A true diary of a temporary Navajo
By Cindy Yurth
Tséyi' Bureau
CHINLE, Jan. 22, 2009
I recently read Sherman Alexie's foray into teen fiction, "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian."
In the book, Alexie's 14-year-old protagonist learns how to blend in with the white kids at his border-town high school, and turn back into an Indian when he comes home to the rez.
I could kind of sympathize, because I was a part-time Indian last summer. Actually, I was more of a temporary full-time Indian.
I didn't actually become Native American, of course. But I did get to, if you will, walk a mile in your moccasins.
When I went to Denver to cover the Democratic National Convention, and told people I was from the Navajo Times, most of them assumed I was Navajo.
This was understandable when you consider a lot of people were from the East, where there are plenty of people of Native descent who are blonde, redheaded and even black. So it didn't faze them that I have bluish eyes and fair skin.
Mostly, I got comments like this: "Oh, I just LOVE Native Americans!"
Hmm, I thought, when was the last time you called your congressman and asked him to settle the Cobell case? If everybody loves Native Americans so much, how come so many of them are living in abject poverty?
The second-most common comment I got was, "Do you think you could get me a good deal on some turquoise jewelry?"
Nobody actually asked me about issues on the rez, or Navajo culture (not that I would have been able to tell them much). But two men wanted to sleep with me, because, as one put it, "I've never had a Native woman before."
Apparently, some men view sex the way others view stamp collecting.
Their interest faded fast when I told them I'm half Hungarian and half Italian. I guess they had already "done" southern Europe.
When I first moved to the Navajo Nation, I was a bit taken aback by how prickly some people seemed. But let me tell you, after only four days as an Indian, I was ready to strangle the next smiling Anglo who approached me to make some stupid comment.
I was thinking of this as photographer Donovan Quintero and I approached various people in the border towns this week to ask them how big an issue race was to them.
Not surprisingly, the white folks didn't see it as a huge deal, while most of the Natives did.
The fact is, you can be standing right next to somebody, and have no idea how it feels to be him or her. Unless they tell you, and even then, you have to be willing to listen without judging.
For example, I have had Navajo friends tell me police in the border towns make excuses to pull them over. They call this imaginary offense "DWB" - driving while brown.
I find this difficult to believe, but how would I know? Enough credible people have told me this I have to assume there's some truth to it.
I don't think the majority of Anglos are jerks, but we certainly act like it at times. Mostly, it's ignorance. I've been fortunate to have many friends of other races who gently challenge me when I say or do something stupid, and I hope it's becoming a less common occurrence.
With a few exceptions, I believe white people are educable. It takes some patience and a willingness to engage someone in dialogue when you may feel more like walking away. (Obviously, if the other person gets hostile, walking away may be a very good idea.)
This week, as we celebrate Martin Luther King's birthday and the inauguration of our first African-American president, I challenge everybody, including myself, to step out of our comfort zones a little bit.
Have a Republican over for tea. Ask your gay neighbor if it bothers him that he can't get married, even if the idea makes you queasy. Attend a church of a different religion.
If this column has offended you, tap me on the shoulder next time you see me in Basha's, or pick up your pen and write a letter to the editor.
I promise I'll listen, because I just LOVE Native Americans!
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