Washington?!!!!!!!!
That should be everyone’s reaction to the resent news on the Resolution that was recently passed through in Washington State. Being a native of the waters of the Pacific Northwest I am completely and utterly aghast at such a proposal. After all the suffering and persecution the native peoples of the northwest coast have gone through to get even a small amount of respect from the state of Washington, this republican has the audacity to even make such intentions known. But to make his intentions made so public would have to be err on his part because now he has exposed the heart and intent of what he stands for.
Being a native of Washington myself I can't figure out where this man gets his reasoning. Certainly not from the halls of justice and compassion. I speak from the heart when I say this. If you have ever been to an Indian reservation in the state of Washington you could easily understand the ridiculousness of such a proposal. But to think that this can't happen in today’s society, you are gravely mistaken. That is exactly what many Cherokee Indians thought during the great removals to the west in 1838. Not to mention the number of Indian tribes that eventually ended up with the same fate as the beloved Cherokee people.
Not nearly 100 years ago the Indian peoples of the northwest were still living the ways of the old times. My own grandfather did not learn to speak English until he was 12 years old. His own native language was all he knew. He grew up on the riverbanks with his mother. . Educated in the whitemans ways he went on the make a better life for his people who at that time were on there way to extinction. This was in 1930 when he was appointed chief of the Swinomish tribe of Indians.
Grandpa was a man of action. He played a vital, yet not often recognized role in the preservation of the peoples of the northwest. He was there to aid the Puyallups in their fishing and land battles with the state of Washington. As a child I always remember him making trips back and forth to Washington DC. Lobbying for Indian rights. Being a man of God, we all knew he was right on in what he stood up for. I was told that he used to buy up land whenever he could and turn around and resell it to the tribes of the area who were less fortunate in that most of their own tribal lands had been confiscated by the banks or sold by desperate poor Indians. His asking price was practically nothing. I remember hearing he had returned land for a mere $1.00 once. Because that is the type of man he was, I have to assume this to be true.
To help you understand a little bit better the conditions of the people of my homeland. I will make an attempt to explain briefly what it was like of me and my family growing up.
Mom and Dad were both of Indian blood. Dad is Chippewa, who's family had moved over from Odanoh Wisconsin. Mom of course is Swinomish. They married when my mother was very young, 17 to be exact. From the pictures I have seen, they made a beautiful couple. We grew up 2 blocks from my grandparents house, on the Puyallup Indian reservation In Tacoma Washington. Kind of an small inner-city reservation. I was told Grandpa had moved the family to Tacoma to be near the tribes that he knew would make a difference in the courts for all Indian tribes of the state. He was right.
I really don't remember the young years well. Just a lot of family and love. But I do remember entering parochial school. Mom wanted to be sure we had the best education, the public schools were content on treating us as Dumb Indians. At least in the catholic school we were treated as tokens in a way. I remember the times my grandfather would come and talk to our classroom. It always made me feel so special. In a way I really appreciated the treatment I got there. I really didn't know I was that different until I was pullled out of the Holy Rosary and put in Chief Leschi Indian School.
That is where my real education on being Indian began. I was just going into 5th grade at the time. Mom had placed us in the "Back to Mother Earth” program put on by the Puyallup tribe at the old Hawthorne school, located where the now present Tacoma Dome stands, (does that fact even surprise you?) The program was aimed at reaching the Indian youth in a way that would impact them for the better of our future. For in this modern society we were losing our language, our customs and yes, our self-respect.
It was a summer program, so much of our fun was done in the sun. We would take almost daily fieldtrips to different places such as salmon hatcheries, river ceremonial grounds. Trips on the tribal police boats out into Puget Sound, they even let us fish! Our favorite spot was near our home, a small pond and creek called Swancreek. I don't know where it got it's name, but we loved it. We learned about pollywogs, crawfish, salmon eggs. We walked the trails and learned about ferns, stinging nettle! and stinging nettle! and stinging nettle! We also learned about calamine lotion at that time.
Another favorite place to go was up to the neighboring Nisqually Indians, Franks Landing is what we called it. It was fun because we knew this was our brother tribe. This homestead was located on the Nisqually river. What a beautiful place it was. Next to the landing was the great Nisqually basin. They had us put on our rain gear and walk through the marshes, what fun we had getting all wet!
