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My hometown of Green Bay, Wisconsin is embattled in a bitter
struggle between the Oneida Indian Tribe
and the local townspeople. Before the arrival of the white race, most of Green
Bay and its surrounding suburbs were Oneida land. With the introduction of the
whites came the eventual stealing of their land, and forcing them onto reservations.
Tired of seeing their people fall into poverty on these reservations, the Oneida
Nation Tribe unveiled a bold new program called the Seven Generation Mission,
where the tribe “will be strengthened through the values of our Oneida
Identity by providing housing, promoting education, protecting the land, and
preserving the environment” (Oneida homepage). Dedicated to providing a
better quality of life for their people, one of the bold initiatives of the
program includes the buying back of all the land in northeast Wisconsin that
once belonged to the Oneidas.
Obviously, this does not sit well with area non-Oneida residents
who are seeing the property all around them being bought by the Oneidas. But
what I find amazing is the fact that people claim that what the Oneidas are
doing – buying back land legally – is an atrocity, while never giving
thought to how the Oneidas lost that land in the first place. If justice was
truly to be served, then wouldn’t the Oneidas just raise up, and force
these inhabitants off their land, rounding them up into virtual concentration
camps and allowing them to live in poverty while hoping they would just die
out quietly?
One of the main concerns that the non-Indians living in and around the Green Bay area have is the way in which the Oneida tribe is executing their Seven Generation Mission. The Oneidas own and operate a casino in Green Bay, the largest casino in northeast Wisconsin. Many residents fear that since the Oneidas do not have to pay any taxes upon the revenue that they receive, that the government is cutting them an unfair deal. With the large profits that the Oneidas are making from this casino, they are able to afford to buy back all the land that was once theirs. There is a feeling of general uneasiness among the townspeople of what the Oneidas are doing.
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Among the white middle class circles that my family and my friends exist, there is much talk about the Oneidas. Of course, the talk is not positive. “They can’t do that to us,” they often say. Unfortunately, that is a common mentality among a race that feels that it is made out to be the “bad guy” by everyone else. Suddenly, after hundreds of years of oppression of not only American Indians, but also African Americans, white men and women are inheriting the repercussions of the sins committed by their forefathers. “Well, I personally didn’t oppress anyone, therefore why should I be punished?” pops up often in the conscious of white America. Sadly, that doesn’t matter anymore; the damage has all ready been done. Instead of accepting our culture’s past, and asking ourselves what we can do to make everything right today, it is human instinct to become defensive. Thus, the thought of the Oneida Nation reclaiming what is rightfully theirs is absurd, and the white race has suddenly become the victim.
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Growing up in an atmosphere where there was general dislike for the Oneidas
because of these issues made my perspective very one-sided. I was taught by
the words of my friends and their parents to view all Indians – whether
they were Oneida or not – as the enemy. Very few American Indian children
attended my school (they had their own school system on the Oneida reservation),
and those that did generally were less than average students. No one made a
great effort to get to know them, to learn about their culture. Instead, a “dream
catcher” hanging from a rear-view mirror, or other traditional signs of
Indian culture was seen as wrong and inferior by the white students. I can not
say for sure, but as I look back I wonder whether or not there were very few
Indian children in my school because they simply couldn’t cut it, or if
they weren’t ever allowed to cut it. How good could someone possibly have
done with that much negativity by from their peers surrounding them all the
time?
Green Bay, Wisconsin doesn’t immediately pop into one’s mind when reviewing the most racist parts of the country. Sadly, there is a deep-seeded dislike for Indians, and to a lesser extent African-Americans. But the racism that exists in Green Bay is unlike that of the Deep South, it has a much more subtle and unspoken existence. I did not live there during my entire childhood, therefore I can only speculate how it must have been growing up through elementary, and middle school for area children. At some point or another, Indian children in class became labeled as “different” and thus wrong. All I know is that by the time of my arrival to high school in Green Bay, feelings of superiority among the white students were dominant. Being surrounded by this general dislike for Indian families and children was so subtle that I never truly picked up on it. I was talked into believing that what the Oneida tribe was doing was wrong, because they were taking land away from decent, hard-working (white) Americans. For Indians themselves didn’t have jobs, they just lived on reservations and got drunk all day!
