"I am an old woman now. The buffaloes and black-tail deer are gone, and our Indian ways are almost gone. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I ever lived them. My little son grew up in the white man's school. He can read books, and he owns cattle and has a farm. He is a leader among our Hidatsa people, helping teach them to follow the white man's road.
He is kind to me. We no longer live in an earth lodge, but in a house with chimneys, and my son's wife cooks by a stove.
But for me, I cannot forget our old ways.
Often in summer I rise at daybreak and steal out to the corn fields, and as I hoe the corn I sing to it, as we did when I was young. No one cares for our corn songs now.
Sometimes in the evening I sit, looking out on the big Missouri. The sun sets, and dusk steals over the water. In the shadows I see again to see our Indian village, with smoke curling upward from the earth lodges, and in the river's roar I hear the yells of the warriors, and the laughter of little children of old.
It is but an old woman's dream. Then I see but shadows and hear only the roar of the river, and tears come into my eyes. Our Indian life, I know, is gone forever."
Waheenee - Hidatsa (North Dakota)
Do not tell me you have Indian blood, that you are one quarter. Don't tell me one of your grandparents was an Indian, or hand me a piece of paper from a corrupt
government, with colonized laws and rules about who is, and who isn't an American Indian. Come to me with straight eyes, and say proudly that you are an Indian. No one else in America needs paperwork to prove what race they are, only the rightful owners of this land. Come to me and show me who you are. Your blood, relatives or a piece of paper does not make you an Indian. You must be willing to live with honesty, integrity, courage, respect, and always remain unselfish towards your neighbors. For these are the things, that make you an Indian....
By Dee Nighthawk Robinson
No comments:
Post a Comment