excerpt from THE NATIVE AMERICANS, AN ILLUSTRATED HISTORY
"The allies of a chief, whether linked through economics or ritual, made regular visits to exchange gifts and reach consensus on important matters." p. 118
"In the majority of cases a person's status depended not on what he or she possessed but rather on what he or she gave to others. Riches mattered only as a road to generosity. To be rich when others were in need was to be a danger to the group. The accumulation in the hands of ...big men, or chiefs this often formed but a prelude to distribution. The carefully gathered wealth of a Northwest Coast leader disappeared in the lavish potlaches (exchange of gifts) that astonished Europeans....Iroquoia to the Northwest Coast, Indians created social systems that induced people to redistribute wealth and to reap status." p. 238
excerpt from REASON TO BELIEVE, by Kathleen Eagle, p. 376
"Summer is powwow time in Indian country. There's always plenty of food, games and contests, lots of music and dancing, and in the midst of it all there are 'giveaways'. People present gifts as a public show of appreciation, honor, respect. The giver calls a name, the recipient accepts a gift, and a simple handshake is shared."
I remember observing this giveaway custom at many powwows and also at conferences or performances. One of my Lakota friends said that almost half of his income was reserved for "giveaway", whether to friends or those who gave a service. The salary or compensation for the service was not counted as a gift. The gift was from the heart, not the pocketbook.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
EXPLORING TRINIDAD
excerpt from TRINIDAD REMEMBRANCES (see Aug 31, 2010)
Most days were spent in exploring the area, making friends, and riding the bus into the nearby town. Everything was so green and lush. There were exotic flowers hanging from vines and trees. Orchids grew naturally in some of the inner parts of the island. Monkeys hung from trees and chattered wildly as you went by. I had a banana tree in my back yard. When I saw Zorida (see her story ZORIDA'S DREAM) work so hard every day cooking each meal, I showed her how to make a banana sandwich and then a pimento cheese sandwich. She served them to her husband Beepat and he loved them. He wanted them all the time until he discovered that it only took her five minutes to make them. He made her quit serving them, saying that her work was in the kitchen and it was not right that she had so much free time.
Going into town was very interesting. The streets bustled with people walking here and yon. They wore bright colors and were cheerful and friendly. The stores were mostly specialty stores, one serving meats, another fruits, another vegetables. My favorite food became fried shrimp wonton. It would be served in a heaping platter that would fill up both my son and I. Sometimes we would go to a place that served "devil dogs". In America, the equivalent was corn dogs. That became my son's favorite food. When we ate at a friend's house we were served rice, vegetables and occassionally chicken mixed with the rice. The head and legs of the chicken were really a test for me. I couldn't make myself eat them but I stirred them around so as not to look like I was avoiding them. I probably didn't fool anyone but I didn't want to be impolite.
I felt as though I had been given a gift in my search for oneness. One day I walked past a mirror and was jolted to see this white face. I had become so accustomed to the beautiful faces around me that my own white face seemed strangely pale. I learned down to the core of my being that we are one race. The mothers loved their children just as much as I loved Eddie, the fathers worked and struggled to make a home for the family against odds that would have broken many of those I knew back in the states. The music was very haunting and lovely or dramatic and surging with rhythm, the children were bright and cheerful and their laughter sounds the same all over the world. The yearning for God and a meaning for life is just as powerful no matter the color of the skin.
My money ran out and I had to come back to the states. I must admit I had very mixed feeling though. It took quite some time to adjust to seeing so many white faces. I was very uncomfortable in a community which was predominately white. Where was the rest of my family?
Most days were spent in exploring the area, making friends, and riding the bus into the nearby town. Everything was so green and lush. There were exotic flowers hanging from vines and trees. Orchids grew naturally in some of the inner parts of the island. Monkeys hung from trees and chattered wildly as you went by. I had a banana tree in my back yard. When I saw Zorida (see her story ZORIDA'S DREAM) work so hard every day cooking each meal, I showed her how to make a banana sandwich and then a pimento cheese sandwich. She served them to her husband Beepat and he loved them. He wanted them all the time until he discovered that it only took her five minutes to make them. He made her quit serving them, saying that her work was in the kitchen and it was not right that she had so much free time.
Going into town was very interesting. The streets bustled with people walking here and yon. They wore bright colors and were cheerful and friendly. The stores were mostly specialty stores, one serving meats, another fruits, another vegetables. My favorite food became fried shrimp wonton. It would be served in a heaping platter that would fill up both my son and I. Sometimes we would go to a place that served "devil dogs". In America, the equivalent was corn dogs. That became my son's favorite food. When we ate at a friend's house we were served rice, vegetables and occassionally chicken mixed with the rice. The head and legs of the chicken were really a test for me. I couldn't make myself eat them but I stirred them around so as not to look like I was avoiding them. I probably didn't fool anyone but I didn't want to be impolite.
I felt as though I had been given a gift in my search for oneness. One day I walked past a mirror and was jolted to see this white face. I had become so accustomed to the beautiful faces around me that my own white face seemed strangely pale. I learned down to the core of my being that we are one race. The mothers loved their children just as much as I loved Eddie, the fathers worked and struggled to make a home for the family against odds that would have broken many of those I knew back in the states. The music was very haunting and lovely or dramatic and surging with rhythm, the children were bright and cheerful and their laughter sounds the same all over the world. The yearning for God and a meaning for life is just as powerful no matter the color of the skin.
My money ran out and I had to come back to the states. I must admit I had very mixed feeling though. It took quite some time to adjust to seeing so many white faces. I was very uncomfortable in a community which was predominately white. Where was the rest of my family?
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
MY FAVORITE BAHA'I QUOTE
"If you desire with all your heart, friendship with every race on earth, your thought, spiritual and positive, will spread; it will become the desire of others, growing stronger and stronger, until it reaches the minds of all men"
Abdu'l-Baha, PARIS TALKS, p. 29
Abdu'l-Baha, PARIS TALKS, p. 29
Sunday, December 19, 2010
HE SAYS/SHE SAYS
excerpt from ANNE'S WRITINGS (see Aug 31, 2010)
Where is the gentle caress,
The glow in the eye,
The tenderness of a kiss,
The commitment to try,
The protective nest in each other's arms,
The little treats and favors that charm?
All I see is bare midriffs,
Skinny tank tops, tight blue jeans,
While crooning words flow, the eye shifts,
A night with a stranger it seems,
A hollow hunger that never ends,
A heart that cannot feel as it tries to mend?
I have freedom she says,
I can come and go and be.
I have power he says,
I can take and take for me.
And when a child begins to come,
Who will really give it a home?
Anne Respess 8-27-04
Where is the gentle caress,
The glow in the eye,
The tenderness of a kiss,
The commitment to try,
The protective nest in each other's arms,
The little treats and favors that charm?
All I see is bare midriffs,
Skinny tank tops, tight blue jeans,
While crooning words flow, the eye shifts,
A night with a stranger it seems,
A hollow hunger that never ends,
A heart that cannot feel as it tries to mend?
I have freedom she says,
I can come and go and be.
I have power he says,
I can take and take for me.
And when a child begins to come,
Who will really give it a home?
Anne Respess 8-27-04
Sunday, December 12, 2010
LEONARD PELTIER
Reflections after reading PRISON WRITING, MY LIFE IS MY SUN DANCE, by Leonard Peltier
This book is a remarkable revealing of the evolution of a beautiful soul. It is extremely moving and painful in the sharing of a life devoted to justice for a people whose only crime was being Indian. Side by side with the Holocaust of Jews, the slavery of the Africans we witness the violence and attempted extermination of the people who were and still are the stewards of "America the Beautiful" from it's very beginning.
He was convicted of the murder of two federal agents and according to the Freedom Of Information Act we learn that the trial was flawed and the "proofs" of his guilt were not there. He has been in prison since 1976 and has been denied parole numerous times though even the FBIs say they still don't know who really killed the two agents.
Inspite of severe health issues and loss of freedom he has grown spiritually into a remarkable human being. His words of the oneness of mankind are inspiring and challenging. Keep him in your hearts and prayers as I will.
This book is a remarkable revealing of the evolution of a beautiful soul. It is extremely moving and painful in the sharing of a life devoted to justice for a people whose only crime was being Indian. Side by side with the Holocaust of Jews, the slavery of the Africans we witness the violence and attempted extermination of the people who were and still are the stewards of "America the Beautiful" from it's very beginning.
He was convicted of the murder of two federal agents and according to the Freedom Of Information Act we learn that the trial was flawed and the "proofs" of his guilt were not there. He has been in prison since 1976 and has been denied parole numerous times though even the FBIs say they still don't know who really killed the two agents.
Inspite of severe health issues and loss of freedom he has grown spiritually into a remarkable human being. His words of the oneness of mankind are inspiring and challenging. Keep him in your hearts and prayers as I will.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
CLIFTON AT OLD RICHMOND
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
In the early 1980s I was involved in a Senior Citizens group in a black church community center near my home. The discussions were about oneness and the struggles to get to that . My children played outside with some of the children of the church. We opened with a prayer, had some history of a figure in black history who had made contributions to society (mostly unrecognized by the general population), some anthropological facts reinforcing our common ancestry, mentioning a psychological concept that might influence our reaction to others (thereby gaining better communication) and then had an open-minded, free-form discussion.
We shared recent examples in our daily lives in which the fruits of our study were manifested. Some of the stories shared by the elderly members of their ancestors treatment as slaves was heartbreaking. All the members participated. For awhile one of the members, Clifton (tall, distinguished, in his 70s) consistently gave challenging remarks such as "she won't acknowledge she knows you if you meet her on the street". I responded each time honestly and directly as possible but refused to argue with him. After about eight meetings Clifton sighed sadly, got up and said he guessed he better not come anymore since he disrupted the meetings. He really looked quite dejected). I felt immediately the same dejection, and told him that I had not come to drive anyone away. If I caused that then I should be the one not to come back. He quickly said, "no, you must come back". I responded that he must come, too. Even of we didn't agree we both could share our ideas and still be friends. He brightened up and became one of my dearest friends and strongest supporters when the minister or community accused me of weird things, (such as being a communist). He is the only one who did not missed a single meeting.
He had the most glorious, deep voice and sang some beautiful spirituals. He used to tease me and tell me I sang from my throat but should sing from my gut, deep down. He would come to visit but would only sit on my front steps to talk. He said my next door neighbor was a Klan member and he didn't want to give them any reason to slur my reputation. What courage he had and such courtesy for me!
In the early 1980s I was involved in a Senior Citizens group in a black church community center near my home. The discussions were about oneness and the struggles to get to that . My children played outside with some of the children of the church. We opened with a prayer, had some history of a figure in black history who had made contributions to society (mostly unrecognized by the general population), some anthropological facts reinforcing our common ancestry, mentioning a psychological concept that might influence our reaction to others (thereby gaining better communication) and then had an open-minded, free-form discussion.
We shared recent examples in our daily lives in which the fruits of our study were manifested. Some of the stories shared by the elderly members of their ancestors treatment as slaves was heartbreaking. All the members participated. For awhile one of the members, Clifton (tall, distinguished, in his 70s) consistently gave challenging remarks such as "she won't acknowledge she knows you if you meet her on the street". I responded each time honestly and directly as possible but refused to argue with him. After about eight meetings Clifton sighed sadly, got up and said he guessed he better not come anymore since he disrupted the meetings. He really looked quite dejected). I felt immediately the same dejection, and told him that I had not come to drive anyone away. If I caused that then I should be the one not to come back. He quickly said, "no, you must come back". I responded that he must come, too. Even of we didn't agree we both could share our ideas and still be friends. He brightened up and became one of my dearest friends and strongest supporters when the minister or community accused me of weird things, (such as being a communist). He is the only one who did not missed a single meeting.
He had the most glorious, deep voice and sang some beautiful spirituals. He used to tease me and tell me I sang from my throat but should sing from my gut, deep down. He would come to visit but would only sit on my front steps to talk. He said my next door neighbor was a Klan member and he didn't want to give them any reason to slur my reputation. What courage he had and such courtesy for me!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
EDDIE'S FRIENDS IN TRINIDAD
excerpt from TRINIDAD REMEMBRANCES (see Aug 31, 2010)
Eddie seemed happier in Trinidad than he had ever been anywhere else. He seemed to have a natural affinity for the native Trinidadians and they were drawn to his open-hearted friendliness. He had many playmates who continually sought him out. Though his only toy was a bag of marbles he seemed joyful most of the time. One of the mothers of the children he was playing with stood on my balcony watching as he and several Moslem children , several African children and a Chinese child played together. She said she had never seen the children mix together peacefully before but she liked it. She loved Eddie and his complete acceptance of all the kids as his friends. The kids seemed to respond to his attitude by being more open to others themselves. They taught him how to ride a water buffalo, how to drink from a coconut, and climb the skinny trees nearby. One of the boys seemed very close to Eddie and they spent the night at each other's homes two or three times a week.
Zorida, the lady who dreamed of me before I came to Trinidad (see ZORIDA'S DREAM 9-14-10), grew very fond of Eddie and would have a special treat for him when he came in from school. It was called char, and consisted of mango rolled up in curry powder and baked. Eddie would eat a whole cereal bowl of it every afternoon. She would worry that he was eating so much of it. She said, "not even we can eat this much. It is too hot."
Eddie seemed happier in Trinidad than he had ever been anywhere else. He seemed to have a natural affinity for the native Trinidadians and they were drawn to his open-hearted friendliness. He had many playmates who continually sought him out. Though his only toy was a bag of marbles he seemed joyful most of the time. One of the mothers of the children he was playing with stood on my balcony watching as he and several Moslem children , several African children and a Chinese child played together. She said she had never seen the children mix together peacefully before but she liked it. She loved Eddie and his complete acceptance of all the kids as his friends. The kids seemed to respond to his attitude by being more open to others themselves. They taught him how to ride a water buffalo, how to drink from a coconut, and climb the skinny trees nearby. One of the boys seemed very close to Eddie and they spent the night at each other's homes two or three times a week.
Zorida, the lady who dreamed of me before I came to Trinidad (see ZORIDA'S DREAM 9-14-10), grew very fond of Eddie and would have a special treat for him when he came in from school. It was called char, and consisted of mango rolled up in curry powder and baked. Eddie would eat a whole cereal bowl of it every afternoon. She would worry that he was eating so much of it. She said, "not even we can eat this much. It is too hot."
Monday, December 6, 2010
LOUIS GREGORY- RACE AMITY WORKER
excerpt from TO MOVE THE WORLD by Gayle Morrison and also from a brochure on Race Amity Conference in October, 1983
The first Race Amity Conference (Louis Gregory was one of the organizers and speakers)sponsored by the Baha'is of the United States was held May 19-21, 1921 in Washington D.C...The Conference took place during the most turbulent period of racial strife the country had ever experienced....The following is a quote from the brochure of that historic event.
"Half a century ago in America slavery was abolished. Now there has arisen a need for another great effort in order that prejudices may be overcome. Correction of the present wrong requires no army, for the field of action is the hearts of our citizens. The instrument to be used is kindness, the ammunition - understanding. The actors in the engagement for right are all the inhabitants of the United States.
The great work we have to do and for which this convention is called is the establishment of amity between the white and colored people of our land.
When we have put our own house in order, then we may be trusted to carry the message of universal peace to all mankind."
He (Louis Gregory) talked of unity with diversity when the law of the land was "separatism." He travelled extensively thoughout America delivering the message of oneness of mankind during a time when black Americans (he was black) were considered by the Constitution, 3/5 a man. He spoke of interracial amity while his peers advocated going back to Africa.....
Mr. Gregory was born in Charleston, S.C. on June 6, 1874....He received a law degree from Howard University. During a time when most people in this country were not formally educated, this son of a slave had a law degree, worked for the federal government and was an attorney. If Mr. Gregory had done nothing more with his life, these accomplishments alone would have been noteworthy.
However, in 1909, Mr Gregory became a member of the Baha'i Faith. Its principles concerning the oneness of mankind, the essential oneness of religion, and the equality of men and women seemed to him the solution for the world's problems. It was also during this year he decided to become a worker for racial amity. This decision meant the end of a successful law practice and the beginning of years of travel, writing and lecturing.
He traveled thoughout the country speaking before religious, social, and academic groups. His audiences ranged in size from a small handful of people to thousands. Mr Gregory played an important role in developing and promoting the many Race Amity Conferences sponsored by the Baha'is. This vocation of Mr. Gregory comprised 42 years of his life: years of undaunted and uninterrupted service to mankind.
Mr Gregory died in July 1951. So outstanding had been his service, he was named a Hand of the Cause of God for the Baha'i Faith.
Abdu'l-Baha, son of the Prophet Founder of the Baha'i Faith said of Mr Gregory:
"He is like unto pure gold. This is why he is acceptable in any market and is current in every country."
The first Race Amity Conference (Louis Gregory was one of the organizers and speakers)sponsored by the Baha'is of the United States was held May 19-21, 1921 in Washington D.C...The Conference took place during the most turbulent period of racial strife the country had ever experienced....The following is a quote from the brochure of that historic event.
"Half a century ago in America slavery was abolished. Now there has arisen a need for another great effort in order that prejudices may be overcome. Correction of the present wrong requires no army, for the field of action is the hearts of our citizens. The instrument to be used is kindness, the ammunition - understanding. The actors in the engagement for right are all the inhabitants of the United States.
The great work we have to do and for which this convention is called is the establishment of amity between the white and colored people of our land.
