Hopefully they won't take my status card away

There is a good chance that I will be going to the Aboriginal equivalent of Hell, for I have argued with an Elder. Quite forcefully too. And for that, if I have fully understood traditional teachings, the Creator will banish me to some mid-level civil service position with the department of Indian Affairs, probably ordering stationary and shredding the minister's speeches. I am truly dammed.
It all happened in Edmonton. Hardly one's image of the portal to First Nations' damnation. I was at the Dreamspeakers Film Festival, a yearly celebration of Aboriginal film and video arts.
This year, a made-for-TV movie I wrote called In a World Created By a Drunken God was opening the festival. I was honored, flattered and delighted. It's based on a play I wrote of the same name that was nominated for a Governor General's Award.
Basically, it's about a Native guy (actually half-native, of a single parent) who is surprised to find a half-brother from the States, entirely Caucasian, knocking at his door announcing that their father is dying and needs a kidney. Essentially, your standard drama.
At the opening night party I was summoned quite briskly to a table where I sat chatting with several women of varying ages. It was a pleasant enough conversation until the very end. As I got up to leave, the woman sitting beside me, an older woman, wouldn't let me leave. She told me to sit down and then she proceeded to chew me out, quite animatedly, for the film. There is a section in the film where a Native woman enters into sexual relationship with a white guy (thus the reason for the central character being mixed blood. Standard biology, I believe) on a camping trip.
This Elder took great umbrage with that portrayal. She said, and I am admittedly paraphrasing her, that she had dedicated her life to presenting positive and constructive portrayals of Native women, and trying to instil a sense of pride and confidence in them. And how dare I show these two people getting personal under an overturned boat. I should be ashamed of myself and she strongly urged me to do what I could to destroy, eliminate or bury the film. During most of the interchange, she literally glared at me.
I was extremely shocked. Not necessarily by her comments; all writers, artists and performers are used to being assessed and critiqued. It's part of the job and everybody has an opinion, but not so intensely or personally.
I tried to explain, very respectfully, that in my experience, sex between Native people and White people did occasionally happen. I have it on reasonably good authority that it's not unknown. I should mention I have blue eyes, and more importantly, it was loosely based on a true story.
"Then keep it to yourself. Don't inflict it on other people," she said.
By now, I was beginning to get a little angry. And I said to her, literally, "Are you trying to censor me and what I write?" Without hesitation and staring me straight in the eye, she said "Yes." To most writers, that's like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
I feel it should be pointed out most people familiar with my work know I do not make a regular habit of writing negative portrayals of women. In fact, I have publicly stated many times that I refuse to write work that shows women as hookers or victims of sexual abuse. Too many Native writers revel in that kind of writing. I've always preferred the more positive approach: Witness my Someday/Only Drunks and Children Tell the Truth/400 Kilometres trilogy.
The conversation/argument went on for about 20 minutes. It went back and forth, with me, again respectfully with no raising of voice or nasty words, asking if I told her to do something too, like to stop telling other people what she thought they should do, would she do it? Eventually the Elder's ride was leaving and I was spared any further writer bashing. She left, giving me a stern look and returning an unconvincing handshake that I initiated.
On one hand, I felt justified on standing up for my rights as a writer. The scene I wrote wasn't exploitive or over the top, and as an individual, my agenda has never been to trash Native women, just the opposite. Plus, I always thought Elders were supposed to have a softer, more supportive and constructive approach. But I had argued with an Elder, and worse, sent her away angry.
I could feel the ground trembling beneath my feet, threatening to open up beneath me. I wonder what kind of cubicle the DIA will give me. And I must remember to buy a tie.