarely issued to tribes and never to individuals.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Blood and Thunder: An Epic of the American West. By Hampton Sides - Books
By N. SCOTT MOMADAY
Published: October 29, 2006
After the journey of Lewis and Clark through the wilderness of the American West, a venture that might seem to us tentative, imperiled and pursued against all odds, there came unstoppable waves of humanity (and inhumanity), driven by dreams of gold and empire, and sustained by a certain sense of the inevitable, a conviction given the name Manifest Destiny. “Blood and Thunder” is the story of the quest for, and conquest of, the American West. It is, as we know, the most romantic of stories, and arguably the most cherished of America’s myths.
Early on, Hampton Sides writes of the mountain men:
“As the forerunners of Western civilization, creeping up the river valleys and across the mountain passes, the trappers brought smallpox and typhoid, they brought guns and whiskey and venereal disease, they brought the puzzlement of money and the gleam of steel. And on their liquored breath they whispered the coming of an unimaginable force, of a gathering shadow on the eastern horizon, gorging itself on the continent as it pressed steadily this way.”
This cryptic passage might serve as a bare-bones synopsis of the book. Sides, the author of the best seller “Ghost Soldiers,” has a talent for encapsulation. His thumbnail sketches of character are comprehensive and concise at the same time. There is, for example, a wonderful portrait of Stephen Watts Kearny, who commanded the Army of the West, in which the whole man appears to be contained and defined in a kind of verbal line drawing: “On innumerable occasions he had smoked the pipe with Indians, learning their manner of speaking, their penchant for metaphor; he once flattered a Sioux chief by complimenting him on the ‘soaring eagle of your fame.’ During a council with Oglala Indians, he heartily partook of the local delicacies — boiled dog and blood-tinged river water from the paunch of a buffalo.”
We see this quality of revelation again and again. There are equally telling sketches of the ambitious John C. Frémont; Maj. John Chivington, the murderous parson; Charles Bent, first the owner of Bent’s Fort and then the governor of New Mexico, and his great adversary, Padre Antonio Martínez, the enigmatic cura of Taos; the Navajo leader Manuelito; the diarist and correspondent Susan Magoffin; and many more. Sides gives us fresh, multifaceted pictures of the Taos revolt and the epic march of the Colorado Civil War volunteers. The cast of characters is large and the landscape vast. We see a panorama and a whole history, intricately laced with wonder and meaning, coalesce into a story of epic proportions, a story full of authority and color, truth and prophecy, a story that is uniquely ours.
Published: October 29, 2006
After the journey of Lewis and Clark through the wilderness of the American West, a venture that might seem to us tentative, imperiled and pursued against all odds, there came unstoppable waves of humanity (and inhumanity), driven by dreams of gold and empire, and sustained by a certain sense of the inevitable, a conviction given the name Manifest Destiny. “Blood and Thunder” is the story of the quest for, and conquest of, the American West. It is, as we know, the most romantic of stories, and arguably the most cherished of America’s myths.
Early on, Hampton Sides writes of the mountain men:
“As the forerunners of Western civilization, creeping up the river valleys and across the mountain passes, the trappers brought smallpox and typhoid, they brought guns and whiskey and venereal disease, they brought the puzzlement of money and the gleam of steel. And on their liquored breath they whispered the coming of an unimaginable force, of a gathering shadow on the eastern horizon, gorging itself on the continent as it pressed steadily this way.”
This cryptic passage might serve as a bare-bones synopsis of the book. Sides, the author of the best seller “Ghost Soldiers,” has a talent for encapsulation. His thumbnail sketches of character are comprehensive and concise at the same time. There is, for example, a wonderful portrait of Stephen Watts Kearny, who commanded the Army of the West, in which the whole man appears to be contained and defined in a kind of verbal line drawing: “On innumerable occasions he had smoked the pipe with Indians, learning their manner of speaking, their penchant for metaphor; he once flattered a Sioux chief by complimenting him on the ‘soaring eagle of your fame.’ During a council with Oglala Indians, he heartily partook of the local delicacies — boiled dog and blood-tinged river water from the paunch of a buffalo.”
We see this quality of revelation again and again. There are equally telling sketches of the ambitious John C. Frémont; Maj. John Chivington, the murderous parson; Charles Bent, first the owner of Bent’s Fort and then the governor of New Mexico, and his great adversary, Padre Antonio Martínez, the enigmatic cura of Taos; the Navajo leader Manuelito; the diarist and correspondent Susan Magoffin; and many more. Sides gives us fresh, multifaceted pictures of the Taos revolt and the epic march of the Colorado Civil War volunteers. The cast of characters is large and the landscape vast. We see a panorama and a whole history, intricately laced with wonder and meaning, coalesce into a story of epic proportions, a story full of authority and color, truth and prophecy, a story that is uniquely ours.
Monday, October 16, 2006
A Soldier Comes Home to Alaska, Too Early and Yet Too Late
BARROW, Alaska — When the soldiers from the frozen tundra shipped out for the burning sands of Iraq, Staff Sgt. Billy Brown promised the women that he’d bring their men back alive.
But when Sergeant Brown returned just two weeks later, he didn’t bring his men at all. He came with a funeral detail. He came cargo, in a silver coffin with wood handles cloaked in an American flag. He is believed to be the first Eskimo killed because of this war. He was 54.
Sergeant Brown, an Alaska national guardsman, never got to a battlefield. He was killed when a tractor-trailer slammed into the back of his Humvee late in July while he was on training maneuvers at Camp Shelby in Mississippi.
His death rattled this town of 4,200, mostly Inupiaq Eskimos, located 500 roadless miles from anywhere and 350 miles north of the Arctic Circle.
Finally, tangibly, the war has reached one of the most isolated corners of the country.
“Until now the war was more like a television show,” said Edward S. Itta, mayor of the North Slope Borough, in which Barrow lies, and a friend of Sergeant Brown’s. “You don’t question the war until it touches you. Only then, when a man like Billy, an important man to us, comes home dead, does the question become clear. We fight. But to what end? What’s in it for my grandchildren?”
