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Border Deaths

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Note:  The first version of this article was published in the San Francisco Examiner decades ago.  That I’ve updated the article with only minor changes illustrates how little has been done to address border deaths.  One further note.  The specious claims by Gov. Abbott and others that migrants are criminals who routinely wreak havoc at the border, simply have no basis in fact.  Many studies establish that crimes committed by migrants comprise a fraction of the crimes attributable to American citizens.  I’ll suggest that a substantially smaller percentage of migrants are convicted of crimes in comparison to the percentage of Trump’s cronies and insurrectionists who have committed crimes.  Next time you splash all over the media a photo of the rare migrant who has committed a horrific crime, include photos of American serial killers, mass murders, road ragers and others who have raped and killed.   These ‘model” American citizens have committed hundreds of horrific crimes to every one crime committed by a migrant. 

 

Border Deaths: Dying to Come to America

 

Death can be ugly.  Bloated corpses floating in a river, caught on Texas Governor Abbott’s razor wire.  Shattered bodies lying at the base of Trump’s wall.  Shriveled corpses in the desert. 

         

And death can be distant.  Not necessarily distant in time or space but in terms of personal detachment.  We may be detached from death unless a relative, friend or neighbor dies.

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Thousands upon thousands may die in an Indonesian tsunami or a Turkish earthquake and we may shake our heads.  A neighbor dies and we are shocked.  A family member dies and we’re immobilized with grief.

Such in human nature.

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So it comes as no surprise that many Americans simply shrug their shoulders when the corpses of men, women and children from Mexico, or Central and South America wash up on Texas river banks.  Or when their bodies litter our deserts or mark the spots where they fell after climbing the Wall

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But these bodies are my brothers and sisters, my aunts and uncles, my cousins and nephews, whose only crime or sin was to seek sanctuary or security in America.

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So it should come as no surprise that I am embittered by the cavalier attitude of Texas’ governor or many other Americans about the loss of my loved ones.  Not because you simply shrug your shoulders.  Not because you don’t empathize with my loss.  But because you feel that they somehow deserved their fates.  They were, after all, illegal aliens who were not only violating American borders but were violating American laws.

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In truth, their capital crime was to aspire to a fraction of what the average American possesses.  And not just material possessions but the freedoms that make American life transcendent.

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Freedom from want and fear, a friend and recent immigrant from Mexico once told me, allowed him to enjoy the beauty around him.

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“I can gaze at the ocean off the coast of California and marvel at its beauty.  The same ocean, as I struggled to survive in Mexico, lacked any allure.”

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There is an irony in these border deaths that heightens my bitterness.  The people dying at the border are the type of people that Americans often cite as paradigms of virtue---hard working, God-fearing, family-oriented individuals.

Once they arrive in America, if they withstand the journey, they don’t stand on street corners with hand-scrawled signs asking for handouts.  They congregate near Home Depot and other locations, accepting menial, low-paying jobs offered by people in passing cars.  Or they flow into the fields to pick, dig and prune under heat often as brutal as that which they endured during their northward passage.

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They don’t abandon their families and refuse to pay child support until their wages are garnished.  They keep a pittance from their meager wages to subsist, and send the balance to their wives and children, parents and grandparents in Mexico or elsewhere, to sustain them.

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They don’t shake their fists and curse fate if they fail to attain the “American dream” as do some disillusioned Americans.  They express gratitude to God for what little they’ve been endowed with and for their modest opportunity to pursue the American dream.  They certainly don’t storm the halls of Congress, battering law enforcement officers and destroying government property.

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The final irony?   As their arduous trek northward illustrates, these are Mexicans and others who are willing to die for what America has to offer.   And I’m not sure that most Americans these days would be willing to die for that which they take for granted.

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So if my grief over the tortured-border-deaths of my loved ones, of someone’s loved ones, seems tinged with bitterness toward American indifference, indulge me.   I promise that the untimely deaths of any of your loved ones will never be met with an assertion from me that some brand of American karma has been served.

