A sovereign nation of aboriginals were given checks for lands stolen that have never been cashed. In their pride they refused, a deep understanding that by cashing those checks they would have accepted to become a part of this government. They hadn't. They were independent. They were free. And they knew it.
Eighty years later this same nation has a new generation, so dislocated from its heritage, from its culture, that it sells their way of life that is the very truest definition of who they are as a people, for a government hand out. Hunters and gatherers at your heart, core and soul - whose charge is stewardship of the resources of this very land - what does the present stewardship of the land have that safeguards it? Where are the salamanders? The tree frogs? The bees and butterflies? Where are the fish? By what right do you forfeit it? On whose behalf do you surrender?
Yet, these Indians, the first stewards, the natural stewards, the only stewards, are given fish sticks for ceremonies and told that they will be allowed "government" recognition, if they eat the handouts and keep their mouths shut. They can have their bingo parlors and their casinos, painted fish on their chips, a made up language with made up stories.
And the white men praise the little Indian boys who sign, and clap one another on the back. Good boys, they say, good boys! Let’s smoke the pipe of peace, and pass the bottle of lightening. The occupiers smile and the paternals smile back. No one notices the tears shed by the maternals. Who notices the woman’s tears? The woman’s memories of where the fish runs are, where the best wapato roots lay, where the bones of ancestors rest?
The impostors come with their braided hair. They wa-wa and wear leather. They play politics and follow “government criteria.” And fat white men in newspaper offices praise them and life is good. For them. For awhile. Until they die. And there is no tomorrow, for those who don’t. But it doesn’t matter. The Chinooks have a bingo parlor and maybe a casino. They have forgotten how to fish and white men always like to gamble. There is a government payroll for a few at the top, and maybe a reservation to drink on for those at the bottom. The average lifespan for an Indian woman on a res is 54. This is good. She doesn’t have too long of a life to remember what was, or suffer what is, or watch what her children become.
Eighty years later this same nation has a new generation, so dislocated from its heritage, from its culture, that it sells their way of life that is the very truest definition of who they are as a people, for a government hand out. Hunters and gatherers at your heart, core and soul - whose charge is stewardship of the resources of this very land - what does the present stewardship of the land have that safeguards it? Where are the salamanders? The tree frogs? The bees and butterflies? Where are the fish? By what right do you forfeit it? On whose behalf do you surrender?
Yet, these Indians, the first stewards, the natural stewards, the only stewards, are given fish sticks for ceremonies and told that they will be allowed "government" recognition, if they eat the handouts and keep their mouths shut. They can have their bingo parlors and their casinos, painted fish on their chips, a made up language with made up stories.
And the white men praise the little Indian boys who sign, and clap one another on the back. Good boys, they say, good boys! Let’s smoke the pipe of peace, and pass the bottle of lightening. The occupiers smile and the paternals smile back. No one notices the tears shed by the maternals. Who notices the woman’s tears? The woman’s memories of where the fish runs are, where the best wapato roots lay, where the bones of ancestors rest?
The impostors come with their braided hair. They wa-wa and wear leather. They play politics and follow “government criteria.” And fat white men in newspaper offices praise them and life is good. For them. For awhile. Until they die. And there is no tomorrow, for those who don’t. But it doesn’t matter. The Chinooks have a bingo parlor and maybe a casino. They have forgotten how to fish and white men always like to gamble. There is a government payroll for a few at the top, and maybe a reservation to drink on for those at the bottom. The average lifespan for an Indian woman on a res is 54. This is good. She doesn’t have too long of a life to remember what was, or suffer what is, or watch what her children become.
7 comments:
As someone who grew up as a fourth generation resident of the town of Chinook, I remember my father being very entrenched in all thinks "Chinuk". Many of the friends that he grew up with and that his father grew up with in town were "of the blood", and my father would always be telling us about meanings of words he had learned growing up and translating place names that we would travel through. Thank you for this article.
ouch!
And what better retributionh that to separate the "White Man" from what he cherishes most....Money.
this is about the saddest thing i have ever read on the chinook "nation"'s attempt to get recognized. how little the rest of us understand about how the other tribes feel. don't they have the backing of the other indian tribes?
As a thisnuk of royal heritage, this article reminds me of the important responsibilty I have as an aborigin and our role as thisnuk people to steward the land that the Great Spirit gave us and bring about the balance in nature with all the negative outside influnces.
The only law we obayed were the laws of nature which are so nessary in a world that is so out of sorts by the constant pulling of economic and political powers, where the laws of nature are not part of the solution to our problems that will negetivaly affect Mother Earth forever. hopefully this article will affect the political leaders of the tribe to take heed of their responsibilities that were held for millineums by people born to look after the well being of all. Would you want to compromise this inate power you were born into for a posssible casino/goverment aid package with srtings attached. One last word, were is your biggest social responsibility and betterment to humanity lay? We the thisnuk people have had the biggest blessing bestowed uppon us by the creator by not being inslaved by the political relationships that have enveloped other tribal/govermentel inter relationships so we may come with a more truer positive position to avoid entrapment in the current perils of society and implement our truest duty of protecting Mother Earth for all humanity.
Masey-Kloose Tillicums
So, lets see: the people who call themselves "native" Americans are actually the third iteration of people in the Americas. The second group conquered the first group so it could gain control and the current group conquered the second group. Did the current version of "native" Americans give reperations to the people they conquered? If not, why should they get anything more from the people who conquered them than the change to live their lives on their own abilities? That sure seems like more than they gave the people who came before them.
Damn, every time I read this it breaks my heart.
The best thing you all wrote so far. It hurts to read it.
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