Enchanted Blog IV

Questions and Answers

I know I know (sigh).......If you’re a reader of my previous Enchantments, you’ll recall I wrote to continue with more “Ride Stories”, however before I do, let’s take a step back to the first instalment of this exercise to reflect and answer the two big questions asked in the forest of our kibitzes called Ganienkeh.
A little background music please. I’ve always been a curious person. I remember, and still do, wanting to know why things work. Meaning, the hows and whys of everything! Yes, EVERYTHING! Nosey eh?
From what is a particle of light to how mountains form. From how the brain and synapses work to why myth and culture affect our belief and thinking systems.
Along with other stuff like, what are “feelings” and how do people demonstrate love and caring? The evolution of the planet along with all her children that grow, crawl, slide, walk or fly.
And finally, as a pianist and singer songwriter, what could I do that’s never been done before?
Well, Einstein once wrote, I want to know God’s thoughts. I think we should take that statement a step further. Like, what IS God thinking? Because there’s a lot of destructive crap attributed to that idea thus, God needs to be re-evaluated.
While we’re at it, let’s discuss and debate why global economics and the modern scientific process is failing the living planet along with why are we still stuck with the Rez mentality. Just that will keep Albert and Louie’s tradition alive for some time.
Back in Blog 1, I asked the first big question, how did we become like this? Meaning, how and why did we come to be in this little patch of forest called Ganienkeh?
Related to that is, why are we going around organizing speaking engagements in the hopes to raise money to buy food? That answer is simple. You can’t plant corn in sand infected with acid rain.
Here’s another one, why are we constantly discussing, for no apparent reason to an 18 year old, the reconstitution of something people don’t truly understand? That answer is a little more complex.
Within the former little rich girls camp called Ganienkeh, other questions arise like, if we own millions of acres of land, and now come from reservations, why are we only claiming 612 acres?
Big questions for anyone form the early Native movement, let alone today.
Well, the answers to the first big question (how did we become like this) and all its related questions are found buried within the following headlines: Brought to you by the Enchanted News Service and first published in Blog II.

“Roman Bank Disguised Behind Catholic Facade, Economic Engines Purposely Withheld From Mohawk. Vexed Indians Protest Seaway… Mothers and Fathers Betrayed Again by Canada… Angry Young Men Assign Blame… River Front Lost To Profit and Convenience… Indian Agent Era Ends… Royal Canadian Mounted Jailers Relocate… Caughnawagas Evict Simian Ancestors… Friends Bicker Over Rites and Wrongs… Swined Wheels Overturned By Teens… Warriors Of Old Called Back… Flint People Retake Land Given By Brant… Ganienkeh Re-established in the Year of Their Lord Nineteen Hundred and Seventy Four.

The headlines are the broad-stroke answers. You can use your imagination or better still, research the gritty details yourself.
Living in that patch forest brought on more questions like, why are the Chinese still Chinese? The Korean and Vietnamese, are they still who they say they are? The Japanese, even Germans, how did they cope with being colonized?
Even the Basque, how did they survive being in the belly of their monster? Lets not forget the Jews, how did they do it?
I could name many more cultures and nations who survived Europe’s onslaught yet, we, the Indigenous people of the Americas have zero control over resources contained within our territories.
Our languages and original creation stories are close to extinction and the reservation mentality is equivalent to that of an institutionalized person. There’s more creative thought in jail then on your typical Rez! Yep, Canada did a great job.
So why have other colonized people survived, have their language and governing systems, access to global markets and attempt to balance their GDP in relation to other states while we, Mohawks and our race have nothing in terms of an economy, language or real political/economic objectives?
Big questions eh? My red brothers and sisters, you know the answer.
More questions. Are we still a race of people? What did we evolve to, over these hundreds of years? Do we still love each other? How did the dreaming process change from becoming one with nature to that of American Idol worship?
When is that busload of Onondaga women coming? Why are those other Indians so lazy? Who made the rule, if you catch a fly ball off of Jay’s roof it’s an out? (You had to be there.)