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On a lighter note.......

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DEATH BY TATTOO

 

     I was going to lose my tattoo virginity.

     Yes, this old man who had long resisted the urge to memorialize loved ones or beloved places or things on his body was going to get a tattoo.

     I was taking a brief vacation to Santa Fe, New Mexico, primarily for the Santa Fe Wine Festival, and I thought this would be an appropriate time and place for the long-awaited tattoo.  I was, after all, a New Mexico ex-pat with familial and spiritual ties to the Land of Enchantment.

     And the tattoo I had chosen was also appropriate--the symbol of New Mexico, the multi-pronged Zia cross.  I’ve worn a Zia cross around my neck for much of my adult life so what better choice for a tat.  A small, red-ink Zia on my arm to memorialize my love for New Mexico.

     So before my departure I identified a number of tattoo shops in Santa Fe and scheduled a day, in between wine tasting at Rancho Los Golondrinas and forays to the Shed, La Choza and other favorite restaurants in Santa Fe, for the tat.

     A significant number of my family and friends have tattoos.  And many of the tats are splendorous depictions of our culture—Aztec warriors, Mexican heroes such as Emiliano Zapata, or religious icons, the Virgen de Guadalupe.

     I envisioned myself proudly showing all my tattooed friends and relatives my little Zia while proclaiming my courage for finally submitting to the needle.

     But it didn’t happen.  I returned to Sacramento tattoo-less.  Because a loved one offered a gratuitous aside before I could face the needle.       “You know, people, especially old people, have died from getting tattoos.”

     Wait, what? 

     “Yes, the tattoos become infected and they die.  Older people, with weakened immune systems, are particularly susceptible to death by tattoo.”

     My head was spinning.  I had come up with countless reasons for NOT getting a tattoo through the years, but death-by-tattoo was not one of them.

     My initial response?  “Oh give me a break! How many people really die from getting tattoos?”

     A glib “Google it,” was the response.

     But I didn’t have time to google it.  I’d hurriedly packed my bags for New Mexico after a three week European vacay and any free laptop time was spent buying my wine festival tickets and making hotel, car and restaurant reservations.

     Moreover, my all-too-vivid imagination took over.  What if my tattoo DID become infected?  I suffer from many age-related ailments and don’t have the immune system of my tattooed nieces and nephews. 

     Yeah, if my tat got infected, I could end up in a hospital with tubes and a ventilator…or worse.

     The worst?  What they would put in my obituary.  “He died by tattoo.“

Nothing else in my obituary—my modest life or career accomplishments—would resonate.  All anyone who read my obituary would remember is “He died by tattoo.”

     How embarrassing.  I’d never live it down…uh…die it down?

     So I remain a tattoo virgin.  I returned from New Mexico tattoo-less.

     I did, after the fact, google it.  Turns out death-by-tattoo is not really a thing.  Even the rare instance of a recently tattooed person dying after their tattoo became infected, turns out, may be attributed to some underlying medical condition and not the tattoo itself.

     Am I disappointed that I didn’t get the long-awaited tattoo? Not really.  At this twilight point in my life, I’m more concerned about my legacy, about the content of my obituary, than making a social or political statement with body art.

     Which is why I’ve also stopped swimming in the ocean.  Yes, this erstwhile ocean loving, body surfing dude who spent much of his youth on the beaches of Hawaii and California, no longer puts his feet in the water.

     Because as embarrassing as “Death by Tattoo” would be in my obituary, “Eaten by Shark,” would be even more embarrassing. 

     After all, getting eaten by a shark, though rare, has been documented.  It is a “thing.”  And if I were eaten by a shark, I can imagine those reading my obituary shaking their heads and thinking:  “That tonto (dummy), what was he thinking? He should have known better.  He shoulda known that there was a shark out there with his name on it.”

