Facebook Considering Changes to "No Nicknames" Policy

Today's October Online inspiration: Facebook announces  changes to its "real names only" rule. 

Facebook, everyone's favorite vice, recently enacted a rule presumably meant to decrease online harassment by bullies and trolls, in addition to fraud and other unfortunate side-effects of being able to hide behind one's keyboard. They announced a new policy: "Real Names Only." 

Then was released the Wrath of the Drag Queens.

Female impersonators, many of whom use Facebook to network and market themselves, were outraged. It's a very specific art form that leans heavily on suspension of disbelief: you never refer to a queen in drag by their given name, nor do you use masculine pronouns and descriptors. They aren't acting, they're transforming. 

An important part of that transformation is the use of a good drag name: a comedic name, a name inspired by a particular cultural icon, or a name that is as Hollywood Golden Age level glamorous as the person using it. Regardless of approach, a good name is absolutely essential. It's all about the transformation: a vital party of their job when turning from Andy Johanssen into Czarina Marigold Noir.**

Your name is your brand. And using your given name on your Facebook page is to invite confusion at best, obscurity at worst.

As Emma Llanso points out in her fantastic article on the subject*: for many people, their legal name has no bearing on how a person identifies themselves or how a person is identified by others. And how is the name by which everyone recognizes you, how you are seen in the world, less of a "real name" than the one on your birth certificate?"

It was a bad policy, and adding their voices to the dissent were performers and artists of all stripes: actors, musicians, visual artists, writers known only by their nom de plume. All were upset at the prospect. 

This policy also made waves in the Native American online community. We often have two names: our legal name and our traditional name (I am one of those who have both.) Between friends, your "legal name" is rarely what you are known as. And even among those who don't have the two names approach, nicknames are extremely common in our culture. I think I was in my early teens before I realized that my grandfather's legal name wasn't Briar.

To make my situation even imore confusing, l have a legal name, a Native name AND a nickname. I am not at all alone on that score. I am known as Angel for the most part, but it's a nickname my grandmother gave me as a young child, and not my legal name...even though it might as well be! I haven't been anyone other than Angel since 1990. 

Which begs the question...is an Angel an Angel by any name? 

Let's start at the obvious question: why am I primarily known as Angel when it's not my"given name" nor is it my "Native name"? How did I end up with this moniker, anyway?

Well, Angel is a relatively common nickname for 

Angela (and far more to my liking than Angie, which is so 70's it's likely to have been cooked in a space-age kitchen via the goldenrod fridge and avacado green oven). But more importantly, it honors my late grandmother and reflects an important aspect of my birth and even my existence in general. 

Prior to my arrival forty years ago, my mother suffered several miscarriages and then the tragic stillborn death of my older sister, Felicia. This was an event that my parents never truly ever got over (if indeed such a thing is even possible.) 

Despite how acrimonious their divorce and post-divorce relationship generally was, the routine that my parents established after the death of their firstborn remained exactly the same, year after year. On the day in question, my parents would take the day off work, wake up in their separate homes, dress in appropriately somber clothing, and meet at the cemetery to place flowers on the grave. They then had a late breakfast together at a local doughnut shop they both enjoyed. On the rare occasions they'd have to meet up later in the day for whatever reason, they'd go to the pizza place they loved most (Marion's, in Dayton.) They would then return to their separate homes, and spend the rest of the day in seclusion in their rooms. I learned at a very young age to simply leave them alone, let them grieve, and respect their need for privacy.

So when I was born two years after their first daughter's death, my grandmother dubbed me Angel. The child who survived. It's like a 70's Irish immigrant version of Harry Potter. 

Granny gave all five of her grandkids special nicknames, but only mine stuck. I made the choice to adopt it as my permanent moniker at her funeral in 1990. I was 15 and had spent most of the previous four years living with and caring for my ailing grandmother. I remember feeling very sad at her funeral; I was struck by the thought that no one would use my Granny's special nickname for me ever again. I then decided that in her honor, I would now be Angel to everyone. 

As it turned out, I was Angel to everyone except my parents. My father truly despised the name and went to great lengths in his attempts to dissuade me from using it. He would tell callers looking for me that "no one named Angel lives here," to the confusion of friends who only knew me by that name. My dad even refused  to utter the name, preferring to call me Ang (rhymes with flange.) My mother also disliked the name; she preferred Angie, in part due to a Rolling Stones song she enjoyed (which is weird, as it doesn't have very kid-friendly lyrics.) 

I didn't change my name when Facebook enacted its short-lived ban on nicknames, and I was never contacted by Facebook concerning my missing last letter. My daughter, who is known to everyone as Wren, had to change her account to reflect the name her father and I bestowed upon her at birth or leave Facebook. Like most teens, this was unthinkable. So her account now proclaims her to the online world as Serenity. 

