Anger, then forgiveness, is the way

Page 7

FIRST PERSON

Today, in a gentle manner, I ask you to walk with me. Having company for a change is nice, I often feel my way of thinking is lonely. Let us shed all differences and seek new vision together. The time for truth has come. My friend, close your physical eyes.

You will not need them to see.

Like a flashback from the past, imagine this scene: A humiliated, weakened warrior sits with diffferrent-looking humans surrounding him. They anxiously wait for the pen in his hand to move. The dark-skinned man reflects. Thinking.

Long, hard, bloody battles. Too many. Endless nights spent tossing and turning, wondering how an entire race from faraway became so ruthless and hard in spirit. Buffalo. Nearly vanished. Families scattered and lost. Young braves, once proud, now wander the streets with heads held down, mumbling barely audible phrases through alcohol-stained lips.

And ahead. What - peace? Self-respect? Does not matter. Perhaps it is a punishment for some unknown crime. Spirit is tired. Needs sleep. Grandfather will talk again one day.

The pen slides on the paper. Grunts of satisfaction emanate throughout the room. The first treaty is signed.

1992

Come with me now to a Native art show. An oil company is the sponsor and plans exhibitions throughout the country. Read with me the panel catch phrases: "Respect for mother earth." "Largest employer of Native people." "People as resources."

Look around. Watch the old man, who thinks himself as an elder, bless the event. Watch the dancers, Oh, how the people enjoy it all.

This "Indian" culture.

In a small house 500 miles away, an elderly woman knits a pair of socks for one of her grandchildren. Strips of moose meat dry on the rack above the stove. The kids argue over whose turn it is to play Nintendo.

The skin below her eyes is dry. Tears never fall when she busies herself. Her husband was a wonderful man. Kind and thoughtful. Until the cutlines started appearing. The animals went elsewhere. Prices dropped. Pride and esteem dies.

She misses him so mu - Ah! The socks are finished.

In a roaring jet plane 40,000 feet above ground. In-flight radio personalities speculate on "extra-sensory phenomena" and whether it actually exists. Quotes from highly appraised university professors saturate the airwaves. They know so much, these academics. Years and years spent studying volumes and testing theories. What a privilege it is to hear their ideas.

At a much lower altitude somewhere in the far north, no one around the table makes much of a commotion about the dream Jim had the night before he killed the bull. He knew instinctively where to look, and where to shoot. Knowing that the man intended to use the meat and hide in a good way, the animal spirit came to him in his sleep. For Jim, relying on the power of his dreams has given his family meat more than once. It is a normal part of his life. He does not question or seek to analyze it.

Come with me now to Quebec City inside a posh restaurant. Look at the photographs of celebrities on the wall. Are they icons? They symbolize everything we cherish and love about this society: money, fame, status, Why, there's Marilyn Monroe, and James Dean, and Albert Einstein and look - Charlie Chaplin. Even Elvis! Wait. I remember him.

They died unhappy, didn't they?

Squint harder. Not only does truth hide in plain sight these days, the lie is often right beside it.

Things that aren't made with love are doomed to fail.

The earth, and we as well, are in a healing process. Our cultures are reappearing. Interest in the elders' teachings are returning. Young men and women are stronger, less willing to take racial beatings. Let us be wise regarding our future.

Just like all the other nations, one way to release anger is through slander. Not very pretty, but often necessary. This is the way.

Be careful not to do this for long. Anger can heal only for a certain time before it feeds itself. Then the consequence is different, and the goodness it originallybrought, negated. Anger, then greater forgiveness is the way.

If the past almost destroyed our people, our ways likely needed cleansing.

These things are very hard to write about. We have close friends and relatives who indulge in living illusions. Yet, out of what we call respect, we refrain from saying how we truly feel when asked. Grandfather speaks once again. Some insist I am blind

for the facts.

I do not need eyes to see.