I recently looked at the events schedule of a local paper and came across an event with the catchy title, “Indian summer: A Day party on Treasure Island 09.08.12”. Treasure Island, a place named after the Robert Louis Stevenson Novel, a place with toxic waste left by the navy, a place created from bay landfill; a place that is a stone’s throw away from Alcatraz island where the struggle of native people is carved in every stone, whose breath is felt in the soil--the place where native people launched their occupation to call attention to the genocide perpetrated on native peoples on turtle island, decades before the occupation of Wall Street.
It is through this lens that I looked at the advertisement, hatched by some marketing person no doubt, in need of something to do. Much of these ideas/concepts are basically air weighed down with branding and marketing to create something supposedly tangible-but are, in reality, empty and, as my grandmother used to say, flatter than piss on a plate.
Marketing people are paid to conceive and mold ideas into reality from mere air, that’s where their alleged genius supposedly lay and is subsequently recognized. But their job is an illusion. What do they really do but take long lunches and extended vacations? Have you ever tried to reach one of these folks on the phone? You can’t because they’re not there. They’re too busy, too important, and generally, too unhelpful to be bothered with annoying exchanges of communication outside of an occasional interoffice haiku. I suspect the reason it is difficult to reach them is because they are busy ordering merchandise online from Banana Republic(an) or some similar outlet. Of their ilk there is a serious glut—especially in San Francisco. Let them get real jobs, like scraping pigeon shit off a park bench, I say.
Much of this branding takes place in San Francisco where the marketers brand the landscape in the way a dog marks its territory. When I saw the advertisement for “Indian summer: A Day Party on Treasure Island”, I was not surprised. The hipsters were marking their territory again and this time using tipi’s to do it. There was to be music and “luxury tee pee’s” for folks to congregate in and listen to music. The interiors of the “tee pee’s” looked to be inspired by the saintly folks at Ikea and Williams Sonoma. And of course, there was to be “shuttle service” to get to this shindig from SOMA and the Marina(These folks always seem to have shuttle service, don’t they?) Requisite hipster DJ’s (what’s an event without them?), covered in head to toe black—including adorable black shades to cap off their “coolness”-- were to be on hand to round out this event.
Word got out to the promoters of the event that folks in the community—native folk, people of color, conscious folk and the family at POOR Magazine—were not happy with this newest in a long line of celebrations/festivals—especially one so egregiously disrespectful to the native community. 2 folks came to our community newsroom at POOR Magazine identifying their selves as being connected to the event. They stayed for the duration of newsroom and listened to our poverty and indigenous scholars voice their concerns about the overall tone of disrespect the event conveyed to our communities; how the use of tee-pees in the context of their event was highly offensive to native communities. After much discussion, the two women--who identified themselves as representatives of the promoters of the event--then identified themselves as the promoters themselves. I don’t know if they felt intimidated by divulging this but I felt it a bit disingenuous that they withheld this information to our family at POOR Magazine, who opened its doors in good faith and in hopes of an honest discussion of the concerns surrounding the event. The promoters apologized for anything offensive that was contained in the marketing of their event. They assured us that they would omit “Indian Summer” from the marketing materials. They even confided that they had some “Native American blood” in them as well but didn’t indicate how much. True to their word, they did likewise, adding the following disclaimer:
You may have noticed the we changed name and nature of the event from its' original Indian Summer theme. We recieved many complaints about the use of Indian Summer, and realize how the term can be disrespectful to the Native American community. It was never our intention to disrespect anyone or any culture, and we sincerly apologize for any hurt and concern it may have caused.
On September 8th, let's come together to celebrate warm weather, beautiful surroundings, enchanting friends and musical excellence, and together, we can embrace the words from a wise medicine man:
"Native American isn't blood; it is what is in the heart. The love for the land. The respect for it, those who inhabit it; and the respect and acknowledgement of the spirits and the elders. That is what it is to be an indian."
White Feather, Navajo Medicine Man
I appreciate that the promoters came to newsroom, listened to our concerns and made changes to their advertisements. But the entire celebration begs the question, what and who is being celebrated? I did not attend the event, but a friend of mine did and he told me he observed young white intoxicated males walking around in Indian headdress. Where is the responsibility in all of this? To many of us in the community, this type of so-called celebration reeks of entitlement and cultural disrespect by the very people who have gentrified our communities to where working class people of color can’t live in the city anymore. This type of “celebration” is a kick in the teeth. How is this honoring Indian anything?
Many of these so-called celebrations are not about honoring our community or our history but of folks who are celebrating one thing—themselves--the so-called hip, the blank faced, the oblivious, the endless consumers and co-opters of culture and yoga mats. It’s a frat party, alcohol fest whenever someone comes up with some goofball idea and the geniuses keep coming up with more ideas. The one's that do the celebrating--the one's who act like nothing existed her until they arrived--a bunch of little Christopher Columbuses sipping on beer, sitting in the sun in search of a tan. What is it you’re celebrating besides what you see in the mirror, whatever that is? If these folk had any clue at all of where they were at, they would have done the right and respectful thing which would be to cancel this trite and useless event that serves absolutely no purpose but to pad the resume of someone wanting to gain a foothold as an event promoter in the city. Perhaps you should ask, what is it that we see when we see you.