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[NATIVE AMERICAN MUSIC] SPEAKER 1: "A Sense of Place--" a documentary series which looks at regions and regionalism in the state of Minnesota. Produced by Minnesota Educational Radio under a grant from the Minnesota Humanities Commission. Program number one in the series-- Anishinaabe means original people.

[NATIVE AMERICAN MUSIC]

SPEAKER 2: Well, I guess where it came from, that's, according to Ojibwas at least, it's kind of-- if I can use an old historical term that I remember-- it's kind of lost in the mists of antiquity, I guess, in some ways. But certainly, Anishinaabe is a term of some importance because most Indian people that I'm familiar with had some kind of a name that they call themselves.

And then when there was white contact, the whites, either because they couldn't say it or they couldn't say it well, the name became changed somewhat, you see? For instance, Navajos and many of the Athabaskan-speaking people, like the Navajos and some of the people in parts of Canada, they tended to use the term Dineh, which is usually spelled now D-I-N-E-H or D-I-N-E with a little mark over the I. And this simply means, the people with an emphasis on the the, you see?

And I suppose, Anishinaabe fits into that same general category, meaning something like original people or original man or spontaneous man.

[NATIVE AMERICAN MUSIC]

SPEAKER 1: Anishinaabe-- an ancient and new name that increasing numbers of Indian people of the Chippewa or Ojibwe tribe are calling themselves. And while it does not strictly apply to all of the original people in the state of Minnesota, it is, in a symbolic way, meaningful to all.

Who were they? Who are they now? While this program does not pretend to be comprehensive, it will explore some aspects of Indian life, both historically and in the here and now. Participants in the program are Bob Powless of the Indian Studies department at the University of Minnesota Duluth, Don Savage who was raised on the Cloquet Indian Reservation and whose profession is TV, radio news, Don Bibeau, coordinator of Indian work for the American Lutheran Church and the Minnesota Council of Churches on the Leech Lake Reservation, and Conrad Balfour, former Minnesota State commissioner of human rights.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) For the line that was spoken

For the blood that we have spilled

For the treaty that were broken

For the leaders who have still

'Cause to die for your sins

'Cause to die for your sins

Now, I knew they must begin

'Cause to die for your

SPEAKER 3: Is a land good for farming? No, it's not. Is it good for timber? Well, at one time, there were stands of virgin timber on our lands. But these have been logged off. Usually, reservation areas were established in areas where no one else wanted to live, where 100, 150 years ago, almost 200 years ago, the federal powers that be or the state powers thought that, well, we'll send these Indians off around a couple of swamps and bogs and a few lakes with a few fish in there because no one will ever want to go up there.

And in the late 19th century, this was considered a very liberal plan. The alternative to the reservation system was liquidation or annihilation or what we euphemistically called genocide.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) For your sins

For the tribes you terminated

For the myths you keep alive

For the land you confiscated

For a freedom you deprived

'Cause to die for your sins

'Cause to die for your sins

Now a new day must be begin

Now a new day must begin

SPEAKER 3: The fact that we have seven reservations in Minnesota plus four Sioux communities in Southern Minnesota is not to congratulate any government bureaucrats or any Minnesota State leaders. It speaks more of the tenaciousness of our ancestors in clinging to our tribal lands because the plan in Minnesota at one time was that White Earth Reservation would be the final resting place for all Indians in Minnesota. This did not happen, not because legislators, politicians, government officials, the clergy didn't want this to happen. It didn't happen because Indians refused to go, refused to move, refused to give up the tribal lands.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) When our land was being stolen

You just stood by

When we were being massacred

You didn't even cry

When they put us on a reservation

You didn't lose any sleep

When we were starving half to death

You had enough to eat

Don't tell me where--

SPEAKER 3: Just like so many other things that happen in our world, some small incident-- it really isn't small to the people that were concerned-- but some incident that was sort of a byproduct of it all, just triggered it all off. It was an up an act in about four Dakota Indians had a shooting match, a target game and turned their guns on the whites they were having a tag game with. They dashed some of their eggs to the ground. They call it the egg incident in Acton.

And they were so frightened for the terrible deed that they performed-- and some of them had been drinking-- that they fled back down to the reservation, which is along the Minnesota River, and told one of their chiefs there that, you know, we're in great trouble. We've just killed five people.

