Reflections
from the Ahnishinahbæótjibway (We, the People)
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Since
I’ve been writing this column, I’ve been getting a lot
of mail and telephone calls that need to be answered.
Tuesday, my mail-order certificate for completing a home-study
course in Shamanism finally arrived. As
is documented by my genuine, gilt (guilt) edged diploma from the
International
Institute of Shamanism, I’ve become a full-fledged Shaman, D.D.—but I’m
only
going to work part-time ... it depends on how I feel.
Under
my new title as Shaman, D.D., I want to thank the young
lady in Cass Lake for calling to let me know she agreed with me, on the
last
column that Wub-e-ke-niew wrote. There
are a very few Ahnishinahbæótjibway people
left. Thank you for calling.
Now,
to the stack of mail:
Dear Shaman,
I
grew up a Chippewa reservation with an Indian name, and
there is no way I’m going to let anyone denigrate that upbringing. Yes, the whole nine yards: the tar-paper
shack, 11 brothers and sisters, cutting wood for heat and cooking,
hauling
water, outside toilets, spearing fish in the spring for food, hunting
ducks and
deer in the fall for winter food, trapping with the old man for needed
cash
items, etc. When we went into town to
spend our hard-earned money, the white folks were so glad to see us. We never experienced any racism.
The BIA was always there to help us out when
we needed it, and they gave us fine schooling, with scholarship
opportunities
to go to college so we could work as mid-level Token Indian bureaucrats
for the
Bureau and other white institutions.
So, why don’t you quit bitching and crying in your news column?
Signed,
Jean-Paul
Dear
Wemetigozhens (translated
into English, this means, “Little Burnt Stump”),
Yeah,
I guess I should quit complaining. Some of
the descendants of the French fur
traders, who got turned into Indians during the War of 1812 with
England, got a
pretty good deal. Forty years ago,
there were quite a few tarpaper shacks in the northwoods, and almost
nobody had
electricity or running water—a lot of the white people didn’t have it,
either. Back then, there were actually
ducks and deer to hunt, and wood to cut.
Nobody had refrigerators, and the only way to keep fresh food
was to share
it. Abe Lincoln was born in a log
cabin, and so were a lot of other people.
Dear Charmin,
Indian
Religion, doesn’t it have degrees? How do
I go about studying this religion,
and getting some of these degrees? Is
it like Chemical Dependency certification?
And, do I have to learn the language so I can help my people?
Signed,
Wanna-be
Dear Helpful,
First
of all, you spelled my name wrong. It’s
Shaman, with an “S.” If you want Charmin,
you’ll need to go see
Roger Jourdain, Butch Brun, Bobby Whitefeather, Buggers McArthur, or
former
Tribal Chairman Chip Wadena. Those are
the official Indians you want to see; I’m not an IRA Indian, never have
been,
and never will be.
The
idea of “degrees” is a historical accident. There
was a Frenchman trying to be a
medicine man, and he didn’t speak English too well.
He couldn’t say “the,” he always said “de.”
He was talking to a blood quantum Indian
about the seven Crees up in Canada, and what he said sounded like “de
Crees” or
“degrees.” It’s time to start debunking
this mythology of “degrees.”
If
you want religion, there are still a lot of missionaries
around who will be happy to give you a free Bible and save you. And, if you want to help your people, it’s
more useful to learn English.
Dear Shaman,
How
do you make the wigwam shake?
Signed,
Curious
Dear Nosy,
Use
a bungee cord, some of the Real Indian Traditionalists
(especially those with college degrees in Indian Studies) spell it
bangii.
Dear Shaman,
Some
of your story-telling, some of your Wannaboozhoo
stories, seem to be outdated. Why don’t
you get “with it,” and give up on all your useless old antiquated ideas? I don’t know why you can’t be more like us.
Signed, White
Traditionalist
Dear White
Liberal,
The
fish are all gone and the deer are disappearing. The
forests are mostly clearcut or turned
into sick agriculture called “tree farms.”
The buffalo are gone, and the passenger pigeons are extinct. They’ve been tearing down piñon nut
trees to
make room for more cattle, and the spin doctors are creating public
opinion to
destroy the BWCA. They want to
“develop” the BWCA to make money. In
plain English, their Euroamerican motto is, “greed is good and
exploitation is
healthy.”
We’ve
given up a lot, already. Why don’t you try
giving up something for awhile, like maybe quit
stealing other people’s lands, stop giving other people different
identities
... why don’t you give up your apartheid Constitution?
And, violence seems like a useless old
antiquated idea to me. As long as
you’re talking about giving up worthless customs, why don’t you
straighten out
your language so it doesn’t lie so much?
Dear Shaman,
I
wanted to know if there really was a Nanaboozhoo.
Signed,
Anthropologist
Dear
Grave-Robber,
I went and consulted
a Real Indian Medicine Man, and then I went and talked to several Real
Indian
Traditionalists. They informed me that,
“It’s so sacred, we can’t talk about it.”
That’s what Real Indians always say when they don’t know, so I
figured
that they didn’t know. I don’t know
either, and I don’t really care.
That’s
all for now.
Keep the mail coming. My mailing
address is P.O. Box 484, Bemidji, MN 56619, and my telephone number is
(218)
679-3984.
Wub-e-ke-niew
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