There's a story behind her name, as well. I had a very difficult pregnancy with Wren. I suffered from regular kidney stones throughout the pregnancy, and in the third trimester I developed a bad case of round ligament syndrome. To matters worse, I had begun to struggle with a series of strange and frightening symptoms that I was convinced would exit stage right when my second child exited my body. I was not correct in my assumption, as history and the Medic Alert necklace I wear bares out.

I found myself saying the Serenity Prayer often as a means of spiritual comfort. After awhile, the Male Unit and I just began to associate our child-to-be with the prayer itself. It was soon impossible to think of her as anything but Serenity.

That didn't last, as neither our firstborn nor my nieces could pronounce the word. She began to be called "Ren." The name stuck. When she was a toddler and undergoing physical therapy, the mother of another patient made an observation: "Phoenix and Wren! Two little birds. That's adorable!"

And thus, she gained a letter via a nickname, just as I had lost one years before. 

I'm glad Facebook is changing its policy. I would be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn't know me as Angel. In addition, I would not like being required to add that -a at the end to transform it from the nickname of affection from my grandmother into the legal name my parents chose as a compromise (can you imagine me as a Virginia or a Cassandra?!? )

Thanks, Facebook, for allowing me to continue to self-identify as the name I prefer to use. Allow your users to identify themselves the way they choose to do, not what would be easiest for you (barring any legitimate TOS issues.) And please don't make any bonehead rules like this again in the near future. At the very least, try not to enact a policy without first running it by the people it would affect. 

*Source: https://cdt.org/blog/changes-ahead-for-facebooks-real-name-policy/

**I made this one up. Any resemblance to a person, whether real or fictional, is purely coincidental. If you wish to use the name, have at it. Just send me a signed photo and, in my best Carl Hungus voice, "ve vill calls it even." 

NDN Newz: Killer Back to Work

Former Capitol Hill staffer Carlos Fierro is back at work in D.C., just months after killing a Pueblo man.

Fierro is charged in the drunk driving death of William Tenorio, 46, a member of the San Felipe Pueblo. Police say he was driving drunk when he hit and killed Tenorio in New Mexico on November 26, 2008. Fierro, who has at least one previous DUI conviction, fled the scene after the accident.

Tenorio's family was shocked to learn that not only was Fierro released from electronic monitoring, but had been permitted to leave the state and continue his work in Washington, D.C.

"They're shocked and concerned ... that they weren't aware of it," Stephanie Poston, a family spokesperson, told the paper. "They want to be engaged in the whole process."

Apparently, you can get drunk, kill a Native, and go right back to work. And the family? Who needs to inform them? That's what newspapers are for, right?

For shame.

NDN NEWZ: Vets' Pay Raise an "Oops!"

They were Alaskan Natives, many as young as 16 years old. By summer, they travelled by kayak; in the winter, by dog sled. They were an important line of defense against the Japanese during World War II. They served their country in the wilds of the Alaskan islands and mainland with no glory...and no pay. They were called the Alaska Territorial Gaurd. And although they weren't paid during the war and still receive little recognition, seven months ago the Pentagon made a move to right that wrong: they finally gave the gaurdsmen active duty credit for their service, which came with an increase in their military retirement pay.

Or so they thought...until they checked the mail last week.

"I regret to inform you of the correction of a recent error that affects your current military retirement pay," begins the letter sent last week by Brig. Gen. Reuben D. Jones, the Army adjutant general.

It seems the Defense Department misinterpreted a section of federal law that says members of the territorial guard who were honorably discharged should be "considered active duty for the purposes of all laws administered by the Secretary." The problem being that the secretary, in this case, was not the secretary of Defense, as officials originally thought, but the secretary of Veterans Affairs. According to Lt. Col. Richard McNorton of the Army's human resources command, after the retirement pay was increased, "a subsequent legal review determined that service in the [Alaska Territorial Guard] ATG may only be counted" for veterans benefits and not "for the purpose of calculating military retirement pay." In light of this oversight, Col. McNorton says Defense Department officials are working with Congress to enact legislation to address this issue and that the Army is "anxious to get this resolved."

Put into blunt terms: oops!

Paul Kiunya, aged 78, is one of the gaurdsmen whose pay increase has now been unceremoniously taken away. Like many of the surviving gaurdsmen, he lives in a remote area with high unemployment and rampant poverty. Kiunya, who also served 22 years in the National Guard and was once a BIA employee, says this means he will lose about $380 a month. It's $380 he can't afford to lose.