When we have put our own house in order, then we may be trusted to carry the message of universal peace to all mankind."
He (Louis Gregory) talked of unity with diversity when the law of the land was "separatism." He travelled extensively thoughout America delivering the message of oneness of mankind during a time when black Americans (he was black) were considered by the Constitution, 3/5 a man. He spoke of interracial amity while his peers advocated going back to Africa.....
Mr. Gregory was born in Charleston, S.C. on June 6, 1874....He received a law degree from Howard University. During a time when most people in this country were not formally educated, this son of a slave had a law degree, worked for the federal government and was an attorney. If Mr. Gregory had done nothing more with his life, these accomplishments alone would have been noteworthy.
However, in 1909, Mr Gregory became a member of the Baha'i Faith. Its principles concerning the oneness of mankind, the essential oneness of religion, and the equality of men and women seemed to him the solution for the world's problems. It was also during this year he decided to become a worker for racial amity. This decision meant the end of a successful law practice and the beginning of years of travel, writing and lecturing.
He traveled thoughout the country speaking before religious, social, and academic groups. His audiences ranged in size from a small handful of people to thousands. Mr Gregory played an important role in developing and promoting the many Race Amity Conferences sponsored by the Baha'is. This vocation of Mr. Gregory comprised 42 years of his life: years of undaunted and uninterrupted service to mankind.
Mr Gregory died in July 1951. So outstanding had been his service, he was named a Hand of the Cause of God for the Baha'i Faith.
Abdu'l-Baha, son of the Prophet Founder of the Baha'i Faith said of Mr Gregory:
"He is like unto pure gold. This is why he is acceptable in any market and is current in every country."
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
MY OWN STORY - ANNE
excerpt from RACEUNITY@ (see Aug 31, 2010)
In response to a general call to tell our individual stories of how we arrived at this point in our lives and began participating in this endeavor:
I started out in Charlotte, NC in 1937, white, southern, and in the country. My dad came from a farm family of several hundred acres near Charlotte, one of his parents was from a large country family and the other was a school teacher. Our ancestry came from Scot, English and Native American. My mother came from Georgia, a small town. One of her parents was from a small farm family and the other from an academic, socially prominent Atlanta family. Our ancestry in this side of the family was Irish, English and Jewish. Needless to say in those times, there was a lot of hostility between the in-laws on both sides.
(You have read of my first "race" memory in the Sept. 6, 2010 blog)
My dad and mother were not overtly hostile or cruel, but the patronizing, "lovingly helpful" attitude they displayed had a subtle message, which is harder to confront or resist than an overtly confrontational attitude is.
My exposure to those of color was very biased in that they were always in a subservient role. Not until I was an adult did I see and educated darker skinned person. I was in a dormant state of awareness until school classes began on the slavery and civil war subjects. I was upset with the stories of children being sold away from their parents, of the beatings and rapes. I remember being ashamed that I was from the South.
I began to try to learn for myself the history that was denied me in school, began to collect and study books written by minorities, sought out friends who were diverse but it was halting and fearful because of my natural shyness and the impediments placed there by family and society. The book that initially had the most impact on me was John Howard Griffin's BLACK LIKE ME. It touched and horrified me. It was written in the times of what I knew growing up. I had seen what he was talking about from the "other side". I had used the "white" water fountains and restrooms. I had served the blacks at the back door when I worked my way through school as a waitress. I was also the first waitress to serve a black man who sat at my counter, though the restaurant had put a divider rope around the empty stools and those occupied by blacks.
The next impacting set of books was a three volume compilation of letters and articles, from 1619 to 1966, written by slaves, farmers, authors, reporters for black newspapers, etc., edited by Milton Metlzer, called IN THEIR OWN WORDS. The personal details of the pain, indignities and rage of these people marked my soul. ( I will be quoting from these in future blogs.)
When I became a Baha'i in 1969, it was like coming home. Finally, I had clear guidance and approval from God to "walk the Walk" and learn humbly how to be one with all. Baha'u'llah's gift to me was to allow me to go to Trinidad seven months after I became a Baha'i and live among an entire country that was dark skinned. I saw three white people other than my son and myself in the mirror the entire time. My survival depended on the good graces of these people, my social life depended on these people, my son's playmates were the children of these people. As I lived day to day, in conversations, social events, over coffee or tea chats, my feelings of strangeness disappeared and an awareness of being in the same human family began to emerge. I remembered being startled when I passed a mirror and saw this white shadow go by. My first thought was "that person is so pale" then i I realized it was me. I had forgotten my own color. It was a pleasant, releasing thought.
As the years after I came back from Trinidad went by I began to involve myself in race unity work. As well as reading everything I could get my hands on, I made a conscious effort to "stay in diversity". I felt uncomfortable in an all white environment and raised my children to believe that only diversity of color and culture was normal. Everything else was abnormal.
In 1983 I co-facilitated a week long workshop at a Baha;i summer school on THE ELIMINATION OF PREJUDICE workshop with an elderly retired school teacher who called herself "colored". We laughed and cried together as we prepared this class and shared our "Southern" expeiences of growing up on opposite sides of the society.
In 1989 I went to my first Healing Racism Workshop and had the bounty of hearing Nathan Rutstein (author of many books on the issue) tell his "story". I was hooked. I went to several different series of these workshops, then went into training to be a facilitator. I did this for a while then helped others become facilitators. I was so enriched by the eople who attended and shared their stories and their hearts.
In the early eighties, I facilitated a Senior Citizens workshop at a black church for a year in which we learned together each other's stories and shared our growth process in getting to know and love each other. The stories of these elderly people revealed many of their early years of suffering and the history of thier family during slavery. I felt humbled and blessed to be accepted and loved by them.
In 1990 I attended a Race Unity Core Curriculum workshop at Louhelen Baha'i School in Michigan. This added so much to my ability to immerse myself in the subject in the Writings of the Faith. The precious souls who attended this with me will always hold a special place in my heart.
I had the blessing to be on a task force with Bonnnie Taylor, author and compiler of THE PUPIL OF THE EYE, to help set up a Most Vital and Challenging Training Institute. This resulted in a year long series of monthly four hour sessions exploring in depth the Writings of the Baha'i Faith on this isssue, the research made in the psychological, academic secular world on this issue, the historical facts that we missed in the public school systems and then the dialogue between the twenty or so individuals who had been present all the while.
Well, I think I went on too long, but there you have it.....
Love in the struggle,
Anne
In response to a general call to tell our individual stories of how we arrived at this point in our lives and began participating in this endeavor:
I started out in Charlotte, NC in 1937, white, southern, and in the country. My dad came from a farm family of several hundred acres near Charlotte, one of his parents was from a large country family and the other was a school teacher. Our ancestry came from Scot, English and Native American. My mother came from Georgia, a small town. One of her parents was from a small farm family and the other from an academic, socially prominent Atlanta family. Our ancestry in this side of the family was Irish, English and Jewish. Needless to say in those times, there was a lot of hostility between the in-laws on both sides.
(You have read of my first "race" memory in the Sept. 6, 2010 blog)
My dad and mother were not overtly hostile or cruel, but the patronizing, "lovingly helpful" attitude they displayed had a subtle message, which is harder to confront or resist than an overtly confrontational attitude is.
My exposure to those of color was very biased in that they were always in a subservient role. Not until I was an adult did I see and educated darker skinned person. I was in a dormant state of awareness until school classes began on the slavery and civil war subjects. I was upset with the stories of children being sold away from their parents, of the beatings and rapes. I remember being ashamed that I was from the South.
I began to try to learn for myself the history that was denied me in school, began to collect and study books written by minorities, sought out friends who were diverse but it was halting and fearful because of my natural shyness and the impediments placed there by family and society. The book that initially had the most impact on me was John Howard Griffin's BLACK LIKE ME. It touched and horrified me. It was written in the times of what I knew growing up. I had seen what he was talking about from the "other side". I had used the "white" water fountains and restrooms. I had served the blacks at the back door when I worked my way through school as a waitress. I was also the first waitress to serve a black man who sat at my counter, though the restaurant had put a divider rope around the empty stools and those occupied by blacks.
The next impacting set of books was a three volume compilation of letters and articles, from 1619 to 1966, written by slaves, farmers, authors, reporters for black newspapers, etc., edited by Milton Metlzer, called IN THEIR OWN WORDS. The personal details of the pain, indignities and rage of these people marked my soul. ( I will be quoting from these in future blogs.)
When I became a Baha'i in 1969, it was like coming home. Finally, I had clear guidance and approval from God to "walk the Walk" and learn humbly how to be one with all. Baha'u'llah's gift to me was to allow me to go to Trinidad seven months after I became a Baha'i and live among an entire country that was dark skinned. I saw three white people other than my son and myself in the mirror the entire time. My survival depended on the good graces of these people, my social life depended on these people, my son's playmates were the children of these people. As I lived day to day, in conversations, social events, over coffee or tea chats, my feelings of strangeness disappeared and an awareness of being in the same human family began to emerge. I remembered being startled when I passed a mirror and saw this white shadow go by. My first thought was "that person is so pale" then i I realized it was me. I had forgotten my own color. It was a pleasant, releasing thought.
As the years after I came back from Trinidad went by I began to involve myself in race unity work. As well as reading everything I could get my hands on, I made a conscious effort to "stay in diversity". I felt uncomfortable in an all white environment and raised my children to believe that only diversity of color and culture was normal. Everything else was abnormal.
In 1983 I co-facilitated a week long workshop at a Baha;i summer school on THE ELIMINATION OF PREJUDICE workshop with an elderly retired school teacher who called herself "colored". We laughed and cried together as we prepared this class and shared our "Southern" expeiences of growing up on opposite sides of the society.
In 1989 I went to my first Healing Racism Workshop and had the bounty of hearing Nathan Rutstein (author of many books on the issue) tell his "story". I was hooked. I went to several different series of these workshops, then went into training to be a facilitator. I did this for a while then helped others become facilitators. I was so enriched by the eople who attended and shared their stories and their hearts.
In the early eighties, I facilitated a Senior Citizens workshop at a black church for a year in which we learned together each other's stories and shared our growth process in getting to know and love each other. The stories of these elderly people revealed many of their early years of suffering and the history of thier family during slavery. I felt humbled and blessed to be accepted and loved by them.
In 1990 I attended a Race Unity Core Curriculum workshop at Louhelen Baha'i School in Michigan. This added so much to my ability to immerse myself in the subject in the Writings of the Faith. The precious souls who attended this with me will always hold a special place in my heart.
I had the blessing to be on a task force with Bonnnie Taylor, author and compiler of THE PUPIL OF THE EYE, to help set up a Most Vital and Challenging Training Institute. This resulted in a year long series of monthly four hour sessions exploring in depth the Writings of the Baha'i Faith on this isssue, the research made in the psychological, academic secular world on this issue, the historical facts that we missed in the public school systems and then the dialogue between the twenty or so individuals who had been present all the while.
Well, I think I went on too long, but there you have it.....
Love in the struggle,
Anne
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
OVERBOARD/DOING ENOUGH?
excerpts from RACEUNITY@ (see Aug 31, 2010)
9-18-99 response
I can't count the times I have had a conversation with whites who wonder if I don't go overboard "just a little" they say nicely. I promise you, I try extremely hard to be diplomatic, loving, patient and humble but I can't hide my profound investment in making a difference on the race issue. My primary goal (1) learn the reality as much as possible for a white from my darker skinned brothers and sisters, (2) open the eyes and hearts of "melanin challenged" individuals who look like me to this reality, (3) build bridges of friendship and sharing of actively making the burden of prejudice and racism diminish.
It is not acceptable to me to just hope it will all improve with time and being nice. If we all tried that on cancer or pheumonia we would soon die. Thank God we have a physician who is willing to stand in the same room with a sick person and challenge the disease.....
When Nat Rutstein describes racism as a disease I think he has two motives. One is to acknowledge the wounded (internalized racism) and the wounder (unaware racism). Secondly, very few people attack a sick person but try to help in some way. If everyone is trying to help the wounded and the wounder there is no attack. An attack immediately calls forth a defensive counter-attack. Rutstein's goal is ally building, not inducing shame or defensiveness. So is mine.
There is the component of power, inferiority and superiority complexes and scapegoating in the issue.
I wholeheartedly agree that there are a lot of wonderful people doing a lot, humbly and lowly, and never noticed. Unity in diversity is, after all, IMHO, the only way to go. Not just in looks, but in style, personality, ways to do your thing, etc.
Unfortunately, because I have such an intense desire to see things change, it is misconstrued as if I am saying "You are not doing enough", which is not my intention. People talk about the things that interest them. I am interested in what others are interested in and hope that they will respect what I am interested in.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
9-18-99 response
I can't count the times I have had a conversation with whites who wonder if I don't go overboard "just a little" they say nicely. I promise you, I try extremely hard to be diplomatic, loving, patient and humble but I can't hide my profound investment in making a difference on the race issue. My primary goal (1) learn the reality as much as possible for a white from my darker skinned brothers and sisters, (2) open the eyes and hearts of "melanin challenged" individuals who look like me to this reality, (3) build bridges of friendship and sharing of actively making the burden of prejudice and racism diminish.
It is not acceptable to me to just hope it will all improve with time and being nice. If we all tried that on cancer or pheumonia we would soon die. Thank God we have a physician who is willing to stand in the same room with a sick person and challenge the disease.....
When Nat Rutstein describes racism as a disease I think he has two motives. One is to acknowledge the wounded (internalized racism) and the wounder (unaware racism). Secondly, very few people attack a sick person but try to help in some way. If everyone is trying to help the wounded and the wounder there is no attack. An attack immediately calls forth a defensive counter-attack. Rutstein's goal is ally building, not inducing shame or defensiveness. So is mine.
There is the component of power, inferiority and superiority complexes and scapegoating in the issue.
I wholeheartedly agree that there are a lot of wonderful people doing a lot, humbly and lowly, and never noticed. Unity in diversity is, after all, IMHO, the only way to go. Not just in looks, but in style, personality, ways to do your thing, etc.
Unfortunately, because I have such an intense desire to see things change, it is misconstrued as if I am saying "You are not doing enough", which is not my intention. People talk about the things that interest them. I am interested in what others are interested in and hope that they will respect what I am interested in.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
Saturday, November 27, 2010
SOJOURNER TRUTH
excerpt from A SALUTE TO HISTORIC BLACK WOMEN, Vol. 1, Empak "Black History" Publication Series
"Sojourner Truth, born Isabella Baumfree in 1797, was a pilgrim of freedom and a fervent women's rights activist. She thundered against slavery from countless platforms. For nearly 40 years, she traveled across the country lecturing on the two major issues of the time: abolition and the rights of the "lesser sex". She was born in slavery...near Kingston, New York....Of how she came to be called Sojourner Truth she said, "I asked the Lord to give me a new name and He gave me Sojourner because I was to travel up and down the land showing the people sins and being a sign unto them. Afterwards, I told the Lord I wanted another name cause everybody else had two names; and He gave me Truth because I was to declare the truth unto the People"....the New York State Emancipation Act freed her in 1828...
"Sojourner was indeed a legend in her time. Her work was not confined to anti-slavery and women's rights alone, but embraced all human rights that were being encroached upon or denied....The highlight of her life was when she was received by President Lincoln at the White House. She was well into her seventies before she retired."
"Sojourner Truth, born Isabella Baumfree in 1797, was a pilgrim of freedom and a fervent women's rights activist. She thundered against slavery from countless platforms. For nearly 40 years, she traveled across the country lecturing on the two major issues of the time: abolition and the rights of the "lesser sex". She was born in slavery...near Kingston, New York....Of how she came to be called Sojourner Truth she said, "I asked the Lord to give me a new name and He gave me Sojourner because I was to travel up and down the land showing the people sins and being a sign unto them. Afterwards, I told the Lord I wanted another name cause everybody else had two names; and He gave me Truth because I was to declare the truth unto the People"....the New York State Emancipation Act freed her in 1828...
"Sojourner was indeed a legend in her time. Her work was not confined to anti-slavery and women's rights alone, but embraced all human rights that were being encroached upon or denied....The highlight of her life was when she was received by President Lincoln at the White House. She was well into her seventies before she retired."
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
A SMALL BOY'S HAPPINESS
excerpt from A CHEROKEE FEAST OF DAYS, Daily Meditations, by Joyce Sequichie Hifler
Dedicated to Nancy and Jesse
Take away the plastic, the film, the artificial and give a small boy a stick to dig in the dirt, to whack the water at the pond's edge - and you have given him happiness. Show him deer tracks and the handprints of a raccoon, and you give him curiousity. Boost him up to the lowest limb of a tree and he can take the next one with vision. Show a small boy something other than cartoons, sing him songs that are not commercials, teach him gentleness with small animals and other children, and you have given him a life laced with love and kindness. The best part of sharing an hour with an exhuberant little boy is that he gives back so much, shining eyes, imagination, questions without end, and laughter at nothing and everything. It is an hour well spent and will be remembered. Hopefully, in later years, he will recall that it was spent with Grandma.
Dedicated to Nancy and Jesse
Take away the plastic, the film, the artificial and give a small boy a stick to dig in the dirt, to whack the water at the pond's edge - and you have given him happiness. Show him deer tracks and the handprints of a raccoon, and you give him curiousity. Boost him up to the lowest limb of a tree and he can take the next one with vision. Show a small boy something other than cartoons, sing him songs that are not commercials, teach him gentleness with small animals and other children, and you have given him a life laced with love and kindness. The best part of sharing an hour with an exhuberant little boy is that he gives back so much, shining eyes, imagination, questions without end, and laughter at nothing and everything. It is an hour well spent and will be remembered. Hopefully, in later years, he will recall that it was spent with Grandma.