One of the places my grandfather used to take us was part of the Nisqually tribel lands. At least it became part of their lands again after he gave it to them. For years he kept a small track of land on the river for his family. He built a cabin with an outhouse up there amongst the tall grass and wild berry bushes. It was a place of escape for the family while growing up. Grandpa would take us up there for days at a time. What fun we had playing in the creek, and swinging in the tire swing hanging from the old evergreen across the dirt path from the cabin. Army ants were always a pest to us. But that is where we got close to my grandparents past. He eventually gave this track of land to the Nisquallys as well, after all it was never his in the first place. But I do miss this place with all my heart.
Back to the program. Back to Mother Earth accomplished a lot in the lives of several Indian children that summer. I'll never forget the camping trip to Neah bay. The welcome we received from the Makah tribe was memorable. As I am sure you have heard of Potlatches, they honoured us with a potlatch. One night my tennis shoe melted in the fire while drying off. Our camp was right on the ocean so we did a lot of salt water swimming. One night some wild horses went running through our camp, what fun that was. Just to hear the hoof beats pounding on the ground underneath us sent shivers of excitement through our own bodies. And the things we learned about the respect we should all have for the beauty that the Creator placed here when he made mother earth. The three, or was it four van caravan that made it 's way back to Tacoma was just as memorable. With a stop at Cresent Lake to take a bath, I'll never forget the excitement at taking a bath in a real lake! Sounds funny coming from an Indian who's Great grandmother was a seasoned veteran in the area of fasting and lake bathing!
Another such trip was to the Squaxin tribe in Olympia, Washington. We stayed 2 weeks on Squaxin Island. Sleeping out under the stars, meeting other members of the tribe. Midnight fishing on their tribal boat. And story's of the many Indian Cemetarys on the Island. Squaxin is also a Bald eagle sanctuary so that goes without saying the visitors we had.
Another crucial point to this program was the education we received in area's of human rights and the violation our parents were receiving at the hands of the Government of the this nation as well as the Washington state government and non-Indians. Many times they would have a special guest come in and explain to us what was happening in the areas of fishing rights and land issues. Every once and a while we would watch a film that was shot at a protest or human rights violation site. To see people you know and respect being yanked out of little fishing boats and being beat upon by the police is heart breaking to a young Indian child. Watching the tears stream from the eyes of relatives that are present and the cries of the children that are watching such an act being done to their parents pulls at the heart. Knowing that these things are being done to people you call family puts a never ending lump in your throat.
I never carried anger towards these acts of violence I saw perpetrated upon my people. I carried confusion and sorrow. For both sides. That is the grace that God gave me and I thank him for it. Had I chosen not to accept his grace to get through those times I would hate to see where I would be now.
After the program ended that summer our parents opted to keep us at Chief Leschi for the next two years for regular schooling. For a short while my mother was appointed principal, during which time she was able to secure some teachers from the nearby parochial school we had attended. In this Indian run school we learned what fear meant for our lives. On a weekly basis we had to endure bomb threats made to us. Asking my mother why someone would want to kill us, we were kids, she said " They want to wipe out our most precious and dear resource, they want to hurt us where it would hurt the most, by taking away our future- you and your friends are our future".
In a way I think my parents protected us by keeping us with our own kind at the time. Later I would learn that all this hate was going on outside our Indian school walls, while we happily learned our multiplication tables and pronouns and verbs. We spent those years being built up as Indian people, where as on the outside society was doing all it could to tear down any bit a Indian pride they could find especially in the public schools. Later when I entered the nearby junior high I would understand the degrading stereotype that was all to often used to educate our youth. At this time we got the backlash from those previous years of fishing rights battles as well as land issues. My mother now says that one of her greatest fears was that one of her 12 Indian children would get run down by a hit and run driver or would end up shot on the street, by an officer of the law claiming self defense. She said the police force was famous for planting weapons on young Indian male bodies, yes bodies. To be a mother and father knowing these things must have been painful for our parents.
As the years past, I watched as many of my friends from the Indian school passed away. Drug overdoses, Alcohol overdose, drowning while fishing on the river. Run over at the ceremonial grounds during a wild party. Car crash on the way to Tahola. Suicide happened a lot. One such case involved my cousin Nancy, I didn't know her too well but she was beautiful lying in that casket in full regalia. They said she shot herself, but all evidence said differently. How could she point a rifle at her own chest and pull the trigger without making a complete mess of herself? But no one pushed the issue because that could get your own immediate family in trouble.