"Sometimes in a month, I'm completely broke," said Kiunya. "Sometimes my light bill comes up to almost $500; it's always over $400 a month...it seems like the government is putting the former ATG in the garbage can."

He's not the only one outraged by the "mistake." Senator Lisa Murkowski (R-Alaska) addressed the Senate last week: "What kind of a government, what kind of a Cruella, could cut retirement benefits to a group of Eskimos in their eighties, in the dead of an Alaskan winter, and say: 'Sorry, there is nothing we can do'...It's time for some soul-searching at the Pentagon."

The Alaskan delegation to Congress sent President Obama a letter on Friday, asking for his help. The letter said the "Eskimo Scouts," as the guardsmen were then known, "shot down Japanese air balloons, rescued downed airmen, protected the Lend-Lease route from America to Russia, and engaged in combat with the enemy." (Although what, if any, combat is unclear: Murkowski's office claims the gaurdsmen tracked but didn't find Japanese troops on St. Lawrence Island in the Bering Sea.)

And now, in their senior years, with many of these unsung heroes living well below the poverty line...the money the Army has seen fit to pay them, they now want to take away.

"It is a tragedy because most of the people I am talking about, most of these gentlemen, are Eskimos -- among the first people of the United States, members of a class of people to whom the United States government has broken its promises time and time again," Sen. Murkowski said.

Congress, Pentagon, President Obama: don't break this promise. Not this time. These men served their country, seeking to protect it from a foreign power in wartime: a foreign power that had already attacked the U.S. and it was believed it could and would do so again. They were warriors in the great traditions of their ancestors, and they were soldiers in the great tradition of the United States Army.

They deserve their active duty pay. They earned it.

Don't turn your backs on them now. Keep the promise.

Race: More Than Meets the Eye

Many people believe they have "gaydar," the ability to discern who is gay and who isn't based mostly on appearance and mannerisms. Even more people believe they can accurately tell what race a person is by their appearance. These are the sorts of people who will angrily tell me, "You don't LOOK like an Indian!" I don't? Well, I must...because I am!

In that vein, I offer this link:

RACE: THE POWER OF AN ILLUSION


This is a little quiz from PBS. It includes several thumbnail pictures of men and women from various races (you can see a larger picture by clicking on the thumbnails). It then invites you to put the pictures into categories: White, Black, Asian, Hispanic/Latino, Native American.

If you think it's going to be easy, guess again!

I myself only got seven of them right...and I missed one of the Native Americans, to boot.

Give it a try, and leave me a comment with your score!

Hurtful Things

(Note from Zen Angel: I was having difficulty with this post...it kept changing dates on me, and new posts would appear under it rather than on top...so I had to delete the original
& am re-publishing it now. I went ahead and posted Amanda's comment below, so it
would not be lost. Sorry for the mess.)


Hurtful Things

I belong to an online support group of people with MS. It's been such a gift to me, over the last few years. Each week, we have an "open-ended" chat, where we can discuss anything we like (MS-related or not), and we have a "topic" chat. The topics change every week.

This week, the topic was "Hurtful Things." We were supposed to examine hurtful comments or actions by friends related to our MS diagnosis (we've discussed family in the past, and as we all know...there's a big difference between family and friends). The goal being, to determine WHY it was so hurtful, how that impacted our relationship with the friend(s), and what we learned from it.

It was a difficult topic for me, and I ended up being pretty "silent" during the chat. I am now thinking that this was a bad move on my part, that perhaps maybe I do need to examine those "hurtful things" that were running through my mind during the chat but didn't make it to my keyboard.

And lucky you...I'm sharing them here. Well, it's my blog, and all that.

There are two "hurtful things" that I've been thinking about since the chat. One is kind of non-specific, and one is definately a specific incident. The non-specific one I have already discussed here before...the "fair weather friends" who quickly abandoned me when I got MS. The specific incident, I haven't shared here, or talked about, in some years.

It happened on Halloween, four or five years ago. I had been very sick that year, but was improving. So much so, that I accepted an invitation by a friend, "Julian," to come see the debut performance of his band at a local nightclub. I had not been able to enjoy an evening out in a very long time, and I was greatly looking forward to it. Jonathan stayed home with the kids, and a mutual friend, "Kim," went with me. We both dressed up as sort of dominatrix-sisters. It was fun.

When we arrived at the club, I found out that Julian had forgotten to put our names on "the list," so I had to stand outside in line. Now, normally, that wouldn't be a problem...but my legs had been giving me trouble all year, and I had been counting on that early admittance. There was nowhere for me to sit, and I had to sit on the curb...with my cane and Kim to help me up and down. In front of a lot of people. It may seem silly, but that was embarassing to me. In any event, I wasn't going to let it ruin my evening, and was still looking forward to the show.

