Dear Grandfather Redsky:
The university put on a Minstrel Show today. The Chi-mookmaan held it in a stadium of 60,000 people. The Anishinabe “The People” The old ones found a place, a place called White earth, it became sacred to “The People.”A place for ceremonies.
In the parking lot there were men with hairy chests, war whooping and jumping around, without spilling the drinks they carried in their hands.
The Anishinabe came from great distances, for the Warrior Ceremony. In old cars and pick-ups; parking near the forest. Throughout the night, there was dancing, songs, and drumming. They painted their white faces. They wore feathers in their hair. They bought little drums They carried toy tomahawks.
The Keeper of the Sacred Pipe, starts the ceremony. Tobacco, fur, feathers, wood, clay. Facing the four directions, praying the smoke will guide us to the truth.
They have an authentic white Indian. Impressive headdress, buckskins, and bare feet. An imposing warrior, who dances quite a dance, when the helmets scored a touchdown.
The sweat lodge was crowded with twelve men. Heated rocks and steam to purify these modern Anishinabe warriors. We are as one, as we feel the earth’s heat.
A band played a Hollywood Indian war song. It stirred their blood. They war whooped and chopped. Painted faces and feathered heads. An elder sang the warrior song:
A warrior is the one; who carries the burden of the bones of his people. A warrior is the one; to revenge the wrongs carries out on his people. A warrior is the one; who sacrifices his life for the existence of his people.
They tell me they honor us Grandfather by remembering our fierceness in battle. Powerful image makers, more powerful than cavalry bullets and soldiers’ bayonets.
Grandfather Redsky you taught me: how to believe in my essence, how to listen to the earth, how to sing the songs, how to soar. If not for that Grandfather Redsky, I could not bear this Minstrel Show.