Yes, I’m the question man. A kind of pain-in-the-ass. You heard the old Indian saying, walk a kilometre in someone’s Gucci’s, well, try living with my brain.
Just the backdrop is as important as the questions themselves. You’re in your late teens, living in kind of kibitzes for years, no electricity or indoor plumbing, mother a Mohawk, father a Mi’gmaq, raised in Euro/Asian, Iroquoian and Algonquian cultures at the same time. Every day and night, singing the songs or our ancestors, talking about and feeling nature’s energy.
While dreaming, feeling you’re a gust of wind blending though the tips of trees or having conversations with spirits beings, in while in the dream state. Not having to worry or think about someone coming home drunk, getting into fights or living the underground drug culture.
The main winter activities: delivering wood by horse-drawn sleigh, telling fun stories with friends and elders, and keeping the stove going.
Singing with other societies and being raised in a musical family. Knowing of the Native movement across the Americas and meeting the people who where there. That forest was the breading ground for ideas and dreams.
But such is context. The Native movement was really different back then. It was, fun!
So, to end this rant by summing up all this history, questions and pondering the whys and hows of stuff, it’s comforting to know an answer came from all this observation.
And yes, a good part of this is because of un-civilised/un-evolved Euro apes chasing shinny coins infected with a disease called greed, and supported by their colossal God delusion.
Bottom line, we got screwed without a kiss. Bent over and nailed to their cross. Rode hard and put away wet, betrayed in the worst possible way.
Generation after generation, repeated over and over again. We where and still are their labourers, a notch above being a slave. And now, were doing it to ourselves.
But it’s not all pitiful, grim, finger-pointing, whining or destructive. There IS a way to move forward. A light at the end of our human drama. At the very least, an answer to discuss and debate. And that answer is, (drum roll) .... read on my young spirit warriors.
In Rodney Dangerfield’s movie Back to School, where Dr Phillip Barbay, played by Paxton Whitehead states, “I have only one question for Mr. Melon...in 28 parts”.
Discuss the foundations of modern global business systems. Part one: Define and differentiate the three economic philosophies of capitalism, socialism and communism as pertains to: A-management fundamentals; B-organizing and staffing; C-labor management; and D-production and operations. Part two...and so on. You get the point.
Poor Melon, being harassed by a tight ass dweeb who’s taking revenge on Thorton for scoping his women, hiring NASA for doing his astronomy homework and putting on the best parties on campus.
After getting caught cheating on his tests, Melon is being interrogated while sweating through his Tall and Fat duds, telling the hot professor he loves her. He basically wants to boing her. Anyway, he answers with:
In response to Roman numeral section three, part two of subset D of the question, the answer is... (another great comedian yelling, SAY IT....SAY IT...)... FOUR?
The movie ends, Rodney does a fancy dive, gets the good looking English professor, stays in school, then hangs with the younger sophomore cheerleaders. Hey, it’s Rodney. He would have!
So what does this movie analogy have to do with this Enchanted story and the pain–in-the-ass question man from the sticks? Everything!
Don you ask, how do we get out of this mess? And in four parts? A), Describe the effects of Canada’s Indian Act on Native societies in comparison to our brothers and sisters in the States. B), Describe the growth and effects of the discovery age and global colonisation as it relates to Mohawks.
C), Outline a process to revive Mohawk language and culture while competing with the rest of the damn Ape world. D), Finally, describe a process to attain environmental harmony within ourselves, family and earth.
How do we get out of this dung-heap mister policy/communication writing piano playing singer song/writer questioner/pain in-the-ass elder warrior without bullying people out of their homes for having sex with a white person? ......Come on DPM.... SAY IT...SAY IT....
Ok then. I’ve nothing to loose. I’ve got the good looking Mi’gmaq women, a job (for now) and unlike Melon, I’ll be good this time. So, here it is.
