Jim Remsen's Blog: The Slave as "Crushed Vegetable'' - Posts Tagged "native-americans"

Ah, the Fourth of July – the grand occasion to display the American flag outside my front door, and to join the crowds at our neighborhood fireworks party. ’The grand day to celebrate what’s been called our nation’s birth certificate: The hallowed Declaration of Independence.

But wait. What’s that ugly sentence embedded midway through it? Tucked into Thomas Jefferson’s angry brief against King George, in a long litany of grievances, appears this charge:

"He has excited domestic Insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the Inhabitants of our Frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known Rule of Warfare, is an undistinguished Destruction of all Ages, Sexes and Conditions."

Yes, our very founding document encodes the American Indians as “Savages” – capital S as if it were their proper name. Did you ever learn that in history class? You, like me, may have been clueless, but be assured that many Indians still know and resent the enshrined libel all too well. Just as, in their parallel history, they know George Washington not as the father of the country but as “Town Destroyer” because of his scorched-earth campaign against the Iroquois. Just as they loathe Andrew Jackson for his brutal removal policies – and refuse to traffic in twenty-dollar bills because they bear his portrait. Just as they remember Jefferson for instigating those removal policies, and for sending Lewis and Clark west to chart the course of expansionism.

I am launching my blog today to point out these troubled truths for two reasons: The nation’s birthday is upon us, and – a big personal and -- I have a new book coming out very soon that delves into Colonial-Indian history. Visions of Teaoga (being published by Sunbury Press) is a historical novel that recounts Washington’s 1779 destruction of the Seneca heartland, but also the earlier land grabs and encroachments across the Eastern woodlands. Told by a real-life Shawnee matriarch – a tragic figure known to history as Queen Esther – it tells how small “remnant bands” such as the Shawnees, Munsee Delawares, Conoys and Tutelos were hemmed in and deceived not only by the Europeans but by the mighty Iroquois Confederacy as well. The resulting Indian raids on settler homesteads – often land squatters – clearly could be vicious. Accounts of scalpings and other atrocities circulated widely, leading to brutal white counterattacks. Settlers never forgot the natives’ violence but overlooked similar crimes committed by their own people (one of Queen Esther’s many complaints). By July 1776, the cycle of attacks and reprisals had produced a race hatred on both sides that curdled into mutual desires for what we, today, would term ethnic cleansing.

That is the context in which Jefferson penned his propagandistic invective. He was correct in a sense. More and more, the “Indian Savages” were tilting toward the British as the lesser of two evils. Where the Colonials had proven land-hungry and duplicitous, the Brits had at least tried to set up a demarcation line that set aside a huge territory as Indian land. When war came, a number of tribes and subgroups made alliances of convenience and fought alongside the Redcoats. Queen Esther and her people were swept up in the warfare, culminating for her in the tragic Bloody Rock incident.

Years earlier, in the 1750s, Esther’s war-chief husband had tried to make nice with the settlers. In reluctantly ceding a slice of territory to New Jersey, he expressed the earlier outlook that land and its bounty could be shared. His eloquent plea, as recorded in Colonial records and repeated in Visions of Teaoga, was this: “We desire that if we should come into your province to see our old friends, and should have occasion for the bark of a tree to cover a cabin, or a little refreshment, that we should not be denied, but be treated as brethren! And that your people may not look on the wild beasts of the forests or the fish of the waters as their sole property, but that we may be admitted to an equal use of them.”

As history also records, this outlook failed. The British abandoned their Indian allies, the demarcation line was extinguished, and a wave of westward expansion began.

Jefferson had prevailed.

The upper Delaware River grows thick with pleasure craft at this time of year—but they’re about to be joined by an unusual, historic flotilla with a solemn purpose.

On Saturday, Aug. 2, American Indians representing the Lenape Nation of Pennsylvania will set off downriver carrying a document they call the Treaty of Renewed Friendship. The delegation will stop along the way for a succession of public ceremonies at which various environmental groups, churches, historical societies and individuals will sign the treaty “to support the Lenape and to partner as caretakers of the traditional Lenape homeland and each other.”

It should be quite a journey—330 miles long, all the way from sylvan Hancock, N.Y., to the sandy flatlands of Cape May, N.J., where it will end on Sunday, Aug. 17.

The treaty-signing ceremonies are scheduled daily at 1 p.m. Each stop will also feature children’s activities and a powwow. We’re all invited to witness any of it, so if you’re in the region and up for a rare opportunity, check out the schedule at http://www.lenapenation.org. You could even join the flotilla or the campouts, but be sure to read about the arrangements.