     And…I’d never live that down!

 

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Don’t Traumatize Fido:  Reject Doggie DNA Testing !

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     Of course it was coming.  After the soaring popularity of easy-to-use home testing DNA kits for people, it was only a matter of time before dog owners had their pooches open wide to swab their cheeks.  A few weeks after mailing in the sample, the dog owner finds out if the beloved canine is the pure-bred puppy they thought it was.

     USA Today, in an article entitled: “Is It Really a Beagle?” by Joey Garrison, reveals the lengths to which dog owners are prepared to go to find out their dog’s family history…and the genes that explain how their pooch looks.

     The $150 or more for the testing kits doesn’t deter the determined dog owner who desires a percentage break down of their dog’s breed.  And the dog owner, waiting with bated breath, is elated to receive the test results in the mail, confirming that little Frenchie is indeed a purebred toy poodle!

     But there’s a dark side to Doggie DNA testing that I don’t think dog owners have considered.  Are they prepared for the trauma their pooch will endure if they find out things aren’t as they appear?

     What if their Irish Setter learns that he’s not predominantly Irish at all?  That instead, Big Red is 40% English Pointer.  Bloody English! Couldn’t be 40% Irish or Scottish Terrier, had to be English!

     What if your French Poodle makes the galling discovery that instead of Hollandaise running through her veins, mare radish (the German derivative for Horse Radish) courses through her veins at a 33% level.  Mon dieu!  One-third German Shepherd?

     And…What if the MAGA dog owner, intent on owning a pooch that is 100% born in the USA, sends in a DNA sample for his American Pit Bull, Bubba?  And Bubba the dog learns that MEXICAN Chihuahua DNA was found in the sample. 

     Yes, Mexican  Chihuahua?!   Other DNA would have been acceptable--German Shorthair Pointer DNA,  Austrian Pinscher DNA or even Belgian Sheepdog DNA.          But Mexican Chihuahua DNA?  Is this discovery going to create a wall between the affections of the MAGA man and his dog?

     Will the MAGA owner ever again look at Bubba in the same light?  Or will he stare at that big lug of a dog and envision him wearing a sombrero? (Yes, of course, all Mexicans wear sombreros!)

     Even if you don’t traumatize poor Fido by telling him that he’s more Mongrel than Mongolian Bankhar (yes, google it, there is such a dog!), what of the subliminal effect it will have upon the dog enthusiast?

     So, dog owners, save yourself from the potential trauma!  Resist the urge to stick a big Q-tip into Fido’s mouth.  Be happily oblivious to the possibility that your larger-than-usual English Cocker Spaniel might have a lot of German Shepherd in his genes.

   Because Fido doesn’t care that you had to trade in your kilt for lederhosen after your ancestry.com results showed you had German roots instead of Scottish roots.  He still gives you unconditional love!

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Mascots, dot.com Indians and the Washington Post
 

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Note:  The Washington Post published findings from a 2016 survey asserting that a vast majority of Native Americans polled were not offended by use of the term “Redskins” for a mascot.  The Washington team cited that poll in support of their use of the term.  The owner of the team—who defied requests to drop the racist name--and his Post water carriers were humiliated by subsequent events.  The Washington “Redskins” abandoned their racist trope and the Post’s MonkeySurvey-type poll was exposed as duplicitous by subsequent legitimate surveys.  Jacqueline Keeler, a Native author and activist who was instrumental in the mascot battle, never, to my knowledge, received an apology from the Post nor did any Native entity.  She and the scores of other Native individuals and groups who worked fervently to purge Native mascots from sports lexicon are still owed an apology from the Post.  The following article was written after the Post survey but before the Washington team dropped the offensive mascot.

 

 

Mascots, dot.com Indians and the Washington Post:  the Post Still Owes Native People an Apology

 

When the Washington Post published its 2016 poll findings, asserting that 90% of the Native Americans they contacted were not offended by the term “Redskins” as used by the Washington “Redskins” football team, my visceral response was immediate and unequivocal---the survey was bogus.

