What is my writing if not storytelling?

This post was inspired, in part, by Russell Means’ 1980 speech for the Black Hills International Survival Gathering, linked here.

I also owe thanks to Leanne Betasamosake Simpson and her book As We Have Always Done, as well as Vine Deloria Jr.’s book Red Earth, White Lies—specifically, “Low Bridge—Everybody Cross.”

I have debated for a while now the purpose of writing. As Means begins in his speech, writing is a response to Western knowledge and pedagogy. My education has long been steeped in literature, reading what other people have written instead of hearing firsthand what they have said. Western writing in academia tends to be robotic, informal; it relies on abstracts and About The Authors and University Names and references to other Authors from other Universities. I don’t know these people. I can’t hear their voices.

By contrast, reading Indigenous authors unfolds differently. I hear their story, and I meet their families. Instead of abstracts, biographies, and universities (of which I may still hear mention) I hear childhood stories, and I learn from their own observations. Conversations are freely cited, and friends’ opinions may often make appearances.

As examples, Simpson shares a story in As We Have Always Done, an Anishnaabeg story of how a child discovers maple syrup.¹ Deloria describes creation stories of the Paiutes and Sioux in an academic rebuttal to false land bridge claims.² I realize that the contrast between Indigenous and non-Indigenous or western writing, stems from Native authors treating cultural and personal knowledge as legitimate and using it in argument with equal weight to empirical knowledge. Other groups don’t appear to do this.

I have referenced this phenomenon in a previous post, “On Hierarchies,” describing how colonialism made this knowledge secondary to scientific methods. This is how colonizers removed our stories from schools, disconnecting us from our shared pasts. This is how colonizing forces have justified invasion and dispossession and disenfranchisement, saying that “we are all immigrants from somewhere.”³ It’s why I don’t know my own family’s history.

And yet I write. I started a blog. I have had to question why, instead of recording my own voice or talking to friends, I have chosen the solitary and academic task of writing, citing sources, and remaining appropriately distant so as to not cloud my writing with too much personal perspective or anecdotal evidence. I don’t want to seem emotional; I want to seem grounded. Well researched. Articulate.

The truth is that I wanted a record that I have attempted to engage with literature on this subject. And as Means says, I am engaging with the institution on its own terms so that I can establish myself within it. I can direct folks to my writing, tell them to see what I’ve said, prove my point. For future opportunities, I want to point to my posts and tell them my opinion. They’ll have to read it and maybe they won’t even hear my voice.

The even harsher truth is that I have been told, numerous times, by teachers, professors, and colleagues, that nobody will take my cause seriously if I am not an effective or convincing scholar. I have been told that I need to work hard in school and “be the best” or nobody (the establishment) will take my cause (that is, promoting Native welfare) seriously. If I am not awarded, famed, cited, then I bring shame to my mission. So again, I need to seem grounded. Well researched. Articulate.

Means’ speech, which I hope to respond to more in-depth at a later point, includes some ideas I disagree with. But it sparks fascinating conversation around others, and I think he is right about writing and speaking. I have felt great shame about my disconnection to my culture and my voice. I felt called out when he described a “mental European,” or a “red face with a white mind.” Unfortunately, my entire education has taught me what I have come to know: that writing is the most important way to communicate my ideas. I am resolute that I need to change my thinking on this and focus more on establishing myself as a storyteller.

Yet after questioning I have decided I will not stop writing, and it follows that I intend to continue posting. I still need to be intentional about what I say, and I need to keep it personal. I need to tell stories.

I am okay, for now, with engaging on academic terms, as this is perhaps the only way I can begin to engage with an audience that does not yet accept my viewpoint as legitimate or our Indigenous ways of knowing as real. I must believe that continuing to advocate for it will, at some point, make a difference.

But I intend to do a little more storytelling.

References:

Deloria Jr, Vine. Red Earth, White Lies. Scribner, 1995.

Simpson, Leanne Betasamosake. As We Have Always Done: Indigenous Freedom through Radical Resistance. CELA, 2019.