Well, other things that happened in the past-- for instance, when a cow was missing, somebody from the Caucasian race would take it out on six or seven of the red men. Or something else would be missing in a village, and they'd take it out on a whole tribe of Indians. And they knew now that this very drastic act of killing people, that there was no chance for all the Indians, innocent as well as the guilty. And so they decided to strike. And they did.

And it ended up with about almost 1,000 whites being killed over a period of just weeks. It started in August and really ended in January. I said weeks, but the last couple of months were just chases by Colonel Sibley, one of the governors.

So we had a terrible war in Minnesota. It was the prelude to everything that ever happened in American history out in the Western Plains.

[NATIVE AMERICAN MUSIC]

SPEAKER 3: On Friday morning, 10:00 AM, 8,662, a scaffold plummeted to the Earth, killing 38 Great Sioux. The day before, the countryside had mourned the death of Christ the Jew, then went to bed to rise again and crucify the captive Sioux. There were 300 due to die. This, the governor clearly knew. But he washed his hands of the grim affair and said, Abe Lincoln, it's up to you.

When Lincoln paired to 38 the screaming Romans sent up hue, we don't want only 38, we want 300 wicked Sioux. The 25th was a silent night. The pastor's chant, Christ died for you. Now, in his name, we send to death the souls of 38 Great Sioux.

There was [INAUDIBLE], Ho Tan Inku, Waxicun and [INAUDIBLE]. There was Baptiste Campbell, [INAUDIBLE], Maza-bomidu, and Aichaga. Tip of the Horn, One Who Stands Clothed, Wind Comes Home, Rattling Runner, and One Who Walks Clothed in an Owl's Tail, Tinkling Walker, and Little Thunder.

All waited for drummer Major Brown to give the signal for patient death. Then Captain Dooley cut the rope, and 38 were cleared of breath.

On Christmas Day, the children laughed, and churches prayed his blessing send. And in their cells, the 38 heard peace on Earth. Good will to men.

[NATIVE AMERICAN MUSIC]

SPEAKER 4: Here I am, a Black man, talking about Indians who are looking, maybe that's an interesting place to be, looking at it from the standpoint of another person who doesn't have the Indian heritage. But certainly, the Indian of this country, which is not a vanishing race anymore, has so much to gain through the romance that put upon them. It's very romantic to think about Indians or to say I have Indian blood. No one ever says, hey, I've got black blood. This isn't a very neat thing to admit. But to say have Indian blood is kind of neat.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) Where were you when

We needed you to bend

And now you claim to be

Part Sioux or Cherokee

But where were you when

We came close to the end

When we had no voice

You never said a word

When we cried out to you

You never even heard

When our freedom was being denied

You never questioned why

When we needed help somehow

The well was always dry

So tell me where were you when

We needed you, our friend

Where were you when

We needed you to bend

And now you claim to be

Part Sioux or Cherokee

But where were you when

We came close to the end

SPEAKER 5: Well, you know, I think that the Indian people, if they had the choice, would not even live in town. I honestly believe that. At least, I wouldn't. Maybe I shouldn't say all Indian people.

But I mean, if you have any kind of a feeling for environment or anything at all like that, and once you get out in the woods-- it's kind of hard to say if you're a Chippewa Indian, to want to live in a town. I mean, if you have Chippewa Indian blood in you, it's damn difficult to sit down and--

SPEAKER 6: When I was a young man going off to college, Indian people said to me, well, if you're successful at this college thing, probably, you're going to find happiness and success only if you stay off of the reservation because we have nothing to offer for you. See, it was a helpful thing. They were trying to help me. We have really nothing to offer a person who has a college education.

Nowadays, this has changed somewhat. And I see more and more Indian students, particularly here, who are saying, I want to get this so I can go back to the reservation and be of service. And I think that, again, is a healthy step.

SPEAKER 7: If you're an urban Indian and you're committed to working and solving the problems of urban Indians, that's one thing. I happen to live on this reservation. This is where my people live. This is where I live and I've lived for several years. And I think part of it's a matter of commitment, one's own personal commitment to where he finds himself.

Also, I feel that this is the land of our fathers. The acreage that's left is what we have from our historical past. In a very deep sense, this is where our cultural ties are. So from a kind of a historical traditional point of view, this is the homeland. This is the home.