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They must have surveyed 500 “dot.com Indians.”  You know, those white people who do an ancestry.com, or genealogy.com search and discover that they may have a tiny bit of Native-American blood.   Those white people who, overnight, begin wearing Native American jewelry…who replace their Lladro figurines with Native American pottery…who pull their Norman Rockwell paintings from the wall and replace them with Amado Pena prints.

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As a New Mexico boy I was certain that New Mexico Puebloans, Pueblo Indians, would not respond to the survey in the manner the Post claimed their respondents had.

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I sold my New Mexico home about the same time the Post survey came out, and had ventured back to the Land of Enchantment only a few times, and only briefly, since then.  So when I had an opportunity to return last week with no set itinerary, I decided to put my visceral feelings to the test.  I decided to visit as many New Mexico Pueblos as I could and speak with as many tribal members as I could about the Washington “Redskins” controversy.

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I started with the Zuni Pueblo.  Because of its distance from Albuquerque and Santa Fe, I’d never been to Zuni.  So, 2 ½ hours after breakfast in Albuquerque, I found myself wandering the streets of Zuni village, trying to get residents of the Pueblo to speak with me. 

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I had no illusions about how receptive any Puebloan would be with my overtures.  I knew that any stranger approaching them on the street with questions about this controversial topic, would be viewed with suspicion.

And I was right.  It was difficult.  It seemed that the only individuals initially willing to speak with me were those who followed me, trying to sell their Native wares, or those in gift shops, also trying to sell their wares.

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My first two encounters were disheartening.  After I’d made a couple of purchases, the sellers were willing to offer terse responses when I inquired about the term “Redskins” as used by the NFL team.

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“It don’t bother me none,” the first said, while the second offered a more expansive “No, I’m not offended.” Neither was disposed to explain why the term didn’t offend them, not offering much more than a shrug of the shoulders.

I’d expected 90% of those I spoke with face-to-face to decry the use of the “Redskins” term by a sports team.  So I was unnerved as I approached a third tribal member.  This gentleman, as it turned out, was a West Coast college graduate who had returned to Zuni to serve the tribe.  And he seemed amused at my discomfort.

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Before responding to the questions I’d posed to the others, he offered that I shouldn’t be surprised by the responses I’d received.  He reminded me that the Washington Redskins organization had appeared at the Zuni Pueblo a few years back, offering to buy Native jewelry and artwork from tribal members, and also offering to bus tribal members to an NFL game in Arizona.

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I had forgotten.  At the time I read of the visit to the Zuni Pueblo, I’d dismissed the visit as nothing more than a cynical public relations ploy, designed to curry favor for keeping the “Redskins” mascot.  I didn’t waste my time with the details of the visit.

“The line of people trying to sell their art must have stretched a mile down the street,” he smiled.  And I guess a lot of them are hoping for another Washington “Redskins” payday, I asked, and he nodded affirmatively.  “The team also gave us money for local improvements,” he added.

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He wouldn’t say that the team bought Zuni loyalty with bribes, but he implied that there was a degree of Zuni loyalty that ensued after the team’s “largesse.”  “They bought a license to insult,” I snarled. He didn’t reply.

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Then he stunned me with a matter-of-fact reply.  “No, I’m not personally offended by the term “Redskin,” he stated.  I was dizzy.  Surely a college-educated Zuni would find the term demeaning.  My preconceptions started to dissipate.

I regained my composure, however, as he explained himself.  What he seemed to convey was that he didn’t “own” the term “Redskin.” 

 

It wasn’t a term that he used to self-describe, and it apparently had little relevance to him.  It was a term that was largely imposed on Native people by White America, he suggested.  He’d leave it to others to grapple with a name-calling issue that was only a tiny element in the larger matrix of how America’s indigenous people were and are treated and viewed by American society.