This will be a spiritually-laden trip for the Lenape travelers since the Delaware River—which they call Lena’pe Sipu,--traverses their historic homeland. About half of the route will pass territory their forebears lost in the 1737 land swindle known as the Walking Purchase. One of the true-life characters in my new historical novel Visions of Teaoga (Sunbury Press) is the famous Delaware leader Teedyuscung, who spent years protesting the infamous Walking Purchase, to no avail.

The Lenape organizers hope their river procession raises public awareness that, even though Pennsylvania doesn’t officially recognize them or any other native group, “the Lenape people living in Pennsylvania are carrying on their traditions, culture and spiritual beliefs.” The Lenape Nation of Pennsylvania, based in Easton, is a serious group with a long track record of helping people of native heritage emerge with pride from their longtime low profile. In that vein, it’s termed the August event the “2014 Rising Nation River Journey.”

The organization has held a round of friendship-treaty signings every four years since 2002, with this one focusing specifically on supporters along the Delaware River. The signers are being asked to follow up with concrete actions such as holding Lenape-related educational events and exhibits; advocating for better school curricula; helping to protect sacred sites and to revive the Lenape language; and safeguarding the riverine environment.

A special honoree this year is the Delaware Riverkeeper, Maya van Rossum. She’ll take part in the treaty signing Aug. 12 in Lambertville, and the next day will join in the ceremony at the University of Pennsylvania Museum in Philadelphia. Every four years the Lenape Nation lends its wampum to a significant “caretaker,” and van Rossum will receive the wampum from Penn, which has held it since 2010.

The text of the Treaty of Renewed Friendship, and its signers to date, are posted on http://www.lenapenation.org. The website also has a way you can sign the treaty yourself if you’re so moved.

Mention wampum and a non-Native American person might think of money. It’s sometimes a synonym for cash in our everyday slang. Others may have a vague notion that wampum was used ceremonially at Indian-white treaty councils as part of exchanges of trade goods, tokens and the like.

Wampum is so much more. To the Indians, the strings of cylindrical beads carved from quahog shells are able to bear witness to events, embody collective emotions, and secure diplomatic promises – not merely signify all those purposes but truly embody and bespeak them.

Earlier this year, I attended a talk about wampum by Margaret Bruchac, an Abenaki woman and an anthropologist at the University of Pennsylvania. She underscored wampum’s supernal importance in native tradition, saying the wampum strings become animate objects when words are spoken into it.

In my new historical novel about Indian-settler affairs, Visions of Teaoga, the 18th century native matriarch Esther typifies that understanding. In an early scene, she accepts the Seneca chief Red Jacket’s offer to attend a peace council in this way: “Taking the wampum strings in hand, Esther gave her reply. She held the strands of sacred shell beads aloft in her open palm, letting them spiritually receive her pledge as was the custom. ‘Brother, I have heard your words and my heart is stirred. Perhaps the Preserver has brought me to this time for this purpose. My Tutelo friends have endured many dark days. If they need my presence, I cannot refuse. If you need my presence to help keep the treaty fire bright, I cannot refuse. My sixty winters have worn down my body and weakened my eyesight. Let us hope it has not dimmed my vision.’ ”

Later in the book, I draw directly from Red Jacket’s actual words as recorded from that 1790 peace council: “Our forefathers told us that when a treaty was finished, by preserving the belts used we would know and could tell our children what had been done.” White wampum beheld harmony, while purple embodied distress, danger, death – attributes that figure in Esther’s use on her wampum strings in the novel.

Traditionally, wampum beads “were used sparingly to create belts to commemorate great events, to preserve history, to declare peace or war, to record elections, and to heal families from the pain of losing a family member. The messages conveyed in the belts were considered law, and were honoured and respected as such.” That explanation is from a fine blog post that profiles a Cayuga Indian “Faithkeeper” and wampum maker, Ken Maracle. The post includes a video in which Mr. Maracle tells how he feels “guided by his ancestors” in his work.

The Cayuga tribe figures large in Visions of Teaoga, so I was delighted to see the video. You can watch it, and read the wampum essay, here:

http://workingeffectivelywithaborigin...

Lust for land can turn a people ugly, as the American Indians learned the hard way in their dealings with settlers. During the 1790 peace council at Teaoga in Pennsylvania – the fateful U.S.-Seneca summit depicted in my new historical novel Visions of Teaoga – President Washington’s negotiator, Timothy Pickering, acknowledges as much.