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When I told my friends from high school the classes that I was enrolled in this semester, they all got a good chuckle or groan out of Rhetoric 309K: Rhetoric of American Indians. "Who could possibly care so much about Indians to actually teach a class about them?" they asked. I admit that I was a little skeptical coming into the course as well. The beginning of the semester wasn’t particularly interesting. Philip DeLoria’s book Playing Indian was difficult to read and hardly interested me. I showed up to class out of necessity not because I wanted to.
My first paper (which dealt with a speech by Cochise) was interesting to write, but did not provide me with the intellectual challenge (nor grade) that I had desired.
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Everything seemed to change once we sat in class and watched Dances With Wolves. I had only seen the movie once before, during its original theatrical release. My favorite aunt had taken me to see it, and despite being young, and not understanding the major historical implications of the film, I enjoyed it immensely. At that time Kevin Costner was a very big movie star, and was a hero to many young children who dreamt themselves of one day becoming a famous movie actor. To see someone who you admired being portrayed so heroically on screen had a lasting positive impression on my very malleable subconscious. So to have this impression going into watching it for only the second time in your life, and then to have a professor and several of your peers pick it apart was very eye-opening. All of a sudden the majestic masterpiece that I had recalled was nothing more than a historical action movie, designed to win awards for its star/producer/director. (My shift in attitude - and subsequent desire to analyze other film portrayals of Native Americans - can be documented by my rhetorical analysis of the film Dead Man for my second paper).
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This discussion led me to question many things that I had held
for fact only a short time earlier. Why were Indians so disliked in northeast
Wisconsin? Is it because they are buying back the land that is rightfully theirs,
or is it because the Oneida tribe is flourishing, allowing several of its members
to obtain prominence within the community? I do not know the answer to this
question, but I am fearful that perhaps the mentality held by Green Bay’s
citizens is one of, “Why won’t the Indians just die out?” It
seems like it was almost a pleasure for some folks to watch Indians suffer,
like frying ants with a magnifying glass.
I went home for Thanksgiving for the first time since last spring to see my family and a lot of my old friends again. I had not been in town for 24 hours when the subject of Indians was raised, again in a negative connotation. My nineteen and twenty year old friends were cracking jokes, and saying hateful things of the area Native American people. What was truly sad to me about these comments was not what was said, but the fact that less than six months ago, I would have chimed in and gotten my two cents in as well. That would have been me perhaps making a racist comment or joke. I felt so disgusted by their words that I could not wait to catch the next plane back to Austin. I may have changed, but the town has not. But maybe that's all I can ask for. For as Nelson Mandela said, "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." As long as I have changed, isn't that one more person who sees the big picture than before?
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Not too many people during their collegiate life get to take a class that changes their outlook on life. My eyes have been opened, not only to the Native American people, but to the treatment of minorities in our predominantly white, middle-class society. True, not everything in this course connected with me (I felt the film Powwow Highway was like being forced to watch an after-school special, and just as painful), but the intent of this course was not to have the students like everything that the instructor presented. Miriam Schacht never told us that she expected us all to love Powwow Highway, or Playing Indian. We watched and read these texts to spur discussion. Within these discussions I learned what each and every one of my classmates truly felt, and I witnessed their growth as well. Together, those of us that put forth the effort to approach this class with an open mind and an open mouth, all learned to open our eyes. Yes, thoughout this course I did learn more about rhetoric, and improved my writing ability. But truthfully, I learned more about a race of people (that's right PEOPLE), about their amazing struggle against a society that simply does not want to see them succeed, and about myself than I did about rhetoric. And I am extremely thankful for it.
updated 3. April 2002