Joy Harjo's "When the World as We Knew It Ended"

There are many poems in Joy Harjo’s, How We Became Human, that have touched me (See Joy Harjo’s “Raining in Honolulu”). But, as I was flipping through her book the other day, I came across another poem that reminded me how amazing poetry can be. The poem is, “When the World as We Knew It Ended.” This is a post 9/11 poem that captures the feelings of detachment, uncertainty, and alienation that our country felt immediately after the attacks. This poem is beautiful because it invokes our own memories of 9/11, but gives us a sense of hope. I will summarize the poem here by including lines from different sections.

Two towers rose up from the east island of commerce and touched the sky.

Then it went down. Swallowed

by a fire dragon, by oil and fear.

Eaten whole.

And then it was over, this world we had grown to love

for its sweet grasses, for the many-colored horses

and fishes, for the shimmering possibilities

while dreaming.

But then there were the seeds to plant and the babies

who needed milk and comforting, and someone

picked up a guitar or ukulele from the rubble

and began to sing about the light flutter

the kick beneath the skin of the earth

we felt there, beneath us

a warm animal

a song being born between the legs of her,

a poem.

This is such a moving poem because it tells us that we alone have the power to create hope and make things better. 9/11 was a tragedy. But, we still had to wake up the next day and make the world a better place. In many ways, I believe it is our duty as humans to make the world better for the generations that follow us. To me, this idea is part of what this poem is saying. We woke up on 9/12 and wrote a poem, sang a song, raised our young, and persevered.

What I find even more touching about this poem is that it is written by a Native American. Historically, Native Americans have been branded as the “other,” which makes the status quo forget that they are Americans too. That is an odd thing to say because Native Americans are the only people living in this country whose ancestors were not immigrants. But the fact that Joy Harjo wrote this poem is a reminder that we are all in this together, regardless of race or gender.

A World Without Borders: My Experience at a Serj Tankian Concert

As you continue reading, you may think this post has nothing to do with our class content. I swear to you, it does.

Last summer, I attended a Serj Tankian concert on the North side of Chicago. Tankian is the lead singer of the rock group, System of a Down, and the concert I attended was the first show of his solo career. I will skim over the actual concert itself by saying that it rocked, and get to the part of the night that affected me emotionally and intellectually.

Tankian had just finished the last song of his set and walked off stage. This is the part of the concert where the audience becomes unified and chants for an encore. If you have been to a concert then you know the feeling. There’s nothing quite like the sensation of jumping and chanting with hundreds of people in unison who all want the same goal. Our cries were heard as Tankian walked back on stage minutes later and grabbed the microphone. A hush came over the crowd as Serj began to speak and set up his encore song. He started telling us how he performed the song in front of thousands of brave troops in Afghanistan and that he disagreed with the policies of President George W. Bush.

If you have been to a concert where the artist has mentioned Bush’s name, then you know the reaction that follows. The crowd erupted with boo’s and middle fingers as Serj nodded along in agreement. But then a weird thing happened. This is something I have never experienced firsthand before and it has etched itself into my memory in the “I will never forget this moment” category. After we (the crowd) voiced our displeasure for our leader, the chant of “U-S-A!” slowly began to percolate from the back of the balcony. The chant moved from back to front until everyone, myself included, was passionately emphasizing each letter with a fist pump in the air.

Then, Serj said something that brought tears to my eyes.

He stopped us mid-chant and said,

“I love my country, I love my country. But I am not a citizen of the U.S.A. I am a citizen of the world. I don’t believe in fucking borders. I don’t believe in Nationalism. I believe in unity and peace.”

For a moment, everyone in the crowd was silent. I had never, not once in my life, imagined a world without borders. The moment of silence hovering over the crowd signaled that I wasn’t alone. However, the silence was brief as the crowd started cheering once again as Serj Tankian played his final song of the night. I was in tears by the end of the song and, to this day, I can’t find an explanation why.

We are all citizens of the world, but sometimes we forget. For me, this moment opened my eyes to the tunnel vision I was living with and I feel fortunate to have this memory. That being said, this memory remained under the surface until one of the class presentations last week. In this presentation, the topic came up of North America being borderless until the colonists arrived. After I heard this, my memory of the Serj Tankian concert came rushing back and I was able to make a connection to this class. It seems to me like a world without borders might be a more peaceful one. We would all be united under one flag. I am not so naïve to believe a world like this would solve every problem. Even Native Americans fought among themselves in borderless North America. But, if we think of ourselves and others in terms of a world without borders, then just maybe we would treat each other better.

The Sins of the Past

In my previous post, I express some anger and disappointment that our ancestors used Religion as a pretense for invasion. I also condemn the colonists and refer to them as the real savages, as opposed to the Native Americans. However, after I let these thoughts sink in a little deeper, I began to feel remorse for even having them in the first place.

This entire class has been extremely thought-provoking and has helped give me another lens by which to view my world. My eyes have been opened to the struggles and history of Native American people and I will never forget what we learned here. I hear Thomas King in my head telling me that I have heard the story now. While this is true, I would not be here blogging right now if the colonists had not decided to settle and “manifest destiny.” American history is filled with violence, oppression, and ugliness. It is truly sad that these things happened. But, the one thought that creeps into my head and makes me feel guilty is that I wouldn’t be here right now if these terrible events never occurred; none of us would.