“Brothers, in times past, some white men have deceived the Indians, falsely pretending they had authority to lease or purchase their lands,” Pickering declares. “And sometimes they have seized on more land than the Indians meant to sell them; again falsely pretending that those lands were comprehended within the purchase. Such fraudulent practices have made our brothers angry, and sometimes occasioned hostilities, war and bloodshed. Yet Indians will always be exposed to such deception and imposition while they continue to sign and seal papers which they cannot read.

“Now, Brothers,” Pickering continued – and these are his actual recorded words -- “to prevent these great evils in the future, the Congress declared that no sale of lands made by any Indians, to any person or persons, or even to any state, shall be valid unless the same be made at some public treaty held under the authority of the United States. For at such public treaty, wise and good men will be appointed by the President to attend to prevent all deception and fraud. These wise and good men will examine every deed before it is signed and sealed, and see that every lease or purchase of the Indians be openly and fairly made.”

What was all this about? Well, it was complicated.

During the 1780s, in the wake of the Revolutionary War, there had been mounting hunger for land in western New York, just north of Teaoga, particularly among New England residents looking to migrate out of their crowded region. The Indian nations had been fully dispossessed from Pennsylvania in the so-called Final Purchase of 1784, but land rights were still being sorted out in New York state, where the Iroquois Confederacy held much land and remained a mighty force.

It must be said that large swaths became available through the confiscation of property belonging to the British Crown or to Tory landowners. But that was far less than the land that remained in Iroquois hands west of the old 1763 Proclamation Line.

The new U.S. government had given itself exclusive rights to handle Indian affairs, including land treaties. But first it had to sort out an old competing claim by both Massachusetts and New York for the stretch of western New York known as “Genesee Country.” Massachusetts finally surrendered her claim in 1786, opening 6 million acres of land to possible purchase from the Iroquois tribes. Massachusetts retained some purchase rights, but then sold them to an investor syndicate, which set out to persuade the Indians to surrender their title to the land. The pressure on the Iroquois mounted from many directions.

To bone up on some basics in preparations for my author appearances, I’ve been re-reading one of the best books in my research library, How the Indians Lost Their Land: Law and Power on the Frontier, by UCLA law professor Stuart Banner. He unpacks this troubled history decade by decade, region by region, group by group. Professor Banner’s account of the land rush in Genesee Country is intense. He quotes from the journal of an English gentleman, William Strickland, who visited the area in the 1790s and noted that “land speculations are carried on to a degree of madness.” A few New York speculators told Strickland how it worked: much of the land still belonged to the Indians, meaning what the speculators were buying and selling “was not land, or even the right to buy land from the Indians,” Banner writes, “but rather the prospect of being the owner once the government bought the land from the Indians.” They were angling to obtain the so-called preemption rights to specific parcels of property that the government would grant once it had secured the land—“airey purchases,” in Strickland’s words. In their land lust, these speculators hoped for “a fortunate war, or invasion of the smallpox” or other devastation that would serve to “extirpate the much injured owners of the soil,” Strickland lamented. The destruction of the natives, he said, “is persued [sic] with remorseless perseverance and their annihilation spoken of with atrocious pleasure.” Short of annihilation, there were documented instances of speculators using bribery, coercion, fraud, manipulation and demon rum to produce many sales that were illegal under federal law. Timothy Pickering’s highest hopes notwithstanding, these rampant misdeeds served to relieve the Iroquois of most of their land.

Over the course of the 1700s, the general recognition of Indian land rights and the policy of controlled property transfers was giving way to the ideology of white Christianity’s Manifest Destiny to rule the land. That, coupled with the hardened race hatred that is captured in Visions of Teaoga, fueled the “remorseless perseverance” of the land-grabbers that Strickland observed. As author Banner notes, “The market in preemption rights had the perverse effect of bringing speculators’ financial incentives into alignment with their racism.”

During the recent virtual-blog tour held as part of my Visions of Teaoga book launch, I was asked to reflect on why I wrote this historical novel. A fine question. Here's my answer:

Teaoga is a place that smacked me upside the head. Grabbed me and shouted, “Listen!”

Seriously, I wrote Visions of Teaoga because of the story it has to tell. Multiple stories, in fact – a crazy cavalcade of stories. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve been the type to lie back in the grass and sense the mysterious hum of the land and the people who came before. If you’re at all like that, you know what I mean. Not that I’m all supernatural. I’ll feel a place’s vibe--but I’ll also study up on the facts of its history.

So when a road trip a few years ago took me into Teaoga, now the quiet, seemingly idyllic riverfront community of Athens, Pennsylvania, its past reached out and smacked me. You may not have heard of this town, but it stood on the front lines of many of the conflicts and upheavals that swept the Eastern Woodlands in the colonial and Revolutionary era. It was at various times an Indian stronghold, a Christian mission field, a treaty ground, the launching site for several scorched-earth campaigns, the last bastion of a failed breakaway state, and more.

