Reconciliation
08/23/2010

In this lifetime I am a descendant of the first white people to set foot in North America.  My paternal grandmother traces her roots back to Capt. John Smith, of Pocahontas fame.  On my mother’s side, we were pioneer stock, settlers of the West.  Directly or indirectly we played a role in the displacement of Native people from their lands.  Countless atrocities were committed under the banner of Manifest Destiny—the supposedly divine appointment of the White race to subjugate Native populations from sea to shining sea.

This weekend I had an opportunity to address some of that history at a powwow of Native people at the confluence of the Methow and Chewuch rivers.  There are no indigenous people living in the Methow any longer.  The Methow tribe was rounded up and relocated with other displaced persons to the Colville Reservation, from whence it got the name “Federated Tribes of the Colville.”  As recently as the last decade, Natives were denied the right to purchase groceries at the Twisp supermarket.  As recently as two years ago, attempts by the tribe to buy the abandoned U.S. Forest Service complex in the town of Twisp were rebuffed.  Apparently, whatever shame Whites may feel for the wrongs of the past is not strong enough to override their desire to have what they want in the present.

My recent conversations with spiritual leaders and healers from Malidoma Somé to Tudor Marinescu had awakened me to the fact that Micheal and I should have had an indigenous spiritual leader perform ceremony on our land in Washington as soon as we had acquired it.  Trusting that it was better late than never, I began asking for the name of such a leader from the Methow tribe.  This weekend at the powwow I was introduced to him:  Spencer Martin (pictured), spiritual leader of the dismembered Methow tribe, living on the Colville Reservation, descendent of Chief Moses, Chief Joseph, Chief Seattle, and Chief Martin—of an island off the coast of Washington.  Brother Martin is also descended from John Slocum, founder of the Indian Shaker religion—a faith that combines elements of Catholicism, Protestantism, and Native spirituality.

Martin agreed to come out and bless our land at eight o’clock Sunday morning, asking for a cup of coffee as offering.  It was clear from listening to the Natives speak this weekend that being powerless to care for land they feel responsible for is a major contributor to their grief and sorrow.  Seeing the land treated as if it were a dead thing must be akin to standing by while one's church, flag, or even mother is violated.  Thus, Brother Martin’s opportunity to bless our 40 acres was perhaps as healing for him as it was for me and the land. 

The blessing itself was simple: facing the east, Brother Martin called out to the Creator asking for a blessing upon the land and its inhabitants.  He then began to beat the drum and sing.  My task was to sprinkle water four times in the direction of the East.  Then, turning to the North, we repeated the ceremony—doing the same again in the West and in the South.  When we returned to the East, Brother Martin called out his thanks to the Creator, and it was done.

We returned to the powwow, where a Reconciliation Ceremony was under way.  All present were seated in a circle and we took turns sharing what the weekend had meant to us.  One of the last to speak, I said to the Natives, “It takes great generosity of spirit to forgive when no one has even said they were sorry.  This is my first powwow, so I don’t know whether others have apologized.  But I know I haven't apologized.  So I want to say to you Natives that my ancestors committed atrocities against your ancestors and for this I am so very sorry.

“I also want to ask you to continue to practice the old ways and to teach them to us.  Because we, and the Earth, need the old ways now more than ever.”

They were simple words, but I know from the tears I saw in others' eyes that they penetrated to the heart of what lies between Whites and Natives.  We cannot outrun the shame of our past.  We shouldn’t try.  When we turn and face it, healing is accomplished—for ourselves and the ones we’ve harmed.

May the reconciliation begin.

And so it is.