A few minutes before the doors opened, another mutual friend, "Donna" arrived...with her seven-year-old son, "Allan." I had two problems with Allan's presence: one, it was almost two in the morning, what on Earth was this child doing out, downtown, so late (at a night club, no less); and two, he was dressed in faux moccassins, buckskins and headdress. The first disgusted me as a parent, and the second offended me as a Native American. But it wasn't my kid, and once again, I chose to overlook it all because I was bound and determined to have a great time.

The doors finally open...and again, I'm in trouble. Stairs, stairs everywhere. No elevators, no ramps (I have no idea how this building gets away with being so completely inaccessible. Maybe it's historic? I don't know). And after standing for so long and struggling with the curb...the stairs looked, to me, like Mount Everest. And felt like it, too, once I was finally up them. I was close to collapse by the time Kim got me to a table. Adding to my problems is the fact that the place is not air-conditioned. My MS is heat-reactive, and no air conditioning equals big symptom flare-up for me. Still, I am trying to make the most of it, and hoped to cool down with a drink...with lots of ice.

Julian sees us, and rushes over to ask why we hadn't come in for the sound check, only then realizing that he had forgotten to put us on "the list." He shrugs it off, no apologies. I am a bit peeved. He buys me a drink, and all is forgiven.

After a few minutes, Julian takes off backstage to get ready for the performance. I am on drink number two, and beginning to enjoy myself. A few casual acquaintances join us at the table. The drinks are good, the conversation excellent. I am having a great time.

Then...the spotlight on the stage turns on, and we all quiet down for the show. An older man, dressed like a monk, is standing alone at the microphone. For a moment, he says nothing. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some index cards. Then he begins to speak.

To my absolute horror and astonishment, it's a long poem about the "red man's savage god" and "primitive cries to the heavens, ulalala ulalala yahalalala!" I am speechless. My first thought is, "Julian must not have known about this, this guy must be with some other band."

I am wrong.

As soon as the "poem" is over (finished with a pathetic, two-minute-long war-whoop), the curtain rises...on Julian's band. They begin to play, some pretty decent goth-metal type music. And there, in the forefront, pretending a sacred dance of which he has absolutely no knowledge...is Donna's son, Allan. War-whooping and acting for all the world like a tiny, hyperactive Tonto.

I am stunned. I am horrified. I am hurt.

The people at my table, and many at other tables, are staring at me. One of the beforementioned casual acquaintances whispers to me, "Ah, man...I am so sorry about all this. I can't believe they did this. Are you ok?" I hear a man behind me ask someone unseen person if I am going to "do anything about it."

I decide that yes, I am going to do something about it. I got up, and I left. I did not care, at that moment, if Kim came with me or not...but I am glad to say that she did.

We caught a cab home, and the whole time I kept thinking...this was my first night out after a long, long MS attack. And I spent it, listening to a poem insulting my spirituality, my ethnicity, my people. And to top it off, my friends knew all about it. Julian, Donna...they orchestrated this, as part of the show. They actually thought it was a good idea. I was struck by the conclusion that they were either A) racists, set out to humiliate me and mine, or B) ignorant shitheads, who didn't actually stop to think that this sort of display would be hurtful or offensive to anyone...much less, their one American Indian friend. And as much as I, in my anger and hurt, wanted to believe it was A, I knew in my heart it was actually much more likely to be B.

For several days following the show, I did not speak to Julian. I did not trust that I would not say something that could not be unsaid. And so, I kept my silence. I later found out that Kim had not been so inclined...she had called him the very next day and read him the riot act. Apparently, it really was B, after all. It had not occured to him that Allan's "dance" would offend me, and he claimed he was unaware of the monk's poem (the monk turned out to be a relative of one of Julian's bandmates). I still find that hard to credit, as the poem and the "dance" were clearly inter-connected. I accepted his apology, but it saddened me that after being my friend for so long, he had learned so little from me. I was also saddened when he told me that he felt that I, also, had acted wrongly...that I should have stayed until the end of the show (another hour), and spoken with him then. Which told me that he didn't understand at all.

He didn't understand how hurt and offended I was. He didn't get that it wasn't just the contents of the poem and the "dance." It was the fact that I spent what little energy I had, and had in fact had to struggle most of the night to get to the show, to only be hurt and offended. He didn't understand that as a result of both the physical and emotional stresses of that night, I was sick for a week. He didn't understand the pain of my legs the next day, strained by the standing and the curb and the stairs and the heat...and the relative swiftness of my retreat. And most of all, he didn't understand that as his friend, I was willing to suffer that week gladly, just to see his band perform for the first time...and instead, what I saw was like a slap in the face. And that, that hurt far more than my legs did.