During the cold war, the battle line was drawn right here on the North Slope, with the Soviets skulking just across the Bering Strait. Most Alaska Guard members stayed in the state, protecting the home front.
But the world has changed. For this war, 670 Guard members have been called up from rural Alaska, its largest foreign deployment ever. The Alaska Guard estimates that one-third of its members are Eskimo, so most likely a third of those deployed are indigenous men, officials say, though the military does not keep official racial records of this type.
Among the most skilled was Staff Sergeant Brown, a 29-year veteran of the Guard and an Arctic survival specialist.
“He could have retired years ago,” said his niece Audrey Saganna. But he volunteered for the mission so other soldiers who had served multiple tours in Iraq could get a rest, she said.
But when Sergeant Brown returned just two weeks later, he didn’t bring his men at all. He came with a funeral detail. He came cargo, in a silver coffin with wood handles cloaked in an American flag. He is believed to be the first Eskimo killed because of this war. He was 54.
Sergeant Brown, an Alaska national guardsman, never got to a battlefield. He was killed when a tractor-trailer slammed into the back of his Humvee late in July while he was on training maneuvers at Camp Shelby in Mississippi.
His death rattled this town of 4,200, mostly Inupiaq Eskimos, located 500 roadless miles from anywhere and 350 miles north of the Arctic Circle.
Finally, tangibly, the war has reached one of the most isolated corners of the country.
“Until now the war was more like a television show,” said Edward S. Itta, mayor of the North Slope Borough, in which Barrow lies, and a friend of Sergeant Brown’s. “You don’t question the war until it touches you. Only then, when a man like Billy, an important man to us, comes home dead, does the question become clear. We fight. But to what end? What’s in it for my grandchildren?”
During the cold war, the battle line was drawn right here on the North Slope, with the Soviets skulking just across the Bering Strait. Most Alaska Guard members stayed in the state, protecting the home front.
But the world has changed. For this war, 670 Guard members have been called up from rural Alaska, its largest foreign deployment ever. The Alaska Guard estimates that one-third of its members are Eskimo, so most likely a third of those deployed are indigenous men, officials say, though the military does not keep official racial records of this type.
Among the most skilled was Staff Sergeant Brown, a 29-year veteran of the Guard and an Arctic survival specialist.
“He could have retired years ago,” said his niece Audrey Saganna. But he volunteered for the mission so other soldiers who had served multiple tours in Iraq could get a rest, she said.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Chile Indigenous Tribe Fights Extinction
SANTIAGO, Chile (AP) -- A once-nomadic tribe of hunters and fishermen living in the frigid channels near the bottom of the world is nearing extinction.
Down to just 15 full-blooded members, the Kawesqar people could soon go the way of other indigenous tribes in Chile, its language and culture disappearing to all but the history books.
Juan Carlos Tonko, however, is doing all he can to stop the Kawesqar's slow march to oblivion.
Six months ago, the 40-year-old left the comforts of the capital, Santiago, to return to Puerto Eden on Wellington Island in southern Chile and re-embrace the traditions of the people he left 25 years before.
Tonko is the lone Kawesqar of his middle-aged generation to come home, and now considers himself ''the transmitter of history'' for his tribe.
''I feel that I have a great responsibility,'' the soft-spoken father of four said during a visit to Santiago with his children's school, a trip that took two days by boat and a third by bus.
With support from the Chilean government, Tonko and a research team are recording the handful of Kawesqar speakers left in Puerto Eden, most of whom are in their 70s and 80s. ''The immediacy is urgent,'' Tonko said.
The plan is to produce materials to teach the language in schools nationwide as an optional subject to those interested. Then, if they can wrangle more funds, they will complete a cultural and historical survey of the Kawesqars, to correct the errors in the few existing texts written by outsiders.
Over the years, five of Chile's original 14 indigenous tribes -- the Aonikenk, Selk'nam, Pikunches, Changos and Chonos -- have been lost to the onslaught of colonialism, succumbing to disease, displacement and overuse of their traditional sources of food.
The 600,000-strong Mapuche tribe is the largest and most vocal indigenous group in Chile, a country with a population of 16 million.
Down to just 15 full-blooded members, the Kawesqar people could soon go the way of other indigenous tribes in Chile, its language and culture disappearing to all but the history books.
Juan Carlos Tonko, however, is doing all he can to stop the Kawesqar's slow march to oblivion.
Six months ago, the 40-year-old left the comforts of the capital, Santiago, to return to Puerto Eden on Wellington Island in southern Chile and re-embrace the traditions of the people he left 25 years before.
Tonko is the lone Kawesqar of his middle-aged generation to come home, and now considers himself ''the transmitter of history'' for his tribe.
''I feel that I have a great responsibility,'' the soft-spoken father of four said during a visit to Santiago with his children's school, a trip that took two days by boat and a third by bus.
With support from the Chilean government, Tonko and a research team are recording the handful of Kawesqar speakers left in Puerto Eden, most of whom are in their 70s and 80s. ''The immediacy is urgent,'' Tonko said.
The plan is to produce materials to teach the language in schools nationwide as an optional subject to those interested. Then, if they can wrangle more funds, they will complete a cultural and historical survey of the Kawesqars, to correct the errors in the few existing texts written by outsiders.
Over the years, five of Chile's original 14 indigenous tribes -- the Aonikenk, Selk'nam, Pikunches, Changos and Chonos -- have been lost to the onslaught of colonialism, succumbing to disease, displacement and overuse of their traditional sources of food.
The 600,000-strong Mapuche tribe is the largest and most vocal indigenous group in Chile, a country with a population of 16 million.
A Spirit of Belonging, Inside and Out
SEELEY LAKE, Mont.
Alistair Bane went to his first weekend gathering five months ago and was so nervous that he barely participated. By the time of his second, last month, he had sewn his own outfit and was comfortable enough to dance in the powwow and the drag show.
“This has been a big thing for me,” said Mr. Bane, who is a mixed-blood Eastern Shawnee. “If somebody had talked to me when I was 16 and said people like me were once respected, my life might have been different.”