Monday, November 22, 2010
I MUST OVERCOME - Part 4 - 1950s
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
Church - The church I grew up in was built in 1755 by my great,great,great Grandfather and his neighbors. It had a balcony in the back that was for the slaves. As I grew up that balcony was always empty and closed up. It has been said that Sunday mornings were the most segregated hours of the week in America. Can't believe Christ would be happy with that.
My faith was vital to my inner self and reflected in my poetry as well:
IN THE GARDEN
On the rock He knelt
His robes in folds of grace,
His hands, the cold rock felt
With despair, unwillingness.
A mask of thought, His face,
Which showed a problem great,
But trust and faith erased
The painful, awful weight.
Uplifted and exalted now
The weight no longer there,
Shining eyes and serene brow
Place peace on His face so fair.
On His feet and straight ahead
To the kiss that would betray,
He marched with lifted head
To bring the light our way. (A. Hunter 1955)
I volunteered to help teach a children's Bible class in the home of a black family on a back road several miles from our church. The home was small and crowded with the pot-bellied stove in the center of the living room. The children were quiet and curious. It jolted me when the children colored thier handouts of Chris with a black face.. I knew there was only one Chris and had assumed he was white.
Church - The church I grew up in was built in 1755 by my great,great,great Grandfather and his neighbors. It had a balcony in the back that was for the slaves. As I grew up that balcony was always empty and closed up. It has been said that Sunday mornings were the most segregated hours of the week in America. Can't believe Christ would be happy with that.
My faith was vital to my inner self and reflected in my poetry as well:
IN THE GARDEN
On the rock He knelt
His robes in folds of grace,
His hands, the cold rock felt
With despair, unwillingness.
A mask of thought, His face,
Which showed a problem great,
But trust and faith erased
The painful, awful weight.
Uplifted and exalted now
The weight no longer there,
Shining eyes and serene brow
Place peace on His face so fair.
On His feet and straight ahead
To the kiss that would betray,
He marched with lifted head
To bring the light our way. (A. Hunter 1955)
I volunteered to help teach a children's Bible class in the home of a black family on a back road several miles from our church. The home was small and crowded with the pot-bellied stove in the center of the living room. The children were quiet and curious. It jolted me when the children colored thier handouts of Chris with a black face.. I knew there was only one Chris and had assumed he was white.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
I MUST OVERCOME -Part 3 - 1950s
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
College - Nestled on the top of a North Carolina mountain, in buildings of natural stone and huge log beams, my freshman year at college was spent in an all-white, Protestant church sponsored, private junior college.
Football games, a crush on the star of the basketball team, cramming for exams, I felt as though I was getting acquainted with myself for the very first time. Who was I when not around my family? Could I be brave and friendly and popular instead of awkward, shy and studious? The future seemed challenging in a shiny, glow of hopes and dreams. Fantasies of loves and losses filled my thoughts as I tried to find expression in writing poetry:
FORGOTTEN?
I had forgotten your close-cropped russet hair,
Until a wren, brown, nested in our maple tree.
Forgotten was the ocean depth in your blue eyes
'Til a friend sent a shell from the sea.
Gone was the memory of your gentle touch
Until the wind blew a leaf against my cheek.
Lost was the vision of your straight, tall form
'Til I saw a slender pine last week.
Gone, I hoped, was the pain of losing you,
And knowing you would love someone but not I,
Until I limp and cold, was kissed by another
And, looking up, saw the pain of loss in his eye. (A.Hunter 1955)
June (a college dorm buddy) and I spent hours in my dorm room talking and wondering. We were souls on a quest. Segregation and integration? Colored and white? Separate but equal? Civil rights? What did it all mean? No one else at the "campus in the clouds" seemed to know or care. I did not know much but I cared a lot! In 1955 it was the lull before the storm. What would it be like to sit in a classroom with a dark-skinned person? Would they be vocal or quiet? Would we eat together? Would we be in the same dorms? I did not even ask myself the question "What if one of them asked me for a date?"
I wondered in my poetry:
HOLD MY HAND
His round, dark eyes
Were raised to mine.
His ebony forehead creased.
His childish hands
Were clasped in pain
As his life slowly ceased.
His burr black hair
Was a maroon now
From the gash in his head,
Again his eyes
Were raised to mine
In horrified dread.
He spoke to me,
In his soft child's voice
"Suh, hold my hand,
Is I go'n die?
My head hurts so,
Suh, hold my hand.
"Suh, I'se afraid,
It's gettin' dark
An I don' wanna die."
His wide, brown eyes
Were glazed with pain
And he began to cry.
"Suh, hold my hand.
I'm gettin' cold...
My hand," he said to me.
His hand then dropped.
His brown eyes closed
Never again to see.
I saw him there
Lying so still
His childish mouth now quiet.
Me, hold his hand?
Comfort his need?
Never, I am white. (A. Hunter 1955)
Do we only wonder and question when we are young? Can we become active in our later years or are we too scared of disturbing the status quo? Are we too aware and intimidated by the very real possibility of losing friends or family members if we take a stand or express a viewpoint that is uncomfortable? When do we put on our "cloak of maturity" and pretend we know how life works and should be and it is not by "disturbing the peace". That peace that comes from not having to dare or struggle or think in depth about the possibility that we may not know everything or that we may not really be the noble, courageous stuff of heroes or heroines.
College - Nestled on the top of a North Carolina mountain, in buildings of natural stone and huge log beams, my freshman year at college was spent in an all-white, Protestant church sponsored, private junior college.
Football games, a crush on the star of the basketball team, cramming for exams, I felt as though I was getting acquainted with myself for the very first time. Who was I when not around my family? Could I be brave and friendly and popular instead of awkward, shy and studious? The future seemed challenging in a shiny, glow of hopes and dreams. Fantasies of loves and losses filled my thoughts as I tried to find expression in writing poetry:
FORGOTTEN?
I had forgotten your close-cropped russet hair,
Until a wren, brown, nested in our maple tree.
Forgotten was the ocean depth in your blue eyes
'Til a friend sent a shell from the sea.
Gone was the memory of your gentle touch
Until the wind blew a leaf against my cheek.
Lost was the vision of your straight, tall form
'Til I saw a slender pine last week.
Gone, I hoped, was the pain of losing you,
And knowing you would love someone but not I,
Until I limp and cold, was kissed by another
And, looking up, saw the pain of loss in his eye. (A.Hunter 1955)
June (a college dorm buddy) and I spent hours in my dorm room talking and wondering. We were souls on a quest. Segregation and integration? Colored and white? Separate but equal? Civil rights? What did it all mean? No one else at the "campus in the clouds" seemed to know or care. I did not know much but I cared a lot! In 1955 it was the lull before the storm. What would it be like to sit in a classroom with a dark-skinned person? Would they be vocal or quiet? Would we eat together? Would we be in the same dorms? I did not even ask myself the question "What if one of them asked me for a date?"
I wondered in my poetry:
HOLD MY HAND
His round, dark eyes
Were raised to mine.
His ebony forehead creased.
His childish hands
Were clasped in pain
As his life slowly ceased.
His burr black hair
Was a maroon now
From the gash in his head,
Again his eyes
Were raised to mine
In horrified dread.
He spoke to me,
In his soft child's voice
"Suh, hold my hand,
Is I go'n die?
My head hurts so,
Suh, hold my hand.
"Suh, I'se afraid,
It's gettin' dark
An I don' wanna die."
His wide, brown eyes
Were glazed with pain
And he began to cry.
"Suh, hold my hand.
I'm gettin' cold...
My hand," he said to me.
His hand then dropped.
His brown eyes closed
Never again to see.
I saw him there
Lying so still
His childish mouth now quiet.
Me, hold his hand?
Comfort his need?
Never, I am white. (A. Hunter 1955)
Do we only wonder and question when we are young? Can we become active in our later years or are we too scared of disturbing the status quo? Are we too aware and intimidated by the very real possibility of losing friends or family members if we take a stand or express a viewpoint that is uncomfortable? When do we put on our "cloak of maturity" and pretend we know how life works and should be and it is not by "disturbing the peace". That peace that comes from not having to dare or struggle or think in depth about the possibility that we may not know everything or that we may not really be the noble, courageous stuff of heroes or heroines.
Friday, November 19, 2010
I MUST OVERCOME - Part 2 - 1950s
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD, (see Aug 31, 2010)
Home - Daddy was a policeman. He came home many times complaining about the drinking and rowdy behavior of the "niggers" he had to deal with daily, I always connected the misbehavior or roughness with alcohol, not skin color. Yet when he had a chore to do around the house and a dark-skinned person helped him he gave him a bottle of liquor instead of money as payment. Adults do not make any sense!
Africa! It looked so beautiful in the National Geographic - such rich colors, such vibrant hues! I wanted to go there. The only way I had ever heard of anyone being allowed to go there was as a missionary. I wanted to be a missionary. It seemed useless in America to be effective in helping relieve what seemed to be pain, hunger, and mistreatment. My father shouted - then cried. No! He seemed afraid for me. I ran from the room crying. He came to me and knelt beside my bed saying I could do anything I wanted to, just don't cry. I wondered if there was a Tarzan really in Africa? Was he the only one who spoke English? Was there a leader with dark skin? Did any of the dark skinned people wear anything but that wrap around their hips? Maybe I could help there. How shallow was my understanding of my own ignorance.
Yet I was silent.
Home - Daddy was a policeman. He came home many times complaining about the drinking and rowdy behavior of the "niggers" he had to deal with daily, I always connected the misbehavior or roughness with alcohol, not skin color. Yet when he had a chore to do around the house and a dark-skinned person helped him he gave him a bottle of liquor instead of money as payment. Adults do not make any sense!
Africa! It looked so beautiful in the National Geographic - such rich colors, such vibrant hues! I wanted to go there. The only way I had ever heard of anyone being allowed to go there was as a missionary. I wanted to be a missionary. It seemed useless in America to be effective in helping relieve what seemed to be pain, hunger, and mistreatment. My father shouted - then cried. No! He seemed afraid for me. I ran from the room crying. He came to me and knelt beside my bed saying I could do anything I wanted to, just don't cry. I wondered if there was a Tarzan really in Africa? Was he the only one who spoke English? Was there a leader with dark skin? Did any of the dark skinned people wear anything but that wrap around their hips? Maybe I could help there. How shallow was my understanding of my own ignorance.
Yet I was silent.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
I MUST OVERCOME - Part 1 - 1950s
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
High school - Oh how my heart ached as I read of the child weeping as he was snatched from his mother and put on the auction block! What madness is this? I could feel his terror and grief. Who would soothe his bruised face, kiss his tears away and sing him to sleep? History classes taught me the brutality of man. My history teacher liked my notebook of poetry and the drawings of the sad, little dark boy with the tear on his cheeek. She did not have many answers to my questions though.
The rest of the class seemed to focus on the slogan "the South shall rise again" and talked of getting even with the Yankees who had messed up their way of life. The confederate flag was held up with pride in some meetings. I was relieved to study that "we" had lost the civil war. I began to hate my "southernness".
One day when we drove from our modern brick school with the fancy gym and industrial arts building, past the white frame one room school house of the Negro community I stared in disbelief at the smallness of the building, yet I knew it held all the grades. I wondered if the school was crowded, did they have fun? Did we use the same books? Did they ride a bus to school? Or did they all live close enough to walk from the little houses crowded behind the school on the unpaved road?
High school - Oh how my heart ached as I read of the child weeping as he was snatched from his mother and put on the auction block! What madness is this? I could feel his terror and grief. Who would soothe his bruised face, kiss his tears away and sing him to sleep? History classes taught me the brutality of man. My history teacher liked my notebook of poetry and the drawings of the sad, little dark boy with the tear on his cheeek. She did not have many answers to my questions though.
The rest of the class seemed to focus on the slogan "the South shall rise again" and talked of getting even with the Yankees who had messed up their way of life. The confederate flag was held up with pride in some meetings. I was relieved to study that "we" had lost the civil war. I began to hate my "southernness".
One day when we drove from our modern brick school with the fancy gym and industrial arts building, past the white frame one room school house of the Negro community I stared in disbelief at the smallness of the building, yet I knew it held all the grades. I wondered if the school was crowded, did they have fun? Did we use the same books? Did they ride a bus to school? Or did they all live close enough to walk from the little houses crowded behind the school on the unpaved road?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
AWARENESS OF MY MORTALITY
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY(see Aug 31, 2010)
After a serious health crisis in 2003 with a prognosis of potentially a short life span I was totally jolted into an awareness of my mortality and that the rest of my life needed to be taken very seriously. There were things I wanted to do and learn and explore. Time to see what and who I was all about. I sat in my livingroom.... I have always drawn and pulled a pad in front of me and drew what I could see of myself, my lap, my knees, my cup of coffee and then asked myself "what do you really want to see in front of you?" I immediately drew a mountain scene with a river flowing in front of it and birds, butterflies and squirrels jumping around. HMMMM?
I planned a vacation to the mountains of North Carolina to visit the Cherokee Reservation. There was a vague pull to it in the back of my mind, not a full blown plan for the future.
When I arrived on the reservation in the summer of 2003 I stopped at the Bureau of Indian Affairs and asked about living on the reservation. She asked me if I was Cherokee, I said "not enough to enroll but very much a part of me". She said I could rent not own and sent me to another lady who sent me to a man who could possibly help....He very graciously invited me to sit in his office and tell him what I wanted. He asked pertinent questions of my income etc and then said "yes, would you like to see an open apartment?" This was within the first half hour of coming on to the reservation! He took me to an apartment, showed me the balcony. I saw what was in my drawing! A mountain scene with a river with birds, butterflies and squirrels right outside the window....A feeling of coming home settled inside....The next spring I retired and moved to Cherokee.
After a serious health crisis in 2003 with a prognosis of potentially a short life span I was totally jolted into an awareness of my mortality and that the rest of my life needed to be taken very seriously. There were things I wanted to do and learn and explore. Time to see what and who I was all about. I sat in my livingroom.... I have always drawn and pulled a pad in front of me and drew what I could see of myself, my lap, my knees, my cup of coffee and then asked myself "what do you really want to see in front of you?" I immediately drew a mountain scene with a river flowing in front of it and birds, butterflies and squirrels jumping around. HMMMM?
I planned a vacation to the mountains of North Carolina to visit the Cherokee Reservation. There was a vague pull to it in the back of my mind, not a full blown plan for the future.
When I arrived on the reservation in the summer of 2003 I stopped at the Bureau of Indian Affairs and asked about living on the reservation. She asked me if I was Cherokee, I said "not enough to enroll but very much a part of me". She said I could rent not own and sent me to another lady who sent me to a man who could possibly help....He very graciously invited me to sit in his office and tell him what I wanted. He asked pertinent questions of my income etc and then said "yes, would you like to see an open apartment?" This was within the first half hour of coming on to the reservation! He took me to an apartment, showed me the balcony. I saw what was in my drawing! A mountain scene with a river with birds, butterflies and squirrels right outside the window....A feeling of coming home settled inside....The next spring I retired and moved to Cherokee.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
FIRST INKLINGS OF INDIAN
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug 31, 2010)
In 1966 I dated a Lumbee Indian and when he saw a picture of my daddy he said he looked just like his uncle. He believed Daddy was part Indian.
At a powwow in 1993 as my daughters and I were walking around the different small craft booths, I saw two objects that startled me because I had seen something similar in my Daddy's tools and at my grandmother's house. The first was a set of handmade knives exactly like some that he used all the time. The second was a handmade chair like the chairs I saw at my grandmother's house on the front porch. I remarked to the girls about being surprised and intrigued by this.
I tried to attend as many powwows as I could and began reading as much as I could about Indians. I was drawn to the culture in a very internal way. Everything I read resonated with my memories of my daddy. Though he was a very tall man (6'5") and had black hair and black eyes his strength seemed to come from a centeredness within. He was quiet yet portrayed a commanding sureness of who he was. I felt very nurtured and protected by him in an unassuming way. He also had a goofy sense of humor. He had a strong sense of responsibility toward his family. He had a profound love of nature and animals.
One Sunday morning I was watching CBC Good Morning, a magazine type television program. On this program they had a segment on DNA testing, one of the types was for racial makeup. I sent for the test packet, sent if off and the results came back that I did indeed have Indian ancestry. I was so moved I cried.
In 1966 I dated a Lumbee Indian and when he saw a picture of my daddy he said he looked just like his uncle. He believed Daddy was part Indian.
At a powwow in 1993 as my daughters and I were walking around the different small craft booths, I saw two objects that startled me because I had seen something similar in my Daddy's tools and at my grandmother's house. The first was a set of handmade knives exactly like some that he used all the time. The second was a handmade chair like the chairs I saw at my grandmother's house on the front porch. I remarked to the girls about being surprised and intrigued by this.
I tried to attend as many powwows as I could and began reading as much as I could about Indians. I was drawn to the culture in a very internal way. Everything I read resonated with my memories of my daddy. Though he was a very tall man (6'5") and had black hair and black eyes his strength seemed to come from a centeredness within. He was quiet yet portrayed a commanding sureness of who he was. I felt very nurtured and protected by him in an unassuming way. He also had a goofy sense of humor. He had a strong sense of responsibility toward his family. He had a profound love of nature and animals.
