Cancelling the trip I initially planned, a
bike tour showcasing historic sights related to the Indian-American Dakota War
of 1862, proved to be a trying process.
I guess I should take a step back; why care about a war that occurred
1862? 1862 is a pivotal, tear-releasing, year in Minnesota’s
as well as America’s history. After
being pushed onto ever-decreasing parcels of land and having been denied
allotted rations and facing starvation, Chief Little Crow made the decision (after refusing to go to war but being called a coward) to
lead his people, the Mdewakanton Dakota Sioux (a derogatory Ojibwe term meaning snake) into war against the US
army. This war marked the beginning of
the attempted annihilation of Dakota culture and genocide against Dakota
people, the flame hitting tinder, the death march in a cold winter, the massacre a day after Christmas, this...
After fundraising for this event
that would bring me to the battlefields where Dakota and Europeans fought, and
making a commitment with everyone supporting me to complete a journey
representative of my values and aspirations, I felt a loss of destination but
not direction. I trusted in my drive to
continue forming connections with those working on similar initiatives to
uncover history in the Indian community as well as faith in Universal
Serendipity.
As fate would
have it, on the day that my original journey was set to begin, I wound up at a
monologue called, “Why I’m not an Indian.”
This monologue was part of a theater festival called “Minnesota Fringe,”
whereby trained actors and amateurs alike and would perform an extra-wide variety
of pieces, from “The Hungry Games” to “Psychology of a Bully,” throughout the
day over a course of two weeks. This play captured my interest because I
was like, is this gonna be offensive or revealing- turned out to be ladder; it
is one woman’s story, Elaine, for which I am deeply grateful to have become
part of.
Here is the description:
Elaine, intrepid lesbian, turkey-baster Mom and childhood
abuse survivor, untangles the Story of her Mixed Heritage. And what's up with
the Ex-Nun and the box of ashes?..
The Ex-Nun turns out to be her love partner who drops those
standing in the way of Elaine’s journey to retrace her Indian heritage like a
bad habit, hits em with the truth like a sister named Whoopie in Act II, and
the ashes, it’s her mom with every pack of cigarettes smoked reduced to a
box.
At one point in the play, her mom, with cigarette in hands
says, you remember when I said I could never love you anymore because you were
not going to marry a man. I’m sorry for
that. You didn’t deserve that. Marg didn’t deserve that. Stepping back into present time, Elaine turns
to the audience and states emphatically, “My mom said ‘I’m sorry,’ and that’s
more than the American government has ever done.
I waited outside the Gremlin theater after the play, hoping
to speak with this actress. I had begun
to walk away but then I recognized, distinctly, her voice. She was speaking to an audience member who
had become choked up in talking about how necessary it was to hear this story
and how more folks have to hear it.
After exchanging business cards, I set up a time to get a hot drink with
Elaine. We talked about family, socialist
witch conferences, what to do when your dad sends you 22 voice messages,
getting kids to open up and connect with each other, and the challenge of
getting over shame. I think I gotta stop
here, will pick up the next time.
Peace in over-under lapping roots and digging deeper.
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