On Listening to Indians

Traveling across America we fully expect the landscape to change around us, but at the same time we trust everything else to remain the same. We expect to find recognizable logos of national chains, a common language and customs among the people we meet. These are things that provide us certain security and comfort. But traveling through the vast reservation at Pine Ridge we find that many of these expectations are not applicable. In fact, entering the Indian world demands of us new perspectives and new sensibilities, ones that few people in the white world are either experienced with or eager to embrace. This place is not like home. Nor is it like anything I remember learning about in my youth. The images and impressions I carry from my childhood were all based on representations offered by other whites. Representations where the Indian, ever the savage, was seen through the eyes of those good guys in white hats. I never knew what happened to the Indians after they lost whatever battle they had with the U.S. Cavalry. There was, unfortunately, quite a lot of missing history. I was taught nothing about the forced relocation of native people to reservations where they would begin new lives confined to the reservation and wholly dependent on federal authorities for their subsistence. I was taught nothing about the boarding schools to which Indian children were relocated, where their was hair was cut short and their language forbidden. The objective of these institutions was to " take the Indian out of the Indian", to recreate him in white man's image. Finally, I was taught nothing of the many broken treaties through which Indians were slowly but surely stripped of their lands, liberty and dignity.

Only after reading the literature concerning the plight of Native America, was I able to see that those earlier representations were illegitimate. The objective history can be found in books with instructive titles such as Farewell My Nation, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee or We Have the Right to Exist. These books and others like them reveal another history. A history where the guys in the white hats don't look nearly as righteous as they once would have us believe. Rereading the history as witnessed through Indian eyes both challenges and condemns our commonly held views about those savages that Europeans encountered while spreading civilization westward. There are, not surprisingly, persistent themes to be found in various treatments of Indian history, but none more poignant than the collective Indian voice lamenting, "No one ever listens to us."

So how does one listen to Indians? First it would be a good idea to go to their world, leaving ours behind. Instead of continually expecting them to conform to our world, try meeting them inside theirs. Try to interact with them inside their culture and on their terms. Having a general understanding of their history is also helpful. This is vitally important to their identity as Indians and as Americans. Their personal and corporate history as a people is every bit as alive today as it was one hundred fifty years ago. That history defines both their worldview and their view of white America. They live, quite literally, as a sovereign nation within a nation. They are citizens of two worlds. Understanding that unique position and acknowledging that you do understand it furthers any dialog about those things that matter most to them. Another simple way to learn more about Indians is to ask them for their name. Here it is important to understand that Indian culture esteems no man on the basis of his material wealth. Instead, Indian culture is structured around family history, loyalty and honor. Family is before all things. More than a just a nuclear family, it is a family extending beyond blood. It is called tiyospaye (tee-OSH-pie-ay). Names then become a window into the Indian consciousness. These names are often colorful and always tell a story, a family story. What better way to know and understand them than to learn their names.

I spent this past week working outdoors near the busiest intersection on the reservation. Here I had opportunities to talk with many passersby. Some sought help with various fix-it projects, some hoped to sell their handmade craft work. Others were simply curious about what I was up to. Following are descriptions of two residents I met there. Stacy Steven Chief was a young man of thirty. He'd never held a job, spending his time "around home". He was also Christian and eager to share his faith, inviting me to meet a preacher friend in the town of Batesland. Stacy made several visits during the week, walking in off the street and offering his gratitude for our presence there. Before leaving he wrote out his name and address on a scrap of paper so that I could find him again. He needed my help in spelling the name of his hometown of Wounded Knee.

On Friday morning another man approached in a wheelchair. Anticipating a rich encounter I halted everything I was doing in order to talk with him. He was 83 year old Delbert Yellow Horse. An army veteran who had spent several years in Germany, he was also an accomplished bronco rider on the Indian rodeo circuit. In addition he was a follower of Christ who had been both baptized and confirmed in the old church we were now renovating. He'd spent a number of years traveling to nearby Porcupine for AA meetings where he was the only participant who attended consistently. But this never discouraged him explaining, "If God keeps showing up for these weekly meetings, then I'll stick it out too." Delbert was saddened to learn that we would be leaving the next morning. "I sure wish I'd met you earlier." he said. These are just two examples of how asking the simple question, "What's your name?" led to longer, more meaningful exchanges and mutual respect.