The occasion was the ninth annual Montana Two-Spirit Gathering, a weekend retreat here in northwestern part of the state for a few dozen American Indians who define themselves as embodying both male and female spirits. Many are refugees from the gay or lesbian bar circuit who are now celebrating an identity among themselves that they never knew existed, in a setting without drugs or alcohol. Some identify themselves as gay or lesbian; others as a third or fourth gender, combining male and female aspects.
Since the term “Two Spirit” was coined at a conference for gay and lesbian natives in the early 1990’s, Two-Spirit societies have formed in Montana as well as in Denver; Minnesota; New York State; San Francisco; Seattle; Toronto; Tulsa, Okla.; and elsewhere, organized around what members assert was once an honored status within nearly every tribe on the continent.
“A lot of our tribal leaders have their minds blocked and don’t even know the history of Two-Spirit people,” said Steven Barrios, 54, who lives on a Blackfeet reservation in northwestern Montana, and who has been open about his sexual orientation since he was a teenager. Mr. Barrios cited a small and sometimes contested body of anthropological evidence that suggests that before the arrival of Christian missionaries, many tribes considered Two-Spirit people to be spiritually gifted and socially valuable.
Alistair Bane went to his first weekend gathering five months ago and was so nervous that he barely participated. By the time of his second, last month, he had sewn his own outfit and was comfortable enough to dance in the powwow and the drag show.
“This has been a big thing for me,” said Mr. Bane, who is a mixed-blood Eastern Shawnee. “If somebody had talked to me when I was 16 and said people like me were once respected, my life might have been different.”
The occasion was the ninth annual Montana Two-Spirit Gathering, a weekend retreat here in northwestern part of the state for a few dozen American Indians who define themselves as embodying both male and female spirits. Many are refugees from the gay or lesbian bar circuit who are now celebrating an identity among themselves that they never knew existed, in a setting without drugs or alcohol. Some identify themselves as gay or lesbian; others as a third or fourth gender, combining male and female aspects.
Since the term “Two Spirit” was coined at a conference for gay and lesbian natives in the early 1990’s, Two-Spirit societies have formed in Montana as well as in Denver; Minnesota; New York State; San Francisco; Seattle; Toronto; Tulsa, Okla.; and elsewhere, organized around what members assert was once an honored status within nearly every tribe on the continent.
“A lot of our tribal leaders have their minds blocked and don’t even know the history of Two-Spirit people,” said Steven Barrios, 54, who lives on a Blackfeet reservation in northwestern Montana, and who has been open about his sexual orientation since he was a teenager. Mr. Barrios cited a small and sometimes contested body of anthropological evidence that suggests that before the arrival of Christian missionaries, many tribes considered Two-Spirit people to be spiritually gifted and socially valuable.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Where the Moon Stood Still, and the Ancients Watched
THE great Chaco civilization, trading partner of the Maya, established a far-reaching sphere of influence in the North American desert a millennium ago. Among the most remote and mysterious of their outposts was Chimney Rock, in what is now the very southwest corner of Colorado, 90 miles from Chaco Canyon in New Mexico, the center of the culture.
Why did the Chaco people — the Anasazi, or “ancestral Puebloans,” as their descendants prefer — build an enormous ceremonial Great House at Chimney Rock, so far from home, 1,000 feet above the nearest water supply and at the base of immense sandstone spires?
It was not until two decades ago that archaeologists arrived at an explanation that most now accept: the Chaco people built the Great House as a lunar observatory precisely aligned to a celestial event that occurs just once in a generation.
That rare event, a “major lunar standstill,” is happening now, and continues through 2007. To witness this extraordinary moonrise, some two dozen visitors, including me, arrived to climb the Chimney Rock mesa in the middle of an August night.
Every 18.6 years, the moon does something strange: it radically expands the voyage it makes each month across the sky and, at the northern and southernmost edges of that journey, appears to rise in the same spot for two or three nights in a row.
What archaeologists discovered at the last occurrence of this event — in the mid-1980’s — was that if you stood atop the Chacoan Great House at Chimney Rock (or as we did, on the modern fire watchtower that stands in front of the Great House and replicates its alignment), you saw the northernmost moonrise directly between the sandstone spires. Move anywhere else on the mesa, and the shift in perspective slipped the moon from its frame.
Why did the Chaco people — the Anasazi, or “ancestral Puebloans,” as their descendants prefer — build an enormous ceremonial Great House at Chimney Rock, so far from home, 1,000 feet above the nearest water supply and at the base of immense sandstone spires?
It was not until two decades ago that archaeologists arrived at an explanation that most now accept: the Chaco people built the Great House as a lunar observatory precisely aligned to a celestial event that occurs just once in a generation.
That rare event, a “major lunar standstill,” is happening now, and continues through 2007. To witness this extraordinary moonrise, some two dozen visitors, including me, arrived to climb the Chimney Rock mesa in the middle of an August night.
Every 18.6 years, the moon does something strange: it radically expands the voyage it makes each month across the sky and, at the northern and southernmost edges of that journey, appears to rise in the same spot for two or three nights in a row.
What archaeologists discovered at the last occurrence of this event — in the mid-1980’s — was that if you stood atop the Chacoan Great House at Chimney Rock (or as we did, on the modern fire watchtower that stands in front of the Great House and replicates its alignment), you saw the northernmost moonrise directly between the sandstone spires. Move anywhere else on the mesa, and the shift in perspective slipped the moon from its frame.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Thinking outside the box: Shoshones rely on intellectual resources to grow an economy
BRIGHAM CITY — Shoshone legend suggests that Itsappe — Old Coyote — disguised in a shredded juniper wig, stole fire from a distant desert tribe and brought it north to the Bear River Valley.
The Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation today has no reason to steal. It caught fire on its own. The tribe expects revenues this year from its numerous business enterprises to hit $10 million.
It's a large figure for a band of 464 that only a few years ago had nothing.
"We started out zero," said tribal leader Bruce Parry, CEO and chairman of the board of the NWB Shoshone Economic Development Corp.
"We did not have even a penny to start."
The Northwestern Shoshone tribe, based in Brigham City, does not have a reservation, though it owns some land and is trying to acquire more.
With essentially no land base in Utah, the Northern Band of the Shoshone has relied on intellectual resources and creativity to grow an economy.
