Fascination of wannabees perplexing

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Some time during that ancient age known collectively as the '60s, there lived in

the United States a black activist and writer the name of Eldridge Cleaver. And this man noticed an unusual trend developing in the mating rituals of those tempestuous times. It became apparent to him that more and more white women, especially blondish types, seemed to be dating an awful lot of black men, and vice-versa.

He chalked it up to these women wanting to rebel against the restive social norms of middle-class, to upset their parents and the status quo of the day; such rebelliousness seemed to be in vogue. He also reasoned that the black men, wanting to sample the privileged world that had been denied them the dominant white society, thought this was great. Who were they to argue?

And because this cross-cultural dating trend was first discussed in Mr. Cleaver's book Soul On Ice, it has been referred to, in some circles, as the Soul-On-Ice syndrome.

I think the name says it all.

That was in the '60s. This is the '90s, and the more things change, the more they stay the same. Except this time, the trendy thing happens to involve Native people. Finding an Aboriginal companion seems to be all the rage. So, in the name of social commentary, I would like to name this courting phenomenon the Spirit-On-Ice Syndrome.

But we're not just talking about dating, we're talking about the whole enchilada (if I may appropriate the cultural metaphor.) It seems that ever since Dances With Wolves and Dry Lips Oughta Move to Kapuskasing hit the public, the white world has been beating a path to the reserve door, seeking spiritual fulfillment, Elders' wisdom and discount cigarettes.

Recently an Elder from my community told me about a visit two white women to his house. There were the most recent in a regular influx of what he calls "wannabees, groupies and do-gooders" who said (I paraphrase their words,) "I-really-respect-and-honour-your-culture-and-want-to-be-a-part-of-it-so-please-let-me-participate-and-learn-from-your-ways-this-isn't-just-a-phase-I'm-going-through-I-really-mean-it-so-can-I-huh?"

My Elder friend and I sat around a good 45 minutes trying to figure out what, specifically they wanted to "understand". Why we eat so much macaroni and tomatoes? Why 75 per cent of the Native people doesn't vote? Why we wear buckskin on hot summer days. (I haven't figured that one out yet myself).

This one blond woman who was visiting my friend had recently been divorced from a black gentleman. (I wonder if they met during the '60s.) Now she was becoming fascinated with Native culture and, I guess, Native men. At one point, she said, her parents had asked her if she was ever going to date a white man, to which she replied,

"I doubt it. They have no mystery."

Mystery? That was good for another 45-minute conversation with my Elder friend.

What mystery? We get up in the morning, put our clothes on, have a coffee (usually fully or extra-caffeinated), go to the bathroom, but in a secret Indian way that can't be revealed. Maybe that's what she was talking about.

There are many more of these people than you might expect. A friend of mine went out west last summer to attend a sun dance. When she arrived, she was one of the few Natives there; 80 per cent of the people setting up camp were non-Native. She was somewhat peeved.

There's also the story of this woman who went to Mexico, became enamored of

a Mexican Native Indian who sneaked her on to the grounds of one of the Aztec ruins. There he told her about an ancient Aztec ceremony that involved making love on the steps of the pyramid. She believed and they did.

Stories like this reminds me that I'm only half an hour form the Peterborough petroglyphs. Hmmmmmm....

And there was the time I met this woman, quite casually, who was opening a Native art gallery. She introduced herself as being from the Six Nations Reserve in southern Ontario. Several weeks later I asked her which of the six nations she ws - Mohawk, Cayuga, etc. She looked at me for a moment, then confessed that she was actually married into the reserve (now divorced) but that she was quite proud of the fact she still had her status card.

A few weeks later she started dating an Alaskan Native painter, went to visit him, received an Indian name and refused to be called her English name. She had her brand spanking-new Indian name put on her business cards.

Is it any wonder my Elder friend and I are a little cynical? After 501 years of oppression, destruction and general annoyance, we are now, overnight, chic. Irony can be painful. But I should be fair. Not all white people who come into our communities can be classified this way. I have one aunt (who's French) who speaks better Ojibway than I do and has a thicker accent than me. And she didn't show up on our reserve all those years ago to "understand" - she just fell in love and couldn't have cared less whether my uncle was Indian. I have many other relatives and friends who fit this category. They accept us as who we are, but they don't want to be us. Who can argue with that?

We also mustn't forget that there are some Native people out there who for one reason or another want to be white. So we're willing to make you a deal. Ship ours back, and we'll ship yours back, too.