What does it mean to be an injun in this day and age?

Yes, you read that right. I'll say right now. In my family we don't tend to call each other "Native Americans". We say Indians and injuns. I'm sorry it's not politically correct. It is what it is.

It's an inner struggle for many I know. The mix of wanting to be proud of what we are, but not wanting to carry a chip on our shoulder. Not wanting to be a stereotype. There's also this strange shame, that it seems has been passed down from generations. It tells us, don't make a fuss. You are what you are, why be loud?

Myself with my mother and her siblings. Left to right: Milo, Mum, Myself, Maggie, Mike.

What does it mean to be an injun in this day and age? 

For any of you that have seen pictures of me, you might say, "Wait? She's Native American?" I've felt at times, that I can't claim any pride, because I don't look the part. My skin isn't brown...hell, I need SPF 85. If you look at half of my family though...they are tribe. My grandmother was a half-breed. My mother looks the part. My father is German and English though, so there you have it. Daughter of Paleface.

Grandmother is the little girl front and center. She's sitting with Lucy Dick, her sister, father and grandfather.

What does it mean to be an injun in this day and age?

As I've said in other writings. My grandmother was born before being "Indian" was cool. She was spit upon. I just can't picture that, because she was a beautiful, amazing soul. But it happened. My mother said...the older grandma got, the more she felt like an Indian though. And when she died she looked as peaceful and striking as an Indian princess. Technically, she was. My fourth-great grandfather was an Indian chief. You'd think that with such a rich heritage, it'd be easy to be proud. But there's still such a deep mix of emotions. A struggle of cultural identity.

Wake Kloshe by Peggy O'Neal - The Chetco "trail of tears" as it were.

What does it mean to be an injun in this day and age?

We don't smoke peace pipes, we don't chant around fires. We never killed buffalo. Our tribe was small, on the Oregon coast. We liked fish a lot...

The reservations are fewer and further between these days. And many  natives resent them as well. It's easy for people separating themselves from the world to dwell on the past and say, "look at what the white man has done to us." But...a great many of them are at least partially white men. I think many of us fear that mentality, and it's another reason we're so wary of pride.

Grandma Oogie (Vernadell) and her Aunt Nora.

What does it mean to be an injun in this day and age?

Well you must be an alcoholic? If you're not, someone in your family has to be. It's true. There are a handful in my family. And I know I have an addictive personality, so I've never really picked up the habit myself. Who wants to be the drunk Indian?

My Great Uncle Elmer. (Not the literal last I dare say!)

What does it mean to be an injun in this day and age?

I just watched Smoke Signals for the first time,and I loved it. But I noticed, as I watched the movie, and connected with it, that my husband really didn't seem to get into it. What was really funny to me, barely got a "heh" out of him. I guess there really is an "Indian Humor".

As my family has pointed out many times, humor is a very big thing for us. I think if people who have been put down or had hardships can't laugh...well they wouldn't have survived as long as they have. If you laugh, you live.

So in the end, that question I can't stop asking myself...what does it mean to be an injun in this day and age? It means more than I have managed to sum up here. And I'm still not sure of all it entails. To me, I suppose the only true importance is that it means...something. And I'm on the path to finding pride in that part of myself.

I'd like to leave off with a poem my grandmother wrote.



A Glimpse of the Past - by Vernadell Mann

Silver pathways upon the water
As peke faced moon shines down upon the sea
'Neath the wind I sit and ponder
Eons of time turn back to me.

I see the peaceful Chetco River
on its journey to the sea
And as its mouth an Indian village
Where my people used to be.

Dusky maidens in shell trimmed dresses
Babes as brown as they could be
Dwelled upon this land God gave them
Living their lives in harmony.

Brothers of the mink and otter
Where the Chetco flowed wide and free
Only taking what they needed
Never killing needlessly.

Indian old brown and wrinkled
Taught the young the Indian ways
And in this way, down through the ages
These Indians spent their carefree days.

Lucy Dick was born in this Indian village
Played as a child, on sun warmed sand
Little knowing, unsuspecting
White men soon would take our land.

Then white men came to this peaceful valley
Their greed for land grew and grew
They took the land of these Indian people
And their lives, they wanted too.

Lucky Dick, my great grandmother
Was in one of these bands
That the soldiers drove like herds of cattle
To a far away reservation land.

Many Indians didn't make it
They lost their lives along the way
Their homes and freedom
To satisfy paleface greed that day.

Siletz is where the soldiers took them
And my people mourned to be
Back to the beautiful Chetco River
In their village by the sea.

I see the foot prints of my people
Imbedded in the sands of time
Where they live now forever
Etched upon my heart and mind.

A painting of Lucy Dick from the Chetco Memorial Project.