One Sunday morning I was watching CBC Good Morning, a magazine type television program. On this program they had a segment on DNA testing, one of the types was for racial makeup. I sent for the test packet, sent if off and the results came back that I did indeed have Indian ancestry. I was so moved I cried.
Friday, November 12, 2010
BIRTH OF BAHA'U'LLAH
excerpt from CALL TO REMEMBRANCE, p. 5
"There was born child in ancient and noble family of Nur, ...That Child was Baha'u'llah. At the hour of dawn,...the world unaware of its significance, withnessed the birth of Him who was destined to confer upon it such incalculable blessings."
excerpt from Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 320
"Hear Me, ye mortal birds! In the Rose Garden of changeless splendor a Flower hath begun to bloom, compared to which every other flower is but a thorn, and before the brightness of Whose glory the very essence of beauty must pale and wither. Arise, therefore, and, with the whole enthusiasm of your hearts, with all the eagerness of your souls, the full fervor of your will, and the concentrated efforts of your entire being, strive to attain the paradise of His presence, and endeavor to inhale the fragrance of the incorruptible Flower, to breathe the sweet savors of holiness, and to obtain a portion of this perfume of celestial glory. Whoso followeth this counsel will break his chains asunder, will taste the abandonment of enraptured love, will attain unto his heart's desire, and will surrender his soul into the hands of his Beloved. Bursting through his cage, he will, even as the bird of the spirit, wing his flight to his holy and everlasting nest....
Happy is he that turneth thereunto; well is it with him that hath attained, and gazed on the light of so wondrous a countenance."
(Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 320)
"There was born child in ancient and noble family of Nur, ...That Child was Baha'u'llah. At the hour of dawn,...the world unaware of its significance, withnessed the birth of Him who was destined to confer upon it such incalculable blessings."
excerpt from Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 320
"Hear Me, ye mortal birds! In the Rose Garden of changeless splendor a Flower hath begun to bloom, compared to which every other flower is but a thorn, and before the brightness of Whose glory the very essence of beauty must pale and wither. Arise, therefore, and, with the whole enthusiasm of your hearts, with all the eagerness of your souls, the full fervor of your will, and the concentrated efforts of your entire being, strive to attain the paradise of His presence, and endeavor to inhale the fragrance of the incorruptible Flower, to breathe the sweet savors of holiness, and to obtain a portion of this perfume of celestial glory. Whoso followeth this counsel will break his chains asunder, will taste the abandonment of enraptured love, will attain unto his heart's desire, and will surrender his soul into the hands of his Beloved. Bursting through his cage, he will, even as the bird of the spirit, wing his flight to his holy and everlasting nest....
Happy is he that turneth thereunto; well is it with him that hath attained, and gazed on the light of so wondrous a countenance."
(Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 320)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
WHO AM I?
written by dear friend, Johnny Henderson, June 8, 1982
It has been said that my history began in Africa,
Where I lived as a savage,
Wild, fierce, uncultivated,
Who am I?
Some said that I came to America by ships, in chains,
Because the people of America needed slaves.
I was chosen to be one, to work in their fields and to perform the operations of a slave,
Who am I?
Years later, God spoke to someone's heart and inspired them to do away with slavery,
They wanted to prove that everyone was equal,
Have they proven it?
Tell me! Who am I?
This involved my forefathers yet I still feel the effects of it in my life, I remember times when I couldn't sit beside you and eat, and if I rode the bus, I had to sit in the back, If I walked down the street and wanted to speak to you, you turned the other way.
Am I still a savage?
If not, then, Who am I?
I was born in America,
At present, I know nothing of slavery except what I've read,
I'm cultivated, educated, have a good job.
I live the same as all other Americans yet I don't feel that I'm
treated equal in every way.
When I pass you on the street, you still turn your head.
I can now sit anywhere I want on the bus but you don't seem to want
to sit beside me.
Would you please tell me, Who am I?
Things have changed, things are better,
Though they are, you still don't accept me as your equal.
Why? I don't understand!
God is the father of all.
He's your father and mine, so why are we not equal?
Inward we're the same, outward my hair is different, the color of my eyes, the color of my skin, and the shape of my nose, otherwise even outwardly we're the same.
Can you please, please, please tell me, who am I?
Maybe you can't!
Then, let me tell you who I am.
I'm God's child just like you, a human being, I'm your brother!
It has been said that my history began in Africa,
Where I lived as a savage,
Wild, fierce, uncultivated,
Who am I?
Some said that I came to America by ships, in chains,
Because the people of America needed slaves.
I was chosen to be one, to work in their fields and to perform the operations of a slave,
Who am I?
Years later, God spoke to someone's heart and inspired them to do away with slavery,
They wanted to prove that everyone was equal,
Have they proven it?
Tell me! Who am I?
This involved my forefathers yet I still feel the effects of it in my life, I remember times when I couldn't sit beside you and eat, and if I rode the bus, I had to sit in the back, If I walked down the street and wanted to speak to you, you turned the other way.
Am I still a savage?
If not, then, Who am I?
I was born in America,
At present, I know nothing of slavery except what I've read,
I'm cultivated, educated, have a good job.
I live the same as all other Americans yet I don't feel that I'm
treated equal in every way.
When I pass you on the street, you still turn your head.
I can now sit anywhere I want on the bus but you don't seem to want
to sit beside me.
Would you please tell me, Who am I?
Things have changed, things are better,
Though they are, you still don't accept me as your equal.
Why? I don't understand!
God is the father of all.
He's your father and mine, so why are we not equal?
Inward we're the same, outward my hair is different, the color of my eyes, the color of my skin, and the shape of my nose, otherwise even outwardly we're the same.
Can you please, please, please tell me, who am I?
Maybe you can't!
Then, let me tell you who I am.
I'm God's child just like you, a human being, I'm your brother!
HEALING DRUMS
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug 31, 2010)
I started drumming classes once a week in February, 2007, under the direction of Beverly Griffin who had been trained in therapeutic drumming. The following principles were taught:
Advantages of recreational group drumming for one hour-
-Increased natural immunity by boosting activity of killer t cells.
-helps regulate neurotransmitters-stress hormones.
-using small muscles in arms and burns calories.
-decreases frequency and severity of asthma attacks.
-studies done with nursing students and health care staff prove it reduces staff burnout, enhances mood, decreases tension and anxiety, depression and hostility.
-most feel an increased sense of connection to the drumming circle.
-it forms community.
One of the songs we chanted while drumming was very meaningful:
I am woman.
I am spirit.
I am infinite in my soul.
I have no beginning.
I have no end.
All this I know.
We started out with simple beats and practiced. Some who were more experienced really entertained us with extemporaneous beating. I felt a rhythm surging through the wooden floor as we really got into it. It gave me a sense of inner connection to some feeling of vitality and energy.
Plus it was just plain fun!
-
I started drumming classes once a week in February, 2007, under the direction of Beverly Griffin who had been trained in therapeutic drumming. The following principles were taught:
Advantages of recreational group drumming for one hour-
-Increased natural immunity by boosting activity of killer t cells.
-helps regulate neurotransmitters-stress hormones.
-using small muscles in arms and burns calories.
-decreases frequency and severity of asthma attacks.
-studies done with nursing students and health care staff prove it reduces staff burnout, enhances mood, decreases tension and anxiety, depression and hostility.
-most feel an increased sense of connection to the drumming circle.
-it forms community.
One of the songs we chanted while drumming was very meaningful:
I am woman.
I am spirit.
I am infinite in my soul.
I have no beginning.
I have no end.
All this I know.
We started out with simple beats and practiced. Some who were more experienced really entertained us with extemporaneous beating. I felt a rhythm surging through the wooden floor as we really got into it. It gave me a sense of inner connection to some feeling of vitality and energy.
Plus it was just plain fun!
-
Monday, November 8, 2010
UNENDING QUEST-WAYS TO ONENESS
excerpt from @RACE UNITY. COM (see Aug 31, 2010)
In response to the question "what can I do?" 11-24-97
We can -
1. have an unending quest for filling in the gaps of our educational system and learn the heroes and heroines, the martyrs and saints, the ordinary hard-working people, the inventors, discoverers, leaders, artists of the non-caucasian, non-Europes (it is not in our history books).
2. learn the history of slavery, the indoctrination of a whole country into the erroneouse belief that there is justification treating a fellow human being with contempt, like a farm animal, like an object without feelings, without the basic needs of a family - safety, a right to practice one's religious beliefs, to learn, to educate oneself or have the opportunity to get educated.
3. learn the history of the media and it's distortion of faces, body shapes, motives and capabilities of those who did not happen to be white..
4. learn that the look that is different comes from adaptation to climate for survival centuries ago and has nothing whatsoever to do with values or capabilities of being human.
5. play with, learn with, live with, love with, mate with, bear children with, pray with, cry with, laugh with consciously, deliberately, and ceaselessly those who look different from you.
6. pray to have the "poison in the cookies" (subtle contamination as a child) fed to us as children removed from our hearts.
7. never let a joke that demeans another go by, without a challenge.
8. always make the play group that you put your children in diverse so that that is normal and a one color group is abnormal.
9. listen to the music and stories of as many diverse ethnic groups as you possibly can with thoughtfulness and appreciation.
10. make your housing choice illustrate and practice that all are one, that good neighbors come in all colors.
11. be genuine in your friendships and humble in your attitudes.
12. basically to look into each other's eyes and see the heart.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
In response to the question "what can I do?" 11-24-97
We can -
1. have an unending quest for filling in the gaps of our educational system and learn the heroes and heroines, the martyrs and saints, the ordinary hard-working people, the inventors, discoverers, leaders, artists of the non-caucasian, non-Europes (it is not in our history books).
2. learn the history of slavery, the indoctrination of a whole country into the erroneouse belief that there is justification treating a fellow human being with contempt, like a farm animal, like an object without feelings, without the basic needs of a family - safety, a right to practice one's religious beliefs, to learn, to educate oneself or have the opportunity to get educated.
3. learn the history of the media and it's distortion of faces, body shapes, motives and capabilities of those who did not happen to be white..
4. learn that the look that is different comes from adaptation to climate for survival centuries ago and has nothing whatsoever to do with values or capabilities of being human.
5. play with, learn with, live with, love with, mate with, bear children with, pray with, cry with, laugh with consciously, deliberately, and ceaselessly those who look different from you.
6. pray to have the "poison in the cookies" (subtle contamination as a child) fed to us as children removed from our hearts.
7. never let a joke that demeans another go by, without a challenge.
8. always make the play group that you put your children in diverse so that that is normal and a one color group is abnormal.
9. listen to the music and stories of as many diverse ethnic groups as you possibly can with thoughtfulness and appreciation.
10. make your housing choice illustrate and practice that all are one, that good neighbors come in all colors.
11. be genuine in your friendships and humble in your attitudes.
12. basically to look into each other's eyes and see the heart.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
Sunday, November 7, 2010
RUHIYYIH KHANUM
excerpt from TRINIDAD REMEMBRANCES (see Aug 31, 2010)
Ruhiyyih Khanum, wife of the Guardian of the Baha'i Faith, came to Trinidad for a touring and teaching trip throughout the country. I was blessed with the opportunity to be present on this trip. She was a fascinating, enriching, entertaining lady, very loving but firm as she made choices about her agenda.
We were in a small village and she was speaking to a group of people in a concrete building with open windows. A cow stuck it's head through the window and mooed while Khanum was talking. Khanum stopped, turned to the window and said to the cow," I don't remember inviting you." Then went on with her talk. In this talk she used some visual aides. She had a simple lamp and some lovely scarves. She turned on the lamp to show the light and explained that it represented the light of a new revelation from God. Then she said that someone decided that it needed to have a little more color and fancy decorations (manmade additions to the religion) so she laid one of the scarves on the lamp. She made more efforts to "improve" or "market" and put a scarf on the lamp each time. Before long the light was no longer able to shine through the scarves. The light was basically gone. She grabbed the scarves off and the light was visible again. She said this is what happened each time a new religion came from God. The light was bright again.
Ruhiyyih Khanum, wife of the Guardian of the Baha'i Faith, came to Trinidad for a touring and teaching trip throughout the country. I was blessed with the opportunity to be present on this trip. She was a fascinating, enriching, entertaining lady, very loving but firm as she made choices about her agenda.
We were in a small village and she was speaking to a group of people in a concrete building with open windows. A cow stuck it's head through the window and mooed while Khanum was talking. Khanum stopped, turned to the window and said to the cow," I don't remember inviting you." Then went on with her talk. In this talk she used some visual aides. She had a simple lamp and some lovely scarves. She turned on the lamp to show the light and explained that it represented the light of a new revelation from God. Then she said that someone decided that it needed to have a little more color and fancy decorations (manmade additions to the religion) so she laid one of the scarves on the lamp. She made more efforts to "improve" or "market" and put a scarf on the lamp each time. Before long the light was no longer able to shine through the scarves. The light was basically gone. She grabbed the scarves off and the light was visible again. She said this is what happened each time a new religion came from God. The light was bright again.
Friday, November 5, 2010
GENTLENESS
excerpt from A CHEROKEE FEAST OF DAYS, DAILY MEDITATIONS, by Joyce Sequichie Hifler
Gentleness has amazing strength. Where some would dominate, others are sweet and compassionate and this gives us hope. A gentle person is cool, clear water on a hot day - a refreshing change from hostile attitudes. How many times we have met someone we wanted to admire but couldn't . They would not trust us to see beyond their protective walls. Caring and friendship was sorely needed but bitterly ignored. To understand these things makes us gentle. It gives us the touch we need with every age. Young and old yearn to hear a voice that tells them they are so important, so loved, that nothing could make us turn from them. A gentle word is warm sunshine to every heart, a touch that is never forgotten.
Gentleness has amazing strength. Where some would dominate, others are sweet and compassionate and this gives us hope. A gentle person is cool, clear water on a hot day - a refreshing change from hostile attitudes. How many times we have met someone we wanted to admire but couldn't . They would not trust us to see beyond their protective walls. Caring and friendship was sorely needed but bitterly ignored. To understand these things makes us gentle. It gives us the touch we need with every age. Young and old yearn to hear a voice that tells them they are so important, so loved, that nothing could make us turn from them. A gentle word is warm sunshine to every heart, a touch that is never forgotten.
Monday, November 1, 2010
UN-SANITIZING AMERICAN HISTORY
excerpt from POST TRAUMATIC SLAVE SYNDROME, by Dr Joy DeGruy Leary
"Studying history in American schools we learn about the excesses of the Roman empire, the viciousness of Stalin's Soviet Union ..., the brutality of the Nazis...the barbarity of the Mongols....and the Huns...the Japanese during WWII... the Viet Cong..., Milosevic's Serbia, Hussein's Iraq, the Taliban, and Osama Bin Laden, to name but a few.
...But missing from this list is one society that is responsible for some of the most gruesome crimes against humanity in history- The United States of America.....With respect to the genocide of Native Americans, and the enslavement and later oppression of those of African descent, the history we in this land learn has been greatly sanitized....How do I make real the pain and suffering of our ancestors?
...Have you ever had a really severe migraine headache?...flu...cancer...car acident... where the pain was so intense and persistent, that all you wanted was medication to knock yourself out?...It's all you think about...
Now imagine being in a constant state of hunger, pain, thirst. When you get past your physical state you are greeted by feelings of fear, anger, grief and hopelessness.
Imagine giving up your dignity, your identity, your will, your soul to relieve your seemingly endless suffering. What effects must such compromises have on a human being? It is no wonder the transatlantic slave trade, slavery, and the times that followed are usually given such short shift in the recounting of our history. This is hard stuff. Far too many people say, "Of course the middle passage was bad. Of course slavery was bad. Of course Jim Crow and lynching was bad. Now let's move on." Rarely are people willing to look at what "bad" really was.
It is important...that you try to feel what they might have gone through. We need to do this in order to learn and appreciate our history...to get a stronger sense about the forces that have shaped our community...so we can understand the strength our people had in order to survive and at times even thrive in some of the harshest conditions...strength that has been passed down to us."
"Studying history in American schools we learn about the excesses of the Roman empire, the viciousness of Stalin's Soviet Union ..., the brutality of the Nazis...the barbarity of the Mongols....and the Huns...the Japanese during WWII... the Viet Cong..., Milosevic's Serbia, Hussein's Iraq, the Taliban, and Osama Bin Laden, to name but a few.
...But missing from this list is one society that is responsible for some of the most gruesome crimes against humanity in history- The United States of America.....With respect to the genocide of Native Americans, and the enslavement and later oppression of those of African descent, the history we in this land learn has been greatly sanitized....How do I make real the pain and suffering of our ancestors?
...Have you ever had a really severe migraine headache?...flu...cancer...car acident... where the pain was so intense and persistent, that all you wanted was medication to knock yourself out?...It's all you think about...
Now imagine being in a constant state of hunger, pain, thirst. When you get past your physical state you are greeted by feelings of fear, anger, grief and hopelessness.
Imagine giving up your dignity, your identity, your will, your soul to relieve your seemingly endless suffering. What effects must such compromises have on a human being? It is no wonder the transatlantic slave trade, slavery, and the times that followed are usually given such short shift in the recounting of our history. This is hard stuff. Far too many people say, "Of course the middle passage was bad. Of course slavery was bad. Of course Jim Crow and lynching was bad. Now let's move on." Rarely are people willing to look at what "bad" really was.
It is important...that you try to feel what they might have gone through. We need to do this in order to learn and appreciate our history...to get a stronger sense about the forces that have shaped our community...so we can understand the strength our people had in order to survive and at times even thrive in some of the harshest conditions...strength that has been passed down to us."