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As I headed East for Sky City, The Acoma Pueblo, I was conflicted.  I was reconsidering my goal of visiting at least half a dozen Pueblos, with several dozen contacts, in the days to come.  Perhaps I was simply too ill-informed about Puebloan sentiments, despite all my years in New Mexico, to address the issue coherently.

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But I pushed on, and in the days to come I visited not only Zuni and Pueblo Acoma, but several of the Santa Fe/Espanola-area Pueblos—7 in all.  

 

What I ultimately concluded after 7 Pueblos but disappointingly few respondents—only 16 people agreed to speak with me—was both enlightening and distressing.

 

Before I air my conclusions, the disclaimers.  My sample was tiny and the contacts I made hardly constituted a scientific survey.  My contacts were random.  Although everyone I spoke with indicated they either lived or worked at the respective Pueblos, I did nothing to confirm tribal affiliation.

 

Additionally, the questions I posed were not precise or consistent.  Although I always asked what they thought about the Washington “Redskins” logo/mascot/team name, I had to overcome reticence and suspicion by being conversational at first, easing into the topic.

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Finally, the responses I received were equivocal and not quantifiable.  Although the Post claims that the responses to their survey were unambiguous enough to conclude that 9 of 10 “weren’t offended,” by “Redskins,” the responses I received during my conversations were nuanced, often ambivalent and at times internally inconsistent.  

 

Often I was left feeling that those I spoke with were either deeply conflicted, uncomfortable about discussing the subject or simply didn’t trust me enough to provide a true barometer of their feelings.

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The results of my conversations.  Four of those I spoke with said the term “Redskins” by an NFL team wasn’t disparaging to Native people.  None of these could or would articulate why they didn’t think the term was a slur, other than vague assertions that it was just a “name.” 

 

Two of them echoed the Washington “Redskins” line that the team may simply be trying to “honor” Native Americans.

 

Four of those I spoke with stated, unequivocally, that the term was used as a slur and was demeaning.  A caveat, however.  All four, who I approached in the parking lot of the Poeh Cultural Center near the Pojoaque Pueblo, had been discussing the arrest of the “#SantaFe8” in nearby Santa Fe a few days earlier.

 

On September 8, 2017, Pueblo Indians and their supporters had demonstrated against a Santa Fe Fiesta procession, the “Entrada” that ostensibly celebrates the Spanish reconquest of the Santa Fe environs after the 1680 Pueblo Indian Revolt.  Eight of these protesters, including local Pueblo Indians, were arrested and were referred to as the “#SantaFe8” by supporters. 

 

It was apparent that these four individuals supported the protesters, and it was no surprise that each was contemptuous of the Washington “Redskins” defense of their mascot. 

 

When I broached the subject of the Washington Post poll, and the 90% findings, they suggested that I poll the Red Nation (a Native activist group) the #SantaFe8, or any of a number of Native student groups at the University of New Mexico and elsewhere. 

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“You’ll get 100% against the use of the “Redskins” name,” they laughed.  They all sneered at the validity of the Post poll, with one offering: “It’s like asking people if they believe in a single, all-powerful God.  Any poll that claims that people can give a simple, reasoned yes or no answer to that question is dishonest,” he said.

 

The remaining eight people I spoke with didn’t give a simple yes or no answer when asked if “Redskins” was a slur.  Many echoed the response of my Zuni contact by indicating they could not relate to the term because they never referred to friends, family or other Native people as “Redskins,” either disparagingly or fraternally. 

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Many implied that it was difficult to get upset over the amorphous “Redskin” term when the continuum of historic and contemporary injuries and affronts to America’s indigenous people reflected far graver matters. 

 

Referencing the storms that were battering Florida and the Caribbean as we spoke, one said:  “Our people were hit with hurricane after hurricane of displacement and destruction…and we’ve never recovered from the damage that was done.”

