"So What Should We Call You?"

Image Credit:  Mother Jones Magazine.

It's the first day of Native American Heritage Month. It's also the day before the largest-ever Native rally against racism, the upcoming warriors' cry against Dan Snyder's (and others') ongoing racist exploitation of the [ongoing] attempted genocide of our peoples.

So it seems like as good a time as any to talk about names. After all, this is a question (or set of questions) we encounter constantly, and so it seems worthwhile to answer them.   

Note:  Three points. 1) In this post, I am going to use certain slurs, wholly uncensored, solely for discursive purposes. Normally, I would use asterisks, but for purposes of this discussion, I want their full violent and painful impact to be felt. My use of them here is not a license for anyone else to use them in any way whatsoever. 2) I speak here only for myself and for Wings. With every definition and every opinion that follows, I can point to numerous Indians we know who feel similarly, but I'm not going to invoke anyone else's name here. I'm only giving you our very specific perspective, which arises in a very specific and highly personal set of contexts and experiences. 3) Because I am speaking for us, and only us, comments will be closed. Nothing in here is up for debate: not from Indians whose views differ (see that whole "speaking only for us" thing again), and certainly not from white folks, because they don't get to weigh in on the facts of our lived experience. This is not a discursive project, and devil's advocacy is most decidedly not needed; we've heard all the oppositional arguments before (yes, ALL of them), and not one of them holds a single drop of water. This is offered purely for informational purposes for people of good will and an anti-racist activist bent who genuinely want to learn how their own words are perceived. And again, as I say ad nauseum throughout, other Indians will have other opinions, and can and will speak for themselves when they feel so inclined.

Names.

Indigenous. 

First Nations. 

Native American. 

Native.

American Indian. 

AmerIndian. 

Indian. 

Injun. 

Brave. 

Redskin. 

Skin. 

Squaw.

This is the basic spectrum. It's not precisely linear. There isn't a definitive ranking to some of them — although clearly, some are more or less neutral, and some are so clearly racist that there is no place for them in civilized society. 

There are so many misconceptions and generalizations out there about what we "prefer to be called," as though there's one and only one opinion among all of us. And, of course, that "one opinion" is virtually always one that belongs to a non-Indian, and projected onto another population and culture and used to justify that person's preferred practice. In these days of organized, broad-based campaigns to overturn the use of slurs as mascots and the institutionalization of racism and appropriation, the question in the title is one we hear a lot.

Privately, among ourselves, we sometimes use certain terms that we would never countenance from outsiders. We also often use the names of our respective tribal nations (which themselves can vary depending on usage and context, and increasingly, we're seeing people revert to their names for themselves in their own languages, rather than accepting the labels put on them by others). But discomfiture often arises on both sides when outsiders presume to use one name or another for us. 

We have a unique window, having spent years operating a gallery visited by [mostly white] tourists. Tourists who say all kinds of things.

So what should people call us?

It's complicated. It's also simple.

#NotYourRedskin, #NotYourMascot, #NotYourstoWhitewashAway

Image credit:  Mother Jones Magazine

On a day when I find myself, once again, in the unenviable position of having my life, my very self, whitewashed out of existence, I also find myself about to do something completely out of character: Root for the Dallas Cowboys.

Yes, it's the Washington Racists at Cowboy Stadium tonight, and while I have no love for Jerry Jones or any part of his organization, for once I hope Tony Romo's got his head on straight tonight. I don't know how much of the game we'll be able to watch; it's next to impossible for us to tolerate the redface and the fake war chants and the tomahawk chops anymore. But we'll at least be checking in, if only to support the #BraidUp/AIM Central Texas and #EONM protestors outside and inside the stadium. I may hit Facebook and the Twitters occasionally, if I feel the need to say something, so shares and retweets would be appreciated. It'll be more of the same on Sunday, since Haskell and other groups are apparently busily helping to provide cover to the Kansas City Thiefs. [Yes, I know it's not correct pluralization. It's still their name in this household.]

And I'll just say for the record, right here, right now:  I am not going away. I will continue to write, to speak, to be who and what I am, every day. I've danced this dance my whole life, and I'm not about to stop because my existence is inconvenient.

"Who's 'we,' white man?"

