Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

Sustaining Our People

2023; University of Illinois Press; Volume: 91; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês

10.5406/26428652.91.3.03

2642-8652

Darren Parry,

Archaeology and Natural History

It has been said that “Half of writing history is about hiding the truth”: so if we are not talking about it, we are probably not curating it. History is not, as someone once said, just one thing after another. History is about how people experience, study, and interpret the past. Don't we all review and rewrite history in the light of our own experiences and understandings? Just turn on the news and see that we often have disagreements about the meaning of events, the ways in which each event happened, and even, sometimes, whether those events happened at all. There is no single history that tells the whole story. There can be many different histories, telling many different stories, in many different ways.American history, however, was for a long time written and taught as a single story, a narrative of nation building and unending progress that united its participants into a single American experience. It was a national success story, celebrating the human triumphs made possible in a society based on the principles of liberty and equality. Or so we thought.In years past, historians ignored or dismissed people whose experiences did not conform to this master narrative. Often ignored were the experiences of the American Indian. After all, ours is a story of decline and suffering rather than one of progress and happiness. As a result, notes historian Frederick E. Hoxie, the Indian story was not the American story and it was best to leave it out.1When the Indian story was told, it was usually portrayed as one of futile resistance to the march of civilization. The image of savage warriors attacking pioneers became firmly fixed in popular concepts of the past, well documented by Hollywood. In many classrooms and in most history books, Indian people were either conspicuous by their absence or viewed in such stereotypical and distorted terms as to rob them of their humanity.But times change, and history—the stories we tell about the past and how we understand them—changes too. Fifty years ago, few colleges or universities offered courses in American Indian history or Native American studies, and museums only offered the skeletal remains of a people forgotten. Political pressure from students and community activists resulted in new college courses, and scholars are now beginning to reexamine the Native American experience, and our museums are too.Understanding the past involves looking at history from the viewpoint of many people who made it over several centuries. Indians must be included as a central strand in the history of the United States. After all, the nation was built on Indian land. Our historical experiences require us to look beyond stereotypes and rethink some basic assumptions that we have had about history. Collaborating with Native tribes can be powerful and lifechanging. But it can also be scary.People will always forget facts and figures about history and the past, but they will never forget how they felt when they hear a story. The Shoshone people are storytellers; you are story tellers. And the stories that you tell in your space matter, even more so today than ever before. Why? Because we are still here.I loved a certain time in the fall when my grandmother would load me in her car, and we would make the trek to the south end of the Cache Valley. As the car came to a stop and we got out she would go to the trunk and pull out a woven willow basket that had dark purple stains throughout. She then told me that we were there to harvest chokecherries. This is something that her people had done for centuries. Always in the same place and same time.She taught me the signs to look for to know when the berries were ripe. After offering a prayer to the Creator, to Mother Earth, and to the berries themselves, we began picking the berries with such care as to not harm a leaf on the tree.She taught me the importance of sharing those berries with those in need or with those who could not make it to the mountain, and she taught me the importance of storing those berries for use in the future.To you here at this moment: Why are you in the profession that you are in? And what are you going to do today with your stewardship to guide and educate the young minds of tomorrow?Your museums are a lot like gathering those chokecherries. With your willow basket firmly in your hands, are you gathering all of the information that is available from the past, present, and future? Are you gathering what marginalized groups can tell you? These are people who have never had a voice; they have never had their story told. They are relevant. I hope you gather your own life experiences and hang on to what they have to offer.My advice would be to be attentive and listen with all of your mind and soul. Sometimes, it will be hard work. But with great care, take those berries of knowledge and experiences that you have accumulated over a lifetime and place them in your basket.And then when someone you care for is in need, facing a challenge, needs a little nourishment, needs a little guidance or help, needs accurate history, what are you going to do? How will you choose to use those berries? What choices will you make? How can you change the narrative and reshape the future?I hope you will pull out those berries of knowledge and use them for a community who is in need. Your voices are so important. You are not in charge of institutions where forgotten objects go to live out their final years. The Native American story is about much more than a group of people