Reflections of a Storyteller, part 2: The Indigenous Identity Question - How to Sit Firm in the Eye of the Hurricane
- zhaawano
- Oct 6, 2024
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 10
Waagaabagaa-giizis (Leaves Turning Moon) / Manoominike-giizis (Ricing Moon) - October 6, 2024
Boozhoo!
For some of us, navigating the complexities of Indigenous identity in our deeply colonized and divided system is a continuous challenge. Expressing one's Indigenous heritage without official enrollment or recognition in an American Indian tribe or Canadian First Nation feels akin to walking through a minefield.
About 12 years ago, I began sharing my stories and art on social media, and since then, I've become accustomed to receiving unsolicited public comments. Some of these remarks are critical or even overtly negative. However, the situation escalated last spring when a journalist from a prominent Indigenous American news platform, which has an audience of about half a million people each month, wrote a two-page article on so-called Pretend-indianship. She clearly needed a scapegoat to lend her article context and credibility, and I was an easy target due to my light skin and the fact that I currently live abroad. The article "exposed" me (without mentioning my name, as she was aware that libel is a criminal offense in the United States) as a "Pretendian" from Holland, a "white" con artist who "plagiarizes" Native artists.
White? hmm.
A con? hmm.
An artist? I guess I am.
A plagiarizer? hmm. Has she ever seen my work?
A Pretendian? hmm.
From Holland? Nope. I'm not even Dutch.
The public attacks, some of which are quite vicious, occur in waves and appear to have increased over the last 3 or 4 years. This modern form of warfare, characterized by online smearing and public targeting by Native artists and journalists, exposes a toxic blend of Historic Trauma and Intergroup Conflict. This mixture, like a volcano, has simmered beneath the surface of Turtle Island for many generations, only to erupt forcefully in today's digital age, especially on social media platforms like Facebook and TikTok. The dangerous spirit of polarization and lateral violence, often disguised as a seemingly legitimate form of cultural (essentially racist) self-righteousness driven by a strong urge to hold others "accountable" (commonly referred to as the call-out Pretendians culture), has been unleashed, and it seems it will be difficult to contain it once more.
So, how does one handle the toxic negativity and drama that the "Pretendian Hunters" direct towards many of us? How do I cope with it?
This is the way I handled it in the past.
When people labeled me as a white culture vulture or Pretendian for "appropriating our culture and traditions," I questioned them, are you assuming I'm not Native simply because of my light skin? And what gives you the right to assume I'm an outsider and taking "your traditions?" How well do you actually know me? How can you possibly know where I've been, who I've interacted with, and from whom I've gained my knowledge?
When asked why I don't publicly acknowledge "the Elders" who shared the stories with me, I responded by questioning the need for it, as "the stories" are a shared heritage of all of us, the People.
To those who have accused me of claiming "the stories" (which belong to all of us) as my own, I respond: I do not. My aim is to keep these stories and our traditions vibrant and alive by retelling them and infusing them with my own imagination and the knowledge I've gained throughout my life. I blend old tales into a new narrative, much like the storytellers of the past did. As the storyteller, my name appears at the bottom of the written story, allowing you to reach out if you wish to share your enjoyment of the story or express your dissatisfaction with my work.
To those who lectured me about "protocol," I responded: I am fully aware of the protocol (regarding oral storytelling), so there's no need to lecture me.
To those who told me I do not have the right to retell or adapt "our stories," I said, who grants you the authority to tell me this? Who are you sitting on a high horse talking down on me? You say I'm not entitled to my actions, but who gave you the right to criticize me for them?
To the ikweg who claim to be defenders of our traditions, those self-proclaimed ogichidaakweg, warrior women who assert they protect the old ways but speak like academics and lawyers, I advised to be humble and modest. Attend the ceremonies and listen to the Elders instead of presenting yourselves online as champions for a noble cause in a highly authoritative manner that contradicts the old teachings – revealing yourselves with an often blatant, arrogant demeanor borrowed from the male European colonizers. Aim to emulate our Elders, who are gentle and never aggressive.
To those who mentioned that aadizookaanan (traditional stories) are only shared when there's snow on the ground (another poetic version is, "when the ground is frozen"), I responded, enh geget gi-debwe. This is true when it comes to telling stories ORALLY, whether in houses, lodges, or outdoors where the spirits and ancestors can hear us, DEBWE! I would NEVER narrate an aadizookaan orally during the summer or spring.
To those who claimed it is inappropriate to share or retell the aadizookaanan online, I responded, that's your opinion, and who are you to dictate this to me? Have you forgotten that nearly six decades ago, our esteemed painter and storyteller Miskwaabik Animikii (more commonly known by his European name, Norval Morrisseau) faced criticism, even severe censure, from traditionalists for "revealing knowledge" in an unprecedented manner?
To those who mentioned that sharing our stories online is quite unusual, I responded that they are lagging behind the facts.
To the traditionalists who told me I shouldn't "reveal the Mide knowledge," I responded that I only share information already available in books (often authored by our own knowledge keepers) and on the Internet (frequently written by outsiders but often based on sources from within our Lodges). I NEVER share details of ceremonies and rituals that are intended to remain within our Lodges. I would NEVER do that.
To those who shared all these thoughts and spoke of Elders as if they are sacred individuals residing on a lofty mountain above us, I replied, who says I am not an Elder, or seen as one?
And recently? Recently, I no longer feel compelled to respond to those who attack me. I don't feel the need to correct them or waste my energy on them. I certainly don't feel the need to justify myself, my heritage, or my blood percentage to anyone publicly, nor do I feel the need to disclose who my "teachers" are. I've chosen to avoid negativity and drama, focusing solely on creating art and writing stories for those who still believe in values like humility, kindness, and respect. Those who maintain the old Indigenous tradition of inviting others in, not calling them out. Those who know how to listen instead of judge and polarize. So today, if someone feels the need to publicly question my "sources" or tribal connections, lecture me, or "expose" me, I simply ignore them and block them. It feels much better this way. Hence the title of my post and the accompanying illustration, "Sitting Firmly in the Eye of the Hurricane": figuratively, the eye of a hurricane is the calm center of a dispute or controversy.
12 years years ago, I inquired of a highly respected Mide grandmother, who is a decade older than me, whether it was appropriate for me to incorporate the ancient stories into my storytelling and share them through writing and art. Her response was: yes, as long as your heart assures you that you are doing the right thing.
Frankly, that is the ONLY criterium that holds true value for me.
Mii'iwe.
Zhaawano Giizhik
Illustration: Sitting Firmly in the Eye of the Hurricane ©2024 Zhaawano Giizhik,
Check out episode 3 of the 'Reflections of a Storyteller' series: Beware of the Orange Wiindigoo
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