Image credit:  Mother Jones Magazine

So Matthew McConaughey, alleged hearthrob and celebrity flake extraordinaire, doesn't want the Washington R[acists] NFL team to have to change its name.

It’s not going to hurt me. It’s just….I love the emblem. I dig it. It gives me a little fire and some oomph. But now that it’s in the court of public opinion, it’s going to change. I wish it wouldn’t, but it will.

"Fire," huh?  And "oomph?"  What, exactly, is that, Matt?  Hey, I can call you Matt, right?  Even though I've never once seen you use it yourself, it's all good, right, because lots of guys named Matthew have let people call them that since, oh, at least the last 2,000 or so years, probably, and besides, I'm doing it to honor you.  Really.

Gah.

It gets better. And by "better," I mean ridiculous, natch:

Man, it’s twofold. What interests me is how quickly it got pushed into the social consciousness. We were all fine with it since the 1930s, and all of a sudden we go, “No, gotta change it”? It seems like when the first levee breaks, everybody gets on board. I know a lot of Native Americans don’t have a problem with it, but they’re not going to say, “No, we really want the name.” That’s not how they’re going to use their pulpit. It’s like my feeling about gun control: “I get it. You have the right to have guns. But look, let’s forget that right. Let’s forget the pleasure you get safely on your range, because it’s in the wrong hands in other places [emphasis added].

"WE were all fine with it?" Who's "WE," white man? 

Yeah, no. You're reading from a seriously wrong script, dude.

More on #NotYourRedskin

Yesterday's story turned into a day-long discussion among my peeps on Facebook. In at least one case, one of my friends seized the opportunity to push her own Facebook friends to reevaluate their positions, and as she recounted to me the turns their discussion took, it pushed me to expand on my own thinking and help her add some rhetorical weapons to her arsenal.

One thing I need to make clear at the outset, though: For us (for any marginalized population dealing with the fact and fallout of that marginalization), this is not generally something that we need to "clarify" in our minds, to "rethink" or "reevaluate." We don't need to consider the "arguments" that opponents continually insist that we do, as though their arguments are the magic bullet that will logically invalidate everything with think. You know why?

We've heard them all already.

Yes, ALL. I have yet to encounter an argument that opposes my own anti-racism (or anti-[other]ism) positions that I have not already heard many times over, in every conceivable iteration; that I have not already considered many times over, at length, and in so doing affording them much more legitimacy than they usually deserve; that I have not already used on myself many times over in playing devil's advocate specifically to sharpen and refine my own thinking. 

Also, we live with this. Every single minute of every single hour of every single day. So, you know, we come at these issues from not merely a sanitized academic perspective, devoid of real-world experience, but also down-and-dirty in-the-trenches immersion in the dynamics and their practical effects.

So I've had plenty of opportunity over the decades to reach my conclusions, thanks.

But it's one of those dynamics that I want to discuss here — one that dredged itself up from the depths of my memory during yesterday's discussions. It did not involve anti-Indian racism, but anti-Black racism. But that is, I think, even better for purposes of illustrating this particular point: Perhaps non-Indians who read it will gain a deeper understanding of why, no matter what anyone says, that slur does not honor us.

It's just a little vignette, no more than five minutes out of one day in my life many years ago. It involved two friends, a Black man and a white woman. (Tangentially, it also involved two other women, myself and another friend, both of us with similar racial backgrounds in different proportions; I identify first as Indian, she identifies first as Black. Our immediate role in this little scene was simply that of "witness," but it stuck with both of us.) 

The white woman was one of those who liked to bestow nicknames. She considered her purpose in doing so to be lighthearted and funny, but it really wasn't. As we would eventually come to learn, it was part and parcel of who she was: someone immersed in the bullying tactics and behaviors so prized by the dominant culture, herself victimized by those same tactics expressed in different ways, but so thoroughly immersed in that aspect of the cultural zeitgeist that she felt not merely justified in extending that behavior to others but wanted to be enabled and encouraged in it.

One of her favorites involved use of the term "Boy." It was an equal-opportunity nickname, on the surface; our circle included people of every race, multiple spiritual traditions, and members of the LGBTQI community. For example, one of the [white] guys who was known for liking to drink — a lot — was given the nickname "Party Boy." 