That’s why I wrote about it—because Teaoga was truly a microcosm of our nation’s turbulent beginnings. I wrote about it because I never learned about it as a schoolboy even though I grew up not far from there. And I wrote about it as an example of rich local history.

Unfortunately, our schools tend to teach local history skimpily if at all. They miss opportunities to tune their students in to the importance of nearby rivers and byways, to the origin of their area’s place names, to local heroes and scoundrels and legends and lore, to ways large national trends might have played out right under their feet. There are scattered efforts around the country to address this shortcoming, though they face the challenge of schoolteachers’ own scant knowledge of a region’s past, textbooks limited to macro-history, and the imperative of “teaching to the test.” I have Athens serve as a stand-in for countless ordinary small towns across America, to awaken students to the truth that fascinating history can be found just about everywhere, even in their own hometown, if they just start looking.

Let me tell you what I mean. In interviewing experts and reading more than 75 books, articles and papers, I compiled this amazing but true picture of Teaoga/Athens:

-It was the Southern Door of the Iroquois Longhouse. Guards stationed at the Cayuga “watch town” there would stop unwelcome travelers from heading up into Iroquois country.

-Teaoga stood at the strategic transportation break that linked river systems into Chesapeake Bay, the Great Lakes and Ohio Valley. Major Indian trails from those far-flung areas, including the Great Warriors Path and the legendary Forbidden Path, crossed there.

-For generations, Teaoga was a safe haven for Indian refugee groups dispossessed by relentless white encroachment into their homelands. Exemplifying this was Queen Esther’s Town, which was led by the real-life protagonist of Visions of Teaoga.

-For more than a century, Teaoga was a favorite rendezvous for Indian war parties and war or peace councils, and a place where scores of white prisoners were held captive for long periods. Among their overseers was Queen Esther.

-Teaoga was directly on the controversial Fort Stanwix treaty line, and was also the divide between the Six Nations and the Pennsylvania-based Delawares, and between Iroquian cultures and Algonkians. Both situations created decades of intergroup friction.

-Nearby, two pacifist Moravian mission settlements coexisted uneasily with the natives and other whites. Some Indians (including several of Queen Esther’s children) were drawn to convert, but many chiefs agitated to banish the missions.

-During the French and Indian War, Teaoga became the stronghold of Teedyuscung, “the King of the Delawares,” and his 400 warriors. From there they launched many ferocious raids on settlers across the backwoods region.

-Teaoga was a way station for peace emissaries and the site of several treaty talks.

-Teaoga was in the vortex of the American Revolution. In the early years of the war, it was a fortress for British and Tories, as well as a haven for deserters from the Colonial army. It was the southern headquarters of the Mohawk chief Joseph Brant; his warriors trained there, went out on their notorious Cherry Valley raid, and returned with white captives and bounty. The British major Butler used Teaoga as staging ground for his bloody 1778 attack on Wyoming Valley, sending 1,000 British rangers and Indian warriors downriver in an armada of canoes. Their victory (near present-day Wilkes-Barre, Pa.) became known as the Wyoming Valley Massacre – the occasion of the Bloody Rock atrocity in which Queen Esther was implicated.

-After the Wyoming massacre, Colonial forces struck back and captured the Teaoga area. An expeditionary force burned down the Cayuga watch town and Queen Esther’s Town. In 1779, Washington sent fully one-third of his Continental army on a retaliatory campaign against the Indians. The commander. Gen. Sullivan, established Teaoga as his base and built a large fort there. From there, his troops launched what became known as “The War of the Vegetables,” sweeping across Iroquoia and torching forty towns, 160,000 bushels of corn, and vegetables without number.

-After the Revolution, once Indians were officially dispossessed from the area, Athens found itself on the “Great Trail” of cattle drivers moving herds from New Jersey to Niagara. A flood of white settlers and their supplies followed, along with highway robbers who infested the area for a time.

-Pennsylvania’s boundary commissioners made Athens their headquarters in the mid-1780s as the remaining Indian land was quickly divided up and granted to settlers. Some of it went to war veterans in lieu of military pensions.