Friday, October 29, 2010
TREE OF HOPE
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug 31, 2010)
January 1, 2005 - Cherokee second annual Wellness project Called "Tree of Hope". This was held at what is called Unity Field near the tree that was said children from the boarding schools could come (infrequently) to get a hug from their parents. This tree was called the "Crying Tree" until it was renamed the "Tree of Hope". Last year they had celebrated obstacles they had overcome, this year celebrating the vision for the New Year. Paper ornaments were available for attendees to place their hope for the coming year and attach it to the tree branches. There were prayers, drumming and singing followed by a celebration meal at the Fairgrounds mulit-purpose building. I was continually amazed and inspired by the striving for genuine wellness in the community, not just survival, but reaching for the best in each other and supporting each other.
January 1, 2005 - Cherokee second annual Wellness project Called "Tree of Hope". This was held at what is called Unity Field near the tree that was said children from the boarding schools could come (infrequently) to get a hug from their parents. This tree was called the "Crying Tree" until it was renamed the "Tree of Hope". Last year they had celebrated obstacles they had overcome, this year celebrating the vision for the New Year. Paper ornaments were available for attendees to place their hope for the coming year and attach it to the tree branches. There were prayers, drumming and singing followed by a celebration meal at the Fairgrounds mulit-purpose building. I was continually amazed and inspired by the striving for genuine wellness in the community, not just survival, but reaching for the best in each other and supporting each other.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
PEACE - IT'S TIME!
excerpt from ANNE'S WRITINGS (see Aug 31, 2010) In response to youth being arrested in a demonstration in California
Before my time ...
Clans fighting with clubs and spears over meat and woman.
Vikings fighting over sea rights and land.
Colonizing of foreign lands by violence and fierce possession, by theft and bloodshed.
Pushing back of frontiers by lies, promises, rape, attempted annihilation of brown skinned warriors, bloodshed for land and natural resources.
Since my time...
Maniacs brainwashing and promising a super race, millions perishing in gas ovens, weapons of destruction of cities, villages, soldiers to the rescue bringing death, destruction, temporary freedom.
Islands and peninsulas split in two, brother against brother, Korea and Vietnam fought over like a bone by angry dogs, leaving destruction and pain behind, taking pain and human destruction home from the wars.
Middle east with black gold tempting and luring, excuses for aggression, destruction, posturing in the name of honor while raping the minds and hearts of young men who need to be home, building nests, nurturing children, modeling a better man.
No one is listening, no one is hearing the cries of babies, the mothers, the youth who want to dream.
It is time for us, the women, the young, the valiant, to prepare ourselves, strengthen ourselves, teach peace, live peace, learn strategy and negotiation, be ready.
Stay free and work diligently.
Keep your courage and intelligence available and active to form a peaceful society, to teach your children peace.
Wage peace by avalances of letters, calls, emails, visits, lobbying, elections, education, modeling conflict resolution by negotiation, heart listening, empathy, sympathy.
Demand it be so!
Before my time ...
Clans fighting with clubs and spears over meat and woman.
Vikings fighting over sea rights and land.
Colonizing of foreign lands by violence and fierce possession, by theft and bloodshed.
Pushing back of frontiers by lies, promises, rape, attempted annihilation of brown skinned warriors, bloodshed for land and natural resources.
Since my time...
Maniacs brainwashing and promising a super race, millions perishing in gas ovens, weapons of destruction of cities, villages, soldiers to the rescue bringing death, destruction, temporary freedom.
Islands and peninsulas split in two, brother against brother, Korea and Vietnam fought over like a bone by angry dogs, leaving destruction and pain behind, taking pain and human destruction home from the wars.
Middle east with black gold tempting and luring, excuses for aggression, destruction, posturing in the name of honor while raping the minds and hearts of young men who need to be home, building nests, nurturing children, modeling a better man.
No one is listening, no one is hearing the cries of babies, the mothers, the youth who want to dream.
It is time for us, the women, the young, the valiant, to prepare ourselves, strengthen ourselves, teach peace, live peace, learn strategy and negotiation, be ready.
Stay free and work diligently.
Keep your courage and intelligence available and active to form a peaceful society, to teach your children peace.
Wage peace by avalances of letters, calls, emails, visits, lobbying, elections, education, modeling conflict resolution by negotiation, heart listening, empathy, sympathy.
Demand it be so!
Sunday, October 24, 2010
IRISH COME TO CHEROKEE
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug 31, 2010) See Sep 12, 2010 for visit of Cherokee to Ireland in post called SPIRITUAL JOURNEY OF HEALING
January 24, 2005 - Historical visit to the American Indians (Cherokee) by Lord Alderdice and a delegation of 14 Irish men and women on a tour of goodwill and bridge-building between the people of Ireland and the American Indian of the southeast.
Having been visited last year by a contingent of Native American Indian people led by Lynda Prince and Peregini International's Daphne Swilling, Lord Aldedice and many other political, social and spiritual leaders were deeply impacted by the exchange of goodwill and cultural sharing from the delegation of Indian people, which included drumming, dance, regalia and gifting. Lord Alderdice has studied the history of the American Indian peoples for some time and is a distant relation to Andrew Jackson. When asked if he would be open to coming to America on a goodwill tour for bridge-building relationships with the Indian peoples, he enthusiastically accepted the invitation.... He offered his heart to Indian people as one who desires new bridges of mutual respect, honor and action for healing and renewal. His message was received with great enthusiasm and encouragement from all assemblies, after which Irish and Indian cultural sharing was exchanged with dance, music and drumming from both cultures.
January 24, 2005 - Historical visit to the American Indians (Cherokee) by Lord Alderdice and a delegation of 14 Irish men and women on a tour of goodwill and bridge-building between the people of Ireland and the American Indian of the southeast.
Having been visited last year by a contingent of Native American Indian people led by Lynda Prince and Peregini International's Daphne Swilling, Lord Aldedice and many other political, social and spiritual leaders were deeply impacted by the exchange of goodwill and cultural sharing from the delegation of Indian people, which included drumming, dance, regalia and gifting. Lord Alderdice has studied the history of the American Indian peoples for some time and is a distant relation to Andrew Jackson. When asked if he would be open to coming to America on a goodwill tour for bridge-building relationships with the Indian peoples, he enthusiastically accepted the invitation.... He offered his heart to Indian people as one who desires new bridges of mutual respect, honor and action for healing and renewal. His message was received with great enthusiasm and encouragement from all assemblies, after which Irish and Indian cultural sharing was exchanged with dance, music and drumming from both cultures.
Friday, October 22, 2010
NOBILITY
excerpt from ANNE'S WRITINGS (see Aug 31, 2010)
Shades of brown, and black, and tan,
Gentleness and strength in this man.
Endurance and control, no loss of soul,
Seeing the sunrise instead of the gold.
Hearing the music with the soul,
God grant us this - to never part.
8-10-96
Shades of brown, and black, and tan,
Gentleness and strength in this man.
Endurance and control, no loss of soul,
Seeing the sunrise instead of the gold.
Hearing the music with the soul,
God grant us this - to never part.
8-10-96
Thursday, October 21, 2010
EDITORIAL RESPONSE
My response in the local newspaper in Gainesville, Fl. after a racially charged event in 1995.....
Letter to Voice of the People
This past week's events have made this country begin to wake up to the effects of a lackadaisical attitude toward race relations. I am in a workshop on the healing of racism. We are only at the beginning of understanding the complexities of healing. I feel so inadequate for the job. We will truly have to rely on God to guide us. My own thoughts and feelings are shifting their focus. I can feel my inner self evolving and it is confusing and exhilarating at the same time. I think I see only parts of the picture, I know and feel the history of slavery, oppression, discrimination - both overt and subtle. I've read a lot, cried a lot, despaired a lot, tried a lot but I'm still in infancy in being articulate and effective. I feel extremes. I want to shake people and get in their face, also want to hold and comfort. There is such emotion in me every time I get involved that it is a struggle to be sensible. Sometimes I get discouraged and lonely and want to say "what the heck, nobody else cares." That's not true but feel it sometimes.
I want to say to a white - learn the story, feel the pain, unlearn the stereotypes, unlearn the negative responses, commit to learning positive responses, see the soul, see the individual and the struggle to make it each day, see the family we share, help not to warp another generation, correct the education you gave your children, see and accept the heroes and heroines with darker skin, see diversity and cherish it, be enriched by it.
To the black, I want to say - I am sorry for the conscious and unconscious pain I and those with lighter skin like mine have caused you. Forgive me if you can but know I am trying to evolve into a loving sister who is sensitive and appreciative and humble. Help me by being honest, hopefully in a loving way, but honest nevertheless. Tell me when I err or hurt or am ignorant. Reach inside for that nobility that God gave you and wear it proudly. Excel in spite of adversity. Share with me the gifts of your spiritual nature, your endurance and stamina, your wisdom and graciousness during tests, your nurturing of the qualities of the heart and soul. Your nobility can teach me nobility. Your pain can teach me humility. Your persistent caring can teach me to grow up and become fully human and a member of the same human family.
Letter to Voice of the People
This past week's events have made this country begin to wake up to the effects of a lackadaisical attitude toward race relations. I am in a workshop on the healing of racism. We are only at the beginning of understanding the complexities of healing. I feel so inadequate for the job. We will truly have to rely on God to guide us. My own thoughts and feelings are shifting their focus. I can feel my inner self evolving and it is confusing and exhilarating at the same time. I think I see only parts of the picture, I know and feel the history of slavery, oppression, discrimination - both overt and subtle. I've read a lot, cried a lot, despaired a lot, tried a lot but I'm still in infancy in being articulate and effective. I feel extremes. I want to shake people and get in their face, also want to hold and comfort. There is such emotion in me every time I get involved that it is a struggle to be sensible. Sometimes I get discouraged and lonely and want to say "what the heck, nobody else cares." That's not true but feel it sometimes.
I want to say to a white - learn the story, feel the pain, unlearn the stereotypes, unlearn the negative responses, commit to learning positive responses, see the soul, see the individual and the struggle to make it each day, see the family we share, help not to warp another generation, correct the education you gave your children, see and accept the heroes and heroines with darker skin, see diversity and cherish it, be enriched by it.
To the black, I want to say - I am sorry for the conscious and unconscious pain I and those with lighter skin like mine have caused you. Forgive me if you can but know I am trying to evolve into a loving sister who is sensitive and appreciative and humble. Help me by being honest, hopefully in a loving way, but honest nevertheless. Tell me when I err or hurt or am ignorant. Reach inside for that nobility that God gave you and wear it proudly. Excel in spite of adversity. Share with me the gifts of your spiritual nature, your endurance and stamina, your wisdom and graciousness during tests, your nurturing of the qualities of the heart and soul. Your nobility can teach me nobility. Your pain can teach me humility. Your persistent caring can teach me to grow up and become fully human and a member of the same human family.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
INDIAN HUMOR
excerpts from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug 31, 2010)
Workshop on laughter as a healing medicine.
Navaho custom - Baby's first laugh is about 4 or 5 months. They have a celebration to honor the first laugh.
What do you call one Cherokee who is shorter than the other? Not even
Stop at intersection - Where does this road go? Road stops, you go.
Girlfriend Navaho - sugar
Hopi - Sweet and Low
Apache - Equal
New garlic diet - You don't lose weight but you look thinner from a distance.
I'm shy! Okay? Get over it, okay?
Golda Meir - Don't look so humble, you are not that great.
God led us in the desert for 40 years and stopped us in the only place without oil.
Workshop on laughter as a healing medicine.
Navaho custom - Baby's first laugh is about 4 or 5 months. They have a celebration to honor the first laugh.
What do you call one Cherokee who is shorter than the other? Not even
Stop at intersection - Where does this road go? Road stops, you go.
Girlfriend Navaho - sugar
Hopi - Sweet and Low
Apache - Equal
New garlic diet - You don't lose weight but you look thinner from a distance.
I'm shy! Okay? Get over it, okay?
Golda Meir - Don't look so humble, you are not that great.
God led us in the desert for 40 years and stopped us in the only place without oil.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
APARTMENT CHALLENGES
excerpts from TRINIDAD, WEST INDIES (see Aug 31,2010)
My apartment in Bamboo Village, Trinidad, was on the second floor. There were two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen. The shower was on the back porch. The first day I moved in I had to remove a hornet's nest from the ceiling of the shower. I also had to wash down the walls and floors because black soot had drifted in from the burning of sugar cane in the fields nearby. Bats swooped down from a hole in the ceiling of the bedrooms and traumatized me on a regular basis. The legs of the wooden cabinets, which held the food, were placed in cans of gasoline to keep ants from getting in the food. Lizards ran up the walls of the kitchen on a regular basis. Every morning we could hear a chant of "shrimp for 50 cents" outside and since I loved shrimp we ate it often. I had a banana tree and a mango tree in the back yard so fresh fruit was always available There were no screens on the windows so insects visited at their leisure. One night I recieved 50 mosquito bites from my wrist to my elbow. I learned that there was a coil you could burn to keep mosqitoes down to some degree. BUT THE PEOPLE WERE LOVELY!
My apartment in Bamboo Village, Trinidad, was on the second floor. There were two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen. The shower was on the back porch. The first day I moved in I had to remove a hornet's nest from the ceiling of the shower. I also had to wash down the walls and floors because black soot had drifted in from the burning of sugar cane in the fields nearby. Bats swooped down from a hole in the ceiling of the bedrooms and traumatized me on a regular basis. The legs of the wooden cabinets, which held the food, were placed in cans of gasoline to keep ants from getting in the food. Lizards ran up the walls of the kitchen on a regular basis. Every morning we could hear a chant of "shrimp for 50 cents" outside and since I loved shrimp we ate it often. I had a banana tree and a mango tree in the back yard so fresh fruit was always available There were no screens on the windows so insects visited at their leisure. One night I recieved 50 mosquito bites from my wrist to my elbow. I learned that there was a coil you could burn to keep mosqitoes down to some degree. BUT THE PEOPLE WERE LOVELY!
Monday, October 18, 2010
ELLEN
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
One of my most cherished memories of those first days (1970) of learning the true oneness of humanity was of a college girl named Ellen. Her attractive Afro and cafe au lait skin was made all the more beautiful by a smile that was full of light and love. I went to a meeting, which is called a fireside. This meeting is an informal, comfortable talk followed by a period of questions for those who want to know about the Baha'i Faith. She had paid her own plane fare from her college town to speak to this small group of interested people. During the meeting one of the visitors asked a question in a rather rude tone of voice, "If you put all colors together in such close harmony, won't they try to get married and have children who will be neither black nor white?" Ellen's answer was very sweet, patient and matter of fact. "Yes, and this will add another hue to God's flower garden." She went on with her talk without a ripple.
I stayed after most everyone else left and kept her up late asking her questions. She noticed that I had been looking at her hair intensely, and smiled and said, "You can touch it if you like." Her sensitivity and willingness to help me grow touched my heart. her hair was soft as a cotton ball. Though we lived in different states and see each other rarely I feel like I have walked in to the sunlight when we get together. Her smile is just as radiant s it was over thirty years ago.
One of my most cherished memories of those first days (1970) of learning the true oneness of humanity was of a college girl named Ellen. Her attractive Afro and cafe au lait skin was made all the more beautiful by a smile that was full of light and love. I went to a meeting, which is called a fireside. This meeting is an informal, comfortable talk followed by a period of questions for those who want to know about the Baha'i Faith. She had paid her own plane fare from her college town to speak to this small group of interested people. During the meeting one of the visitors asked a question in a rather rude tone of voice, "If you put all colors together in such close harmony, won't they try to get married and have children who will be neither black nor white?" Ellen's answer was very sweet, patient and matter of fact. "Yes, and this will add another hue to God's flower garden." She went on with her talk without a ripple.
I stayed after most everyone else left and kept her up late asking her questions. She noticed that I had been looking at her hair intensely, and smiled and said, "You can touch it if you like." Her sensitivity and willingness to help me grow touched my heart. her hair was soft as a cotton ball. Though we lived in different states and see each other rarely I feel like I have walked in to the sunlight when we get together. Her smile is just as radiant s it was over thirty years ago.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
HINDU WEDDING
excerpt from TRINIDAD, WEST INDIES (see Aug 31, 2010)
The village, Los Lomas, we lived in for a short while in the northern part of the island was basically populated by descendents from India and were Hindu. One weekend we were startled by a loud speaker so loud it was almost painful, blasting music from India. This music was continuous throughout most of the weekend. It turned out to be a band playing around the clock for a Hindu wedding. There was continuous food available and many guests across the way from the little house I was staying in with another Baha’i and her two children. The clothes worn by the guests were the lovely saris worn by the women and the white tunic and pants of the gentlemen. It was very reminiscent of the movies we had seen at the movie house in Port of Spain. This movie house was a frame building with wooden benches and a huge screen. These movies were of love stories, beautiful music and traditional dancing of India. One of the ongoing themes in the movies was the sacrificial love of the mothers for their children. The combination of sensual dance and innocent love before marriage was so very different from the cynicism and promiscuity of American movies. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that all of India was represented in these movies because poverty and the bartering of daughters in marriage was not only present in India but in Trinidad as well. But still, the beautiful stories were hopeful and touching.
(Slum Dog Millionaire, the movie, has music and dancing very similar to the above.)
