being indian american

Max has stated his parents are not from America. He clearly knows a lot about Indian clothing and outfits. The entire beginning bit of The Order of the Sparrow was a jab at dumb white people who call Native American people ‘Indians’ when in reality, they are not, white people are dumb (I am a white person and I can tell you, we are dumb), and Indian people are from, you guessed it, India.

His family tree clearly originates in India.

Suicide and Anti-Violence Work

People talk a lot about murders of trans women and I just want to remind people that a trans woman are more likely to die by her own hand than be murdered.

It’s good that people are tracking the murders of trans women. And if you are keeping track you know that these murders are no less related the the victims race and gender, as they are virtually all trans women of color.

At the same time who is tracking the suicides? Suicide among trans people is a much broader problem, effect all segments of the trans population. We have studies showing more than 2 out of 5 trans women have attempted. We do not know how many have been successful.

Various factors make the rate of attempted suicide greater than 1 in 2 trans people. These include being multiracial or American Indian, lower income, HIV positive, experience harassment and discrimination in school or at work, lower level of education, or being a youth.

For some, suicided attempts are even higher, at rates greater than 3 out of 5 trans people. This may include estrangement from family, discrimination from a health provider, experiencing physical or sexual violence at work or school, harassment or violence from law enforcement, having a disability, having a mental health condition, and homelessness.

With such high rates of suicide attempts, it can be assumed that we are losing a great many trans women and other trans people to successful suicide every year. Structural and systemic oppression and violence contributes greatly to these deaths.

Suicide prevention that takes into account the contributing social factors needs to be a priority for anti-violence work with trans people. More attention needs to be paid the the full emotional, behavioral, psychological, and social health and well-being of trans women and other trans people.

Native American Wolf Stories

Animals appear in the myths and legends of all cultures, but play vastly different roles in the stories of Native Americans compared with those of European groups. As noted in the book “White Wolf Woman and Other Native American Transformation Myths,” animals in Native American stories “are respected as equals in the natural world, with wisdom to share with human beings.

Alright so I was playing through Mink’s GE in Re:Connect and I noticed something on the wall.

Now 3 separate things occurred to me:

1.That could be a prayer fan. Prayer fans come in all sorts of styles since the artists often handcraft them and choices in decoration vary from tribe to tribe. This would probably be the most sense since Mink is often depicted as praying throughout both games.

2. That could a dance fan. Women and man dancers use these so it’s a possibility that Mink himself was a dancer.

3. And for the more morose possibility, a member of his family could have been a dancer and he know keeps it as a reminder. In my opinion this would be the least likely option as there were graves made for this family that whoever owned the fan would have more than likely been buried with it. 

I really love that Mink is an indigenous character because of some the cultural aspects N+C brought into the game. Myself being an American Indian I’m glad that there’s a native character that more than the “all-knowing and magical native” trope who also had a back story that could reflect from actual events in history. To sum it up just finding little things like this from Mink’s route and even from the extra bits is always great. 

Being Native American/American Indian/First Nations in North America is terrifying.

I was a small, red tanned child when my father moved us to Oklahoma, after his retirement from the Air Force. I’d been born and raises in an area that was predominantly Asian, Black and Latino. Minorities everywhere in a community where being white was rare, and unusual. My white neighbors were a strange novelty to me and my brother, and we thought nothing of it. To us, that was the way things worked and we had no need to question it. We were safe with our tanned skin and dark features.

Then we were enrolled in school in Oklahoma. We’d never seen so many white people in one place. There were maybe three black kids and one Asian kid in the whole school, and we were so confused. However, the white kids seemed to accept us as sun tanned members of their ‘caste’… at first.

Then I had a school project. It was heritage week, so I asked my mom for help. I was sat down and had our nature explained to us. We were part of a minority group, Cherokee on my father’s side, Cheyenne on my mother’s, and we looked it. Mom said I should be proud and never forget, she told me bits of our people’s histories (and being six and easily scared, I only got the nice bits. Living off the land, myths and legends. The nice parts before the Trail of Tears, reservations, and cultural erasure)

Proud little me went into school, stood in front of the class. and announced my heritage…

and they hated me. word spread through the school like an infectious disease. no one would play with me. not even the black or Asian kids. White kids were nicer to them than they were to me. they shouted “go back to the reservation”– I’d never stepped foot on one– and I remember going home in tears and curling up on the couch, telling my mother that I didn’t want to be native. I wanted to be white. I wanted to be liked. I hated myself and my history, and my ancestors.

I stopped going outside. I did everything I could to lighten my skin. I read magazines in the library in desperate hopes of finding a way to pass for white. I got sick as often as I could to avoid school.

My parents, seeing how miserable my brother and I were, brought us home to California. We were returned to the school we started at.

but it was too late.
my experience in Oklahoma scarred me. I sobbed openly when my skin started darkening again.
I was seven.
A black girl came up to me. I remember her sitting next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders, asking what was wrong… and I cried harder and explained what was wrong.

“ look at me. I’m black and American Indian. Do I look like I hate you? I’m sitting next to you and hugging you and I think you’re cool. its okay. you’re going to be okay.”

I’m 27. I remember her, remember Oklahoma, remember the fear. I’m proud of my people again, I get excited when my skin darkens and you can see my heritage better… but the words of those Oklahoman kids still rings in my ears. there are times when I’m still scared… but what I hate more than anything is the way native people are ignored in the media.

bad things happen to us and people brush us off. they like our casinos, but not the people. we got the vote last and we were here first. we get snubbed by health care, welfare, assistance programs, schools… our history month is the same as the one in which the celebration of the eastern seaboard natives provided white men with food to make them stop robbing graves.

racism is very real and native Americans are a huge victim of it, especially small children. stop American Indian erasure. stop violence against us. save the first people on the continent. save little children from the fear of racism and shame of their skin. please.