Then Robert Satiucom got caught stealing money. Ouch! that hurt all over again. They were my cousins you know. Mom used to tell us that once an Indian got successful then the government would do what it could to discredit us. She was right. When Satiucom got caught we all suffered. In these later years many of his own children are now dead from drugs and alcohol. The pain they must have endured watching their own father run from the law. I remember when his brother died, Junior. Junior was our favorite; he used to save every little pretty rock we collected as children that we gave to him. He saved them in a glass jar so we could see that he did so. Satiacum snuck down to the funeral to say his last goodbyes to his beloved brother. Tears were shed by all. For we knew the government was watching our every move so they could catch Robert. Later they were able to get him on other falsified charges. But then that is the story of Indian people all over. Robert wasn’t' perfect, he made a lot of mistakes but then again that is why Jesus came isn't it? It is rumored that he made his peace with the Creator before he passed away, Bless God for His mercy and grace!
Later in years I did my best to hide my Indians ways, it was easier that way. I didn't want to be part of the pain I saw on the reservations. I didn't want to be a dirty Indian giver. I was in shame for who I was. I saw too much to want to be part of "Pain". The school was still teaching Columbus discovered America, which made my race unimportant. Today I don't celebrate Columbus day the way others do. I just look at it as another day.
I hung out with whites as much as I could, at least those who "didn't see me as Indian" if you know what I mean. I figured if I assimilated into white society I would be accepted "as" white. Later I would learn that this only brought much heartache on myself and that this "assimilation" would only ache the heart of God as well.
I found healing in Christ Jesus about 10 years ago. About 9 years ago he spoke to me and told me to "Be who I made you to be, Indian” I cried, realizing that I had pained the Lord. When I came to Christ I had this idea that being Indian was a sin, go figure. We supposedly live in a Christian society that taught Indians were dirty heathens with a need for salvation. Our poor alcoholic state and high mortality rate were proof of Gods judgment on our people. I grew in Christ for about a year, actually I stayed a baby for about a year. Looking down on everyone else for their ignorance on the things of God. Thank God for His mercy, because I really needed a wakeup call on what it meant to be a Christian!
One day while praying in our little 2 bedroom trailer located on the shore of Lake Allatoona, Acworth Georgia. The Lord spoke to me and told me that the reason I couldn't "grow" in him was because I had thrown away my heritage and culture, something he considered very dear to His own heart. He told me to repent for such an act and "ask" for it back. He said "I gave you your spiritual sensitivity, ask for it back. It is part of who you are and you can't accomplish your task without it". Since that day God has blessed beyond measure. I had put my own stumbling blocks in Gods path, with stereotypical ideas of what being Christian meant. Something that this world is all too good at doing.
Not long ago, In January of this year to be exact I flew back home to Washington State with our brand-new 5 day old son, to bury my younger, beautiful sister Marianne. Marianne was only 27 years old when she died of complications received from a medical procedure that was performed on her to help her lungs heal up from a freak bout of pneumonia. She left behind two beautiful daughters 3 and 9 years old, my mother now cares for the girls. Mariannes life was one of much pain. Divorce of our parents, rape at 13, in and out of alcohol and drug treatment centers 4 times, each time thinking she had conquered her demons. Pregnant at 16, finding out she was HIV during pregnancy. Fiance dying when the baby was 8 months old. Next several years watching many of her friends die of Aids and alcohol and drug abuse. Living in cars, on the street, any where she could lay her weary head. And at last a messy abusive marriage and divorce in her own life.
Mariannes experiences are too numerous to share here, but in all her troubles she was able to grasp on to her roots of Love and Kindness she learned as a child. Some where deep in all of our hearts was planted a seed. One day that seed sprouted for Marianne. While in jail for stealing a car last October Marianne came back to Christ. After her release in November she made restitution with all she had offended. She began to openly declare to everyone she could about how Christ had saved her, and was giving her another chance at life. To raise her two little girls was a dream of hers because she had HIV, she knew her time could be cut short.
Marianne shared something with us years ago during one of her dry spells. She said that God had told her that she would not die of aids, which was one of her biggest fears. When she was released from jail last fall, her doctors where saying a miracle was taking place because her blood count was almost near normal, was she being healed of aids? When she got sick at Christmas we had no idea she was going home. Her death was a complete surprise, even to the doctors who were taking care of her. They offered to pay for an autopsy to verify cause of death, because they couldn't figure out why she had died. Later the doctor would call my mother and explain to her that Marianne's death was nowhere near related to HIV or Aids. That her death was caused by a medical procedure that had been performed on her. God had lived up to his promise to Marianne. She did not die of Aids! What a good God we serve.