-In one of the more bizarre episodes in American history, settlers from Connecticut known as “the Wild Yankees” made their last stand at Athens. They had claimed much of northeastern Pennsylvania as their own decades earlier, sparking rounds of deadly fighting known as the Yankee-Pennamite Wars. After the Revolution, they retrenched around Athens, issued a declaration of independence in 1787, and brought in Ethan Allen to advise them on how to form a breakaway state. They envisioned Athens as the capitol of a state straddling Pennsylvania and New York. Ben Franklin denounced them as “armed banditti” and had the leaders arrested for high treason. The movement eventually petered out, though the remaining Connecticut settlers had a siege mentality that affected the Athens area for years to come.

What a cavalcade of Wild West events, and all occurring in our one apparently ordinary Eastern locality. It’s like a triple-feature action film and has tests of character to match any Harry Potter novel. I hope Visions of Teaoga can prompt readers – particularly student readers - to seek a deeper understanding of not only the land beneath their feet but of the people around them today.

The blow-by-blow of how our Eastern Woodlands Indians were dispossessed gets sorely limited treatment in history classes, in Pennsylvania and elsewhere. This weekend, a painful chapter in that history will be commemorated by the Seneca Nation along the New York-Pennsylvania border.

The events of “Remembering the Removal, 50 Years Later” will mark the Army Corps of Engineers’ ouster of the Senecas from their very last toehold of ancestral land in Pennsylvania. In the late 1950s, the Corps set out to build a hydroelectric dam that would effectively flood 10,000 acres of the tribe’s so-called Cornplanter Tract, which is about 70 miles east of Erie Pa. The Supreme Court cleared the way, allowing a treaty to be broken and forcing the relocation of more than 600 Seneca families north to New York.

Not familiar with the story? You’re hardly alone.

The Seneca Nation wants to raise public awareness about the Kinzua removal. It aims to achieve a comprehensive curriculum for use by education systems, as well as a traveling exhibit that can be displayed at museums, local chambers and visitor centers, event chair Tracie Brown told the Salamanca Press newspaper.

Salamanca is a small town in the Southern Tier of New York that’s the headquarters of the Seneca tribal government. I visited there during a road trip eight years ago, and cruised south to see the remote Kinzua Dam. The experience sent me back to read its history.

Here are the basics: Although Pennsylvania authorities claimed all of the state’s remaining Indian land in the so-called Last Purchase of 1784 – as recounted in my historical novel Visions of Teaoga – an exception was granted for the Senecas. This was to reward their Chief Cornplanter.

After the Revolutionary War, Cornplanter had worked to keep peace between his people and the new Unites States, even helping to negotiate large Iroquois land cessions to the whites. Here’s how the site explorepahistory.com tells it: “The Americans respected Cornplanter for his honesty, principles, and ability as a negotiator. He made many personal allies including George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Thomas Mifflin. He would later be rewarded with land in Pennsylvania that was to remain in his family for ‘perpetuity.’ As time unfolded, however, this was not to be.”

Indeed. The Corps of Engineers moved in, and the U.S. Supreme Court gave the dam project the green light based on “the right of eminent domain.”

Aas Tracie Brown says, “This year marks the 50th year since the construction of the Kinzua Dam turned the peaceful Allegany River Valley into the ‘valley of smoke’ where flames engulfed family homes and the ever rising waters inundated the small villages that dotted the river banks. In 1964, after years of struggling with the Army Corps of Engineers to consider better alternatives and insisting on the U.S. Congress to honor the 1794 Canandaigua Treaty, the Kinzua Dam was built. The lands that were promised to the Senecas were flooded, but we remember by passing down this legacy to our future generations.”

The Seneca Nation has held a series of commemorative events this year seeking, as Brown says, “some closure over the wounds that are still open, so that our future generations don’t carry the burden of those unhealed wounds.”

The events, which culminate this weekend, have included a musical performance featuring Johnny Cash’s song “As Long as the Grass Shall Grow,” about the Kinzua Dam removal. Friday evening, Sept. 27, there will be a bonfire and healing ceremony led by an elder who is a “removal survivor.”

On Saturday in Salamanca, there will be a commemorate walk in the afternoon, followed by a dinner and panel discussion about the past, present and future of the situation.

“We’re trying to mend our community from being relocated 50 years ago,” Brown told the Salamanca Press. “So much was lost back then — not only 10,000 acres of land — but a lot of family and community that was lost then, too. We’re trying to find a way by healing and trying to look out for more than just the Seneca Nation but also for the city” of Salamanca.

The commemoration has an added sadness for me, a retired Philadelphia Inquirer newsman. Back in the Inquirer’s heyday a generation ago, when we had robust resources and believed all the world to be in our coverage beat, we would have locked on to the Kinzua event and sent a reporter and photographer to cover it. Today, not a prayer.

