Berkely Needs to Give Respect to Indigenous People's Day

by Vivian Hain/PNN East Bay Correspondent

Every year on the Saturday closest to the traditional date of the arrival of Columbus at Turtle Island the Indigenous People’s Day Pow-Wow and Indian Market is held in Berkeley. These events, which took place on October 6th this year, celebrate the survival and revitalization of Indigenous cultures and are held in commemoration of Native resistance to the forces still threatening to destroy them. The celebration of this annual holiday was meant to honor all Indigenous ancestors and the generations who are continuing the struggle for social justice today.

As a recent Berkeley resident, I was somewhat appalled at the fact that there was absolutely no advertisement or promotion done for Berkeley’s Indigenous People’s Day in such a so-called highly educated and liberal city and community. The week before this event, another event that was held at the same park location called How Berkeley Can You Be? which was sponsored and predominately attended by middle-class white folks and was advertised and promoted throughout Berkeley (with a large street banner), so I knew about the event well in advance. Yet, I didn’t even know that Berkeley’s Indigenous People’s Day was happening at all until just a couple days before the event.

One morning, while walking from my car to Berkeley City College on I saw this ugly looking piece of paper stapled to a tall wooden post of the traffic light as I waited to cross the street. It was an official notice sloppily taped to that wooden post by the City of Berkeley to warn all the middle-class white ‘homesteaders’ who live near Martin Luther King Jr. Civic Park of ‘noise variance’. It was a noise permit giving permission to the Indigenous people, the true owners of the land, the allowance to sing, dance and play music. As a person of indigenous blood, I felt deeply hurt and insulted as I looked at that dull colored sign coldly looking back at me, as if my people are going to be some sort of noisy nuisance to this supposed progressive community. I thought to myself: “What a terrible way to find out about such an important event…”

A few days later, I attended the Indigenous People’s Day event with my daughters Jasmine, Janina, Zosia and POOR Magazine’s co-founder Tiny Gray-Garcia’s little son Tiburcio. Under a clear and sunny sky with the Berkeley Police Department ‘conveniently located’ in the backdrop across the park, the show went on.

There were Intertribal dance groups, traditional drum circles, along with many Native American foods and arts crafts vendors. The event’s M.C. was Val Shadowhawk and Arena Director, Earl Neconie, a friend of mine and fellow student at Berkeley City College. The Headwoman Dancer was Felicia LoneBear. Thee were also two drum circles, the Host Northern Drum All Nations and the Host Southern Drum Red Buffalo.

In the first part of the ceremony, many good people in the community and Oakland’s Intertribal Friendship House were acknowledged with respect. This was followed by an opening ceremonial dance and the traditional ‘Gourd Dance’, a memorial dance for all of the indigenous peoples who served in the U.S. military, many having had sacrificed their lives for a nation undeserving of their honorable service. During these two dances, people were asked to not take photos out of respect for the spirits who came and went before us.

In the opening ceremonial dance, many of the grass dancers moved with the beat of the drum as the high curves of their traditional headpieces clipped about like horses' manes. In the traditional Gourd Dance, the men moved around the large chalk circle of the arena in the center in the park, stepping to the rhythm of the drum with their long ribbons on their outfits and leggings almost brushing the ground as the fringes hid their intricate foot movements. Another part of the traditional Gourd Dance was a tribute to call upon the ancestor spirits to connect with those who suffer social and economic oppression under the current regime here in Amerikka. I was very emotionally moved by this.

My friend Earl Neconie, who is of the Kiowa Nation and a veteran, spoke eloquently about the many social justice struggles for Indigenous peoples here in the Bay Area, in California, Amerikkka and throughout the world. He addressed the continual growing problem of houselessness and poverty in Native American communities and that most of the affected population are veterans who have been forgotten by the very oppressive government that disenfranchised them in the first place. He also recognized the Indigenous people’s struggles in both Alaska and Hawaii and the growing social epidemic of drug use amongst the younger Native Americans.

After listening to Earl’s amazing speech, the ceremonies resumed with music, song and dance. That is when my daughter Jasmine quietly turned to me with glassy eyes, telling me that the traditional drums and songs sound so sad to her, that something inside of her feels as if she is connecting a sense of sorrow for something that had come well before her life. She said that she couldn’t exactly understand, but that she could feel it within of her soul through the music.

I also felt sad inside, sad for my ancestors, my elders, my Grandmother, my mother, Mama Dee (Mother of Tiny and Co-founder of POOR Magazine) and for my oldest brother Raymond, who lives in poverty on an oppressed government funded ‘Indian Reservation round up’ for the Washoe Nation way up in Markleeville, California. On this reservation his children are either living on welfare like myself or having a hard time finding work. One of my nephews is currently serving in Iraq because he told me on the phone before he left that, “there’s nothing here for young people in my community, except drinking and doing dope... there’s no schools really and everyone works at Wal-Mart up here”

After the event was over, I felt sad for all of the Indigenous people of Turtle Island and in the world who live the daily struggle of just trying to ‘live’. While walking back to my car, crossing the street with the little ones, I noticed that ugly oppressive ‘noise variance’ sign still posted on that tall wooden streetlight post. As I continued to walk past it, I ripped it right off that wooden post. As it slowly floated down to gutter of the street, I felt a sense of resistance, yet I know that there is so much more work ahead of us and for our future generations to make true social change...