Wisdom of the Elders
This section will evolve. Stories will be added and changed periodically. Each will reflect different perspectives of the same issue -- the human journey
.
WISDOM OF THE ELDERS:
by: Black Bear from the Blackfeet Tribe in Montana--an artist/scholar
The drum stopped and the plaintive song ended.
The circle of dancers slowed and came to a halt, looking at each other
with bright shining eyes, still breathing hard, not wanting to cease.
Napi knew in his heart that a healing of the people had occurred. This
circle had come together in pain and fear, wanting to pray and lift the
darkness that covered their community. Now elders and young people hugged
and laughed, and for a moment thoughts of those relatives who had taken
their own lives were gone. Napi knelt before the altar and smudged himself
with the pungent sage and gave thanks to the Creator.
The curling smoke carried him to a night some years before, to the Chuska
Mountains of Arizona. A wizened Navajo elder squatted over a crackling
juniper fire and sipped his black coffee. Napi asked him, "Why are
our young people taking their lives?" Napi waited for him to respond.
Some fifteen minutes passed before the old man replied, "We do not
talk of death." Napi waited for more, but none came. His mind raced,
thinking of the many young lives lost to the people of the Wind River reservation.
How could you not talk about death?
Napi remembered talking with a Wind River social worker about the clustering
of suicides--all young people. There were many reasons given--alcoholism,
poverty, joblessness, abandonment, loss of culture, sexual abuse and other
forms of violence. Napi knew that these were superficial and only symptoms
of a deeper hurt. The social worker said that many experts on suicide and
prevention came to Wind River offering assistance and money for studies.
The tribes began turning away outside offers of assistance--unless there
was something offered that the people did not already know.
The tribal government tried to mandate that there would be no more suicides.
There were many community meetings, but nine young lives were lost in two months!
It wasn't until they became very afraid that they began looking "inside"
for the answers and turned to their traditional ways. The spiritual leaders
and pipe carriers performed a ceremony that had not been performed for
sixty years. The pattern was broken. There have been suicides since then, but not the hysteria or clustering
Suddenly, Napi understood what the Navajo elder had told him about not "talking about death". Our traditional ways give us guidelines for living and for dealing with death. Our elders tell us that "to speak it will make it happen". Death was such a powerful symbol that it was not good to speak casually about it. There were ceremonies to help the people grieve and honor the passing of the spirit to the other
side. When the grieving was over, the people were to get on with their
lives. There were other ceremonies that helped the people to heal. There
were also ceremonies to celebrate life and its passages.
But, we had forgotten our ways. Today, we mostly talked about them--we no longer lived them.
With a rush, Napi came back into the circle of dancers now. Tears came
to his eyes. Thank you Creator, thank you for showing us the way.
.
LOOKIN' EVERYWHERE BUT AT OURSELVES:
by: Black Bear
When Napi walked into the community meeting at the Tribal building, the room was packed.
Smoke filled the air and rose in little columns, like smoke from many campfires. The room buzzed with the sound of voices, all clamoring at once. Their young people were killing themselves. "Why?" "What can we do about it?" Napi had been to similar meetings on many reservations. The people were looking for answers and ways to stop the pattern of self-destructive behavior their youth were caught in. They had many people calling and offering help -- psychologists, sociologists..."experts", people wanting to give money to do research. Their leaders had gone to Washington, DC, to meet with congressional committees and ask for money -- money for youth programs, a community center, and more "experts".
Napi remembered another time when he had traveled up north and had met with a group of parents that were concerned with "youth acting out". In this particular community, there were high rates of alcoholism, children hurting other children, deaths by car accidents, and suicide among the young people. The rates were no better among the adults, especially the alcoholism.
The tribe had secured a $375,000 grant for youth programs. The money was enough for the tribe to create four or five programs for the young people. They built a youth center for recreational activities. The youth were now provided outreach programs that took them into the wilderness and taught them survival techniques and leadership. During the school year, high risk youth stayed at a boarding school during the week and then went home on weekends.
One program that the tribe was proud of was located in a remodeled "old jailhouse". Napi went there and visited and found Hawk, an old friend that he had gone to Haskell with. Hawk was the director of this youth program.
