Going White

Introduction:  I am a quarter-blood Native American of the Yurok Tribe.  I am not fully accepted as white, and I am not fully accepted as Yurok Indian, except by other Yurok Indians.  Blah blah blah . . . .

When I started college my white friends from high school accused me of “going native” because I started hanging out with Indians and other people of color.  Most of my friends in high school were white because there were mostly white people at my high school.  They thought I was just like them, except darker in the summer, that I possess a quarter special Indian powers, and have a predisposition to alcoholism (all true).  When I started college I was happy to finally have friends who didn’t think that being white meant being normal.    I pursued being more Indian, day and night.  It got me laid, gave me permission to be a contentious jerk in class, and hooked me into numerous opportunities to explore and meet people across Indian Country.  However, I did not receive the boundless financial benefits “just for being Indian” as predicted by my underprivileged white friends.  I confess I did earn a minority tuition scholarship which I blew on a BA in English Lit because I was so inspired by the Native American Renaissance writers.  I also have fishing rights that were regained as a result of the Fish Wars in the seventies (there were actual guns and riot gear), and in 2008 I was cut a 15 thousand dollar share of a twenty year old settlement over timber, which I used to take time off from work to pursue fishing and being more Indian. 

All told, the benefits to being Indian have not added up to much.  I often fantasize about what my life would have been like if I had just stuck to being White – I know I could have pulled it off, as so many white people have informed me with a self satisfied smirk that I could pass for Italian.  Maybe I would have pursued a less romantic major, or gone on to earn a graduate degree instead of being swept up by the social change movement.    Regardless of my past, I have decided recently that it’s not too late to change.  


My revelation came one typical Sunday afternoon when I was agonizing over a decision whether to go salmon fishing or stay home and mow the lawn and spend time with my boys (too young yet for fishing).  In a single instant, all the subconscious messages I have subverted over the years telling me that the Indian thing is selfish and contributes nothing to society came surging forward.  Sure, I have supplied year round salmon for my family, gifted hand-made traditional crafts, sang and danced for traditional ceremonies, made a half- hearted effort to learn a dying language and traditional stories and attempted to teach some of these skills to young ones, but at what cost? 

I am currently a grant writer for the Yurok Tribe, formerly a high school English teacher until I moved home to the highest unemployment rates in California.  I work a 9-5 for the Tribe, leaving little time to be Indian.  I reserve that for the weekends and the occasional symbolic event at the tribal office during work hours.  When I am out being a “weekend warrior” I neglect responsibilities at home, or I sit around the house moping about not being out doing Indian things.  It is a pitiful existence.  So, being the rational problem solver (that’s the white man coming out), I decided to eliminate the source of the trouble: the Indian.  “Kill the Indian to save the man”, right?

That is meant as no disrespect toward Indians – I totally understand why people want to preserve their culture; for me personally, it’s just not my thing anymore.  Not bad, eh?  See, my advantage in this transformation is that I already know how to be white.  I was raised by a white mom in a white town - it’s totally natural, and actually feels pretty good.  It’s like a big weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  Think of all the benefits that will come of this.  I will no longer have anyone to blame for my problems but myself – no excuses, which will lead to my working harder, taking bigger risks, and succeeding.  And if I don’t succeed, I can blame those who just sit around taking handouts complaining all the time and not pulling their weight, or immigrants who just come here and take our jobs and fill up our schools and prisons.  Wow, that is liberating!  I can also stop worrying about everyone else’s problems and just focus on me and my immediate family.   When I hike on a trail, I don’t have to think about the Indian people who walked before me, I can just tell everyone about this great trail I discovered!  When an Indian friend tells me there are only four fluent speakers of his language, I can just say, “that really sucks, dude”, change the subject to talk about some foreign population who is suffering even more, and forget about it!  Ah, and I no longer have to think about blood quantum and inter-marriage, and how thin the blood is getting, I mean we’re all human, what does it matter?  One race- the human race!

Think of the benefits to my (white) family as well – I’ll no longer be a downer at Thanksgiving, Christmas or Fourth of July.  I’ll no longer make them try food they wouldn’t normally eat.  I can finally stop arguing with my stepdad when he tells me “you know they only ate that shit because they didn’t have a choice.”  He’s totally right.  Oh, and I almost forgot – I will no longer have to answer any more questions or engage in any asinine discussions with people pretending to be interested in my people’s culture.  No more apologetic, guilt ridden pitiful looks; no more asking me to speak, sing or provide food at engagements.  Free at last!

When I really think about it, all that Indian stuff is kind of silly. You know what I’m talking about, right?  I mean, walking in two worlds . . . that’s a choice.  And besides, we all know the truth – less than a half-breed, not really Indian (wink).  There is nothing to really complain about.  Choose one world or the other and get on with life – take care of your kids, for Christ’s sake.  I mean, what’s past is past, it’s time to move on, grab the bull by the horns, enjoy life!  Lawn, camping gear, and therapy, here I come!  I’ll just have to remember to wear long sleeves and pants in the summer.