 

Yes, of course he was right.  It may be difficult for a Native American to get unduly upset with name calling when poverty, disenfranchisement, infant/adult mortality and other related matters are pervasive issues for America’s Native Americans.

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The most distressing sentiment expressed to me, however, was voiced by a recent University of New Mexico grad I encountered at one of the Pueblo visitor centers.  I don’t recall if he’d gotten his degree from the University’s department of Psychology or Public Health, but he wanted to address the “Redskins” issue within the context of his studies.

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The “psyche” of America’s indigenous people is ”fragile,”  he said, with a large number of Native Americans suffering from a sort of post-traumatic stress syndrome.  “We were historically treated like vermin, to be exterminated or displaced.  And we remain a displaced and marginalized people in American society,” he asserted.

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He indicated that he was not surprised that some Native Americans would welcome the attention of the Washington “Redskin’s” organization or any high profile American organization. 

 

He was not surprised that some Native Americans would give pollsters the answers that they thought the Washington “Redskins” or white Americans wanted to hear. 

 

He was not surprised that most Native Americans didn’t want the contention and controversy that the “Redskins” issue generated Some Native Americans are loathe to offend White America by criticizing Indian mascots or by decrying the “Redskins” nickname, he continued.  They see no utility in offending a populace whose ancestors almost eliminated Native populations from North America.

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I’m not a psychologist or behaviorist, and I have no idea whether there is any empirical validity to what this thoughtful UNM grad conveyed to me. 

 

There is a body of literature however, such as Mary Annette Pember’s Intergenerational Trauma: Understanding Native’s Inherited Pain that supports his theses.

 

So, after a confusing array of responses to my queries…and nothing quantifiable to show for my efforts…what did I learn from my week in New Mexico?   That neither my clumsy efforts to elicit comment from those I buttonholed, nor the Washington Post’s SurveyMonkey approach to enlightenment,  provide anything substantive to the debate over Indian mascots and monikers. 

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The Washington Post attempted to assess the dimensions of a hurricane by sticking a finger in the air—an intellectually dishonest exercise that still leaves me baffled at the Post’s lack of judgment.  And I attempted to validate my strongly-held beliefs by intruding upon the emotional seclusion of the individuals I encountered…also intellectually dishonest.

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As I drove to the airport on my last day in New Mexico, I passed the Albuquerque Indian Center on Texas Street, which serves an urban Native American clientele that is largely poor and/or homeless and which suffers, disproportionately from substance abuse and other societal ills.  

 

I sat in my car for a few moments, trying to read something from the glazed eyes of those who shuffled near the Center clutching blankets and meager possessions.  The Center, I thought, was a microcosm of Native America.  The Washington “Redskins” would not find its mascot among the walking wounded here.

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As I pulled away, I was able to summon the indignation and anger that had been dissipated by my inept Pueblo encounters.   Anger with the Washington “Redskins,” the Washington Post and all others who trivialize the plight of America’s native people with their mascots, their superficial polls and their professed, but disingenuous, reverence for Native Americans.

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In the apocalyptic era of Manifest Destiny, settlers, soldiers and American leaders viewed America’s Indians as “vermin to be destroyed or displaced” as the UNM grad pointedly stated.  There was little humanity, little empathy for Native Americans.

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 And more than a century later many segments of American society, including big business entities such as the “Redskins” organization and the Post, exhibit little humanity, little empathy for Native Americans. 

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Both of these organizations blindly act in their pecuniary self interests and/or are cavalierly indifferent to the incredibly complex issues implicated by their defense of the mascot and their suspect polls.

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I fear that a large segment of Native American society, after the brutal subjugation of their people in relatively recent times, do not possess the will or ability to fight the battles ahead.

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But I fervently hope that non-Native allies with the financial and political clout that Native America lacks, will assist Native Americans in shaming or compelling those in power to do what they have rarely done when dealing with Native America---to do the right thing.

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