The jailhouse had been painted bright colors, even pink, but the cells were still cells. Behind the bars were young people 9-19 years old. They were sitting there reading or sleeping or talking with one another. Napi asked Hawk why they were there. Hawk said they were there for their own welfare--they were one step away from the state reform school. Napi asked Hawk again, "What are they in for?" Hawk told him that they were there for truancy, for possession of booze or for smoking marijuana. Napi said "Oh!", and sadly left the old jailhouse.
As he walked away, Napi recalled that this same tribe had only a small alcoholism program for the adults. Certainly money and programs weren't the whole answer, but it seemed that the priorities were upside down
It was now Napi's turn to speak at the community meeting. When he had finished speaking, there were many questions. Several people asked him what he thought could be done about the suicides among the young people of their community. Napi told them three things could be done that would drastically reduce the rate of suicide, violence and death by car accidents:
1. "WE must stop OUR drinking!--Nobody can do it for us." Nearly 75% of the suicides, violence, and deaths by car accidents were alcohol-related.
2. Many of the adults were alcoholic. There were many single mothers and the young people had no adult male role models. The youth were being left home while the adults went out to party or to play bingo or to the bright lights and good times at the Casino. "We are telling the young people to not do the same things we ourselves are doing. We must hold the adults accountable for the raising of their children."
3. "We must find the answers within ourselves. Don't be lookin' for others to solve our problems--only we can solve our problems. Many of the answers are there in our traditional ways--they need to be used. We can seek advice and assistance from others, but until the community is committed to changing its own behavior, our young people will continue to act out."
Napi stood there for a moment, but no one spoke or responded. The little columns of smoke continued to rise to the ceiling. He felt as though the people did not "hear" him, or think that these were "choices" that they had some power over.
.
LOOK AT HOW THE ANIMALS CARE FOR THEIR YOUNG:
Paul Ortega is a longtime friend, and is a Mescalero Apache. Although Paul is best known for his music, he was raised by his elders teaching him "medicine ways", and these teachings help link traditional understandings with contemporary human problems. When we see each other, here and there, we often talk about suicide prevention, healing, music, and art--he believes in the healing power of art. I asked him several years ago about what was going on with young people and the violence--kids killing kids. Paul told me that when I got confused and couldn't figure these things out, that I should "look at how the animals care for their young".
The Apache elders began teaching Paul at a very early age and for the first four years, he was told to learn everything he could about water. After water, Paul was instructed to learn everything he could about plants for four more years. Then he spent another four years learning about animals. The last four years of teaching was spent in the study of human behavior. Paul Ortega reminded me that we human beings ARE animal. He said that human beings are always thinking about themselves and justifying what they WANTED to do. Animals, he said, aren't like that. When they have young ones, their primary responsibility is to care for those young.
As we visited, it became easier to see what Paul meant. From the time that the young are "in the nest" (in the home), the parent is firmly in control. Sure, the little ones are allowed to play and explore, however, they quickly learn what they can and cannot do. This is reinforced with a growl or a cuff of the paw that will roll them over and over--it gets their attention, but does not injure them. The young are not allowed to stray far and will quickly scurry to the mother if there is danger. Also, the mother will protect her young with a ferocity that far exceeds defending of territory or food.
Paul Ortega pointed out that there is no wavering or waffling about the parent wanting to go play bingo, or hang out with friends. He said that although we often say we have to work to support the family, this is also justifying what we want to do. We justify our lifestyle--what used to be luxury items are now necessities.
In conclusion, this Apache elder reminded me, that for the animals there are no ambiguities in the role of the mother or parent--no bingo, new cars, or fancy clothes. Their sole purpose is to raise, care for, and teach the young how to survive.
.
ON BECOMING A MOTHER: by Liz Cheney, Tlinget
In European cultures the man was seen as the "head of the household", the "money-maker", the "bread-winner", and hence, the "decision-maker", but this was not so, within the world of the Tlingit. We were a people that were matrilineal, our children followed their mothers' line, and there was also, in terms of society, a great emphasis put on the activities of the entire family. The division of labor was not a method of gender control, but rather a system developed from time immemorial which allowed for the fact that no matter what, the wife and her children were the center of the world. With this in mind, it is easy to understand the importance of the birth of a child, especially the first-born. These days it seems so easy to forget that when a child is born and starts it's life being initiated and named into it's family, clan, and village, there is also another change, that of the woman becoming a mother.
