Northern traditional, southern fancy

The ethnic and racial diversity of the U.S. and Canada grants us assets no other nation can touch. Throughout history, the civilizations that flourished were those that welcomed foreigners in their midst, not those that excluded them. The dynamism created by the interaction with people from other cultures and traditions far surpasses what ethnocentric societies can achieve.

Most minorities in the U.S., in spite of their prefixed ethnic (or racial) affirmations, strive to assimilate into the dominant sense of national identity. It is when old habits resurface that trouble follows. Under the pressures of market economies, neighborhoods, cities, entire regions suspend their individual characteristics in favor of homogeneity.

Except for the Amish and Mennonites religious communities, for whom traditions do not simply authenticate holiday gatherings, but establish a continuity that declines the entreaties and temptations of the modern world. And for another group that was there before these two and that inhabits a physical and emotional landscape much different from everyday America.

The white world first treated Native Americans (called First Nations in Canada) as worthless savages who had to be instructed in proper ways. Their territory impeded the Manifest Destiny’s westward conquest. It wasn’t long before treaties morphed with subterfuges to expropriate those who lived on lands that did not have the benefit of traditional ownership. Corralled on reservations too remote, too arid, too wretched, that no one else wanted and guaranteed obscurity and poverty, Native Americans adapted to the netherworld of the marginalized. In full reversal, some imbue Native Americans with the fetishistic representation of noble Indians who can do no wrong, blessed with a mystical spirituality.

Under the category of unique cultural activities, few experiences compete with a visit to Indian lands, a journey akin to crossing into an altered reality.

Every autumn, the Chumash play host to the pow wow circuit at a charming oak-shaded campground near Lake Cachuma, 30 minutes north of Santa Barbara. Like other tribes, the Chumash have not fared well since being the first major group of California Indians to be discovered by Europeans in the 16th century. A few rock art sites are all that remain from a civilization that settled on what would become part of the privileged coast of San Luis Obispo, Santa Barbara and Ventura counties.

Less than 300 people reside on the Santa Ynez Band of Chumash Indian reservation. The dingy bingo hall that provided a meager income a decade ago has matured into a full-blown casino with upmarket hotel and restaurant. Gaming revenue finances many projects, including fully funded health care for enrolled tribal members and efforts to revive the Inezeño Chumash language and the tradition of seafaring by tomol, a planked canoe.

“First they called us savages. Then it was Red Skins, then it became Indians. And then we were called Native Americans,” said the master of ceremonies at the last Chumash pow wow I attended several years ago. “Now we are called casino owners.”

The role of Indians within society, specifically as it impacts white America, is a moving target.

The battle to allow gambling on Indian land was fierce, pitting states’ rights against tribal sovereignty. Legal rulings have reaffirmed that states have no jurisdiction over Indian lands located within their boundaries. The number of casinos has mushroomed, although not all tribes permit gambling. Recently, outsiders have taken notice of the unprecedented wealth. Unlike the success of Nevada gaming operators, lauded at every turn, Indian casinos face scrutiny and defiance seldom lavished on other businesses.

Indian governments have indeed limited sovereignty on reservations. These lands are held in trust by the Department of the Interior’s Bureau of Indian Affairs. Indians never own them, which leads to peculiar and convoluted arrangements as their freedom to act is restricted.

Each federally recognized tribe that has been granted a land trust operates with its own laws and rules. There are 304 reservations (map and index) and 562 recognized tribes, obviously leaving some without any land base.

To be federally recognized, tribes and individual members must prove their Indian ancestry with a Certificate of Degree of Indian Blood. No other ethnic or racial group is subject to this requirement. While some tribes may enroll members with as little a 1/16th Indian blood, the U.S. government typically requires a quarter before considering a petition. One may, as in the case of the Eastern Band of Cherokees, be considered a duly enrolled tribal member, but not exist in the eyes of U.S law. Without this essential recognition, no land trust will be established. Other benefits will also be denied – not that treaty obligations are honored in all cases. By now, even substandard lands have been accounted for. New reservations would need to be carved out of public lands, or from private landholdings. Either scenario is unlikely.

Or they can be purchased, with hard cash. This option was never realistic for tribes teetering far beyond the attention of the upstanding citizenry. The real estate game now has a new player that is charting novel legal models.
None of this is evident at pow wows, although masters of ceremony know how to deftly inject historical context: survivors, they clearly are. Pow wows are friendly intertribal gathering with invitational contests. Individuals compete in dance categories that reflect style and dress divided between the standard winter and summer clans and genders: northern traditional, southern straight, grass, northern fancy and southern fancy for men; northern buckskin, northern cloth, southern buckskin, southern cloth, jingle dress and fancy shawl for women. Both vie for the $800 top prize. They perform intricate steps and spin to complex percussion polyrhythms overlaid with vocables that grow faster and more emphatic. Drummers set the pace by banging on a large central drum and performing in high pitched voices in responsorial, unison and multipart singing. I stood next to singers who would pinch their vocal chords to push their singing several octaves higher. The best drumming group collects a $4,000 prize. If you listen long enough to the Internet radio, you will hear pow wow-style singing amongst new contemporary arrangements. Besides the dances, people mingled around arts and crafts booths and lined up for Navajo Tacos and fry bread topped with honey. The Chumash pow wow drew a large crowd over its two days. Because they are public and fun events, it takes only a little research to figure out where the next one will be. Albuquerque’s Gathering of Nations on the third weekend of April attracts more than 110,000 visitors! I prefer more intimate settings.

Pow wow dances may resemble ceremonial or religious celebrations, but they are not. It’s a little trickier to find out about Corn, Deer, Harvest or Buffalo dances. They obey to a religious calendar that has no equivalent in the white world. To avoid turning the dances into spectacles, tribes do not publicize them actively and queries may return ambiguous answers. Invest some time (rethink the concept of time), do some research and be respectful. Be inconspicuous. Forget cameras. Stay clear of sacred sites. Don’t applaud.
The Apache girl puberty rite culminates in a public ceremony after several days in the woods. It was quite intense to witness a kinaalda on the darkened nighttime Mescalero rez. I miss the presence of so many Indian lands in New Mexico. Their abstraction acts as a counterpoint to our obsessions.

My most powerful memory is of a frigid December night at Zuni Pueblo. Eight days after the Koshare had announced their arrivals, Shulawitsi and other young boys led the Council of the Gods over the low hills and into the pueblo at dusk. When the sun dips below the western horizon, the Shalakos and their attendants enter the Middle of the World. Much ceremonial had preceded the return of the messengers to the gods who will bring blessings of fertility, long life and prosperity: chanting and praying in kivas, visits to shrines, baking in hornos, cooking of sheep meat, food offerings to the dead, dancing.

I joined dozens of people crammed inside a private home. The new structure was blessed by the Shalakos. Because they wear tall headdresses, the floor had to be dug up to accommodate their height. Around midnight, drummers started to bang on drums, while singers shouted. We were all pressed against one another, almost in a trance. Nothing needed to be said, but it was understood. I ate their mutton stew, chile and posole.

Every now and then I would step outside for fresh air. It was brutally cold and a shock to return to the overheated inside air. Other white people asked me to explain. But the rhythms of Indian life do not conform to our desire for a well scripted narrative. I stayed there until 4 a.m. completely intoxicated on this vision, a version of America that I felt privileged to attend.

The Dineh will tell you that I am a bilaga’ana, but no a’na.