Thursday, October 14, 2010
MOTHER EARTH
excerpt from A CHEROKEE FEAST OF DAYS, DAILY MEDITATIONS,
by Joyce Sequichie Hifler
Touching the earth is resting on the breast of our mother. It is once again finding our beginnings - a knowing that this place where we stand or walk or plow or plant, is something created for us.. We know it because the pulse of the earth slows our own and tranquilizes our confusion. Seeing the sky in all its limitless depths stirs our imaginations and stretches our awareness of the simple beauty provided for us. We can see that it is wrong to be bitter and know that it lasts only as long as we let it. When we reach toward the ceiling of our minds, we are as unlimited as the sky. As currents of air stir the fragrances of the flowers, we may not be able to see where it comes from but we sense its influence. Life is ours to enjoy as individuals and it comes from the Great Holy Spirit.
We sang songs that carried in their melodies all the sounds of nature...
American Indian
by Joyce Sequichie Hifler
Touching the earth is resting on the breast of our mother. It is once again finding our beginnings - a knowing that this place where we stand or walk or plow or plant, is something created for us.. We know it because the pulse of the earth slows our own and tranquilizes our confusion. Seeing the sky in all its limitless depths stirs our imaginations and stretches our awareness of the simple beauty provided for us. We can see that it is wrong to be bitter and know that it lasts only as long as we let it. When we reach toward the ceiling of our minds, we are as unlimited as the sky. As currents of air stir the fragrances of the flowers, we may not be able to see where it comes from but we sense its influence. Life is ours to enjoy as individuals and it comes from the Great Holy Spirit.
We sang songs that carried in their melodies all the sounds of nature...
American Indian
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
FROM MY WINDOW
excerpt from TRINIDAD, WEST INDIES (see Aug 31, 2010)
From my window, I could see the square of the village and some of the yards, the unpainted, wooden shack, which passed for the post office, and a general store owned by a family of Moslems. They were very friendly to me in the beginning. They seemed to realize that I was not going to try to maintain a superior or aloof attitude and responded with acceptance and openness. I was invited to their home, which was an apartment over their store. On one visit to their home the grandmother of the house who was dressed in a long white gown moved to the corner of the living room and pulled the first layer of her gown over her head, then began repeating her noonday prayers. It seemed to me like an ingenious way of getting the privacy she wanted in the crowded apartment. The husband of the house was a private school principal.
From my window, I could see the square of the village and some of the yards, the unpainted, wooden shack, which passed for the post office, and a general store owned by a family of Moslems. They were very friendly to me in the beginning. They seemed to realize that I was not going to try to maintain a superior or aloof attitude and responded with acceptance and openness. I was invited to their home, which was an apartment over their store. On one visit to their home the grandmother of the house who was dressed in a long white gown moved to the corner of the living room and pulled the first layer of her gown over her head, then began repeating her noonday prayers. It seemed to me like an ingenious way of getting the privacy she wanted in the crowded apartment. The husband of the house was a private school principal.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
SEQUOYA
excerpts from MYTHS AND SACRED FORMULAS OF THE CHEROKEES by James Mooney
'About this time (1821) occurred an event which at once placed the Cherokee in the front rank among native tribes and was destined to have profound influence on the whole future history, viz., the invention of the alphabet.
The inventor... was a mixed-blood known among his own people as Sikwa'y (Sequoya) and among the whites as George Gist.... On his mother's side he was of good family in the tribe, his uncle being a chief in Echota.... Sequoya was probably born about the year 1760.... he never attended school and in all his life never learned to speak, read or write the English language.... Of an essentially contemplative disposition, he was led by chance converstion in 1809 to reflect upon the ability of the white men to communicate thought by means of writing, with the result that he set about devising a similar system for his own people....
After years of patient and unremitting labor in the face of ridicule, discouragement, and repeated failure, he finally evolved the Cherokee syllabary and in 1821 submitted it to a public test by the leading men of the Nation.... The syllabary was soon recognized as an invaluable invention for the elevation of the tribe, and within a few months thousands of hitherto illiterate Cherokee were able to read and write their own language, teaching each other in the cabins and along the roadside.... The invention of the alphabet had an immediate and wonderful effect on Cherokee development. On account of the remarkable adaptation of the syllabary to the language, it was only necessary to learn the characters to be able to read at once. No schoolhouses were built and no teachers hired, but the whole Nation became an academy for the study of the system.... An active correspondence began to be carried on between the eastern and western divisions, and plans were made for a national press, with a national library and museum to be established at the capitol, New Echota."
When you drive through Cherokee, NC, all the streets and most of the businesses have both Cherokee and English posted. The preschool children have what they call "immersion" class and the children only speak Cherokee. All graduates of Cherokee High School must have at least one course of Cherokee. There are ongoing adult Cherokee language classes also. It has been said that the language of a people insures the culture. Cherokee is alive and thriving.
'About this time (1821) occurred an event which at once placed the Cherokee in the front rank among native tribes and was destined to have profound influence on the whole future history, viz., the invention of the alphabet.
The inventor... was a mixed-blood known among his own people as Sikwa'y (Sequoya) and among the whites as George Gist.... On his mother's side he was of good family in the tribe, his uncle being a chief in Echota.... Sequoya was probably born about the year 1760.... he never attended school and in all his life never learned to speak, read or write the English language.... Of an essentially contemplative disposition, he was led by chance converstion in 1809 to reflect upon the ability of the white men to communicate thought by means of writing, with the result that he set about devising a similar system for his own people....
After years of patient and unremitting labor in the face of ridicule, discouragement, and repeated failure, he finally evolved the Cherokee syllabary and in 1821 submitted it to a public test by the leading men of the Nation.... The syllabary was soon recognized as an invaluable invention for the elevation of the tribe, and within a few months thousands of hitherto illiterate Cherokee were able to read and write their own language, teaching each other in the cabins and along the roadside.... The invention of the alphabet had an immediate and wonderful effect on Cherokee development. On account of the remarkable adaptation of the syllabary to the language, it was only necessary to learn the characters to be able to read at once. No schoolhouses were built and no teachers hired, but the whole Nation became an academy for the study of the system.... An active correspondence began to be carried on between the eastern and western divisions, and plans were made for a national press, with a national library and museum to be established at the capitol, New Echota."
When you drive through Cherokee, NC, all the streets and most of the businesses have both Cherokee and English posted. The preschool children have what they call "immersion" class and the children only speak Cherokee. All graduates of Cherokee High School must have at least one course of Cherokee. There are ongoing adult Cherokee language classes also. It has been said that the language of a people insures the culture. Cherokee is alive and thriving.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
GOINGBACK AND MARY
excerpts from THE ARTIST AND THE STORYTELLER, (Goingback and Mary Chiltolskey) by Mary Regina Ulmer Galloway
...a story of possibilities and determination....
Goingback's carvings represent in places all through the United States and Europe the best of Native American sculpture, and Cherokee legends have lived for many thousands in the words of Mary....
She was born in a log cabin in Alabama....He was the tenth child of a Cherokee family...in the Smoky Mountains...
Goingback (G.B.)....master carver and model-maker for the United States Corps of Engineers...Several of his carvings, including his famous Woman Carrying a Bundle and St. Francis of Assissi, were displayed at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington...
Mary...teacher in Cherokee Boarding School...was told...to gather together the Cherokee artifacts, stories... and put it ouside... to be burned. She...and Nan Tyner...decided to hide the materials under the boardinghouse beds!
Mary is the author of CHEROKEE COOKLORE; TO MAKE MY BREAD (1951), CHEROKEE WORDS WITH PICTURES (1972), CHEROKEE PLANTS:THEIR USES, A 400 YEAR HISTORY, written with Paul B Hamel (1975, and CHEROKEE FAIR & FESTIVAL: A HISTORY THROUGH 1978 (1979)
In 1989 members of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee invited Mary ...to become an honorary Cherokee.
Chief Robert Youngdeer...asked her to go to Reno, Nevada, to represent the Eastern Band at a meeting about books...a free book program approved by the IRS..In 1990 the Cherokee Center, easily the most active in the country, documented the distribution of the one millionth book...
...In the years after retirement from teaching and government work, G.B. and Mary agreed to thousands of requests from groups all over the South to come and talk about Cherokee crafts, legends, and all parts of the Cherokee story.
...a story of possibilities and determination....
Goingback's carvings represent in places all through the United States and Europe the best of Native American sculpture, and Cherokee legends have lived for many thousands in the words of Mary....
She was born in a log cabin in Alabama....He was the tenth child of a Cherokee family...in the Smoky Mountains...
Goingback (G.B.)....master carver and model-maker for the United States Corps of Engineers...Several of his carvings, including his famous Woman Carrying a Bundle and St. Francis of Assissi, were displayed at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington...
Mary...teacher in Cherokee Boarding School...was told...to gather together the Cherokee artifacts, stories... and put it ouside... to be burned. She...and Nan Tyner...decided to hide the materials under the boardinghouse beds!
Mary is the author of CHEROKEE COOKLORE; TO MAKE MY BREAD (1951), CHEROKEE WORDS WITH PICTURES (1972), CHEROKEE PLANTS:THEIR USES, A 400 YEAR HISTORY, written with Paul B Hamel (1975, and CHEROKEE FAIR & FESTIVAL: A HISTORY THROUGH 1978 (1979)
In 1989 members of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee invited Mary ...to become an honorary Cherokee.
Chief Robert Youngdeer...asked her to go to Reno, Nevada, to represent the Eastern Band at a meeting about books...a free book program approved by the IRS..In 1990 the Cherokee Center, easily the most active in the country, documented the distribution of the one millionth book...
...In the years after retirement from teaching and government work, G.B. and Mary agreed to thousands of requests from groups all over the South to come and talk about Cherokee crafts, legends, and all parts of the Cherokee story.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
REMEMBER AND BE PROUD
excerpts from POST TRAUMATIC SLAVE SYNDROME, by Dr. Joy Degruy Leary
So who and what are we?.....
African Americans are a strong, a seemingly infinitely resilient people. We have a long, long history of enduring and persevering through the severest of trials. Our ancesters endured slavery and perservered through Jim Crow.....our struggle for civil rights....continuing pursuit of a level playing field...
We are an industrious people......During the Great Depression when the entire country was under enormous duress, we managed to care for one another with fewer resources than even the poorest whites...
We are a creative people.....established a distinctive culture replete with new language, names, customs and behaviors....our own games, foods, music, art and fashions.....
We are a just and forgiving people.....no large scale, organized, retaliatory 'terriorism' fueled by hatred and ..revenge....courageously fight for justice.
We are spiritual, loving and hopeful people.....we still have faith in God....love for humanity. It is a testament to our fortitude that we still can hope and dream.....
...it is vital that we collectively regain this knowledge so we can take our rightful place in the world community....understand ourselves....a deep understanding will make healing from our wounds that much more complete.
So who and what are we?.....
African Americans are a strong, a seemingly infinitely resilient people. We have a long, long history of enduring and persevering through the severest of trials. Our ancesters endured slavery and perservered through Jim Crow.....our struggle for civil rights....continuing pursuit of a level playing field...
We are an industrious people......During the Great Depression when the entire country was under enormous duress, we managed to care for one another with fewer resources than even the poorest whites...
We are a creative people.....established a distinctive culture replete with new language, names, customs and behaviors....our own games, foods, music, art and fashions.....
We are a just and forgiving people.....no large scale, organized, retaliatory 'terriorism' fueled by hatred and ..revenge....courageously fight for justice.
We are spiritual, loving and hopeful people.....we still have faith in God....love for humanity. It is a testament to our fortitude that we still can hope and dream.....
...it is vital that we collectively regain this knowledge so we can take our rightful place in the world community....understand ourselves....a deep understanding will make healing from our wounds that much more complete.
Friday, October 8, 2010
SCAPEGOAT PHENOMENA
excerpt from RACE UNITY @ (see Aug 31, 2010)
As to the question of scapegoating ( person upon whom blame is made for the mistake of others):
I believe that the scapegoat concept is to make someone with a low self-esteem problem to climb on the backs of those perceived as lower on the totem pole, to boost their own feeling of self-worth.
I would like to add to that that in this country, during the initial start of slavery in this country and continuing throughout it's history, a conscious, deliberate and time consuming effort was made to relay the false and hideous concept of those from Africa being less than human, not a full person with any rights. The churches, the government, the slave traders, and the newspapers of that day wrote, published and distributed pamphlets on how to strip an African of their religion, family, and culture. The preachers spoke this obscenity in the pulpits and the politicians spouted it from their soapboxes. These pamphlets were handed to potential slave buyers so they would know how to "tame and control" those they purchased. Slave owners taught their wives and children how to "treat" these "sub-humans". I have read these pamphlets and it is so dreadfully awful that it still nauseates me to think of it. This kind of poison has filtered into our collective and individual psyches and tainted everything we do and say. This has filtered through our school systems, our media, our churches, and is in all levels of society. (Now we have made inroads to a more accepting society but the underlying damage still persists.) It takes a monumental amount of work with all our minds, our hearts and souls to cleanse ourselves of this poison and get to some stage of seeing each soul as a gift from God in all her/his glory. I think this is why Shoghi Effendi said it took ceaseless effort! Until this country invests that kind of energy into the effort, we will not see a significant difference. Merely agreeing in principle will not do it. Each person must work ceaselessly to rid their own inner selves and become an ally of all those who are also struggling before we can see oneness truly reflected.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
As to the question of scapegoating ( person upon whom blame is made for the mistake of others):
I believe that the scapegoat concept is to make someone with a low self-esteem problem to climb on the backs of those perceived as lower on the totem pole, to boost their own feeling of self-worth.
I would like to add to that that in this country, during the initial start of slavery in this country and continuing throughout it's history, a conscious, deliberate and time consuming effort was made to relay the false and hideous concept of those from Africa being less than human, not a full person with any rights. The churches, the government, the slave traders, and the newspapers of that day wrote, published and distributed pamphlets on how to strip an African of their religion, family, and culture. The preachers spoke this obscenity in the pulpits and the politicians spouted it from their soapboxes. These pamphlets were handed to potential slave buyers so they would know how to "tame and control" those they purchased. Slave owners taught their wives and children how to "treat" these "sub-humans". I have read these pamphlets and it is so dreadfully awful that it still nauseates me to think of it. This kind of poison has filtered into our collective and individual psyches and tainted everything we do and say. This has filtered through our school systems, our media, our churches, and is in all levels of society. (Now we have made inroads to a more accepting society but the underlying damage still persists.) It takes a monumental amount of work with all our minds, our hearts and souls to cleanse ourselves of this poison and get to some stage of seeing each soul as a gift from God in all her/his glory. I think this is why Shoghi Effendi said it took ceaseless effort! Until this country invests that kind of energy into the effort, we will not see a significant difference. Merely agreeing in principle will not do it. Each person must work ceaselessly to rid their own inner selves and become an ally of all those who are also struggling before we can see oneness truly reflected.
Love in the struggle,
Anne
Thursday, October 7, 2010
THE HIVES
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug, 31, 2010)
Cherokee artist and co-owner of the Tribal Ground Coffee House in Cherokee, NC presented an artist presentation of exploring the transformation of mind, body and spirit in a mixed media and video installation referencing her Cherokee heritage and universal issues facing humanity and the Cherokee culture.
I went into a small exhibition room, which contained a video mural of trees and mountains on the back wall. The light level in the video woods begins at dawn, passes through midday and ends in early evening. Several huge hives of paper mache with the subtle outline of the female figure in the hive design were suspended on bare branches and the hives were approximately five feet in length and three feet in diameter. As I sat down an audio sound came from the surrounding air. At first it sounded like a hornet then grew into the sound of a swarm of hornets but in the sound also was the haunting sounds of whispers. The sound intensified to an almost unbearable degree. I felt as if I was hearing the whispers of women grow in earnestness through the ages, to be heard, felt, to be credited. I came out stunned and empowered at the same time.
Natalie's comments: "Hornets' nests are started by queens that leave one colony to start another. The queen builds the new hive large enough to house 305 daughters. When the daughters are old enough to help build the hive, the queen gives birth to additional females that also go to work. The busiest time is when all the female become well orchestrated.... Early Cherokee communities were matriarchal societies. Women were venerated. Historically, Cherokee women were strong, independent nurturers who raised the crops and made the important political decisions. Children belonged to the mothers, not the fathers. Cherokee men had their own independent lives. "
According to Natalie, Cherokee social structure changed as the white settlers' governing system strengthened.
Natalie is part ot the generation who will take over responsibility for the continued reawakening of Cherokee culture on the Qualla Boundary (Cherokee Reservation) in North Carolina.
"Making HIVESwas about waking up and restarting what has long been dormant...It is about organizing and taking a natural role...At the same time, it is about respecting our ancestors and all those women who did things to protect our culture."
Cherokee artist and co-owner of the Tribal Ground Coffee House in Cherokee, NC presented an artist presentation of exploring the transformation of mind, body and spirit in a mixed media and video installation referencing her Cherokee heritage and universal issues facing humanity and the Cherokee culture.
I went into a small exhibition room, which contained a video mural of trees and mountains on the back wall. The light level in the video woods begins at dawn, passes through midday and ends in early evening. Several huge hives of paper mache with the subtle outline of the female figure in the hive design were suspended on bare branches and the hives were approximately five feet in length and three feet in diameter. As I sat down an audio sound came from the surrounding air. At first it sounded like a hornet then grew into the sound of a swarm of hornets but in the sound also was the haunting sounds of whispers. The sound intensified to an almost unbearable degree. I felt as if I was hearing the whispers of women grow in earnestness through the ages, to be heard, felt, to be credited. I came out stunned and empowered at the same time.