Creative economic development includes foreign language translations for the FBI, CIA and other government agencies; construction companies; and energy development. Tribal leaders want to train their young people to take over these enterprises.
And the tribe has big plans for the property it is amassing, including an industrial park, an interpretive center, a travel plaza and a casino resort just across the border in Idaho.
One of its more ambitious projects is a mixed-use development in a former Shoshone community 50 miles north of Brigham City called Washakie. The town died out during the World War II era. The new Washakie would include housing, schools, medical facilities and a business park.
All told, the tribe's proposals exceed $340 million.
Outside the box
Lacking natural resources, the Shoshones began "asset mining," or looking for something to capitalize on.
"What we've had to do is think out of the box," said chief operating officer Mike Devine. "That's why we've been successful with some of those more resourceful things."
Recognizing that Utah has many speakers of foreign languages, the tribe settled on translation services. It secured a federal contract and top-secret clearance to provide translation for agencies in the Department of Justice and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"Sure enough," Devine said, "we struck gold."
Because of its tribal status, the Northwestern Shoshone gets special consideration through the Small Business Administration for federal contracts. The government reserves a percentage for historically disadvantaged people.
The Shoshones also now own a construction company doing dozens of government projects and an interior design firm specializing in LDS Church temples. The tribe also is working on biodiesel and geothermal power projects.
"We believe energy is going to be bigger than gaming ever was for the tribe," Devine said. (The Shoshone-Bannock tribe in Idaho operates a casino at Fort Hall.)
The Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation today has no reason to steal. It caught fire on its own. The tribe expects revenues this year from its numerous business enterprises to hit $10 million.
It's a large figure for a band of 464 that only a few years ago had nothing.
"We started out zero," said tribal leader Bruce Parry, CEO and chairman of the board of the NWB Shoshone Economic Development Corp.
"We did not have even a penny to start."
The Northwestern Shoshone tribe, based in Brigham City, does not have a reservation, though it owns some land and is trying to acquire more.
With essentially no land base in Utah, the Northern Band of the Shoshone has relied on intellectual resources and creativity to grow an economy.
Creative economic development includes foreign language translations for the FBI, CIA and other government agencies; construction companies; and energy development. Tribal leaders want to train their young people to take over these enterprises.
And the tribe has big plans for the property it is amassing, including an industrial park, an interpretive center, a travel plaza and a casino resort just across the border in Idaho.
One of its more ambitious projects is a mixed-use development in a former Shoshone community 50 miles north of Brigham City called Washakie. The town died out during the World War II era. The new Washakie would include housing, schools, medical facilities and a business park.
All told, the tribe's proposals exceed $340 million.
Outside the box
Lacking natural resources, the Shoshones began "asset mining," or looking for something to capitalize on.
"What we've had to do is think out of the box," said chief operating officer Mike Devine. "That's why we've been successful with some of those more resourceful things."
Recognizing that Utah has many speakers of foreign languages, the tribe settled on translation services. It secured a federal contract and top-secret clearance to provide translation for agencies in the Department of Justice and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"Sure enough," Devine said, "we struck gold."
Because of its tribal status, the Northwestern Shoshone gets special consideration through the Small Business Administration for federal contracts. The government reserves a percentage for historically disadvantaged people.
The Shoshones also now own a construction company doing dozens of government projects and an interior design firm specializing in LDS Church temples. The tribe also is working on biodiesel and geothermal power projects.
"We believe energy is going to be bigger than gaming ever was for the tribe," Devine said. (The Shoshone-Bannock tribe in Idaho operates a casino at Fort Hall.)
Native American graduation rate rises
Eight-year-old Raven-Sky Billie wants the title this year. Last year she was first attendant in the Shiyazhi Pageant in Park City, where she showcased traditional Navajo dress, language and songs.
But Eileen Quintana wants something more for Raven-Sky and other Native American children. She hopes that putting them in touch with their heritage will propel them to graduate from high school.
Quintana is the director of the Title VII Indian Education Program in the Nebo School District, which has helped raise the Native American graduation rate in the district from 37 percent in 1998 to as high as 94 percent in 2003. The national average is less than 50 percent.
About 250 students in the district participate in the program, with about 85 percent being Navajo. About 17 different tribes, including Lakota, Utes, Piutes, Chippewas and Shoshones also are represented.
Twice a week Navajo language classes are offered, and an after-school program provides instruction on traditional arts and Native American history. A summer-school program carries on those lessons. Last year, students made teepees and learned about the history and meaning behind the symbols painted on them.
When the program first started in 1998, Quintana offered homework help and dance instruction every Tuesday from 5 to 7 p.m., and for the first six months, no one showed up.
Then, families started coming. "The first thing I did was I went and tried to find all my little lost Indian kids," Quintana said. "I made visits with their families and talked to them. I did it very Navajo."
Quintana said she can always tell when her students start learning about Native American history in school, because their grades drop. "One of the things that I hear my students say the most is, 'I feel invisible. I'm the only Native American in my school. When they teach about native Americans in my school it's not something I connect to. It's something very different.' "
Giving them accurate information about their history is key to tapping into their self-esteem and potential, Quintana said.
"It's amazing how brilliant our people are, and we need to connect back into that to really ignite that fire within our children so that we validate who they are. We validate them. They're not invisible. They have something to contribute to this society," she said.
Shirlee Silversmith, Indian education curriculum director for the Utah State Office of Education, recently finished a two-year process of developing lessons about Native Americans for use in schools. She hopes that the Native Americans students read about in their schoolbooks will be more closely connected to their own identities.
The Nebo district's Indian Education program extends that relationship between culture and learning.
Silversmith explained how a drum can be used to teach math. "If you can utilize a drum and look at the diameter of a drum, and how do you come up with the diameter, the math work on that, they have something tangible they can hold in their hand and that is a part of their culture. You make it relevant for that child, and that's what Eileen has done. She just takes all different kinds of cultural and language and integrates it into a program model that is just working very well for her students and families."
Quintana said students have limited opportunities to learn about their culture in public schools. She once looked for a book in the Spanish Fork High School library about Navajo Code Talkers who helped transmit and decode secret messages during World War II and couldn't find one.
