By Deidra Suwanee Dees
As a Native American from Muscogee Nation, I am working on my doctorate in cross-cultural Education at Harvard in order to contribute to decolonization practices among Native American and non-Native educators in postcolonial settings. My research on cross-cultural curriculum addresses indigenous dissertations regarding the impact of European colonization exploring the challenges people are forced to live with that affect many parts of the world today. Utilizing critical and creative language arts, this curriculum affirms traditional indigenous values as a conduit of resistance while under occupation and neo-occupation. This research supports cognitive preferences and traditional learning styles that sustain decolonizing pedagogical praxis including cultural restoration, language retention and regaining tribal sovereignty.
Components of the language arts curriculum are being submitted which deal with the literary deconstruction of colonization in the postcolonial era. The comprehensive curriculum addresses pedagogical praxis relating to indigenous languages, history, religions, cultures and education.
when I was a child
I used to hide my Muscogee feathers
because I thought they represented my shame,
when I became a woman
I began to wear the wounded feather
to honor my nation’s devastating pain,
now that I’m a mother,
I boldly wear the eagle feather
to show my ride into the enemies’ eyes
making them accept their blame
in sunday school you
showed me
tools and tales of primitive culture,
compelling me to embrace them,
compelling me to live among
them in the land of primitive,
with tools and tales of primitive culture;
I grew up and found you were
a cruel usurper,
not saving souls at all, but stealing
tools and tales of primitive culture,
stealing lives,
stealing souls,
sealing the fate of your own;
you became
tools and tales of primitive culture
I saw you on tv
scraping brains
from my skull
in a peat bog in Windover,
how easily you held the trowel,
white
smiles
for the camera,
building
your career on my
dead bones
before
NAGPRA forced
you to return me to my people
dispersed, detached
living in tall
concrete and steel,
how do I live without my tribe?
where is my tribe?
don’t know my tribe,
searching for tribe,
how do I live without my tribe?
scattered, severed,
matriarchs and medicine,
dances no more,
how do I live without my tribe?
suit and tie,
briefcase of leather,
working for whiteman,
but how do I live without my tribe?
your grandmothers
were owned by white people
—my people were not
they did not buy and sell us
they did not make us to cook for them,
clean toilets,
pick cotton,
they did not
force us to lay down for them,
but now we do it for free
there’s lots of space and it’s quiet in the house,
the hallway emanates only a faint creaking,
all alone—never took a spouse,
there were more important goals her heart was seeking;
Muscogee traditions have long faded to the back
giving way to whiteman awards and commendations,
they too have dwindled down to matter-of-fact,
now she dies insignificant in her generation;
images of Indians dancing with the chief
sometimes replace her hours of silence,
contrasting misguided assimilated beliefs
that torture her conscience without deliverance,
following privilege of the master with all of her heart
she traded her identity to play the hero,
becoming white—the highest of whiteman arts,
only to find out she has arrived at zero
no
money
for Bell Air Mall
daddy
pierced Ellanae’s ears
when she was twelve,
school kids laughed
when they found out…
but we’ve
done
it
this way for ten thousand
years
you invaded my space with anti-climatic explosion,
you purged my tongue with a new breed of speech,
my muscogee values descend upon erosion,
how can you still drive me into retreat?
your concern for the Jews in the great holocaust
makes me want to believe you hold sympathy,
but my indigenous nation is almost lost,
why can’t i convince you to believe in me?
when muscogees ruled, we all had enough to eat,
every child went to sleep at night in a warm place,
there were no radiated rivers nor dreaded disease,
but now you behold an emaciated race;
absent of trees, land and all that belonged to me,
i am the essence of a dying turtle’s call,
you’ve stolen everything—even my dignity,
how can you hurt me more when i’ve already lost it all?