from the past. It's about telling their story now and in the future. Your museums and galleries are more relevant today than ever before. You have the ability to address key social issues and to transform how we see the future. You have the power to help shape our society. “The planet doesn't need more successful people. The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of all kinds.”If you were to drive north along Highway 91 just past Preston, Idaho, you'll round a curve that opens to a panoramic view of the Bear River bottomlands below. On a cold winter day, if you know where to look, you can still see steam rising along the river's edge.One hundred and fifty-eight years ago, it was at that spot that some seven hundred members of the Shoshone nation were spending the winter, as they had always done. Hot springs nearby provided a welcome place for them to catch their breath and catch up with friends and family.A half-mile to the east, Colonel Patrick Edward Connor and his 220 cavalry soldiers, from Camp Douglas, Utah, had that same bird's-eye view in the early morning hours of January 29, 1863, as they made their way down a ravine toward the sleeping village and steaming waters.When something terrible happens in a place where human lives are lost, it always seems to take on a new meaning. The 14.6 acres of the World Trade Center, the beaches of Normandy, a homemade memorial at the side of the road where a fatal traffic accident occurred: these are places that haunt and hurt for the wounds they hold, but still compel us to keep going back for some unexplainable comfort.That peace was shattered when Connor and his California volunteers invaded the campsite on January 29, 1863, and killed everyone they encountered. We believe more than four hundred Shoshone lost their lives that day, with two-thirds of that number being women and children. Have you ever had a memory sneak out of your eye and roll down your cheek? I have that experience often when I think about the massacre of my people.Spending time with family along the Bear River provided a time of physical and spiritual rejuvenation, a respite after the long hunting and gathering seasons. This was a time to teach our children values and educate them to the ways of the world, stories that always taught lessons of life and how to live as a community. You see, western worldviews had begun to creep in, values that promoted individual rights instead of Indigenous values that promoted obligations—obligations to the past, present, and future, and obligations to our community.Western worldviews are scientific and skeptical. Indigenous worldviews are based on a spiritually orientated society. Western worldviews say that there is only one truth, based on science or law. Indigenous worldviews say there can be many truths. Truths are dependent upon individual experiences.The western worldview has a way of compartmentalizing society. The Indigenous worldview says that societies operate in a state of relatedness. Everything and everyone are related. Western worldviews say that the land and its resources should be available for development and extraction for the benefit of humans. The Indigenous worldview believes that the land is sacred and is only given by our Creator to be carefully and lovingly maintained.Western worldviews judge your success by how well you've achieved your goals. Indigenous worldviews judge success by the quality of your relationships with people. Western worldviews say that human beings are the most important in the world. Indigenous worldviews say that human beings are not the most important in the world. And western worldviews teach that amassing wealth should always be for personal gain. Indigenous worldviews say that amassing wealth is important for the good of the community.Do you know that the Iroquois Nation leadership doesn't make any decisions without considering what effect that decision will have on seven generations ahead? Think about the implications for the future if that was how our leaders governed. Think about the implications for the future if we designed our exhibits with that concept in mind.In the years that followed the massacre, the story of the so-called “Battle of Bear River” was always told from the soldier's perspective. But I know this was no battle, and my grandmother knew too, and she fought for years to tell our own story. One day she sat me down and told me that “no one has ever wanted to hear our story.” She then said, “one day you will have to make them listen.”I want you to know that I haven't had to make anyone listen. We live in a time and place where people want to know. The problem is how our communities and institutions have chosen to remember and memorialize the past.Just north of Preston, Idaho, today, there is an old monument just off of Highway 91. This monument was erected in 1932 by the people of Franklin County. The construction of this Battle Creek marker took place during the rise of heritage groups and developing nostalgia for pioneer ancestry, as a way of cultural expression. These heritage groups collected and tended the stories of their communities, which formed the core of public memory, even going so far as to erect vast museums as proof. These stories became the means by which stories could shape, be told and analyzed, as generations of people, historians, and the general public discovered their fascination with the past. This monument allowed ordinary people to celebrate local ancestors and seek inspiration in the present, by making their relatives from the past seem almost heroic. The story of the Mormon pioneer would become an authentic American image that was dependable and resilient for years to come.But the monument and those who planned it took it one step