Statewide in 2005, American Indian students passed the state's language arts test at a rate of nearly 52 percent, while their white counterparts passed at 81 percent, according to the State Office of Education. In math, American Indians had a pass rate of 49 percent, compared to 76 percent for white students.
Government oppression has made many Native Americans standoffish about government and public services such as schools, Silversmith said. That suspicion has caused some parents to teach their children to be silent at school. Quintana added that many Native American cultures also require children to be quiet and learn by observation. "You have a cultural thing there, because that definitely is not the case in the society we live in."
Natalie Billie, volunteer and treasurer for the program's parent committee, said the program has helped teach her children, Raven-Sky and 6-year-old Shakotah, about their roots. "For us it's more of the culture we come for -- learning the Navajo songs and learning about the traditional ways. Their dad was raised here in Springville, so he kind of got taken away from the traditional ways, so he's learning right along with them."
Raven-Sky can sing a four-verse song titled, "Who is My Mother?" in Navajo, Billie said. "It just kind of teaches them where they come from."
But Eileen Quintana wants something more for Raven-Sky and other Native American children. She hopes that putting them in touch with their heritage will propel them to graduate from high school.
Quintana is the director of the Title VII Indian Education Program in the Nebo School District, which has helped raise the Native American graduation rate in the district from 37 percent in 1998 to as high as 94 percent in 2003. The national average is less than 50 percent.
About 250 students in the district participate in the program, with about 85 percent being Navajo. About 17 different tribes, including Lakota, Utes, Piutes, Chippewas and Shoshones also are represented.
Twice a week Navajo language classes are offered, and an after-school program provides instruction on traditional arts and Native American history. A summer-school program carries on those lessons. Last year, students made teepees and learned about the history and meaning behind the symbols painted on them.
When the program first started in 1998, Quintana offered homework help and dance instruction every Tuesday from 5 to 7 p.m., and for the first six months, no one showed up.
Then, families started coming. "The first thing I did was I went and tried to find all my little lost Indian kids," Quintana said. "I made visits with their families and talked to them. I did it very Navajo."
Quintana said she can always tell when her students start learning about Native American history in school, because their grades drop. "One of the things that I hear my students say the most is, 'I feel invisible. I'm the only Native American in my school. When they teach about native Americans in my school it's not something I connect to. It's something very different.' "
Giving them accurate information about their history is key to tapping into their self-esteem and potential, Quintana said.
"It's amazing how brilliant our people are, and we need to connect back into that to really ignite that fire within our children so that we validate who they are. We validate them. They're not invisible. They have something to contribute to this society," she said.
Shirlee Silversmith, Indian education curriculum director for the Utah State Office of Education, recently finished a two-year process of developing lessons about Native Americans for use in schools. She hopes that the Native Americans students read about in their schoolbooks will be more closely connected to their own identities.
The Nebo district's Indian Education program extends that relationship between culture and learning.
Silversmith explained how a drum can be used to teach math. "If you can utilize a drum and look at the diameter of a drum, and how do you come up with the diameter, the math work on that, they have something tangible they can hold in their hand and that is a part of their culture. You make it relevant for that child, and that's what Eileen has done. She just takes all different kinds of cultural and language and integrates it into a program model that is just working very well for her students and families."
Quintana said students have limited opportunities to learn about their culture in public schools. She once looked for a book in the Spanish Fork High School library about Navajo Code Talkers who helped transmit and decode secret messages during World War II and couldn't find one.
Statewide in 2005, American Indian students passed the state's language arts test at a rate of nearly 52 percent, while their white counterparts passed at 81 percent, according to the State Office of Education. In math, American Indians had a pass rate of 49 percent, compared to 76 percent for white students.
Government oppression has made many Native Americans standoffish about government and public services such as schools, Silversmith said. That suspicion has caused some parents to teach their children to be silent at school. Quintana added that many Native American cultures also require children to be quiet and learn by observation. "You have a cultural thing there, because that definitely is not the case in the society we live in."
Natalie Billie, volunteer and treasurer for the program's parent committee, said the program has helped teach her children, Raven-Sky and 6-year-old Shakotah, about their roots. "For us it's more of the culture we come for -- learning the Navajo songs and learning about the traditional ways. Their dad was raised here in Springville, so he kind of got taken away from the traditional ways, so he's learning right along with them."
Raven-Sky can sing a four-verse song titled, "Who is My Mother?" in Navajo, Billie said. "It just kind of teaches them where they come from."
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Aborigines Win Australian Land Claim
CANBERRA, Australia (AP) -- A federal court judge has given a tribe of Aborigines a limited land title claim over the major Australian city of Perth.
It was the first such ruling that Aborigines, the indigenous people who lived in Australia before white settlers arrived, were the traditional owners of an urban area. The potentially precedent-setting decision could apply to other large cities.
The ruling determined that the Noongar people were the traditional owners of a 2,300-square-mile area of Western Australia state that includes the state capital of Perth, a city of 1.7 million people.
But Tuesday's ruling by Judge Murray Wilcox only grants Aborigines limited rights to the land, and indigenous people say the issue is about recognition of their rights, not moving homeowners out.
The ruling means the Noongar people can now exercise rights such as hunting and fishing on land where their native title -- a claim on land Aborigines held before settlers arrived -- has not been usurped by freehold titles, those where the government has passed all interest in the land to the owner, or leasehold titles, where a person leases property from the owner.
Wilcox said the outcome was ''neither the pot of gold for the indigenous claimants nor the disaster for the remainder of the community that is sometimes painted.''"
It was the first such ruling that Aborigines, the indigenous people who lived in Australia before white settlers arrived, were the traditional owners of an urban area. The potentially precedent-setting decision could apply to other large cities.
The ruling determined that the Noongar people were the traditional owners of a 2,300-square-mile area of Western Australia state that includes the state capital of Perth, a city of 1.7 million people.
But Tuesday's ruling by Judge Murray Wilcox only grants Aborigines limited rights to the land, and indigenous people say the issue is about recognition of their rights, not moving homeowners out.