This weekend I’ll be heading off on a book tour along the New York-Pennsylvania border. Being on the fringe of Iroquois country, it’s the very territory that’s featured in my historical novel Visions of Teaoga. It’s also an area touched by a hot national debate – about the term “redskin” and its use as a sports nickname.

You no doubt know about the pressure on the pro football Washington Redskins to change its name, and the organization’s refusal to do so. Critics call the term an anachronistic slur, while the other side regards it as benign, even respectful.

Slur or not, the Redskins name is still in use by several dozen high schools around the country, most of them majority-white. And one of them is Sayre High School, located just four miles north of Tioga Point, the epicenter of the Indian-settler conflict zone that Visions of Teaoga captures.

North of Sayre, in upstate and western New York, seven other schools have mascots with Indian references: the Watkins Glen Senecas, the Southern Cayuga Chiefs, and the Indians of Candor, Groton, Odessa-Montour, Owego Free Academy and Stamford. This is according to an article two weeks ago in the Elmira Star-Gazette. Only one school in the region, Sayre High, keeps the R-word.

The Redskins nickname is a thing of the past now on the collegiate scene since the last two schools gave it up a few years. This followed an NCAA policy that bans the use of Indian mascots during its tournaments unless a team gets the consent of local Native American tribes, as the Florida State Seminoles did.

Tom Phillips, superintendent of the Watkins Glen School District, told Star-Gazette reporter Andrew Legare that he believes the use of Indian mascots in his region’s high schools conveys respect: “Being Senecas honors those who founded this place."

Not all would agree.

"There's a lot of research that shows the demeaning impact a Native American mascot can have," Oneida Indian Nation official Joel Barkin told Legare. "If we're trying to teach our kids to be well-rounded, thoughtful people, and that's the role of the school, there needs to be a larger discussion about whether we're accomplishing that.”

According to a Capital News Service article last year, more than 40 percent of the high schools that abandoned the Redskins nickname said they acted in response to pressure from students or concerned citizens, and often over the objections of older alumni who argued that it forsook a part of the school’s history.

That exact conflict played out at Cooperstown High in upstate New York last year. After a group of students spoke out, the board voted to change the team name from the Redskins to the Hawkeyes. In appreciation, the nearby Oneida Indian Nation donated $10,000 to help pay for new uniforms.

C.J. Hebert, superintendent of the Cooperstown Central School District, told the Star-Gazette’s Legare that the decision was met with resistance. "We really phrased it that times have changed, and the connotation and words have changed over time as well, and people have become more socially aware,” Hebert said. “In this day and age, it wasn't acceptable."

Two other New York high schools, Canisteo-Greenwood and Lancaster, also have had recent discussions about dropping their Redskins nickname.

There’s no such sign of change at Sayre, where the fight song is “On the Warpath.” Sayre superintendent Dean Hosterman declined Legare’s request for an interview.

It must be said that a few majority-Indian high schools use the Redskins team name. One is Red Mesa in Arizona. Tommie Yazzie, a Navaho and Red Mesa’s superintendent, told the Capitol News Service that the term isn’t derogatory if Indians use it within their “cultural connection,” but he feels white schools should avoid it. He also objects to the common use of tomahawk chops and war whoops. “We have respect for warfare,” he said. “You don’t use the same type of gestures and hollering and bring that back into a sporting event.”

Tim Giago, an Oglala Lakota and founder and first president of the Native American Journalists Association, wrote in a recent opinion piece about his decades of activism against the use of Indian mascots. “Can't the average American understand that it is not an honor to have our culture stolen, mimicked, and insulted by fanatical football and baseball fans?” he wrote. “Find an Indian and walk up to him or her and say, ‘Hey, Redskin,’ and see how honored that person is. And then stand back before you get punched.”

There actually is a new national effort to promote listening rather than punching.
The White House Initiative on American Indian and Alaska Native Education and the U.S. Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights are kicking off a unique “school environment listening tour” to gather input about improving the climate for Indian students. The focus will be on bullying, student discipline -- and offensive imagery and symbolism. The first talk was Oct. 10 in Wisconsin, with a future stop set for Troy, N.Y.

Oneida spokesman Barkin is one who promotes the talking path.

As he told Elmira reporter Legare, "The vast majority of people don't mean any harm [by the mascots] and they don't make any association, but it's not necessarily those people being impacted by this. It's important to have that discussion and make sure people in areas where there's either a lot of contact or no contact with the Native American community aren't only being portrayed as a mascot or just read about in November (around Thanksgiving). This is a living, breathing part of our country."