Natalie's comments: "Hornets' nests are started by queens that leave one colony to start another. The queen builds the new hive large enough to house 305 daughters. When the daughters are old enough to help build the hive, the queen gives birth to additional females that also go to work. The busiest time is when all the female become well orchestrated.... Early Cherokee communities were matriarchal societies. Women were venerated. Historically, Cherokee women were strong, independent nurturers who raised the crops and made the important political decisions. Children belonged to the mothers, not the fathers. Cherokee men had their own independent lives. "
According to Natalie, Cherokee social structure changed as the white settlers' governing system strengthened.
Natalie is part ot the generation who will take over responsibility for the continued reawakening of Cherokee culture on the Qualla Boundary (Cherokee Reservation) in North Carolina.
"Making HIVESwas about waking up and restarting what has long been dormant...It is about organizing and taking a natural role...At the same time, it is about respecting our ancestors and all those women who did things to protect our culture."
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
ONE PLANET, ONE PEOPLE
excerpt from RACE UNITY@ (see Aug 31, 2010)
When we looked at the picture of the planet taken from the space flight many years ago and saw our earth with swirls of clouds and green land spots, we had a paradigm shift on a global scale of our perceptions of ourselves. Our finite self in a multitude of billions of other finite selves on this beautiful blue ball. We could not see the man-made boundaries between countries, the names we were familiar with on the globe at school which showed the barriers between peoples. We became aware on some gut level that we were one. Since that time we have seen the man-made barriers shift or disappear altogether. The Berlin wall came down. The USSR disappeared and many smaller countries became sovereign or struggled for sovereignty. Pakistan split into Pakistan and Bangladesh - and on and on and on. Communication has now reached such that we can communicate in seconds with someone on the other side of this planet. Through satellite TV we can see someone on the other side of the planet instantly.
When we envision ourselves as humans, rather than what has been our inclination to split ourselves into groups based on color, nationality, ethnicity, language or culture we can have the same paradigm shift on a gut level and we are humans. We started out in the same place and migrated. We developed different looks through adaptation to climate and survival needs. Now we are able to manipulate our climate and manage our survival no matter where we live. We are coming back together in a global family reunion. We don't know all our cousins. Some seem strange, some are familiar but we are all cousins at the very least in the same family of humankind. A family reunion is sometimes awkward at first but the more we are together the more we enjoy and cherish the little and big idiosyncrasies that distinguish us as individuals but we are still family.
When we meet a cousin who seems shy, or harsh, or loud, or unruly, or weird, or sounds strange, or seem anything different from what is familiar to us we try (because we are family) to be patient, learn their story, learn their pain, learn their interests so that they become understandable and accepted. We love them no matter what and we want to be loved no matter what.
WE ARE ONE!
Much love in our common struggle,
Anne
Dec. 2000
When we looked at the picture of the planet taken from the space flight many years ago and saw our earth with swirls of clouds and green land spots, we had a paradigm shift on a global scale of our perceptions of ourselves. Our finite self in a multitude of billions of other finite selves on this beautiful blue ball. We could not see the man-made boundaries between countries, the names we were familiar with on the globe at school which showed the barriers between peoples. We became aware on some gut level that we were one. Since that time we have seen the man-made barriers shift or disappear altogether. The Berlin wall came down. The USSR disappeared and many smaller countries became sovereign or struggled for sovereignty. Pakistan split into Pakistan and Bangladesh - and on and on and on. Communication has now reached such that we can communicate in seconds with someone on the other side of this planet. Through satellite TV we can see someone on the other side of the planet instantly.
When we envision ourselves as humans, rather than what has been our inclination to split ourselves into groups based on color, nationality, ethnicity, language or culture we can have the same paradigm shift on a gut level and we are humans. We started out in the same place and migrated. We developed different looks through adaptation to climate and survival needs. Now we are able to manipulate our climate and manage our survival no matter where we live. We are coming back together in a global family reunion. We don't know all our cousins. Some seem strange, some are familiar but we are all cousins at the very least in the same family of humankind. A family reunion is sometimes awkward at first but the more we are together the more we enjoy and cherish the little and big idiosyncrasies that distinguish us as individuals but we are still family.
When we meet a cousin who seems shy, or harsh, or loud, or unruly, or weird, or sounds strange, or seem anything different from what is familiar to us we try (because we are family) to be patient, learn their story, learn their pain, learn their interests so that they become understandable and accepted. We love them no matter what and we want to be loved no matter what.
WE ARE ONE!
Much love in our common struggle,
Anne
Dec. 2000
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
CHILD'S PLAY
excerpt from TRINIDAD,WEST INDIES (see Aug 31, 2010)
I found out there had been a civil uprising when I got off the plane with my 9 year old son as we were met by a line of Trinidadian soldiers with machine guns. The country was under curfew for awhile after we arrived. What a scary adventure I had gotten us into. Since I had been a Baha'i only six months I was learning quickly that reliance on God was my best protection.
One of the friends I made was the maid of one of the Baha'i families. This woman had a son who was close to Eddie's age so one day we decided to visit her on her day off. She lived in a small community on the side of an undeveloped hill near one of the towns. The homes were lean-tos next to caves or just standing alone in a circle around a community cooking pit.
As my son and I walked up the hill we noticed that the people stopped and glared at us. I found out later that this had been the hill where most of the guerilla fighters who had taken over the government from the British lived. If I had known how hostile the feelings were I might not have had the courage to venture into this area but I was very naive. I went to my friend's home but Eddie said he din't want to sit and listen to us talk. Could he play with some nearby kids? I gave him permission but told him to stay close enough to see my friend's home. Later I hear the story of what happened in his quest for playmates. This platinum-haired, blue-eyed son of mine went up to a group of about ten very dark, brown-eyed kids and asked them if he could play with them. They immediately rejected his overture of friendship and told him he was too white. They couldn't play with a white boy. Eddie went to the cooking pit, rubbed charcoal all over his face and came back saying "now I am as black as you are, can I play?" He looked so funny with his platinum hair and blue eyes and this black face that they laughed and accepted him. They became very good friends. We received many requests from them to come back and play when we moved to another part of the island.
I found out there had been a civil uprising when I got off the plane with my 9 year old son as we were met by a line of Trinidadian soldiers with machine guns. The country was under curfew for awhile after we arrived. What a scary adventure I had gotten us into. Since I had been a Baha'i only six months I was learning quickly that reliance on God was my best protection.
One of the friends I made was the maid of one of the Baha'i families. This woman had a son who was close to Eddie's age so one day we decided to visit her on her day off. She lived in a small community on the side of an undeveloped hill near one of the towns. The homes were lean-tos next to caves or just standing alone in a circle around a community cooking pit.
As my son and I walked up the hill we noticed that the people stopped and glared at us. I found out later that this had been the hill where most of the guerilla fighters who had taken over the government from the British lived. If I had known how hostile the feelings were I might not have had the courage to venture into this area but I was very naive. I went to my friend's home but Eddie said he din't want to sit and listen to us talk. Could he play with some nearby kids? I gave him permission but told him to stay close enough to see my friend's home. Later I hear the story of what happened in his quest for playmates. This platinum-haired, blue-eyed son of mine went up to a group of about ten very dark, brown-eyed kids and asked them if he could play with them. They immediately rejected his overture of friendship and told him he was too white. They couldn't play with a white boy. Eddie went to the cooking pit, rubbed charcoal all over his face and came back saying "now I am as black as you are, can I play?" He looked so funny with his platinum hair and blue eyes and this black face that they laughed and accepted him. They became very good friends. We received many requests from them to come back and play when we moved to another part of the island.
Monday, October 4, 2010
DRUMMING
excerpt from CHEROKEE DIARY (see Aug 31, 2010)
Put your ear next to a loved one's chest and listen to that heartbeat. That is the rhythm of the Native American drum. The chanting heard during a drumming ceremony is usually a prayer in the language of that particular tribe. Sometimes it is a story or a love song.
We had a guest teacher from Murfeesboro, Snow Bear Taylor, who trained in Africa as well as with Native Americans. He was Native American but had a heart connection to Africa. He demonstrated the rhythms he knew from the African culture, then told us that all drumming originated in Africa. He taught us an old drumming song, the words were a call to the captured African youth who were put on the trains to be taken to the boats for crossing to America and other slave owning countries. The call was from the mothers in mourning.
Put your ear next to a loved one's chest and listen to that heartbeat. That is the rhythm of the Native American drum. The chanting heard during a drumming ceremony is usually a prayer in the language of that particular tribe. Sometimes it is a story or a love song.
We had a guest teacher from Murfeesboro, Snow Bear Taylor, who trained in Africa as well as with Native Americans. He was Native American but had a heart connection to Africa. He demonstrated the rhythms he knew from the African culture, then told us that all drumming originated in Africa. He taught us an old drumming song, the words were a call to the captured African youth who were put on the trains to be taken to the boats for crossing to America and other slave owning countries. The call was from the mothers in mourning.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
GENTLEMAN OF DISTINCTION
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31, 2010)
During a Healing Racism workshop one of the first exercises is to go around the room and introduce yourself and tell why you are there.
This particular workshop had about 20 attendees. Most were first timers and a few were there after going through a workshop previously. Alvin 's first time coming was when he saw a newsspaper article announcing a workshop to be held at the public library. He happened to sit by me at this first session. One of the excercises was to pick someone you had never met and get to know them, a suggestion to contact them outside of the workshop and build a one on one friendship. He was startled when I turned to this brown, distinguished man and gave him my phone number and asked him to call me. He looked wary and noncommital. But he did call. When he did he said he was just trying to see if I would really reach out in friendship. We chatted and exchanged family and interest information. He was married with children and had never really experienced a more than surface friendship with a "white". He told me of his efforts to mentor youth at a middle school for four years. The men who mentored called themselves "Gentlenmen of Distinction". Thus began a real friendship.
Alvin came to other workshops. At this particular workshop, at the "tell your story of why you were there" time, a man announced that he was a member of the Klu Klux Klan and just wanted to check us out to see what we were up to. Alvin quietly got up and left the room. I noticed and unobtrusively followed him out. He was standing outside in a very rigid stance. I went to him and asked him what was wrong. He said that as a 10 year old he was walking along side of the road and had been run off the road by the car of a Klan member. At the time he vowed that he would kill one when he grew up. He said, "I can't do that now but I am so angry I can't stay in that room." I talked with him for a while and told him that this was what the workshop was about. If he could come back in and tell his story and attempt to build a bridge of understanding it would help him heal. H came back in and told the group his story. The Klan member came back to the sessions several times then wrote the group a letter stating that he couldn't come anymore but had learned a lot and wished us well. We never saw him again but Alvin seemed to feel more at peace.
I called Alvin yesterday to get permission to write about him and to renew our friendship which had become dormant due to living in different states and very active lives on each of our parts. I found that he was partners in a counselling firm working with the department of corrections dealing with substance abuse, sex offenders and juveniles in trouble.
He said the Healing Racism Wrokshops were still needed, that people were more surface polite to each other but there was not very much real, indepth friendships. It was so heartwarming to make contact again and feel his genuine goodness and desire to make a difference. We plan to maintain the friendship better than we had.
During a Healing Racism workshop one of the first exercises is to go around the room and introduce yourself and tell why you are there.
This particular workshop had about 20 attendees. Most were first timers and a few were there after going through a workshop previously. Alvin 's first time coming was when he saw a newsspaper article announcing a workshop to be held at the public library. He happened to sit by me at this first session. One of the excercises was to pick someone you had never met and get to know them, a suggestion to contact them outside of the workshop and build a one on one friendship. He was startled when I turned to this brown, distinguished man and gave him my phone number and asked him to call me. He looked wary and noncommital. But he did call. When he did he said he was just trying to see if I would really reach out in friendship. We chatted and exchanged family and interest information. He was married with children and had never really experienced a more than surface friendship with a "white". He told me of his efforts to mentor youth at a middle school for four years. The men who mentored called themselves "Gentlenmen of Distinction". Thus began a real friendship.
Alvin came to other workshops. At this particular workshop, at the "tell your story of why you were there" time, a man announced that he was a member of the Klu Klux Klan and just wanted to check us out to see what we were up to. Alvin quietly got up and left the room. I noticed and unobtrusively followed him out. He was standing outside in a very rigid stance. I went to him and asked him what was wrong. He said that as a 10 year old he was walking along side of the road and had been run off the road by the car of a Klan member. At the time he vowed that he would kill one when he grew up. He said, "I can't do that now but I am so angry I can't stay in that room." I talked with him for a while and told him that this was what the workshop was about. If he could come back in and tell his story and attempt to build a bridge of understanding it would help him heal. H came back in and told the group his story. The Klan member came back to the sessions several times then wrote the group a letter stating that he couldn't come anymore but had learned a lot and wished us well. We never saw him again but Alvin seemed to feel more at peace.
I called Alvin yesterday to get permission to write about him and to renew our friendship which had become dormant due to living in different states and very active lives on each of our parts. I found that he was partners in a counselling firm working with the department of corrections dealing with substance abuse, sex offenders and juveniles in trouble.
He said the Healing Racism Wrokshops were still needed, that people were more surface polite to each other but there was not very much real, indepth friendships. It was so heartwarming to make contact again and feel his genuine goodness and desire to make a difference. We plan to maintain the friendship better than we had.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
GRANDMOTHER
excerpt from COLORS OF MY WORLD (see Aug 31,2010)
Quite often there was a quilting rack set up in the middle of the floor in Grandmother's bedroom. The rack must have been 8 foot by 6 foot.
I remember that square! Grandmother used to wear a dress like that - rosy colored with white lilies and green daisies. Over there was a navy blue square with red roses. It looked like another Sunday church dress. Her Sunday church dresses were as gentle bouquets like her sweet smile. Each quilt became a mosaic of memories recalling events and past times - a Sunday church dress, a first day of school dress, the shirt with the nose bleed stains from an overly energetic son, the printed potato sack that had been temporarily made into someone's underwear during hard times. My aunts, Grandmother and my mother sat around it and threaded the tough white quilting thread through the squares and while the chatter of my aunts fluttered through the room, Grandmother would sometimes doze in the rocker by the window.
I remember Grandmother as she sat in the cushioned rocker with the worn old Bible in its accustomed place - her white, blue-veined hands. Her silvery hair with the sun on it hallooed her age-creased face. Her blue eyes smiled and her lips curved in a quiet agreement with her eyes. Her work-bent body, in the old-fashioned dress of grey with the white lace collar, was covered by a knitted lavender shawl around her shoulders. I can see her lift a gentle hand in greeting, a hand that wiped tears from the cheeks of twelve children, a hand that cooked and sewed for a large, very diverse family. Six sons loved her for picking up their shattered child hopes and dreams and mending them with love and understanding, never a raised voice, but a gentle chiding with "now, child", which brought an intense desire to make her happy. Six daughters loved her for showing them in example the true, inner qualities of a lady. I remember tears change to smiles as she kissed my tomboy sister's bruised forehead. Her faithful visits to the church every week were a part of my faith. She was a peacemaker.
Anticipation was excruciating for my sister, my brother and I as we watched her churn and sing:
"Come butter, come!
Anne's at the gate
And can't hardly wait.
Come, butter come!"
We knew we would get some pale, yellow creamy butter on the hot steaming cornbread that Aunt Helen had just taken out of the oven. I wonder if it is important to know that she did not like Abraham Lincoln? Why do I remember that ? After the churning and the noonday meal was finished, we would gather in the sitting room which later became Grandmother's bedroom as she got sicker and faded away.
Quite often there was a quilting rack set up in the middle of the floor in Grandmother's bedroom. The rack must have been 8 foot by 6 foot.
I remember that square! Grandmother used to wear a dress like that - rosy colored with white lilies and green daisies. Over there was a navy blue square with red roses. It looked like another Sunday church dress. Her Sunday church dresses were as gentle bouquets like her sweet smile. Each quilt became a mosaic of memories recalling events and past times - a Sunday church dress, a first day of school dress, the shirt with the nose bleed stains from an overly energetic son, the printed potato sack that had been temporarily made into someone's underwear during hard times. My aunts, Grandmother and my mother sat around it and threaded the tough white quilting thread through the squares and while the chatter of my aunts fluttered through the room, Grandmother would sometimes doze in the rocker by the window.
I remember Grandmother as she sat in the cushioned rocker with the worn old Bible in its accustomed place - her white, blue-veined hands. Her silvery hair with the sun on it hallooed her age-creased face. Her blue eyes smiled and her lips curved in a quiet agreement with her eyes. Her work-bent body, in the old-fashioned dress of grey with the white lace collar, was covered by a knitted lavender shawl around her shoulders. I can see her lift a gentle hand in greeting, a hand that wiped tears from the cheeks of twelve children, a hand that cooked and sewed for a large, very diverse family. Six sons loved her for picking up their shattered child hopes and dreams and mending them with love and understanding, never a raised voice, but a gentle chiding with "now, child", which brought an intense desire to make her happy. Six daughters loved her for showing them in example the true, inner qualities of a lady. I remember tears change to smiles as she kissed my tomboy sister's bruised forehead. Her faithful visits to the church every week were a part of my faith. She was a peacemaker.
Anticipation was excruciating for my sister, my brother and I as we watched her churn and sing:
"Come butter, come!
Anne's at the gate
And can't hardly wait.
Come, butter come!"