The ruling means the Noongar people can now exercise rights such as hunting and fishing on land where their native title -- a claim on land Aborigines held before settlers arrived -- has not been usurped by freehold titles, those where the government has passed all interest in the land to the owner, or leasehold titles, where a person leases property from the owner.
Wilcox said the outcome was ''neither the pot of gold for the indigenous claimants nor the disaster for the remainder of the community that is sometimes painted.''"
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Border Fence Must Skirt Objections From Arizona Tribe
TOHONO O’ODHAM NATION, Ariz., Sept. 14 — The Senate is expected to vote Wednesday on legislation to build a double-layered 700-mile-long fence on the Mexican border, a proposal already approved by the House.
If the fence is built, however, it could have a long gap — about 75 miles — at one of the border’s most vulnerable points because of opposition from the Indian tribe here. The Tohono O’odham Nation straddles the Mexico border.
More illegal immigrants are caught — and die trying to cross into the United States — in and around the Tohono O’odham Indian territory, which straddles the Arizona border, than any other spot in the state.
Tribal leaders have cooperated with Border Patrol enforcement, but they promised to fight the building of a fence out of environmental and cultural concerns.
For the Tohono O’odham, which means “desert people,” the reason is fairly simple. For generations, their people and the wildlife they revere have freely crossed the border. For years, an existing four-foot-high cattle fence has had several openings — essentially cattle gates — that tribal members use to visit relatives and friends, take children to school and perform rites on the other side.
“I am O’odham first, and American or Mexican second or third,” said Ramon Valenzuela, as he walked his two children to school through one gate two miles from his O’odham village in Mexico.
But the pushed-up bottom strands of the cattle fence and the surrounding desert littered with clothing, water jugs and discarded backpacks testify to the growth in illegal immigrant traffic, which surged here after a Border Patrol enforcement squeeze in California and Texas in the mid-1990’s.
Crossers take advantage of a remote network of washes and trails — and sometimes Indian guides — to reach nearby highways bound for cities across the country.
Tribal members, who once gave water and food to the occasional passing migrant, say they have become fed up with groups of illegal immigrants breaking into homes and stealing food, water and clothing, and even using indoor and outdoor electrical outlets to charge cellphones.
With tribal police, health and other services overwhelmed by illegal immigration, the Indians welcomed National Guard members this summer to assist the Border Patrol here. The tribe, after negotiations with the Department of Homeland Security, also agreed to a plan for concrete vehicle barriers at the fence and the grading of the dirt road parallel to it for speedier Border Patrol and tribal police access. The Indians also donated a parcel this year for a small Border Patrol substation and holding pen.
Tribal members, however, fearing the symbolism of a solid wall and concern about the free range of deer, wild horses, coyotes, jackrabbits and other animals they regard as kin, said they would fight the kind of steel-plated fencing that Congress had in mind and that has slackened the crossing flow in previous hot spots like San Diego.
“Animals and our people need to cross freely,” said Verlon Jose, a member of the tribal council representing border villages. “In our tradition we are taught to be concerned about every living thing as if they were people. We don’t want that wall.”
The federal government, the trustee of all Indian lands, could build the fence here without tribal permission, but that option is not being pressed because officials said it might jeopardize the tribe’s cooperation on smuggling and other border crimes.
“We rely on them for cooperation and intelligence and phone calls about illegal activity as much as they depend on us to respond to calls,” said Chuy Rodriguez, a spokesman for the Border Patrol in Tucson, who described overall relations as “getting better and better.”
The Tohono number more than 30,000, including 14,000 on the Arizona tribal territory and 1,400 in Mexico. Building a fence would impose many challenges, apart from the political difficulties.
If the fence is built, however, it could have a long gap — about 75 miles — at one of the border’s most vulnerable points because of opposition from the Indian tribe here. The Tohono O’odham Nation straddles the Mexico border.
More illegal immigrants are caught — and die trying to cross into the United States — in and around the Tohono O’odham Indian territory, which straddles the Arizona border, than any other spot in the state.
Tribal leaders have cooperated with Border Patrol enforcement, but they promised to fight the building of a fence out of environmental and cultural concerns.
For the Tohono O’odham, which means “desert people,” the reason is fairly simple. For generations, their people and the wildlife they revere have freely crossed the border. For years, an existing four-foot-high cattle fence has had several openings — essentially cattle gates — that tribal members use to visit relatives and friends, take children to school and perform rites on the other side.
“I am O’odham first, and American or Mexican second or third,” said Ramon Valenzuela, as he walked his two children to school through one gate two miles from his O’odham village in Mexico.
But the pushed-up bottom strands of the cattle fence and the surrounding desert littered with clothing, water jugs and discarded backpacks testify to the growth in illegal immigrant traffic, which surged here after a Border Patrol enforcement squeeze in California and Texas in the mid-1990’s.
Crossers take advantage of a remote network of washes and trails — and sometimes Indian guides — to reach nearby highways bound for cities across the country.
Tribal members, who once gave water and food to the occasional passing migrant, say they have become fed up with groups of illegal immigrants breaking into homes and stealing food, water and clothing, and even using indoor and outdoor electrical outlets to charge cellphones.
With tribal police, health and other services overwhelmed by illegal immigration, the Indians welcomed National Guard members this summer to assist the Border Patrol here. The tribe, after negotiations with the Department of Homeland Security, also agreed to a plan for concrete vehicle barriers at the fence and the grading of the dirt road parallel to it for speedier Border Patrol and tribal police access. The Indians also donated a parcel this year for a small Border Patrol substation and holding pen.
Tribal members, however, fearing the symbolism of a solid wall and concern about the free range of deer, wild horses, coyotes, jackrabbits and other animals they regard as kin, said they would fight the kind of steel-plated fencing that Congress had in mind and that has slackened the crossing flow in previous hot spots like San Diego.
“Animals and our people need to cross freely,” said Verlon Jose, a member of the tribal council representing border villages. “In our tradition we are taught to be concerned about every living thing as if they were people. We don’t want that wall.”
The federal government, the trustee of all Indian lands, could build the fence here without tribal permission, but that option is not being pressed because officials said it might jeopardize the tribe’s cooperation on smuggling and other border crimes.