If you haven’t experienced an Indian powwow yet, I recommend you seek one out. They’re colorful extravaganzas that occur East and West for much of the year. Every powwow I’ve attended has been welcoming and family-friendly. They tend to be multicultural and intertribal, meaning different styles of drumming and dancing are on display. Don’t be surprised by the rainbow coalition of complexions, too--evidence of the Indians’ complicated history of mixing and mingling with whites and blacks.

I experienced the Indians’ warm ways most recently when I attended a Nanticoke-Lenape powwow in southern New Jersey to sign and sell my new book, Visions of Teaoga, which delves into Eastern Woodlands history of the 1700s. The tribal organizers welcomed me, a white man (a yengwe in the parlance of Visions of Teaoga) to the event, promoted my book to the crowd, and even bought copies for themselves and their bookstore. To top that off, they invited me back to introduce the book to teachers at an educator showcase they held a few weeks later.

This particular group calls itself the Nanticoke Lenni-Lenape Tribal Nation. Headquartered in Bridgeton, N.J., the group traces its lineage to the native bands that inhabited New Jersey, Delaware, southern New York and eastern Pennsylvania at the time of “first contact” with the Europeans. The group’s primary base -- South Jersey and Delaware – was peopled by two of the three Lenape (also called Delaware) clans, the Unami and the Unalachtigo. The third clan, the mountaineer Munsee situated farther to the north, is the only Lenape group to figure in the Visions of Teaoga history. That was good enough for the powwow folks, who were happy to have me feature their northern Munsee cousins.

The Nanticoke-Lenape history follows a familiar, painful course across time. In the 1600s, their tidewater homeland was claimed for a colony by Swedish settlers. The Swedish records refer to the Indians they encountered in settled communities as being peaceable, friendly and open to trading. Difficulties set in farther south, however, when the Nanticokes tried to resist colonial intrusion but gradually moved north and united with the Lenapes.

According to the descendant group, the first treaty the U.S. government signed after the Declaration of Independence was with the Lenni-Lenape in 1778. Here’s how the group’s website explains the situation: “The revolutionary government promised that if the ‘Delawares’ helped their fight against the British, they would be given statehood in the future... a promise that was not kept. Because of continuing conflict with European settlers encroaching upon Tribal lands, many of the Tribe's members were killed or removed from their homelands. Some were able to continue to live in the homeland; however, they lived in constant fear. Those who remained survived through attempting to adapt to the dominant culture, becoming farmers and tradesmen.”

What a familiar story. Readers of Visions of Teaoga learn about so-called “remnant bands” of Indians scattered across northern Pennsylvania and New York who had to coalesce and adapt to endure during a desperate era of dispossession. There to the south, in the Delmarva peninsula and South Jersey, the same dystopic pattern was playing out.

For more about the Nanticoke-Lenape story, and to tune in to the group’s powwow schedule, go to nanticoke-lenapetribalnation.org.

Imagine it. Three thousand hours of American Indian oral recordings, brought out of the archives after decades, digitized, and made available to the public – that means you -- for free. A database of six thousand traditional Iroquois names, now searchable by clan affiliation.

Those and other precious native holdings of the American Philosophical Society have been brought forth for sharing in a respectful new collaboration between that eminent Philadelphia institution and a host of native tribes across North America.
I knew nothing about this remarkable initiative, which was highlighted at a conference organized by the University of Pennsylvania’s Native American and Indigenous Studies program. Looking to attend a good event on November’s Native American Heritage Month calendar, I happily located this one, which showcased what it called “innovative approaches to recovering and engaging with Indigenous knowledge in the classroom and in the field.” As a sign of this native partnership with the academy, a banner displaying the Hiawatha belt was prominent on the stage.

Timothy Powell, who directs the philosophical society’s Native American Project, told the audience how his team has been digitizing and sharing papers and other holdings with more than 100 native communities to help them revitalize their cultures and languages. For instance, a Penobscot dictionary has been disseminated into that community to help members revive and broaden use of their language. Recordings of Tuscarora “wisdom keepers,” made on a defunct wire-spool device in the 1940s, have also been digitized and shared: “from oral to wire to digital to oral again,” Powell remarked.

Similarly, recordings of traditional musicians, recorded generations ago on wax cylinders, are being digitized and shared. Creating the database of traditional names by clan affiliation has been a breakthrough for Iroquois groups, Powell said, because members are traditionally named by clan mothers but awareness of all the traditional names had faded over time.

Powell urged anyone to contact him to get online access to the philosophical society’s vast oral recordings. He’s reachable at tpowell@amphilsoc.org.