On this day, she informed one of the Black men in our circle that his name was [Whatever] Boy; I can't remember the actual name, other than the use of the word "Boy" in it. The other part, as will become obvious, was irrelevant. His reaction was immediate and unmistakable: offended, yes, but for anyone with an ounce of awareness, the hurt in his eyes was also obvious. Nonetheless, he simply said politely, "No. Please don't call me that, under any circumstances." 

So what was the proper response here?  Oh, that's an easy one, because there is only one. In such a situation, you apologize and concede. Even a toddler understands that there is no reason to hurt someone just because you can.

So did she? Of course not.

No, she kept insisting on the right to call him "[X] Boy," whether he liked it or not, "because [she] wasn't being racist." She insisted that her intent was all that mattered, and since she called all the guys some version of "Boy," irrespective of their race, it was perfectly okay for her to call him that, too.

After being told by more than one person present that it is by definition racist for a white person to call a Black man "boy," she continued to insist that she would still call him that. She even began to mount her High Horse of White Victimhood, the tired old excuse of "How dare you call me a racist; I don't have a racist bone in my body!"

And thus ended the friendship. 

In her mind, she made it about a rhetorical tug-of-war over "rights": her "right" to inflict a name (unasked and unwanted, mind you) on a person who not only did not want it, but was profoundly hurt by it — and to continue to inflict it, simply because she wanted to.

In his mind (and in actuality) she was insisting on the "right" to conjure up in his psyche a collection of images, feelings, and memories, both personal and ancestral: Every single time a white person had called into question, disrespected, belittled and scorned his identity as a Black person, his masculinity as a Black man, his very humanity as an individual. He's African American; does his family tree include men and women held as slaves? It's entirely likely. He lived in the allegedly post-Jim Crow South; does his family history include lynchings? Also entirely possible. Certainly, his history — his own personal history, that of his blood family, that of his ancestors — comprises all of the savagery and violence and humiliation the dominant culture inflicted, with no small amount of glee, on Black people generally and Black men specifically. And as a Black man, he lives daily with the microaggressions that our culture reserves specifically for him.

So every time he hears the word "Boy," I have no doubt that somewhere deep inside, he flinches. His adrenaline levels spike, along with his blood pressure. He sees, feels, the ghosts of the whip and the chain and the rope, and their diluted contemporary equivalent, the unwarranted stop, the frisk, the handcuffs, the bars. 

And that's very much like what WE see, hear, and feel every time someone uses the word "reds***" (and for us women, "s****"). We see the ghosts of our ancestors, massacred, raped, tortured, forcibly marched, interned in camps, lynched, scalped, skinned. We see their body parts being traded for bounties and used for leggings by the same U.S. Cavalry who slaughtered them. We see their genitals being torn off and appropriated as sacrilegious "medicine bags." We see the blankets. We see the genocidal mania that did its best to exterminate our peoples. Closer to home in time, we see the threats of lynching of our own immediate ancestors. We see the daily grinding humiliations: "Red n*****" as an appellation. Forced to step off the sidewalk to defer to a white person. "No Indians or dogs allowed" signs. A little boy, forced to sit in his first-grade classroom, urine streaming down his legs while white classmates jeered, because a racist teacher would not let him get up and use the bathroom.

It's the savageries, large and small. They are real. And they are embodied in our memories, they take modern form, in the word "reds***."

CANCELED! #NotYourMascot, Snyder!

Image credit Mother Jones Magazine

We won!

The Trademark Trial and Appeal Board has canceled the trademark of the Washington Reds***s.

By "we," I mean Indians, but special congratulations go to lead plaintiffs Amanda Blackhorse, Marcus Briggs, Philip Gover, Jillian Pappan, and Courtney Tsotigh for stepping up and seeing this through.

ThinkProgress has a brief analysis here. The opinion itself is here. Briefly, key to the decision was the finding that the use of the slur was in fact [already] "disparaging to Native Americans" at the time it was registered [each time it or a variant thereof was registered].

This is, of course, not the end of the matter. Snyder, being the vicious racist that he is, will fight this to the bitter end and beyond. He'll take the immediate financial hit, which will be substantial even in the short term, and will sink even more money into retainers to file endless appeals. I fully expect a reversal in the courts, but it will be yet one more temporary switchback tun on the much longer road to justice.

