Balancing the Books: Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee

I have known about Dee Brown's classic history of the Western Indian Wars, for some thirty-five years. I can remember it being discussed, when I was in Middle School, between the years 1971 and 1974. Adults would mention it. You heard them talk about it on the radio, and on TV. This was about the time that Marlon Brando refused his Oscar for The Godfather, in protest of the treatment of Native Americans by the government.

It was very much talked about at the time.

Finally, years later, I picked up the book and began reading it. Not only was it in my list of books on American History that I want to read, but recently, it fits into my passion for understanding the history of my own family. My great-great grandmother, Mattie Clemons, was a Creek or Choctaw Indian from Alabama. She was very likely the illegitimate child of a white man named Clemons and an unidentified Native American woman. As a very young girl, perhaps three or for years old, I believe that she was forced west in the Trail of Tears. She spent her life hiding her Indian identity, seeking to blend in with the whites. This rejection of her Creek/Choctaw heritage was passed on to the next one or two generations, and only recently have we begun searching for answers.

For people like me, books like Bury My Heart provide some answers. Our ancestors, that lived only 150 years ago, have vanished into historical thin air. Records are few. Their names are not known. But thankfully, Dee Brown gives us more than perhaps we realize at first glance. I may not know the names, or the places, of my Native American ancestors. But I know more about their lifesyle, and what happened to them, than I do of even my Polish great-grandparents on the other side!

The book is shocking, saddening, sickening, enlightening, and riveting. It is peppered with occasional comic moments, mostly at the expense of the white idiots that dominated the formulation of Indian policy. Our heroes on one side of the American History tome: Jackson, Grant, Sheridan, Sherman, and Schurz, are transformed into near Nazi-like villains on the other.

This mixed bag of human nobility and shame makes the story of Wounded Knee authentically American.

I will never forget some of the book's moments: Of a visit to Chicago by one chief, who noted that the whites tended to go back and forth, hurriedly, like ants, with no particular purpose except to keep on the move; of Chief Joseph's comments about schools and church (see my prior post); of one chief handing to an Indian Bureau agent a handful of dirt, saying "Here, take this - it is all that's left of our land"; of the Indian Messiah that ushered in the Ghost Dance movement, and generated hope that the Indians would make a comeback; of the final massacre at Wounded Knee, where women and children were slaughtered along with the adult males.

The Indian Wars were a shameful chapter in American History. I would argue, with my grandfather E.A.Turnbow, that our horrible treatment of the Indians surpassed even that of the African American slaves. Most likely both are on a par.

American policy was to make the Indians into white people. But those that did, by converting to Christianity and building houses and farms, still were forced onto reservations.

I would recommend this troubling book to any that have not yet read it. We still can, and should, learn much from our Native American brothers and sisters. And if we can have a hand in reviving all that was noble and decent in their culture, it would be a good thing.