further. It was decided that the descendants of Chief Sagwitch, his son Yeager who also had been a survivor, and his grandson Moroni Timbimboo should be the ones to unveil the new monument. There is a black-and-white photo that captures many of our tribe in full regalia at the unveiling ceremony. It also captures Yeager and Moroni dressed in typical Mormon religious attire: a white shirt and a black tie. Just like the pioneers, the Indians were now an authentic symbol of pioneer life that supported the motivation of heritage groups, and museums, to celebrate pioneers as the founders of these new Indian civilizations. The Indians who were invited to the dedication were now culturally and religiously assimilated into the Mormon church. The wayward and savage Indians of 1863 had been culturally transformed.This monument and the museums that followed were never meant to tell the story of the events of that fateful day. They were meant to tell us how they wanted the past to be remembered. What the monument really accomplished for me was that it gave people a reason to forget.That monument strips us of our obligation to find out for ourselves what actually took place, and it tells us how it wants the past we remembered. You see, humans have great memories for what they want to remember. In commemorating “the battle,” you forget the uglier parts of history and you focus on the heroism of both soldier and Saint. That is the kind of Daughters of Utah Pioneers Monument that exists there today, and that narrative now becomes a story. It is not a story about my people. It becomes a story about the brave soldiers and the pioneer women who took care of them. In constructing this monument, you firm up memory and you create a false history. You decide.The plaque on the monument reads, Attacks by the Indians on the peaceful inhabitants in this vicinity led to the final battle here on January 29, 1863. The conflict occurred in deep snow and bitter cold. Scores of wounded and frozen soldiers were taken from the battlefield to the Latter Day Saint community of Franklin. Here pioneer women, trained through trials and necessity of frontier living, accepted the responsibility of caring for the wounded until they could be removed to Camp Douglas, Utah. Two Indian women and three children, found alive after the encounter, were given homes in Franklin.2So, is this really what happened? The problem with this narrative for me is that gives us one point of view from one generation's perspective, sixty-nine years after the actual event. It is like a view from a window that has been carefully placed to exclude a whole quadrant of a beautiful landscape. You only get to see what they want you to see. It reinforces the view that Indians were savages. It reinforces the view that violence on the frontier was a necessity for the survival of Mormon communities and shows what the consequences would be when both groups share the same space.What if the plaque had been written from the perspective of the Shoshone Nation? Would it have read the same way? Maybe it would have said this: The massacre of the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation occurred in this vicinity on January 29, 1963. Col. Patrick Edward Connor's California volunteers from Camp Douglas, Utah, attacked a sleeping Indian village in the early morning hours of the day. The soldiers shot, raped, bludgeoned, and bayoneted several hundred men, women, and children to their death. The Indians fought back with the limited weapons available to them. The band was all but annihilated.So which version of the Bear River Massacre is correct? The answer will always lie in your perspective.The other day I took a group of fourth graders to the monument to talk to them about historical perspectives. Near the monument is an old cottonwood tree. I call this an honor tree, because people leave gifts in its branches to honor those who died that day. Each gift has a special meaning known only to the giver. As we were looking, a young boy noticed a mirror hanging in the tree. After a moment he asked, “Why do you think someone hung that mirror in the tree?” After a brief moment of silence, a young girl classmate said, “I know, it is there to remind us that we did this.” Our youth are craving to hear the truth. We need to give it to them.The events that took place on that cold January morning in 1863 have long been forgotten by most. Maybe guilt or remorse has silenced all of those who one day may have wanted to know the truth. I hope this generation of people will have a desire to listen and to learn. Not because we are looking to have things made right, but I believe that those who sacrificed so much have a God-given right to be heard. Their voices speak to us from the dust. If you are there at just the right time in the evening you can sit and hear the cries of the little ones crying for their mothers. Your senses tell you that you were among the spirits of more than four hundred children of that Great Spirit who created us all. You don't have to see things as they were to know that a terrible injustice had taken place. You can feel it.But we remember and we honor the past because it allows us to succeed in the future. I am grateful that past negative experiences didn't alter Chief Sagwitch's future, because as his third-great-grandson, it would've altered mine.I believe that the most successful Native Americans today are those who can best balance culture and change. We honor our culture and honor those who have gone before. They are important to us. We honor them and their traditions, but we realize that we live in an ever-changing world, and we are preparing ourselves and our youth to change and succeed with it.The massacre at Bear River has taught me many lessons over the