For today, we dance. Because, Snyder, we are #notyourmascots, and we are sure as hell #notyourredskins.

Notah Begay III: #NotYourRedskin, Either

Photo Credit PGA

I love this man.

I love him for being a strong, proud Indian man who embodies his heritage even as he walks in two worlds, the second one filled with all the distractions and dangers of dominant-culture celebrity.

I love him for what he's doing in Indian Country, particularly with regard to children's health and diabetes prevention.

And I love him for standing up to the racists in and around the NFL and its hangers-on and fellow travelers.

And for the last, we can now expect him to be attacked shamelessly by many of the very pundits and fans who pretended to worship his "Indian-ness" up until now.

Last week, he agreed to appear on ESPN's Outside the Lines to discuss the racist slur that Dan Snyder insists on keeping as his vanity team's name and mascot. To the credit of the show, apparently all but one person booked on it opposed use of the slur and supported changing the name. Still, it's pretty clear from Dan Steinberg's post about the incident that they were hoping for "controversy" over it, and made sure they got it.

I have no interest in the arguments in favor of the name. I've heard them all before, and they're unmitigated crap, every one. There's not a new thought in the lot. But I want to bring Mr. Begay's words to your attention, because this is a man who has the right as an Indian man to speak to this issue, and who walks the talk, putting the blessings and benefits afforded him by his career right back into his community — into the children of the Navajo Nation, and the children of our Indian communities as a whole. And what he has to say is important.

First:

"If you ask me, it is offensive," Begay said midway through the segment, when asked about the Redskins name. "And I think it’s just a very clear example of institutionalized degradation of an ethnic minority, that being the Native American people. To classify it as simply a matter of political correctness only seeks to trivialize it a little bit, to an extent that it undermines the very human foundation of the people itself. I mean, if you look further and deeper into the issue, it’s about the culture, it’s about the identity, it’s about the history of our people. And that in and of itself is something that I think needs to be looked at further."

Boom. Down goes the "political correctness" canard.

Second:

"I don’t ever see myself going to a Redskins game,” he continued. “Or I should say, if I were to take my kids to a Redskins game, and we were to see a non-native dressed up in traditional regalia, with eagle feathers in a headdress, dancing around, basically mocking the culture and the tradition, it would be very difficult to explain to my children. And not only to my children, but children of many families across this country. I mean, this country was founded on the premise of equality and human rights and civil rights, and I don’t know at what point we decide what our tolerance levels are for discrimination. And who gets to decide? I think that’s the compelling question here, is who gets decide what is discriminatory and what isn’t?"

Boom. Down goes the "non-Indians get to decide what's racist against Indians" canard.

And third:

"Yeah, if you look at social indicators related to addiction, related to childhood obesity and Type 2 diabetes, related to graduation rates, yeah, there [are] much bigger issues that I think tribal leaders have to deal with,” Begay agreed. “But the fact of the matter is, if Native Americans can’t be viewed as an equal in this country, then we can’t afford our children the same opportunities as they seek to go to college and seek to participate in mainstream corporate America, competing for jobs. It all starts with the basic elements of who we are as a country. And I think there’s an existential issue here as well as a cultural issue. We all have to ask ourselves, how much discrimination are we willing to tolerate as it pertains to issues like this?"

Boom. Down goes the "more important issues" canard.

And coming from Mr. Begay, that last is especially relevant. Because he's already long since put his money where his mouth it. The quote may not indicate it, but he's been working for years on these alleged "much bigger issues," and he knows better than any non-Indian ever could how the racism that countenances this sort of redface minstrelsy as an integral part of this country's national identity is one of the major factors in exacerbating all of those "much bigger issues."

So let's show Mr. Begay how much we support him and his efforts, not only on the issue of structural racism but on the ground, in Indian Country. Go to the Notah Begay III Foundation's Web site. In the upper right are three buttons. Use them. "Like" and "Share" it on Facebook; send it viral on Twitter. And if you have a few spare bucks, use the top button to make a tax-deductible donation to his foundation.

And Mr. Begay, from this household: Chi miigwech and ta'a for everything you do.