The date was January 7, 2000. The morning of the funeral was cold and rainy. Some 300 friends and family of Marianne LaPointe Hall filled the beautiful community center on the Swinomish reservation. I hadn’t been back in years, and I hadn't planned on coming back for this. As I slowly entered the center pushing my baby stroller in front, I held back a lump that was starting to form in the back of my throat. They had already started the service and my arrival was a surprise, even to my mother. Seeing as I had just given birth to our 10lb son I was really in no condition to travel. But I had begged the Lord to let me come and say goodbye to my sister, He is faithful.
I was surprised at all the people I saw present. People I remember from my childhood. Friends of hers as well. As I looked at my remaining 13 brothers and sisters sitting there, a thought occurred to me. I wasn't seeing many tears of loss coming from their faces. Instead there was a kind of peace on everyone’s face, a sense of knowing that something great had taken place. I would later hear all the wonderful stories of her realization of a merciful and gracious God. Along with all the hardships she had endured. And in the end glorifying Jesus for saving her!
As I write this I am crying, because I miss her so much. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that some day soon we will be together again.
In this same place amongst our knowing faces were distraught, weary faces. Weary from crying uncontrollable tears. A sense of hopelessness hung in the air around some of these people. Another Indian gone, poor soul. Soon we will all be dead. Why God? If you are even there.
Upon these other faces was 'no hope'. We smile because we know we will see her again. We cry because we miss her. These people frown because they are confused, hurt. They cry because they think they will never see "hope" again. Marianne had overcome, but not by herself. She had received grace from above and grasped onto it. It was hard for her to stay clean for any long period of time, we all knew that. So unconditional love was something we practiced on a daily basis.
As I listened to her own personal journal being shared to all present I realized that God had given her the ultimate gift by taking her home early. Struggles for her were many. Some of the things she endured were not known to us until we heard it read from her journal. What a welcome she must have received when our grandparents saw her! I am so happy she is with the Lord.
You wonder why I share this with you. My point. My sister lived the life of your typical Native American woman. Everything she endured is being played out everyday in the lives of countless men and women of Native heritage. The struggles are still there.
We had the Back to Mother Earth program to teach us some "Old Native" wisdom. Mariannes age group did not have that. They kind of fell in behind the whole move. Like the so called X generation of our American society. The Native people as well had their own X generation induced upon them as well. Not only were the American youth liveing in a "nothing" matters anymore society but Indian youth had nothing to look forward to as well.
We as Native people won a few small battles with the government of the United States of America. and that of Washington state as well. In our small victories we became silent. We became relaxed and kicked back. All the while the enemy was doing his best to regroup. We fought this battle one too many times, once again we must take up our lance and shield. Only this time we must wield the shield of Faith.
How this man can even suggest abolishing our only form of tribal identity we have left? He says that the whites living on reservation should be compensated, for what?!!! Of all people, he knows the conditions on the Swinomish reservation are not up to present day society. My grandfather spent years rebuilding what dignity we had left as Indian people. It is so sad to go back home and see that the majority of people living on the reservations are not Indian but white. And they aren't the ones living in the broken down houses either!
I know that if Martin Jacob Sampson, Chief of the Swinomish tribe of Indians were alive today he would not be sitting idly by just watching what is happening. He worked to hard to bring life to our people to watch some one else walk in and try to destroy it all.
I marvel at how this man can even suggest such a proposal. I take this personally for my grandfathers sake. Because this man lives within Skagit County, the Swinomish territory I look at it as a direct attack on all that my grandfather stood for. All that is right and just.
They have taken our land, taken our languages away, taken our pride. We can't even see in f ront of us anymore! I once heard someone say "We can't see the trees for the forest is in the way". That is where we are at now. Indian people can't see the redemption for the pain that is in the way. Let us stop this needless assault on the Indian peoples of America. Why is this man so threatened by such a small percentage of our population? Won't you please consider standing up with brother Jose and making this a national crisis situation for all native peoples. We must make our voices be heard because whether or not something like this passes now, it will- later on in the lives of our beautiful children. Even the great removals began long before 1800 in the small words of a few, then future presidential candidates. Who where able to later fulfill their intentions on every tribe in the United States of America.
My children need a place they can call home. The Swinomish tribe is our family. We live off the reservation but our identity lies within our tribe. Even in biblical times your tribal affiliation was important. It declared to all, who you were, and what task the Lord had assigned your people. If tribes were not important would God have preserved the names and places of tribes in the Holy Scriptures? May God bless you as you pray on this matter. It is time for a wake up call to this nation we call America. And Washington State. I know first hand the cruelty that proceeds out of Washington, but I also know the beauty that lies dormant waiting to be awakened.
Jacqueline L Gordon AKA Taqseblue, Swinomish and Chippewa