Julian and I remained friends for some time after that incident...but we are not friends anymore. But, that is a story for another time...if I tell that story at all.

So, what did I learn from that "hurtful thing"?

Well, it reaffirmed my belief that anti-Native American sentiment is so ingrained in this society, that many if not most people do not notice it when it occurs...even when they themselves perpetuate it. Julian and Donna were not racists. None of the people there were racists, as far as I know. The people at the show, these are the people who hate racist skinheads, who are pro-gay marriage and pro-ERA. The kind of people who have "hatred is not a family value" stickers on their cars. And yet...they wrote that poem. They set up that show. They dressed up a child to mock what an entire culture holds sacred. And they did it, without a second thought.

But, that was something I pretty much already knew. Can that really count as "learning" something?

I suppose I learned that people who are not disabled often have a hard time discerning what will be difficult or impossible for a disabled person to accomplish. The owners of that club had made no arrangements for disabled persons. The manager stood right there and watched as I struggled up the stairs. It had not occured to Julian to make sure I was on "the list," so I would not have to stand outside.

More importantly, I learned that I had to be more pro-active in those matters. I cannot simply rely on others to tend to them for me. If I had to face the same situation today...I would have called the club well in advance and asked about their accomodations. I would have also made certain I was on the list, or even went with Julian and the band so that I could come in the back entrance (which I later learned had a ramp for band equipment). When it happened, I was still self-conscious about the MS. I didn't want to have to ask for help, or make a "big deal" of needing it. Today, I would see that as nonsense. So, I learned to be more of an advocate for myself, to not take for granted that an establishment would be accessible or that I could simply "muddle through." A good lesson. I don't think I realized until now that I learned that lesson on that night.

I guess I should have spoken up in my chat...I not only learned something, but it did actually apply to my MS!



1 Comments:
At 8:42 AM, amanda said...
good for you for learning the ever so hard fact that WE as MS'ers need to learn to accept help and more importantly ASK for it when we need it!!! That I believe is the hardest thing to over come living with this disease.

AS far as the Native American racism I see and hear it all the time No I am not a native but live so very close to the Seneca Nation Reservation and travel there very often it is like 20 miles or less from me. My son't step-siblings are all full blooded natives.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off to the Dentist I Go (Again)

I am dreading tomorrow. Yet another dental appointment. Eek gads, I will be so very glad when all of this dental work is over.

The problem, of course, is the trigeminal neuralgia. Guess what is the number one most likely thing to aggrivate it? Yep...dental work.

I have an unfortunate condition those of us in the NA community call "reservation mouth" or "rez rot." Basically, my teeth are rotting out due to toxic waste in my reservation's water. Every time I read some idiot on a message board telling us to "get over it, it all happened hundreds of years ago," I want to send them my dental bills. I'm 31 years old, and by the time all this is over, I will have full dentures. I have already lost nearly all of my teeth. Centuries ago, my ass.

The teeth themselves don't hurt, a curious side-effect of rez rot. I can have whole teeth fall out with no pain at all. But the dental work? It's leaving me in a state of utter misery.

Fortunately, my oral surgeon is a wonderful dentist. When I first came to her, literally shaking in fear as the X-rays alone had sent me into near-incapicitating pain, she was kind and gentle. She understood my condition, and made it clear she would do everything she could to make this as painless as possible. She also didn't bullshit me, which I appreciate. I hate, hate, HATE it when doctors bullshit you. They'll tell you something doesn't hurt that they damn well know is going to hurt like fucking hell, out of some misguided belief that liars relax people. Maybe some folks are like that, I don't know. I'm not one of them. I'd rather know, so I can prepare as best I can to cope with it.

Luckily, my dentist was as up-front with me as I prefer. She told me that I'll have ot be sedated for all the work...not for my comfort, as pretty much nothing will keep my neuralgia from acting up in the aftermath, but to prevent the neuralgia from locking my jaw shut and thus making it necessary to have yet another appointment for even more work, which in the end will cause even more pain. She also told me that if my pain meds aren't working, ask for more. A simple concept, I know, but one that is utterly beyond most doctors. So many of them seem to take your needing stronger relief as a personal insult to their mightly skills. After all, they didn't anticipate you needing anything stronger, so why do you? Morons.

Despite the great doctor and the promise of appropriate pain management...I'm still scared. I always am. I know that the common belief is that a person like me is supposed to be brave in the face of pain and suffer in silence and all that ridiculous apecrap, but that's not for me. It seems deceitful, to pretend to not be afraid of pain. Pain hurts.