years.It has taught me that bad things happen to people. How we respond to those events will determine our character and make us who we are.It has taught me to offer unconditional forgiveness, but to never forget.It has taught me that ordinary people can affect real change. My grandmother refused to accept the narrative on the plaque erected by well-meaning people in 1932. As a result, we now have a voice. She testified before Congress.It has taught me that as we preserve history, it is important that all views are represented and respected. Winston Churchill said that “history is only written by the victors.” Well, that makes perfect sense why for many years, Native American and other marginalized groups’ histories and cultures have never been written about or curated in our museums and galleries. Thank goodness that has changed. But we must be vigilant and keep giving a voice to those who have never had a voice.It has taught me that everyone has a story they've been told. What is your story? It is equally as important as mine. “Tell me a fact and I will learn. Tell me a truth and I will believe. But tell me a story, and it will live in my heart forever.”Ultimately, the story of Bear River is our story and, in some ways, I hope that you can respect the story that we want to have told, as well as recognize your role in that story. History doesn't always affirm us. Sometimes history challenges us to think about an uglier past that we would rather not have. But that's really the power and the benefit of history. It connects us to the past. It connects us to our humanity and our inhumanity. And it offers us a way to move forward, especially in a circumstance like this, with the Shoshone people together, moving forward in a story that connects us, not in the prettiest of ways, but to move forward to a new relationship, that is a twenty-first-century relationship, based on respect. Respect for the truth and what happened in that past moment. Then, that is when you get the possibility for reconciliation.In 2018, we were able to purchase more than seven hundred acres of the massacre site. This was only the beginning to tell our story from our unique perspective. My next thought was to build a beautiful cultural interpretive center.The Boa Ogoi Cultural Interpretive Center will be a place of unity that welcomes all to learn about the Shoshone people. The building will commemorate the Bear River Massacre and will be the beginning of a new chapter for the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation. We hope that those who visit the site will feel empowered, respected, and peaceful. We want to give all people a sense of hope and resiliency. I believe that healing always takes place when you bring people to our spaces. The center will have the opportunity to set the record straight about the history of the Shoshone Nation, to local, national, and international visitors.But as important as it is to tell the story of our people, it is equally as important to tell the story of the land. This land re-story-ation effort, as I like to call it, will involve weaving together Indigenous wisdom with scientific knowledge. The Potawatomi scientist Robin Wall Kimmerer, author of the book Braiding Sweetgrass, describes new ways of thinking about how to conduct collaborative science.3 In the book she writes about how you can't braid sweetgrass alone. It requires relationships. What you do also requires relationships.But where do you begin? How do you begin to address cultural and environmental injustices that have taken place for centuries? Environmental justice affirms the sacredness of Mother Earth and her right to be free from ecological destruction. Environmental justice demands that public policy be based on mutual respect and justice for all peoples, free from any form of discrimination or bias. And we need to make sure that our efforts are truly sustainable and inclusive.We do this when we, as museums, give those marginalized groups of people a voice. And not just people, we need to give a voice to, as my grandmother called them, our plants and animal kinfolk. Robin Wall Kimmerer said that it is not enough to know the names of the plants; we need to know their songs. My grandmother knew their songs.After the land purchase in 2018, I began to develop partnerships with the scientific community. My first visit was to Utah State University and the College of Natural Resources. I told them my goal was to restore the land to what it would've looked like in 1863, using my grandmother's plant diary as a guide. I wanted to know if it was feasible, and I knew that I didn't possess the skill set necessary to make those kinds of decisions. Our first interaction more than four years ago brought us to where we are today.Some of those things that we would like to accomplish are going to require buy-in from landowners upstream. They will have to change some of their farming techniques for us to accomplish our goals. How will they feel about doing things differently? How will they feel about the reintroduction of beaver into the ecosystem? Can they see the benefit of doing things in an environmentally friendly way, as opposed to how they have been doing it for decades?This partnership between the Shoshone Nation and the scientists and students at Utah State University, and others, has just begun. This will be a living, learning classroom for years to come. It requires more than removing nonnative plants and trees and planting new seeds. It will also involve restoring the watershed, with the eventual goal of reintroducing the Bonneville cutthroat trout back into that fishery.But the reality of finally being able to tell our story from our perspective is powerful. The purchase of the massacre site will help our people