We knew we would get some pale, yellow creamy butter on the hot steaming cornbread that Aunt Helen had just taken out of the oven. I wonder if it is important to know that she did not like Abraham Lincoln? Why do I remember that ? After the churning and the noonday meal was finished, we would gather in the sitting room which later became Grandmother's bedroom as she got sicker and faded away.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
LIFE
excerpt from ANNE'S WRITINGS (See Aug 31, 2010)
A breeze to blow a seed's quest,
A drop of rain to germinate,
A ray of sun to give a life,
Tight bud,
Lovely petals,
Nature's cycle.
A touch to train an errant curl,
A nod to aid a shy, poem teller,
An extra dime in young lunch pail,
Quick hug,
Gentle pat.
Extends birth pangs.
A shrug on hearing a plea for love,
A tear on reaping a loss of trust,
Need from child renews a bond,
Reaching, crying,
Sharing, trying,
Webs of love.
Other faces full of despair,
Other homes with anger and fear,
Hearing, Seeing,
Kneeling, praying,
Hands entwined to serve.
ahr 1990
A breeze to blow a seed's quest,
A drop of rain to germinate,
A ray of sun to give a life,
Tight bud,
Lovely petals,
Nature's cycle.
A touch to train an errant curl,
A nod to aid a shy, poem teller,
An extra dime in young lunch pail,
Quick hug,
Gentle pat.
Extends birth pangs.
A shrug on hearing a plea for love,
A tear on reaping a loss of trust,
Need from child renews a bond,
Reaching, crying,
Sharing, trying,
Webs of love.
Other faces full of despair,
Other homes with anger and fear,
Hearing, Seeing,
Kneeling, praying,
Hands entwined to serve.
ahr 1990
Saturday, September 25, 2010
ONE CHEROKEE'S STORY
excerpt from ANNE'S WRITINGS (See Aug 31, 2010)
A friend of mine and I went to a lecture at the University Of Asheville held by Garfield Long, a Cherokee translator. He was born and grew up in Cherokee, NC. He appeared to be in his thirties. From his birth to four years old he spoke nothing but Cherokee. He did not learn English until he started to school. In his youth he felt distant from his Cherokee history and heritage. It was not talked about in his home. One day he was invited by Marie Junaluska, a much respcted leader of the Cherokee community, on a trip to Tennessee. They walked a five mile stretch of road which was part of the Trail of Tears route. His inner consciousness seemed to take him to another time. He could see wagon ruts and the atmosphere was cold and misty. He saw images of elders and children walking this trail. The emotional impact of this experience stayed with him and he developed a real interest in his background. He was proud to be a Cherokee, proud of his grandparents who had stayed in North Carolina instead of allowing themselves to be forced to go to Oklahoma. He acknowledged that he was still learning about his culture. The remainder of his lecture was a very extensive, and fascinating relay of the history of his people until the present time.
A friend of mine and I went to a lecture at the University Of Asheville held by Garfield Long, a Cherokee translator. He was born and grew up in Cherokee, NC. He appeared to be in his thirties. From his birth to four years old he spoke nothing but Cherokee. He did not learn English until he started to school. In his youth he felt distant from his Cherokee history and heritage. It was not talked about in his home. One day he was invited by Marie Junaluska, a much respcted leader of the Cherokee community, on a trip to Tennessee. They walked a five mile stretch of road which was part of the Trail of Tears route. His inner consciousness seemed to take him to another time. He could see wagon ruts and the atmosphere was cold and misty. He saw images of elders and children walking this trail. The emotional impact of this experience stayed with him and he developed a real interest in his background. He was proud to be a Cherokee, proud of his grandparents who had stayed in North Carolina instead of allowing themselves to be forced to go to Oklahoma. He acknowledged that he was still learning about his culture. The remainder of his lecture was a very extensive, and fascinating relay of the history of his people until the present time.
Friday, September 24, 2010
SPIRIT RUN
excerpt from ANNE'S WRITINGS: also @RACE UNITY. COM (see Aug 31, 2010)
In 2000 a group of youth composed of mostly Native American tribes but also others decided to make a run across the country starting on the west coast and touching the sea on the east coast proclaiming that God is most Glorious!
This is an email I sent out during this event.
When the Spirit Run youth came through Illinois and ran up the steps to the Baha'i House of Worship in Wilmette, with their beautiful radiant faces. accompanied by native drums, crying "Ya Baha-ul-Baha" (God is most Glorious), fulfilling a wish of Abdu'l-Baha to "raise the call though on foot" I was moved to tears. When I heard the stories of their sacrifices to make this 3,000 mile journey of the spirit to teach the oneness of mankind across our country I was inspired and full of awe and wonder. There was a core of nine with backup groups bringing the number to nineteen. The youngest was fourteen and the oldest 30. There was a support group of adults who set up and took down tents along the route, arranged for the food, attended to the bruises and sore muscles and encouraged them every step of the way. One youth who had injured his knee and couldn't run, got up in the early morning before any one else and walked his eleven miles for the day so he would not slow anyone down and could still be a part of the run. Another time when they were behind schedule some of the youth ran in the middle of the night so the miles could be covered and they could still arrive on time for a community to greet them as planned. Some of the youth sent their school work back to their home town by internet after their daily run.
When the leader of the group spoke on the steps of the House of Worship he said that it was not the individuals who needed to be recognized but the message they carried of the oneness of mankind and the need to come together in unity and love. The group of youth had quite a few tribes represented, two Persians, a Guanimanian, a very blonde youth, a youth with Native American, African-American and Caucasian ancestry, a youth with three tribes in his family.
If you are in the upcoming route please make every effort to greet them, this encourages and uplifts them in their journey. Keep them in your prayers. This is not an easy effort for them but they are totally committed to going all the way from Seattle to New York before they are through. When they stop for a meal or visit they start at the very point of their break so not even an inch is missed by them.
Much love in the struggle,
Anne
7-24-2000
In 2000 a group of youth composed of mostly Native American tribes but also others decided to make a run across the country starting on the west coast and touching the sea on the east coast proclaiming that God is most Glorious!
This is an email I sent out during this event.
When the Spirit Run youth came through Illinois and ran up the steps to the Baha'i House of Worship in Wilmette, with their beautiful radiant faces. accompanied by native drums, crying "Ya Baha-ul-Baha" (God is most Glorious), fulfilling a wish of Abdu'l-Baha to "raise the call though on foot" I was moved to tears. When I heard the stories of their sacrifices to make this 3,000 mile journey of the spirit to teach the oneness of mankind across our country I was inspired and full of awe and wonder. There was a core of nine with backup groups bringing the number to nineteen. The youngest was fourteen and the oldest 30. There was a support group of adults who set up and took down tents along the route, arranged for the food, attended to the bruises and sore muscles and encouraged them every step of the way. One youth who had injured his knee and couldn't run, got up in the early morning before any one else and walked his eleven miles for the day so he would not slow anyone down and could still be a part of the run. Another time when they were behind schedule some of the youth ran in the middle of the night so the miles could be covered and they could still arrive on time for a community to greet them as planned. Some of the youth sent their school work back to their home town by internet after their daily run.
When the leader of the group spoke on the steps of the House of Worship he said that it was not the individuals who needed to be recognized but the message they carried of the oneness of mankind and the need to come together in unity and love. The group of youth had quite a few tribes represented, two Persians, a Guanimanian, a very blonde youth, a youth with Native American, African-American and Caucasian ancestry, a youth with three tribes in his family.
If you are in the upcoming route please make every effort to greet them, this encourages and uplifts them in their journey. Keep them in your prayers. This is not an easy effort for them but they are totally committed to going all the way from Seattle to New York before they are through. When they stop for a meal or visit they start at the very point of their break so not even an inch is missed by them.
Much love in the struggle,
Anne
7-24-2000
Thursday, September 23, 2010
BOARDING SCHOOLS
excerpt from ANNE'S WRITINGS (see Aug 31, 2010 This is lengthy but important info for understanding some ot the tests of Native Americans.
One of the most devastating parts of the Indian community is the boarding school experience by an overwhelming number of children, sometimes as young as four or five, and youth. The first school was in Carlyle, Pennsylvania in 1879. The Cherokee boarding school opened in 1880 and remained in operation until 1954. This is about five generations of children. It worked on the premise "kill the Indian, save the Man". In other words eliminate all that made a child an Indian and make him/her white. In the majority of cases the churches came into the villages and forced the parents through persuasion and eventually force to give the children to the churches for training and education. Sometimes the parents were so poor they did not have the means to feed and care for their children and thought they would be better off in the schools. Sometimes the children were orphans or abandoned.
The usual procedure at the schools was to cut off the hair, which had given the children a cultural sense of identity. They were not allowed to speak their native language, observe any of their culturally-based activities or practice their religion in the ways they were used to. Their names were changed to English names. The punishment for disobedience was severe beatings. Their normal native clothing was taken from them and they were placed in uniforms. Their activities were directed by a series of bells, bells for waking, breakfast, prayer, classes, lunch, classes, supper, and bedtime ruled their days. Most of the children did not speak English so they were forced to learn it in order to survive from day to day. They were also used as cheap labor to sustain the schools.
The children were only allowed to see their parents infrequently and only for short periods of time. There were several ways of coping with this physical, psychological, emotional, and spiritual abuse. Some were more resilient than others but all were traumatized. Some tried to please, be obedient and "perfect", thus losing their own sense of identity. Some fought back or ran away multiple times. Others internalized the regimentation values in order to acquire greater acceptance from authority figures. Some used exercises, boxing, and sports to try to sublimate the anger and confusion. Some learned altruism as a way of lessening the harm of others in the situation.
After leaving the schools in their late teens, coping with the residual trauma took many forms. They had been taught alienation from all that their parents stood for and they felt shame at the old ways. They did not know how to parent, since they had no role models, therefore parenting skills were lacking. Nurturing was unknown to most of them and therefore they did not know how to nurture. Denial and minimizing of the experience blocked the healing process for a large portion of the survivors. Some continued the militarizing aspects and joined the military to continue the pattern they were familiar with. Alcohol, domestic violence, dysfunctional homes were patterns of a lot of the homes of these survivors. It became an intergenerational pattern.
Later studies have shown that they suffered post-traumatic stress syndrome. The high percentage of diabetes is a direct result of a constant state of "fight or flight" in which the adrenalin sugar present in this condition became constant. This altered the normal processing of insulin, became imprinted on the DNA and passed on from generation to generation.
At the present time there are many helping organizations trying to aid in the healing process of the intergenerational problems. The Healing and Wellness Coalition in Cherokee, on which I was allowed to assist, was one of these organizations. We had a goal of facilitating the healing process by acknowledging the past, reviving the culture, offering a guide for them to trained psychologists, therapists, medical personnel and forming or supporting groups vested in this process. The annual conferences are educational and therapeutic.
Cherokee has it's own school system. They offer the Cherokee language and cultural information as well as a normal, state-approved curriculum. A graduate from Cherokee High School must have completed at least one course in the Cherokee language. There is a daycare system in which infants and toddlers are immersed in the Cherokee language in all their activities. It becomes as comfortable as English.
Alcohol cannot be legally sold on the reservation, even at the casinos. This is attacked regularly in referendoms but so far still holds. The tribe's determination to control and heal this problem is taken very seriously.
The tribal council has set aside a plot of land to honor and memorialize the students who attended the Cherokee boarding school. This will be developed as memorial in the future. At the present time there is a traveling exhibit displayed on panels showing pictures and information sponsored by the Kitowah Preservation Education Program.
.
One of the most devastating parts of the Indian community is the boarding school experience by an overwhelming number of children, sometimes as young as four or five, and youth. The first school was in Carlyle, Pennsylvania in 1879. The Cherokee boarding school opened in 1880 and remained in operation until 1954. This is about five generations of children. It worked on the premise "kill the Indian, save the Man". In other words eliminate all that made a child an Indian and make him/her white. In the majority of cases the churches came into the villages and forced the parents through persuasion and eventually force to give the children to the churches for training and education. Sometimes the parents were so poor they did not have the means to feed and care for their children and thought they would be better off in the schools. Sometimes the children were orphans or abandoned.
The usual procedure at the schools was to cut off the hair, which had given the children a cultural sense of identity. They were not allowed to speak their native language, observe any of their culturally-based activities or practice their religion in the ways they were used to. Their names were changed to English names. The punishment for disobedience was severe beatings. Their normal native clothing was taken from them and they were placed in uniforms. Their activities were directed by a series of bells, bells for waking, breakfast, prayer, classes, lunch, classes, supper, and bedtime ruled their days. Most of the children did not speak English so they were forced to learn it in order to survive from day to day. They were also used as cheap labor to sustain the schools.
The children were only allowed to see their parents infrequently and only for short periods of time. There were several ways of coping with this physical, psychological, emotional, and spiritual abuse. Some were more resilient than others but all were traumatized. Some tried to please, be obedient and "perfect", thus losing their own sense of identity. Some fought back or ran away multiple times. Others internalized the regimentation values in order to acquire greater acceptance from authority figures. Some used exercises, boxing, and sports to try to sublimate the anger and confusion. Some learned altruism as a way of lessening the harm of others in the situation.
After leaving the schools in their late teens, coping with the residual trauma took many forms. They had been taught alienation from all that their parents stood for and they felt shame at the old ways. They did not know how to parent, since they had no role models, therefore parenting skills were lacking. Nurturing was unknown to most of them and therefore they did not know how to nurture. Denial and minimizing of the experience blocked the healing process for a large portion of the survivors. Some continued the militarizing aspects and joined the military to continue the pattern they were familiar with. Alcohol, domestic violence, dysfunctional homes were patterns of a lot of the homes of these survivors. It became an intergenerational pattern.
Later studies have shown that they suffered post-traumatic stress syndrome. The high percentage of diabetes is a direct result of a constant state of "fight or flight" in which the adrenalin sugar present in this condition became constant. This altered the normal processing of insulin, became imprinted on the DNA and passed on from generation to generation.
At the present time there are many helping organizations trying to aid in the healing process of the intergenerational problems. The Healing and Wellness Coalition in Cherokee, on which I was allowed to assist, was one of these organizations. We had a goal of facilitating the healing process by acknowledging the past, reviving the culture, offering a guide for them to trained psychologists, therapists, medical personnel and forming or supporting groups vested in this process. The annual conferences are educational and therapeutic.
Cherokee has it's own school system. They offer the Cherokee language and cultural information as well as a normal, state-approved curriculum. A graduate from Cherokee High School must have completed at least one course in the Cherokee language. There is a daycare system in which infants and toddlers are immersed in the Cherokee language in all their activities. It becomes as comfortable as English.
Alcohol cannot be legally sold on the reservation, even at the casinos. This is attacked regularly in referendoms but so far still holds. The tribe's determination to control and heal this problem is taken very seriously.
The tribal council has set aside a plot of land to honor and memorialize the students who attended the Cherokee boarding school. This will be developed as memorial in the future. At the present time there is a traveling exhibit displayed on panels showing pictures and information sponsored by the Kitowah Preservation Education Program.
.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
LITTLE TREE IS HOME AGAIN
excerpts from THE EDUCATION OF LITTLE TREE, Forest Carter
In his autobiography, Forest Carter tells of his childhood. He was in a Christian Boarding School for some time and was bereft. The following excerpts are his reaction to coming home to his grandparents and his Cherokee mountain home after this unhappy time.
"I set down and pulled off my shoes, ' I reckined I couldn't feel the trail, Granpa,' I said. The ground felt warm and run up through my legs and over my body. Granpa laughed.... He pulled off his shoes...As we come up the trail....Pine boughs swept down over the trail and felt my face, and run theirselves over me. Granpa said they was wanting to make sure it was me....The spring branch slapped me light, and run over my head and felt me - and sung louder and louder....The wind picked up...it was singing in the pines and would tell everything in the mountains that I was home...Granma run down the mountain. She run into the spring branch and dived at me, and we rolled, splashing and hollering and crying some, I reckon.....The wind sung along with me and squirrels and 'coons and birds come out on tree limbs to watch and holler at me as I passed......I laid on the ground a long time and talked to the sleepy trees, and listened to the wind....The pines whispered and the wind picked up, and they commenced to sing,'Little Tree is home...Little Tree is home! Listen to our song! Little Tree is home! Little Tree is with us! Little Tree is home!...my spirit didn't hurt anymore."
In his autobiography, Forest Carter tells of his childhood. He was in a Christian Boarding School for some time and was bereft. The following excerpts are his reaction to coming home to his grandparents and his Cherokee mountain home after this unhappy time.
"I set down and pulled off my shoes, ' I reckined I couldn't feel the trail, Granpa,' I said. The ground felt warm and run up through my legs and over my body. Granpa laughed.... He pulled off his shoes...As we come up the trail....Pine boughs swept down over the trail and felt my face, and run theirselves over me. Granpa said they was wanting to make sure it was me....The spring branch slapped me light, and run over my head and felt me - and sung louder and louder....The wind picked up...it was singing in the pines and would tell everything in the mountains that I was home...Granma run down the mountain. She run into the spring branch and dived at me, and we rolled, splashing and hollering and crying some, I reckon.....The wind sung along with me and squirrels and 'coons and birds come out on tree limbs to watch and holler at me as I passed......I laid on the ground a long time and talked to the sleepy trees, and listened to the wind....The pines whispered and the wind picked up, and they commenced to sing,'Little Tree is home...Little Tree is home! Listen to our song! Little Tree is home! Little Tree is with us! Little Tree is home!...my spirit didn't hurt anymore."
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