So, if I'm not around in the next few days, that's why. Wish me luck...

NDN NEWZ: Housing Funds May Go To War Effort

Independent - June 8, 2005: Indian housing funds may go to war effort
By Pamela G. Dempsey
Diné Bureau

June 8, 2005

WINDOW ROCK Next year's federal housing dollars are up for grabs but the efforts of Native American tribes to get a piece of the pie may go unnoticed by congressional leaders.

While Congress may make "polite statements" to those Native American leaders lobbying for more funding, Chester Carl, chief executive officer of Navajo Housing Authority, said that congressional appropriations will most likely boost war budgets.

"The truth is, we don't have the voting power," Carl said.

In a position paper to the Navajo Nation Government Services Committee, Navajo Housing Authority reported that the Navajo Nation could lose $14 million in Native American federal housing grants if President George Bush's 2006 budget is implemented.

"That is nearly $14 million in lost opportunity for some of the nation's poorest and most neglected citizens in a program that was already under-funded," the report stated.

While federal appropriations for the upcoming budget year have been sorted, Carl said the housing end of it is just getting underway.

Federal policies, such as the Housing and Urban Development's decision to use the 2000 Census Multi-Race American Indian and Alaska Native data to distribute Indian Housing Block Grants, draw money away from those tribes with the most need, the report stated.

Instead, Navajo Housing Authority is advocating the use of verified enrolled tribal membership.

"The Navajo Nation, which in the 2000 Census count has over 180,000 tribal enrolled members, has already lost over $10 million due to this policy decision that has been redirected to core urban areas like Chicago, IL., Portland, OR; and the state of Oklahoma," the report stated.

But money isn't the only contributing factor to tribal housing needs.

"Money is a big part of it," Carl said, "but there are other vehicles not conducive to housing."

Tribal dependency on federal government funds, prioritizing housing needs, and the multiple red-tape steps from start to finish in buying or building a home on tribal trust lands are all contributing factors, Carl said.

Navajo Housing Authority reports that each year 2,000 Navajos join the housing markets and estimate that the current housing need on the Navajo Nation is more than 20,000 units.

"We're taking every piece and working on it," Carl said.

********************************************************
Hey, Bush & Cronies? You want this damned war so much...YOU pay for it. Leave our housing dollars alone!

Life in My Skin: The Aftermath of Red Lake

I just want to make a few statements today...and as they are coming out of emotion, I warn you not to expect them to be polished.

I am deeply, deeply saddened by the school shooting at Red Lake. I'm also afraid. Afraid that it will "kick up" a new batch of racism against Native Americans, used as fuel by those who hate anyone who is not the "right" color and had the gall to be here first and not take it lying down.

I was horrified by all the bitching I heard, from reporters and others, about how information was so hard to come by in the hours following the shooting. They complained about the lock-down (which is standard procedure) and about the remoteness of the reservation.

Of course, they didn't see the irony...do you think the Chippewa like being out in the middle of fucking nowhere, too? You think that was their first choice? Do you think they did it on purpose so you couldn't make your report to Cornfed America on time? Geez.

The media is also, in my opinion, focusing on all the wrong damned things about this. They keep bringing up the fact that Weise liked Marylin Manson. So fucking what? I didn't know bad taste was a precursor to horrific violence. They also keep mentioning his love of Hitler. While disturbing, I believe they only bring it up for shock value. They want to believe goth music and neo-Nazi sympathies caused this.

Why? Because they don't want to look at the poverty at Red Lake, the 40% unemployment, the poor security at the school. That doesn't sell papers.

It's nothing new, though. Historically, the media hasn't given a rat's hairy behind about Native American issues. It perpetuates this erroneous belief prevelant in American society today that all our problems ended 200 years ago. The myth that we're all fat off of casino wealth and degrees bought with free education won't die, even though it is patently untrue. They agree with the alcohol problem, but even then, inflate it. It's bad enough as it is, thanks. They don't see the poor education, the rampant poverty, the unemployment, the high suicide rates, the large numbers of relatively young people dying of diabetes and leaving families behind. No, focus on those mythical checks coming in from gambling and government alike.

In the aftermath of Columbine, changes were made. Everyone in the country wanted to see things made better, not only there, but in all high schools. And to some extent, changes were made. I have no optimism, however, that Red Lake will have the same result.

Every month, I read news on cases in Indian Country that, if they happened anywhere else in America, would be on CNN 24/7. But they happened to Indians, so who cares?

It took a kid shooting up a school for anyone to notice. And next week, even that notice will be gone.

And the reservation will be the same. Remote, poor...and now infamous.