to reconnect to this sacred place, while providing new impetus as stewards. Voices that have been quiet for more than a century-and-a-half are beginning to be heard. Alliances between us and community leaders and Utah State University will help bring back what we thought was lost forever.What we are doing at Bear River will not only symbolically, but literally, have a long-lasting impact on not only Bear River but also on our community.As the story of the massacre and its ramifications becomes better known, people can more fully recognize the significance in the experiences of others. Their empathy and understanding can grow as they visually see ways to forgive, integrate, and flourish while protecting their own unique values and cultures. This has always been one of your roles, and the world has a desperate need for what you have to offer.Our life has brought us knowledge; knowledge brings understanding and greater understanding brings openness to other ways of seeing and being. Don't ever be afraid to forge a new path. It is important for you to remember that nobody is you, and that is your superpower.I think about the values of my Native people and what lessons they can teach us today. Values that strengthen our communities. Values that give our most marginalized people a voice. Values that teach us to cherish our likeness but also celebrate our differences. Values that tell us to spread the kind of love that awakens the soul, that makes each of us reach for more, that plants the fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds.That is the kind of love the world needs from each of us today. Love, kindness, forgiveness, acceptance; I see you, I hear you, and I respect you. These affirmations and others like them are what I like to call “medicine words.” I hope we can speak medicine words to those around us and those coming to our museums and galleries and especially to our young people—words that bless, inspire, and empower. When we speak medicine words, we build unity, and we strengthen our culture and our communities and our nation.As we educate ourselves, we begin to create a space that will allow us to have honest and open discussions, that will allow us to talk more about the things that we have in common. Gandhi said, “Our greatest ability as humans is not to change the world, but to change ourselves.”If you want to be a peacemaker and bridgebuilder, that process begins with you!Your museums and galleries are more relevant today than ever before. You have the ability to address key social issues and really transform how we see the future. You have the power to educate future generations in a way that is truly sustainable. You have the power to change lives.One day a hunter brought home a sizable kill, far too much to be eaten by his family. A mountain man asked how he would store the excess. Smoking and drying technologies were well known, so storing was possible. The hunter seemed puzzled by the question—store the meat? Why would I do that? Instead, he sent out an invitation to a great feast, and soon the whole village gathered around his fire and ate until every last morsel was consumed.This seemed to puzzle the mountain man who again asked, “Given the uncertainty of fresh meat in the forest, why didn't you just store the meat for yourself and your family?” “Store the meat?” the hunter said, “I store the meat in the belly of my brother.”As we become successful by the world's standards, can I just make one suggestion? I hope that our status in this life will be determined by not how much we accumulate, but by how much we give away and how much we do in our individual communities.I love the prophecy of Chief Crazy Horse, who I believe could see our day and time, when he said this: Upon suffering beyond suffering, the Red Nation shall rise again and it shall be a blessing for a sick world. A world filled with broken promises, selfishness and separations. A world longing for light again. I see a time of seven generations. When all of the colors of mankind will gather under the sacred tree of life and the whole earth will become one circle again. In that day there will be those among the native peoples who will carry knowledge and understanding of unity among all living things, and the young white ones will come to those of my people and ask for this wisdom. I salute the light within your eyes, where the whole universe dwells. For when you are at that center within you, and I am at that place within me, we shall be as one.I think the words of Crazy Horse are prophetic, like those of many Native American leaders who went before and will come again.The answers to racism, prejudice, and discrimination and hate will not come from the government or law enforcement, or even religion, but I believe the answers will come from you. We honor truth-telling. Solutions will come as we open our hearts to those whose lives are different than our own, and as we work to build bonds of genuine friendship, and as we see each other as brothers and sisters and neighbors and friends, where everyone feels safe to share their story. Your places of learning need to be that space.The wheels of justice should move the same for all of us. Please, dear friends, show us what that looks like. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said that hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that. It is that kind of love that inspires us to do the rigorous work of building bridges of cooperation rather than walls of segregation and division. “Oneness is not sameness in America.” You must show us how we can all learn to value our differences.Thank you for this wonderful opportunity to share the history of my people, and how together, we can educate, inspire, empower, and share a message of hope.