The answer of the last part in relation to Bb, subsection A and C minor modulating back to D....is: not four but in Algebra, “RS=GIE”. Oh, I’ll add Iroquois Impressions to that economic formula.
In closing, stay tuned for the next Enchanted instalment where I explain what the hell is “RS=GIE” and why Iroquois Impressions is a different approach to expressing traditional culture. Oh, with a few Ride stories as well.
But back to Ganienkeh for a bit. That little patch of forest was not just about low finance and high ideals. It was about dreaming in an environment of harmony with the breathing planet, and with real people living the everyday life with profound joy and pain. I’ll leave you with one of these stories.
Celestial blossoms do return to the earth from which they came. This blossom was not the first born in Ganienkeh, but was the first to return.
One night, while playing cards, laughing and telling stories, an elder women went to check on my six month old son named Nice Fire, who was sleeping in the next room.
In the light of the oil lamps she yelled, ‘he’s not breathing!’ Her husband runs into the room and after a few moments, starts to gave him mouth to mouth reassertion to revive him. After a few more moments of thinking about what to do, My wife, named She’s Doubtful and I then leave with Nice Fire to the Montreal children’s hospital.
Driving as fast as I’d dare, we speed along to our destination. She’s Doubtful holds Nice Fire while I drove. Silent and in shock we speed. Focused on his every breath.
We get to the hospital, She’s Doubtful runs in with him in her arms. She yells franticly, ‘my baby can’t breathe!’ ‘My baby can’t breathe!’ Nurses come to take Nice Fire. Stethoscopes come out, and under observation they watch as we sit next to them not knowing what to do.
A few hours later, they say ‘There appears nothing wrong. Go home and if it happens again, come back.’
We go to stay with family in Kahnawake. About an hour later, he stops breathing again. And the rush starts once again.
Back to the hospital. And after a period of time, we’re told the same thing. ‘Go home, if it happens again, come back.’ Back to Kahnawake we go.
Again, an hour passes, Nice Fire stops breathing one more time. Furious now, we head back. Driving as fast as possible, She’s Doubtful drives.
Now I have Nice Fire in my arms. I dart out of the car, kick the door open of the hospital and yell, this is the 3rd F-ing time we’re here. He can’t breathe! Will someone help him!
This time, during his observation, Nice Fire stops breathing. They revive him and take him to intensive care. Days later, a special surgeon is called in to remove a tumour found in his brain. During the operation, Nice Fire dies. The tumour is attached to the part of the brain that controls the function of his heart. Nice Fire dies from a heart attack.
She’s Doubtful and I are called in the room where he now lies. The doctor tells us he did not make it. I don’t understand the words. And asked him to repeat it. He does. He needs to repeat it one more time for it to make sense.
I look at my son. He looks like he’s sleeping with a bandaged head. She’s Doubtful cries on his little body. I call my grandmother in Kahnawake to tell her but my aunt Tessie answers. I tell her the news. Many of my aunts and cousins where in the kitchen when they heard the news. Over the phone, I could hear the entire room erupt in cries..... ‘nooooooooo!’
Later, we return to Ganienkeh for Nice Fire’s final ride. Tobacco is burned, elders and leaders of our community arrange his passage through the border back through the States. Accusations of racism fly and misconduct with the hospital. We only hear the words, remain silent and feel nothing.
The funeral is conducted. A warrior carries Nice Fire to his burial and places him back into earth. My family weeps as She’s Doubtful and I stand in silence. Tearless and numb. It is over.
The only thing that brings comfort to She’s Doubtful was that she’s carrying our third child, a daughter. Me, I become and remain detached. Feeling-less.
Only now, as I write this story more than 30 years later, I weep and mourn his passing. Only now the shock subsides and tears wash away anger. Positive feelings from this part of my life return. Nice Fire finally rests in me. I often wonder who he would have grown up to be.
But to this day, I can’t pass the Children’s Hospital without remembering those events or feeling sad. At least the anger’s gone. My Ma was right; you never forget or get over the passing of your children.