“We rely on them for cooperation and intelligence and phone calls about illegal activity as much as they depend on us to respond to calls,” said Chuy Rodriguez, a spokesman for the Border Patrol in Tucson, who described overall relations as “getting better and better.”
The Tohono number more than 30,000, including 14,000 on the Arizona tribal territory and 1,400 in Mexico. Building a fence would impose many challenges, apart from the political difficulties.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Gifts Given by the Creator: Contemporary American Indian Art
A wonderful gallery and discussion of What is Contemporary Indian Art? Discussing the work of 12 contemporary American Indian artists and the influences on their work. Harry Fonseca, Judith Lowry, Lyn Risling, Frank LaPena, L. Frank, Ikoshy Montoya, Emmanuel Montoya, Billy Soza Warsoldier, Hulleah J. Tsinhnahjinnie, Michael Horse, Niki Lee, & Richard Glazer Danay.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
In Shadow of 70’s Racism, Recent Violence Stirs Rage - Farmington, NM
The memory of 1974 still hangs heavily over this troubled New Mexico town, like a bad spirit drifting down from the sandpaper mesas and scrub-speckled hillsides.
That was the year the bodies of three Navajo men were found in nearby Chokecherry Canyon, burned and bludgeoned. The three white high school students charged in their killings were sent not to prison but to reform school.
The violence and mild sentences incited marches by Navajos through Farmington’s streets and exposed tensions between them and the town’s largely white residents. The United States Commission on Civil Rights eventually investigated and found widespread mistreatment and prejudice against Navajos.
Now, more than three decades later, Navajo leaders here are again calling for federal intervention.
On June 4, the police said, three white men beat a Navajo man, William Blackie, 46, and shouted racial slurs at him after asking him to buy beer for them. The men were charged with kidnapping, robbery and assault, and are being prosecuted under the state hate crimes law, which allows for longer sentences.
Six days later, a white Farmington police officer killed a Navajo man, Clint John, 21, after a struggle in a Wal-Mart parking lot. The police said Mr. John had assaulted his girlfriend and attacked the officer — grabbing his baton and moving aggressively toward him — before the officer shot Mr. John four times. Mr. John had a history of violence, the police said.
Mr. John’s family says he did not have the baton when he was shot and is filing a wrongful death lawsuit against city officials, the Police Department and the officer.
That was the year the bodies of three Navajo men were found in nearby Chokecherry Canyon, burned and bludgeoned. The three white high school students charged in their killings were sent not to prison but to reform school.
The violence and mild sentences incited marches by Navajos through Farmington’s streets and exposed tensions between them and the town’s largely white residents. The United States Commission on Civil Rights eventually investigated and found widespread mistreatment and prejudice against Navajos.
Now, more than three decades later, Navajo leaders here are again calling for federal intervention.
On June 4, the police said, three white men beat a Navajo man, William Blackie, 46, and shouted racial slurs at him after asking him to buy beer for them. The men were charged with kidnapping, robbery and assault, and are being prosecuted under the state hate crimes law, which allows for longer sentences.
Six days later, a white Farmington police officer killed a Navajo man, Clint John, 21, after a struggle in a Wal-Mart parking lot. The police said Mr. John had assaulted his girlfriend and attacked the officer — grabbing his baton and moving aggressively toward him — before the officer shot Mr. John four times. Mr. John had a history of violence, the police said.
Mr. John’s family says he did not have the baton when he was shot and is filing a wrongful death lawsuit against city officials, the Police Department and the officer.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Writing on Stone May Be Oldest in the Americas
A stone slab found in the state of Veracruz in Mexico bears 3,000-year-old writing previously unknown to scholars, according to archaeologists who say it is an example of the oldest script ever discovered in the Western Hemisphere.
The order and pattern of carved symbols appeared to be that of a true writing system, according to the Mexican scientists who have studied the slab and colleagues from the United States. It had characteristics strikingly similar to imagery of the Olmec civilization, considered the earliest in pre-Columbian America, they said.
Finding a heretofore-unknown writing system is a rare event. One of the last such discoveries, scholars say, was the Indus Valley script, identified by archaeologists in 1924.
The inscription on the stone slab, with 62 distinct signs, some of them repeated, has been tentatively dated to at least 900 B.C., and possibly earlier. That is 400 years or more before writing had been known to exist in Mesoamerica, the region from central Mexico through much of Central America — and by extension, to exist anywhere in the Hemisphere.
Scientists had not previously found any script that was unambiguously associated with the Olmec culture, which flourished along the Gulf of Mexico in Vera Cruz and Tobasco well before the Zapotec and Maya people rose to prominence elsewhere in the region. Until now, the Olmec were known mainly for the colossal stone heads they created and displayed at monumental buildings in their ruling cities.
The order and pattern of carved symbols appeared to be that of a true writing system, according to the Mexican scientists who have studied the slab and colleagues from the United States. It had characteristics strikingly similar to imagery of the Olmec civilization, considered the earliest in pre-Columbian America, they said.
Finding a heretofore-unknown writing system is a rare event. One of the last such discoveries, scholars say, was the Indus Valley script, identified by archaeologists in 1924.
The inscription on the stone slab, with 62 distinct signs, some of them repeated, has been tentatively dated to at least 900 B.C., and possibly earlier. That is 400 years or more before writing had been known to exist in Mesoamerica, the region from central Mexico through much of Central America — and by extension, to exist anywhere in the Hemisphere.
Scientists had not previously found any script that was unambiguously associated with the Olmec culture, which flourished along the Gulf of Mexico in Vera Cruz and Tobasco well before the Zapotec and Maya people rose to prominence elsewhere in the region. Until now, the Olmec were known mainly for the colossal stone heads they created and displayed at monumental buildings in their ruling cities.
3rd Rare White Buffalo Born on Wis. Farm
MILWAUKEE (AP) -- A farm in Wisconsin is quickly becoming hallowed ground for American Indians with the birth of its third white buffalo, an animal considered sacred by many tribes for its potential to bring good fortune and peace.
''We took one look at it and I can't repeat what I thought but I thought, 'Here we go again,''' said owner Dave Heider.