My prayers are with the families of Red Lake.

School Shooting: Grieving with the Chippewa

There isn't much I can say about this, except that I, like so many of you, Native American and non-NA alike...grieve with the reservation today.

:(

Weird eBay: Spirit Guide In Utero?

Now I really HAVE seen it all:

Ultrasound of American Indian Hero


Missed out on the tortilla shaped like the Virgin Mary? Never fear! For just $1, you can own this little piece of "authentic Native American" crappola.

From the description:

"When she finally learned who her Dad was, one of the things of interest she discovered was that he
was Micmac Indian, which of course makes my husband 25% Micmac. All his life he had heard how much he looked like an American Indian, but never knew just how accurate those
comments would turn out to be.

My husband was understandably curious about his heritage so started researching the Micmac. He especially liked reading about Glooscap, a figure in Micmac mythology. He is a hero to the Micmacs and legend has it he lived on the Blomidon Mountains in Newfoundland overlooking the Chignecto Bay.

Apparently he was briefly living in my tummy as well, because this ultrasound picture clearly shows him, along with our son Ryan. Talk about scaring the pants off me, when I saw this picture, I had no idea what I was looking at, and I was rather frightened. My husband recognized him immediately."


I don't know what to say, I really don't. Except maybe that there is a sucker---and a Pretindian---born every minute, it seems.

NDN News: False Organization Warning!

Thanks to my friend Wolfie, for bringing this to my attention:

Please feel free to distribute, please help us to combat the exploitation of the American Indian People!

False Indian Organization Warning issued by Comanche Lodge.

For Immediate Release:

According to the authorities, an organization registered online as the "Original Keetoowah Society" is operated by none other than William Scott Anderson of Cabool Missouri.

This individual is claiming to teach Cherokee Spirituality and Religion over the Internet.

The individual registered as operating this false organization has also been linked with numerous bogus Indian Tribes over the years that includes the following:

The Southern Cherokee Nation, Indian Creek Band of Chickamauga located in Deltona Florida, Western Cherokee Nation of Missouri, and last but not least the Amonsoquath Cherokees led by convicted felon Martin "Walking Bear" Wilson.

All of the above mentioned groups are entirely false.

Anderson for several years was claiming on the Internet that the Amonsoquath Group he represented was a federally recognized Indian Tribe. Anderson was known to solicit donations online for several years under the false auspices of maintaining an Indian Reservation.

It is to be noted that the State of Missouri has no Indian Reservations.

In 1996 Anderson was known to exploit the Lakota People by also soliciting donations on New Age Newsgroups while claiming to have received a vision from the Virgin Mary who Anderson claimed was the Lakota Peoples Sacred White Buffalo Calf Woman.

Anderson at that time claimed that the White Buffalo Calf Woman instructed him to go to Bosnia to stop World War III from taking place by teaching Europeans the Lakota Religion, which would, according to him, spread world peace.

Anderson claimed this event would take place by gathering the people of the world in the very same way as was seen in the Hollywood Movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

Anderson was caught committing this perverse exploitation by several American Indians. These individuals were informed that Anderson was begging for money on several New Age/Witchcraft discussion groups under the titles of Pipe Carrier, Native Peace Delegate, and also was representing himself as an American Indian Prophet in the spirit of Wovoka the famous Paiute Ghost Dance teacher.

As a result of this intervention, Anderson was quickly exposed as a fraud to the American Indian Community through several popular Native Newsgroups.

William Scott Anderson has now turned his greedy eyes towards the Cherokee Nation and is currently engaged in exploiting the names of respected Cherokee Indian Leaders as a way to solicit money online in yet another monetary scam being done in the name of the American Indian People.

Once again this Charlatan William Scott Anderson is exploiting yet another respected American Indian Nation, and he is currently engaged in exploiting the name of the Honorable Cherokee Chief Chadwick Smith.

In addition to these gross unethical abuses of honorable Indian leaders, William Scott Anderson also exploits the name of the Chief's own ancestor the respected Redbird Smith as yet another way for Anderson to beg for money online in the name of American Indian People.

Please be advised that none of the scams and the numerous false organizations operated by William Scott Anderson either now or in the past have been authentic American Indian organizations and they have all been based entirely on falsehood and deceit.

William Scott Anderson is a wicked fraud and a very well known exploiter of the American Indian People and as such this depraved and twisted individual should be shunned by all.

Anderson is proud to boast associations with such dubious exploiters of American Indian People such as Robert "Ghostwolf" Franzone, Harley Swiftdeer, Brooke Medicine Eagle, and many other well-known frauds who continually exploit the American Indian People.