The convener of the Nov.7-8 conference, Penn anthropology professor Margaret Bruchac, explained that the university’s minor in Native American and Indigenous Studies has served to bring together the disciplines of anthropology, education, history, law, linguistics, religious studies, art history, folklore and even nursing. (Indeed, Powell said videos of native healers have been used in Penn’s nursing school.)

Bruchac is researching how a predecessor at the University Museum, famed anthropologist Frank Speck, embedded himself with native communities a century ago and was entrusted with masks, wampum belts and other sacred objects. The elders told him to regard every object “as a grandfather and to keep it until it was safe to return it to the community.” Some of the belts and other objects disappeared, however, and Bruchac, an Abenaki Indian, is working hard to track them down. She chronicles her exploits in her outstanding “On the Wampum Trail” blog: http://wampumtrail.wordpress.com/tag/...

Another presenter was Doug George Kanentiio, a Mohawk activist who helped develop the Hiawatha Institute for Indigenous Knowledge, based in Syracuse. The institute is named for the legendary figure crediting with establishing the Iroquois (Haudenosaunee) Confederacy centuries ago. The Hiawatha Institute aims to be a resource center and to ally with schools to offer classes and distance learning in “music, history, law, biology, theater, language and the fine arts, all from a distinctly indigenous perspective.” You can learn more at www.hiawatha.syr.edu.

A new day has dawned in the academy, at least in some corners of higher learning. Over and over the conference’s speakers expressed profound regard for traditional knowledge and cultural patrimony. A guiding principle has been the Iroquois ethic of looking seven generations forward and seven generations back. As Powell said, for something to be of lasting value “it needs to benefit people seven generations in the future.”

Here comes another Thanksgiving. May your celebration be bright and family-friendly. At the same time, bear in mind that many American Indians scorn the common belief that the original feast in was a kumbaya moment between Europeans and Natives.

“For the most part, Thanksgiving itself is a day of mourning for Native people” today, says Tim Turner, a Cherokee man who runs the Wampanoag Homesite at the Plimouth Plantation in Massachusetts, where that first feast took place in 1621.

Turner recounted the Thanksgiving story in an interview with Indian Country Today. After the Pilgrims suffered through their first winter in Massachusetts, Turner said, the Indian known as Squanto mercifully showed them how to plant corn and fish and gather berries and nuts. That led to a treaty of mutual protection between the Pilgrims and the Wampanoags.

The Pilgrims’ harvest that autumn was a success. In gratitude, they organized a feast -- for themselves -- and shot off their weapons in celebration. The gunfire alarmed the Wampanoags, who sent a party of men to offer aid.

Only at that point were the Indians invited to join in. Seeing there was not enough food for the 90 Wampanoags, the braves returned with five deer to add to the communal table. Turkey and pumpkin were possibly included, but as two items on a menu that also featured seafood, waterfowl, maize, and a variety of squashes.

“It was nothing at all like a modern Thanksgiving,” Kathleen Wall, a colonial-foodways culinarian at Plimoth Plantation, told Indian Country Today.

The National Museum of the American Indian, on the Mall in Washington, has a study guide titled “Beyond the Thanksgiving Myth” that explains: “Contemporary celebrations of the Thanksgiving holiday focus on the idea that the ‘first Thanksgiving’ was a friendly gathering of two disparate groups—or even neighbors—who shared a meal and lived harmoniously. In actuality, the assembly of these people had much more to do with political alliances, diplomacy, and an effort at rarely achieved, temporary peaceful coexistence.”

Rarely achieved is right. The guide goes on to say that within a few years, the peaceful relations established by the Wampaoags “were often strained by dishonest, aggressive, and brutal actions on the part of the colonists.”

History records the unjust desserts the continent’s Indians ultimately got for saving the early European settlers from starvation. So yes, while Thanksgiving may be a favorite holiday for most of us, it’s anything but for many of our first peoples.

Knowing this, and recognizing that Thanksgiving falls during Native American Heritage Month, some people have adapted traditional native blessings into their holiday ceremony. Here’s a good one that has found a home on the Internet:

Let us, for this moment, become aware of the beauty of our lives, and the grace that attends to beauty…. Grandfather, we are thankful for the gifts of the Sun, and Grandmother, for the gifts of the Earth … We give thanks for the times of meaning, the times of purposes, our times together…

Let us reflect on our struggles and how they have enabled and ennobled our growth; if we but shut our eyes, even for a moment, we can awaken to wonder;
And then we see with new eyes, the land, the sea, the creatures, one another…
And if we can feel a sense of gratitude, that grace will grow corn in our hearts, then we know beauty, then we know you, O Great Spirit.