How to Write the Great American Indian Novel
a poem and an indictment of pretend Indians (with audio recording)
All of the Indians must have tragic features: tragic noses, eyes, and arms. Their hands and fingers must be tragic when they reach for tragic food. The hero must be a half-breed, half-white and half-Indian, preferably from a horse culture. He should often weep alone. That is mandatory. If the hero is an Indian woman, she is beautiful. She must be slender and in love with a white man. But if she loves an Indian man then he must be a half-breed, preferably from a horse culture. If the Indian woman loves a white man, then he has to be so white that we can see the blue veins running through his skin like rivers. When the Indian woman steps out of her dress, the white man gasps at the endless beauty of her brown skin. She should be compared to nature: brown hills, mountains, fertile valleys, dewy grass, wind, and clear water. If she is compared to murky water, however, then she must have a secret. Indians always have secrets, which are carefully and slowly revealed. Yet Indian secrets can be disclosed suddenly, too, like a storm. Indian men, of course, are storms. They should destroy the lives of any white women who choose to love them. All white women love Indian men. That is always the case. White women feign disgust at the savage in blue jeans and T-shirt, but secretly lust after him. White women dream about half-breed Indian men from horse cultures. Indian men are horses, smelling wild and gamey. When the Indian man unbuttons his pants, the white woman should think of topsoil. There must be one murder, one suicide, one Indian dead on the roadside. Alcohol should be consumed. Cars must be driven at high speeds. Indians must see visions. White people can have the same visions if they are in love with Indians. If a white person loves an Indian then the white person is Indian by proximity. White people must carry an Indian deep inside themselves. Those interior Indians are half-breed and obviously from horse cultures. If the interior Indian is male then he must be a warrior, especially if he is inside a white man. If the interior Indian is female, then she must be a healer, especially if she's inside a white woman. Sometimes there are complications. An Indian man can be hidden inside a white woman. An Indian woman can be hidden inside a white man. In these rare instances, everybody is a half-breed struggling to learn more about his or her horse culture. There must be redemption, of course, and sins must be forgiven. For this, we need children. A white child and an Indian child, gender not important, should express deep affection in a childlike way. In the Great American Indian novel, when it is finally written, all of the white people will be Indians and all of the Indians will be ghosts.
I first published this poem 26 years ago as an indictment of non-Indians who pretend to be Indians in order to obtain financial, professional, and personal benefits. These pretend Indians—these pretendians—have been playing their con games since the earliest days of colonialism.
Here are some links to recent and past news stories if you’d like to read more about this phenomenon:
“The Curious Case of Gina Adams: A ‘Pretendian’ Investigation”
“How Disgraced Health Expert Carrie Bourassa Passed as Indigenous for Years”
“Native, First Nation Scholars: Fake Indians Prevalent in Higher Education”
“Five Other Fake Indians Besides Elizabeth Warren”
“He Was Hollywood’s Favorite Native American, But Iron Eyes Cody Wasn’t Native At All”
You did it again--opened my heart through laughter so the last line could more easily break it. Thank you.
This is beautiful. And funny. And sad. And beautiful. And as always with your writing, what is not spoken is at least as powerful as what is. "all of the Indians will be ghosts."
For a long time I’ve wanted to understand better the interaction between Indian and white cultures. In part, my confusion comes from the fact that I am an essentially white person born very far from the Americas, both geographically and culturally. Even though I’ve lived here most of my already long life, and even though this country, with all its flaws, is still more home to me than any other, there are things about its history I still don’t understand. Unfortunately this is also true of many white Americans born here. When I first moved to New York, I asked a boy in school why we didn’t study American history that was older than a few hundred years. He told me that there was nothing to study, because there was nothing here before a few hundred years ago. In consternation I asked him the obvious: what? what about the Indians (we didn't say "Native Americans" in those days) Luckily for me, and for this gentle idiot boy, my English was still so very broken that I couldn’t have had an actual conversation with him, but the memory of being completely stunned to the point of incredulity has stayed with me. To be fair, this well-meaning innocent also insisted that America was free from prejudice, because it had been founded (?) by people escaping persecution. (Clearly that necessarily meant that they knew better…of course.) We are, all of us, very good at wearing blinders when the truth is hard to face.
I was unaware of the existence of pretendians until recently . It seems there is no limit to how low we humans can sink. We don’t need politicians to guide us down the path of shamelessness.