In my village of Kake, Alaska, there was a certain area designated for child birth, it was called the Birthing Tree, a huge old spreading hemlock tree with low sweeping branches, for privacy. It was cleaned and maintained by the women of the village, no men were allowed within the sanctum of the tree. These days it is thought of by the men to be a dirty, filthy place, where the blood of woman is spilled, but back in the old days, before the devastation of Christian oppression, men were not allowed in because the medicine of the woman was too powerful. It was believed that at times of the moon cycles and especially during birth, the power of the woman was too strong of a scent and could dilute the medicine of the men.
All through the pregnancy, the expecting mother was being continually told by her grandmothers, aunties, and mothers the role and importance of being a mother. Many of the women from around the village would come by to wish the unborn child a safe passage from the land of the ancestors. The expecting mother would spend her days listening and learning the rhythms of motherhood. She would sit quietly in places she felt drawn to and describe the beauty to her child. Whenever she worked on anything she would take the time to describe how and why she was doing it. It was believed that if she did not speak quietly to her silent observer inside and share with it beautiful songs and stories, then the child would be born with empty ears, always trying to make noise, and it would have empty eyes, unable to see beauty.
As she grew closer to her delivery time, the expecting mother would have less and less contact with her husband and the other men. About a month before she was due, she would move into the birthing area underneath the hemlock tree and start making the preparations for birth. Now, her education into the world of motherhood would increase by tenfold since there were no men around to hear the words of woman's wisdom. The aunties would come to teach her how to make it through labor, take care of her newborn, and how to perform the ceremonies necessary to insuring a good, healthy life for her child. She was also told how the child's life would affect her own, how to adjust the pattern of her life to her child's, and she was also told about the public ceremonies of introduction and naming which would come soon after birth.When she went into labor all the women of her family and clan would come to show their support. They would sit, just outside the canopy of the tree, by a small fire, laughing, singing, calling out to the woman soon to be a mother. Their noise and happiness was to help ease the pain but also welcome the child into a family of love. Inside the tree, only the closest aunties-midwives were with the woman. When the birth was impending, the woman would squat over a shallow hole, lined with beautiful smelling cedar and soft wild cotton. She would reach out and grasp the strong stake that had been implanted a little in front of the birth cradle, facing the strength of the tree. Her aunties would move to her sides and behind her. Their strong, gentle hands helped ease the pain of labor and their quiet, soothing voices helped coax the child out into the world.
Immediately after birth, the new mother would take the child's umbilical cord, wrap it with some medicine, and bury it somewhere near the birthing area. This would insure that the child would never have to search for it's home, as itŐs umbilical would always lead it right back to the starting place. Then the word would spread throught the village that an ancestor had made it back safely. There would be much rejoicing and happiness at the prospect of a family reunion. The family members would then begin preparation for the upcoming potlatch ceremonies on behalf of their new relative.
Unlike other cultures where the newborn is immediately brought out to be introduced to it's family, in Tlingit culture things weren't so rushed. The father wouldn't be able to see the child for at least a month, or for the duration of the new mother and the child's bonding session under the tree. After birth, the tree became the first home while the child adjusted to the smell of it's mother and the fullness of the world. This time was also very important for the woman who also needed it to grow accustomed to being a mother. When she and her aunties decided that it was time to introduce the new relative to the family, it was also time for the celebration and ceremony of the potlatch.
Becoming a mother was indeed a true "rite of passage" for the Tlingit woman of long ago. Through the preparation, commitment, instruction, and initiation of childbirth, a Tlingit woman's position with her family, clan, and village changed from one of woman to mother. It was a life changing conversion honored by all the community with feasting, singing, dancing, and laughter.
Today there is not quite so much ritual to giving birth. Most of our Tlingit children are born in an Indian Health Service hospital, which is not only located in a city but also on a different island altogether. This naturally makes it kind of hard to bury the umbilical cord. The changes in our Tlingit world and the ceremonies and rites that we believed in are, from where I stand, due only to the pervasiveness of the whiteman's culture. Although I do not believe that our culture was, or is, static, I do feel that we had then, and still have, the power to control our own society without the guidance and interruption of any outside sources. I can only hope that when it comes time to for me to have a child, the rituals and ceremonies that have lain so long ignored are once again brought forth, placed within our box of knowledge, and taught to me by my aunties.
Prepared for Native American Philosophy, IAIA (1996)
HOME (Frames)
(No Frames) | SUICIDE PREVENTION | CRISIS
INTERVENTION | ART & HEALING
| SITE MAP & RESOURCES