If you or anyone you know has been victim to the fraud perpetuated by William Scott Anderson, please report such incidents to the following authorities:

United States Department of Justice:

U.S. Department of Justice
950 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20530-0001
Internet: http://www.usdoj.gov/

Department of Justice Main Switchboard - 202-514-2000
Office of the Attorney General - 202-353-1555

All My Relations!
-Quohadi

Comanche Lodge

Your Honor, The Nutbag Part II: Speak English or Get Out

I hate nutbags. The only thing worse than a nutbag is an idiot nutbag. And the only thing worse than an idiot nutbag is a nutbag in power. And the only thing worse than an idiot nutbag in power
is one holding the lives of children in his hands.

Meet Wilson County, Tennessee Family Court Judge Barry Tatum.

Apparently, His Honor the Nutbag is fond of telling immigrant mothers who appear in his court to "learn English or else."

Take a recent case involving a woman from Oaxaca, Mexico, who had been brought before Judge Tatum after she'd refused to immunize her kids or show
up for Children's Services appointments. At the custody hearing, Judge Tatum instructed the mother to learn English and use birth control.

And just last October, Tatum made another such order to a Mexican woman appearing before him on charges of child neglect. He set a court date for six months, denying her request for counseling and instructing the woman to learn
to "speak English at a fourth-grade level" by that time or lose custody of her daughter, according to the woman's attorney, Jerry Gonzalez. According to this article, he's made such orders at least five other times. Gonzalez said the judge was setting the mother up for failure. "She probably doesn't have a sixth-grade education. I daresay the judge himself, an educated man, could not learn to speak Spanish to a fourth-grade level in six months," Gonzalez said. "He gave her an impossible task."

Tatum explained that he gave the orders in hopes that the parents would make a greater effort to assimilate into American society, opening more opportunities to their children.

"If the mother is able to learn English, she will be able to speak with her daughter for the first time in a substantive manner and will show her that she loves her and is willing to do anything necessary to connect with her," the order read.

Although many have condemned Tatum's practices, he actually has supporters in Tennessee who cheer him on his nasty bigotted way.

Though the judge's order may have been a mistake, "the general sentiment is, if people are going to be in this country, we all have a moral obligation to learn to speak the language," said Bob Bright, 61, who runs an insurance agency in Lebanon.

"I know if I was in Mexico I would make an effort to learn Hispanic."

******************
OK, I have a few things to say about this (you knew I would):

*Is His Honor the Nutbag even aware that we don't HAVE an official language in this country, and NO ONE is required to speak English here "or else"?

*"Use birth control"? What the fuck? First of all, I know many people from Mexico (my sister is married to a Mexican as well), and nearly all are Catholic. This judge is basically giving them a court order to violate the tenents of their religion and completely desicrating the Constitutional right to free practice of religion at the same time. Secondly, HOW DARE HE presume to make orders on a woman's reproductive rights? He's a judge in a pissant town in Tennessee...not even the Supreme Court will tell a woman what she should or should not do with her uterus, buddy, so who the hell do you think YOU are? King Bohunk? And finally: not all birth control works 100% of the time. In fact, NONE of them do, including sterilization. Don't believe me? You should meet my son, the Pill Baby. You sexist moron.

*What the fuck does speaking English have to do with child neglect and custody issues? You're worrying about the speck and ignoring the log, Sir Dildo.

*This motherfucker must have balls the size of freakin' CLEVELAND to order a woman to learn a foreign language at a fourth-grade level in six months. And then refuse her counseling for the child neglect issues she was brought in to court for in the first damned place. Priorities out of whack? This fucker's the master of it.

*"Assimilate into American society." As a Native American whose people have been killed, tortured, kidnapped and made to suffer over and over again in efforts to "assimilate" us, I could have vomitted for hours after reading that. Does no one learn from history? The last boarding school closed in 1992....not long enough for everyone to forget already, surely? I bet His Honor the Nutbag would love to re-open the schools...and fill them with Mexican mothers. What an ass.

*Of course, you MUST learn English to show your child you love them. No other language has a version of the word "love," you know, and non-English-speaking people don't really love their kids anyway. (And yes, that's sarcasm.)

*He has supporters? Who actually cheer the bastard? A pox on all of them!

*"Learn Hispanic"? Eegads...but these are some stupid fucking hillbillies.

I am so sick to my stomach by this nutbag...even though the Second Annual Nutbag of the Year Awards are still months and months away (to read the first Awards, click here)...we may already have a winner.

Blech.

Petition to Save the Tse-Whit-Zen Village

I'm asking all ZEN PRETZEL TRICK fans to take a moment to look over and sign this petition:

Protect the Tse-Whit-Zen Village