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Veterans Appreciation and Heritage Day Pow wow in South Gate, California.
As I write this, pow wow season is in full bloom in most of Indian Country. It’s more than a carnival or fair. It’s a celebration of community. And, if you are up for it, the drum is calling for you, like me, to hit the pow wow trail.
The American Indian pow wow dates back to a time that none of us remember. Tribal communities would gather in the hot summer heat in a field and form a circle. A drum, usually made of deer or buffalo skin, was set in the center. Men would gather around the drum and sing songs from the Earth. Women would stand behind the men and sing while tribal members danced around the circle. Many male dancers dressed in eagle feathers and buckskin. Women dancers wore shawls and beaded moccasins.
It was a cultural spectacle that went on until the cool of night.
Since those days, the pow wow has changed a great deal but, then again, Indian Country has changed as well. These days, big money fills the circle. The best dancers and drum groups are awarded cash prizes. Vendors selling fry-bread tacos, jewelry, even blow-up plastic Hulk dolls, can make a buck or two. Dancers, drum groups, and vendors spend the entire summer on the pow wow trail earning enough money to make it through the long, lean winter months.
Yet, the spirit, the essence of the pow wow, remains the same: Family and community. Families reunite on lawn chairs in the shade of trees. Babies crawl on spread out blankets. Elders enjoy free feasts and donations are collected for financially needy families.
Of course, getting to the pow wow is the most important task. Pennies are pulled from under couch pillows for gas. Tents and coolers are packed in the back of the vehicle. Bologna sandwiches are made, and with popsicles in hand, everyone is set to hit the trail. No one worries about getting back home after the pow wow ends.
Ceremony is a major part of the pow wow. Tribal members who have contributed to the health and wellness of the community are honored, as are tribal elders. Special songs and dances call people to rise to their feet in reverence. And, of course, there is prayer and the burning of sage.
Sometime around noon, the pow wow begins with the “Grand Entry.” It’s a procession led by Indian military veterans carrying the tribal and American flag, as well as eagle feather staffs. It’s an honoring not so much of American military victories, but of those Indians who have served to protect this land.
Non-natives are welcome to join, to participate and learn more about Indian culture. Every pow wow has an emcee who directs and describes songs and dances. The emcee announces when it’s time to invite everyone, including non-natives, to dance around the circle.
As expected, some white people cross the cultural line. Years ago, at the Southern California Indian Pow Wow in Los Angeles, I noticed a non-native dancer dressed in an outfit made of fake leopard fur. He described himself as Aztec. A vendor sold water buffalo horns. It is difficult for pow wow organizers to say no to these folks. The interchange of money is not ceremonial, but a necessity.
Non-natives are welcome to join, but what drives some Indians to anger are the wannabes.
What drives some Indians to intense anger are the wannabes. These are white people who appropriate Indian culture. They claim an eighth of tribal blood and they can aggressively insinuate themselves into the community.
My friend, White Earth Anishinaabe writer Marcie Rendon, wrote a poem about white women who like to romanticize the role of an Indian woman. “What’s an Indian Woman to Do When All the White Girls Act More Indian than You?” Marcie argued that these white women know nothing about the life, struggle, and survival of Indian women—working the fields, gathering wild rice, raising children, often as single mothers, and enduring domestic violence and alcoholism. Marcie finds nothing romantic about that.
And yet, the pow wow endures as the most important of all tribal gatherings. For me, the pow wow is less about the songs and dances than the fellowships. How fun it is to run into long lost relatives and friends. And, with an Indian taco and stick of buttered corn in my hands, nothing matches the drum beat of community. It’s going to be a hot summer, but I hope to see you on the pow wow trail.
Mark Anthony Rolo is an enrolled member of the Bad River Band or Lake Superior Chippewa and author of the memoir My Mother Is Now Earth.