Right now, I feel like a colonist trying to justify sins with hypothetical statements. Maybe things could have been done differently. Maybe the colonists could have tried to coexist with the Native Americans. Today might be better if that happened. But, maybe not. Maybe the sins of the past helped create the present we enjoy today. The world is far from peaceful and we are all still struggling to get along. But, you are here and I am here. Let’s do what we can to make it better.

Rape of the Land / Religion as a Weapon

The article, “Rape of the Land,” truly struck a chord with me right from the start. First of all, I can’t get over how Indians were seen as occupants of the New Land by the colonists. The rhetoric of calling Native Americans “occupants” entitles the whites to claim (a better term would be steal) the land. The colonists felt they had a right to do this because the Native American communities had not been “established by God” (57). Translation: They are not Christians which means they are savages. But let’s take a closer look at the meaning of “savage.”

Dictionary.com defines savage as, “an uncivilized human being.” Ok, well if the Indians were uncivilized, this means the colonists considered themselves to be civilized. Civilized is also defined as, “having an advanced or humane culture.” Here’s the kicker. The definition of humane is, “characterized by tenderness, compassion, and sympathy for people and animals, especially for the suffering or distressed.” Now that these words have been clearly defined, who was really the savage; the Native American or the colonist?

The way I see it, the colonists played their role in the biggest theft in American history and brought suffering onto generations upon generations of Native American people. As “Rape of the Land” points out, the colonists justified their crime using the word of God by saying, “While Christianity may have been forced on Native people, millions of people are in heaven today as a result” (57). This statement is a fallacy because it is not a concrete fact, which means that it should never be used to justify the removal, genocide, and theft of Native American land and culture. Religion should never be used as a weapon and it is unfortunate that it was back then.

My Life as a Fake Native American

I am unsure if this counts toward my final tally of blog posts but I wanted to share it with the class. This is an excerpt from my Autobiography assignment where I talk about how my nickname came to be “Chief,” and how I am often mistaken for a Native American. It may look a bit lengthy online but I hope some of you will find it to be entertaining. Enjoy!

Ever since I can remember, people have been asking me what nationality I am. When I was younger I would feel a little uncomfortable and just tell them what I was. But now I like to have a little fun when I am asked the question. Now I turn the tables and reply, “What nationality do you think I am?” Usually, the person who gathered up enough courage to ask me in the first place becomes the uncomfortable one and tells me he or she was just wondering. End of conversation. The reason I like to play around with this question is by no means because I am ashamed of my heritage. Instead, it is because I have been trying to keep a mental tally of how many times I am mistaken for a Hawaiian/American Indian.

I acquired the nickname, “Chief,” when I was in junior high. At the time, I was unsure of the moniker’s origins and assumed my friends called me “Chief” because they thought I was a great leader. After all, I was pretty physical on the basketball court back in my day, a spiritual leader by example one might say. It wasn’t until I saw the film, “One Flew over a Cuckoo’s Nest,” years later that I discovered the birth of my nickname. Apparently, my friend’s father had attended one of our park district basketball games and saw me grabbing rebounds and playing solid defense like I was Dennis “The Worm” Rodman. He also noticed that I was a pretty stone-faced fellow who didn’t talk much. These same characteristics are shared by the Indian Chief who plays basketball in “Cuckoo’s Nest.” Add to the mix we both have brown skin and my friend’s father started calling me “Chief.” The nickname spread like wildfire and pretty soon, the whole school, even opposing teams, knew me as “Chief.” I can’t complain though, at least it’s better than “The Worm.” That was the beginning of my life as a misunderstood fake American Indian.

I can remember my senior year of high school football. All of the friends I grew up with attended my rival high school because I was the only one who grew up on the west side of the district border (WEST SIDE!). The week that our schools played one another I called my best friend who played defensive line for the other team. He told me that during their film scouting session, one of their coaches told the team that “Stagg (my high school) has this guy named Chief,” and they should watch for him. I’m not trying to boast about opposing schools thinking I was good, in fact, I hate the spotlight, but I am just trying to illustrate how it is safe for me to assume that anyone who knows me as Chief will most likely think I am of Indian descent. With all of this being said, I am extremely unfamiliar with any type of American Indian culture or tradition. I have of course been exposed to many ignorant stereotypes society has about American Indian culture, such as the time in junior high when my childhood enemy told me to go back to my tepee and inform my mother that he had a wonderful time doing whatever it is they did together the previous night. In his eyes, I was in fact an Indian, which meant I undoubtedly resided in a tepee hidden away in the forests of Worth, Illinois.

Of course, this kind of ignorance should be expected by children in junior high. The amount of ignorance being displayed should reduce as a person gains more life experience and education, right? Well, I am guilty of giving in to stereotypes as recent as two years ago. This is when I saw the film, “Dead Man,” starring Johnny Depp as a fugitive cowboy who meets an Indian named “Nobody.” Nobody is the stereotypical American Indian. He speaks very few words, conducts strange ceremonies, and is obsessed with trading his goods for tobacco. I thought he was the coolest character back then. But it is only recently that I realize how demeaning this portrayal of American Indian life is to their history and struggles. I am somewhat ashamed by how much television and pop culture has shaped my ideas of American Indian culture. Although I don’t think I am the only one poisoned by the media, I want to wipe my slate clean. The documentary on John Trudell we watched the other day really opened my eyes to the complete disregard in which the larger American Indian population has been treated since the arrival of Columbus. I am intrigued and inspired by the revolutionary actions Trudell led and I really hope that we delve deeper into American Indian activism.