Images are symbolic representations of the way we model or try to understand reality. We assign symbolic meaning to images, and overtime we begin to accept those meanings as absolute truth. Communication and language dictate the way we convey such images. Yet not all representations fit eloquently, or seamlessly for that matter, with the realities we are trying to understand or convey. But it is clear that images invoke power through the symbols or meanings we assign to said images. Eventually myth and story become the embodiment of realities we accept as truth. I like to think of this as an act of colonization of the mind.
With that being said, it didn't take long for the words to sink in, and for me to come to terms with what Dr. Morris strongly said--"What you think you might know about Native Americans is wrong." She's right in the simple matter that we are colonized into thinking that what we know about Native Americans is the truth. But we have been brainwashed since our first American History lessons in Middle School.
So the story goes....
Europeans discovered a land full of vast wealth, Native Americans were savage people that needed to be tamed, and thus our great American Nation was founded upon the principles of equality.
Bullshit!
The truth of the matter is the simple reality which Dr. Morris declared, but for me it goes a bit deeper than that simple truth. I will get to the details of that statement in just a bit.
What image comes to mind when the words Native American are spoken? When I think of the words Native American something inside of me fluctuates with an overwhelming intensity that I am unwilling to understand, and in all honesty it scares the hell out of me. Because you see, when I hear or speak the words Native American the image that comes to mind, and one which I am unable to fathom, is an image of invisibleness, voicelessness, and the callous destruction of a truly unique culture and group of people. I see the destruction of my own history and cultural past.
Those of you who know me, and those of you who don't, know that I am a cultural/post-colonial theorist and scholar--I will give a big shout out once again to Dr. Clemens for awakening this part of my soul. As such, I have a deep love--it is actually more of a passionate obsession--for understanding other cultures that are not my own. I love reading books from all over the world. There isn't a continent, or country, I have left untouched. It comes as no surprise then, that my life has become about understanding, and reconciling the differences that separate the many people of our own world. I find myself becoming more and more aware of the diversity that defines our very lives.
However, I have recently taken to digging up my own cultural heritage. I find that the only way to understand another culture is to first understand one's own cultural past. Over the Winter break, I began to question my grandparents. Grandparents are the links to our own past, and as such, they are physical archivist, they hold a tenuous weave on the historical stories that make up our past. I found out a lot. It's amazing what a few simple questions can provide. As much as I disagree with the discourses of Race/Ethnicity that define society, I will confidently say that I am of a mixed ethnic background. As such I find it more invigorating that I am a cultural/post-colonial theorist. I was made born to do this.
I am primarily German--thanks to my grandfather's own lineage. However, for the sake of this post, I am more interested in what my grandmother's own heritage revealed. My grandmother's mother was a full blooded Native American whose origin was somewhere between the borders of Maine and Canada. Her husband was French. This revelation created a world of chaos in my very own thoughts about who I am as a person. Let's see....I'm French, German....and lastly Native American. It might only be a little bit of Native American blood in me, but am I entitled to claim Native American history as my own?
What does one do when they find out the truth of their own cultural history especially when one doesn't know if they deserve to claim it as their own?
I am saddened by trying to answer this question. For one thing, I have no idea what tribe my great-grandmother belonged to. If it's one thing I know about Native American culture is that a person's tribe is sacred. It defines a Native American's whole way of life. Without a tribe, one can be considered part of the dead.
Therefore, the image I connect most with Native American is invisibility. My cultural past is denied to me and I feel a deep shame for not knowing the life of my great grandmother. I'm blinded. There are clues to what my cultural history entails. My own grandmother has a garland of sweet grass hanging in her kitchen, it's always been there but in my ignorance I failed to recognize it for what is. I use to pick it up and smell it, then wave it in the air. Why did she have a useless clump of weeds in her kitchen?
What purpose did it serve in a former life? Why this odd sense of decor?
I know now that it was fundamental in making all sorts of baskets, blankets, and other items important to native life. It was also used in sacred medice rites. However, hanging in her kitchen it functions more as a keepsake of what life was before. An invisible memento to a time lost and forgotten by my own family, my own people.
Last Summer I had the privilege of going to a pow-wow in Allentown. I enjoyed it. But that enjoyment was shortlived. I hadn't known then that I was Native American myself, but what I saw both thrilled and disgusted me at the same time. It centered around a group of people gathered to celebrate their own cultural history. Yet, when I saw the people in their traditional garb, and dancing in the circle to the beat of the drums, I felt ashamed at the spectacle that was before me. Yes, they were celebrating their heritage, but under the watchful eyes of strangers they called "friends." Money exchanged hands, and the spirituality and sanctity of the pow-wow was lost. It became a taboo spectacle for me. It was strange to see people celebrating when their own very way of life was taken from them in the first place. It felt forced, un-natural, and artificial. It was bought with the price of something to sacred to sell.
What do I know about Native Americans?
They were a peaceful people.
They hunted and lived off the land in spiritual harmony.
Tribe and family were crucial to life.
Spirituality wasn't earned, it was achieved through patience and practice.
Simplicity was life and life was simplicity.
Nature was sustenance.
Then the white man came with his ships, guns, and modern technology and fucked it all up.
That's what I know. A culture was destroyed, and a heritage was lost.
That's all I know, and it's the starting point for what I want to learn through this course.
I want to decolonize my mind.
I want to undo the history that has been taught to me.
It's time for a cultural revolution, and it starts with the decolonization of my own mind.