Thousands of people stopped by Heider's Janesville farm after the birth of the first white buffalo, a female named Miracle who died in 2004 at the age of 10. The second was born in 1996 but died after three days.
Heider said he discovered the third white buffalo, a newborn male, after a storm in late August.
Over the weekend, about 50 American Indians held a drum ceremony to honor the calf, which has yet to be named, he said.
Floyd ''Looks for Buffalo'' Hand, a medicine man in the Oglala Sioux Tribe in Pine Ridge, S.D., said it was fate that the white buffaloes chose one farm, which will likely become a focal point for visitors, who make offerings such as tobacco and dream catchers in the hopes of earning good fortune and peace.
''That's destiny,'' he said. ''The message was only choose one person.''
The white buffalo is particularly sacred to the Cheyenne, Sioux and other nomadic tribes of the Northern Plains that once relied on the buffalo for subsistence.
According to a version of the legend, a white buffalo, disguised as a woman wearing white hides, appeared to two men. One treated her with respect, and the other didn't. She turned the disrespectful man into a pile of bones, and gave the respectful one a pipe and taught his people rituals and music. She transformed into a female white buffalo calf and promised to return again.
That this latest birth is a male doesn't make it any less significant in American Indian prophecies, which say that such an animal will reunite all the races of man and restore balance to the world, Hand said. He said the buffalo's coat will change from white to black, red and yellow, the colors of the various races of man, before turning brown again.
The birth of a white male buffalo means men need to take responsibility for their families and the future of the tribe, Hand said.
The odds of a white buffalo are at least 1 in a million, said Jim Matheson, assistant director of the National Bison Association. Buffalo in general have been rare for years, thought their numbers are increasing, with some 250,000 now in the U.S., he said.
Many people, like Heider, choose to raise the animals for their meat, which is considered a healthier, low-fat alternative to beef.
Gary Adamson, 65, of Elkhorn, who is of Choctaw and Cherokee heritage, said tribal elders will help interpret the animal's significance.
''There are still things that need to be done, and Miracle's task wasn't quite done yet, and we feel there's something there,'' he said.
''We took one look at it and I can't repeat what I thought but I thought, 'Here we go again,''' said owner Dave Heider.
Thousands of people stopped by Heider's Janesville farm after the birth of the first white buffalo, a female named Miracle who died in 2004 at the age of 10. The second was born in 1996 but died after three days.
Heider said he discovered the third white buffalo, a newborn male, after a storm in late August.
Over the weekend, about 50 American Indians held a drum ceremony to honor the calf, which has yet to be named, he said.
Floyd ''Looks for Buffalo'' Hand, a medicine man in the Oglala Sioux Tribe in Pine Ridge, S.D., said it was fate that the white buffaloes chose one farm, which will likely become a focal point for visitors, who make offerings such as tobacco and dream catchers in the hopes of earning good fortune and peace.
''That's destiny,'' he said. ''The message was only choose one person.''
The white buffalo is particularly sacred to the Cheyenne, Sioux and other nomadic tribes of the Northern Plains that once relied on the buffalo for subsistence.
According to a version of the legend, a white buffalo, disguised as a woman wearing white hides, appeared to two men. One treated her with respect, and the other didn't. She turned the disrespectful man into a pile of bones, and gave the respectful one a pipe and taught his people rituals and music. She transformed into a female white buffalo calf and promised to return again.
That this latest birth is a male doesn't make it any less significant in American Indian prophecies, which say that such an animal will reunite all the races of man and restore balance to the world, Hand said. He said the buffalo's coat will change from white to black, red and yellow, the colors of the various races of man, before turning brown again.
The birth of a white male buffalo means men need to take responsibility for their families and the future of the tribe, Hand said.
The odds of a white buffalo are at least 1 in a million, said Jim Matheson, assistant director of the National Bison Association. Buffalo in general have been rare for years, thought their numbers are increasing, with some 250,000 now in the U.S., he said.
Many people, like Heider, choose to raise the animals for their meat, which is considered a healthier, low-fat alternative to beef.
Gary Adamson, 65, of Elkhorn, who is of Choctaw and Cherokee heritage, said tribal elders will help interpret the animal's significance.
''There are still things that need to be done, and Miracle's task wasn't quite done yet, and we feel there's something there,'' he said.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Carol Cornsilk film to debut in Washington and New York
Carol Cornsilk, a graduate assistant in the University of Nebraska-Lincoln's College of Journalism and Mass Communications has two major premieres looming this fall. "Indian Country Diaries: Spiral of Fire," a two-part documentary film Cornsilk directed and co-produced is making its debut..
"Indian Country Diaries: Spiral of Fire," will make its Washington, D.C. premiere at the National Museum of the American Indian on Friday, September 29th.
In November, the film will air nationally on PBS and will also be screened on opening night at the Native American Film Festival, November 30th, in New York City. Cornsilk, a Cherokee tribal member, will be on hand to discuss her film at both premieres.
"Indian County Diaries: Spiral of Fire” takes author LeAnne Howe (Choctaw) to the North Carolina homeland of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians to discover how the mix of tourism, community, and cultural preservation is the key to their tribe’s health in the 21st century.
Along the way, Howe seeks to reconcile her own complex identity as the illegitimate daughter of a Choctaw woman, fathered by a Cherokee man she never knew, and raised by an adopted Cherokee family in Oklahoma.
"Indian Country Diaries: Spiral of Fire," will make its Washington, D.C. premiere at the National Museum of the American Indian on Friday, September 29th.
In November, the film will air nationally on PBS and will also be screened on opening night at the Native American Film Festival, November 30th, in New York City. Cornsilk, a Cherokee tribal member, will be on hand to discuss her film at both premieres.
"Indian County Diaries: Spiral of Fire” takes author LeAnne Howe (Choctaw) to the North Carolina homeland of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians to discover how the mix of tourism, community, and cultural preservation is the key to their tribe’s health in the 21st century.
Along the way, Howe seeks to reconcile her own complex identity as the illegitimate daughter of a Choctaw woman, fathered by a Cherokee man she never knew, and raised by an adopted Cherokee family in Oklahoma.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)