White Slave Owner called my name
to see if he could accept the blame
for buying and selling Negro people
under protection of the steeple,
Mr. Slave Owner, it’s painfully late
for you to resolve ungodly mistakes;
without the comfort of ill-gained wealth
you now burn in the pit of hell;
White Indian Killer called my name
to see if he could accept the blame
for killing off the Redstick men
at the Battle of Horseshoe Bend,
Mr. Indian Killer, it’s too late
for you to renegotiate,
Muscogee land was not for sale
now you will always burn in hell
muscogee culture survives
oppression,
laceration,
tribulation, genocide
we still dance the way
our ancestors danced around
the sacred
fire
strong like the
Moai statues of Easter Island;
adopting weapons of
the oppressor
our enemy no longer white—
muscogee
battles muscogee
like the Rapa Nui of Easter Island
we learn
to destroy ourselves
they celebrate
a day off from work and school
—swaddled in patriotism,
the heralded navigator
and renowned explorer;
sitting alone
I know your exploits of
countless christian sins—
stealer of land and children,
cold slave owner,
building your house on the
blood of natives,
filling your hunger on the
nectar of virgins—
clumsy navigator,
crucible murderer—
come close to me
and smell my nectar,
rub your hand
against my nipple,
cast your
finger below my navel,
Mr. Columbus, let me whisper,
come closer to me;
my breath like fire
erases your existence
when I whisper
genocide
while you were sleeping
thieves moved into Muscogee Nation
steeling our land and animals and displacing
our children
while you were presiding
over land that was not your own,
Muscogees retreated into the woods of the land
we were born upon
while you were dictating
from your lofty domain, Redsticks fought
to save our nation from slavery and annihilation
while you were sipping
your wine overlooking the terrace of Monticello,
mothers searched for food for
starving babies
while you were writing
about the pursuit of happiness the blood of
my people was crying from torment and despair
while you were experimenting
with American colonization,
atrocities against Black and copper people grew
with staggering momentum
while you were sleeping
in the bed with injustice,
my nation was stripped
of its rights of ownership and self-governance
while you were speaking
on the principle of benevolence and amassing
collections of “knowledge,” Muscogee knowledge
was destroyed and replaced by your own
while you were dying
Muscogees were being moved on the Trail of
Tears to another tribe’s territory
that would soon be taken away
now, Mr. Thomas Jefferson,
while you are burning
in the flames of hell,
Muscogee Nation is rebuilding and rising
my body has not been
cleaned for
many days
—smell of my body grease
trapped inside
cotton clothing,
decomposing dishes
overflowing my
sink,
the nightmare of the
colonial master from my childhood
has
returned to me
borrowing a beast of the colonizer
I want to ride a fast horse
to Gulf Shores collecting rents that are mine
from dwellers in tall concrete and steel
who are living on my real estate
I want to ride a fast horse
to the BIA granting federal recognition to
Indian tribes that are not currently acknowledged
by the United State government
I want to ride a fast horse
to the Library of Congress burning
worthless whiteman words in treaties that
were never honored
I want to ride a fast horse
to your Wall Street casino removing your
addiction to gambling on my loss
I want to ride a fast horse
to the U.S. Supreme Court replacing
justices that not mine with Wilma Mankiller,
Russell Means, Leonard Peltier
I want to ride a fast horse
into your history of archeology before you
plowed up my grandmothers
and built a parking lot
I want to ride a fast horse
to the Department of Immigration deporting
white people as illegal aliens
unless they are given a Green Card by me
I want to ride a fast horse
to the FBI empowering them to convict
themselves for crimes against the American
Indian Movement
I want to ride a fast horse
to the United Nations adding seats for
ambassadors from every indigenous nation with
full voting power
I want to ride a fast horse
to the Department of Agriculture removing
pesticides and steroids that are not mine
restoring Mother Earth to beauty and health
I want to ride a fast horse
to the Department of Education
removing white heroes that are not mine:
Hernando de Soto, Christopher Columbus,
George Washington
I want to ride a fast horse
to where your children live
taking ….
I want to ride a fast horse
into the American Revolution holding war
crime trials for crimes against Indians
I want to ride a fast horse
to the United States Congress
passing laws that guarantee tribal sovereignty
which can never be revoked
I want to ride a fast horse
into your consciousness and rip out Manifest
Destiny, Christianization, Colonization
I want to ride a fast horse
to the Department of Defense replacing bombs
and guns that are not mine
with bows and arrows so you can kill
only one person at a time
I want to ride a fast horse
burning down your churches so you can
feel the pain I felt when you took
away our sacred fire on the Trail of Tears
I want to ride a fast horse
into your city streets removing crack, cocaine,
and meth that are not mine by pushing them
down the drug lords’ throats
I want to ride a fast horse
into your history of Black slavery
forcing you to make restitution for every
human you bought and sold
I want to ride a fast horse
into your soul replacing your belief
in white supremacy with Indian community
I want to ride a fast horse
into the American-Indian Wars and
write a peace treaty that—for the first time—
really works
I want to give my horse rest
in this land I’ve created returning Mother Earth
to balance, peace and harmony
before we reach the place where
we can never go back
THE AUTHOR MAY BE CONTACTED BY E-MAIL: Deidra Dees