The people on reservations have always been in one stage or another of survival-- defending the land, defending the resources, defending the children, defending themselves. And it hasn't been until very recently that we've been able to assume the offensive and begin to do creative, constructive things with our natural resources and with our own people.

And I think in the long run, it makes sense to me and it makes sense to many other people that my efforts, at least, will go into the building up and the establishment of our reservations as a realistic and viable alternative to anything that urban areas can offer.

I think that when we build something on the reservation, it's ours. And it will be inherited by our children. And it will be for the people for as long as it's there.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) Going back

Back to the land I love

Going back

Where skies are big above me

Back to the land I left behind

Back to the pride that I must find

Leave me alone

Can't you see I'm going home

SPEAKER 1: Going back, back to that physical and psychological place where Indian people can be themselves, can live within their own traditions, create their own definitions. Back home to Don Bibeau, is the village of Ball Club, Minnesota and the Leech Lake Indian Reservation. Asked about the elements of his life, the things that make up his sense of place, Don Bibeau will tell you with warmth about such matters as tribal leadership and Indian lifestyle, about growing up in poverty, and the rich vein of humor that is woven into the fabric of his people's heritage.

SPEAKER 8: We've had enough rhetoric. What we need today is the performance. And so over the years, Indian people, we tend to pay very close attention to the men and women who are considered our leaders. And most of us have worked on various programs and have an idea of how they should function. And when they are not functioning according to rules and regulations and guidelines, well, this is what makes some changes during election time.

Our tribal leadership, it's very complex. I don't think that there's anyone that understands the full story. But it's a combination of having the confidence of the people in you. This might be the confidence of the people in your people, in your family, in your kinship plus the public demonstration of your ability to perform and to get results. And this doesn't happen in a few months or in a few years. It generally takes the better part of a lifetime before Indian people will show some respect in you or will at least respect you enough to vote for you.

And when you have the votes of the people-- and by some people, this isn't understood. But when the people elect you they're really placing a considerable burden on you. To satisfy the needs and the demands and requests of Indian people is-- you know, Moses would have little difficulty doing all This. These are brothers, cousins, aunts, and uncles, friends that you've known all your life or that have known you.

And if you lose the election, well, the other party doesn't give you a job some comfortable place out of the public eye. You pretty much have to go back in the woods and cut pulp or drive truck or pump gas or find another job someplace if you lose. You might have to do that even while you're in office too.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) Going back

To find the man I am

Going back to find my path

And, baby, piece of mine at last

Leave me alone

Can't you see I'm going home?

SPEAKER 8: Well, this brush country of Northern Minnesota is where I was born. And for many years, for those of us who were born in the classic tarpaper shack, this was not something that we told people about. This was not a conversation piece, though many of us remember what it feels like to be raised, born and raised in an Indian home.

There's something about one's origin. When you're an Indian this has a deep significance. Your identification with Indian people, with the reservation, with the tribe, or with your own clan, you don't ever quite get over this.

I can see where Indian children born in urban areas may not have the same emotional attachment to the forests, certain lakes where you trapped or fished or hunted or riced. This happens to you at a very early age. And when it has happened to you, I don't know if you ever really get over it. And this is why I think that a lot of urban Indians-- also, why they feel more comfortable back here when they come, say, for ricing or for hunting and really feel that if developments continue to improve on the reservation, they might be able to see their way back because there is a very strong attachment to the land, to the people.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) Going back to where the truth began

Going back to find the man I am

Going back to find my path

And maybe peace of mind at last

Leave me alone

Can't you see I'm going home

SPEAKER 8: What happens today-- and I've done this myself, and I see other Indian people doing it-- is that it's possible to almost live in an entire Indian world, even though, like, in Minnesota, we're less than 1% of the population. And what we do is go from, say, if we leave the reservation, we go to Indian people who are our friends. And that's where we stay. And we meet their friends who are invariably Indian people.

And it seems like all other people are outside your world unless they are somebody that you officially have to talk to, fill out a form, or get a job from, or whatever. When you're home on the reservation, you tend to stay close to your own kin, your own family. It's not that you don't go to other communities or to other areas of the reservation, but you just tend to stay close to home for emotional reasons.

This is where you're born. These are your people. My father still lives in my village, cousins by the dozens all over the place, aunts and uncles. And these are the people that we feel most comfortable with. And they know us frontwards and backwards. There's no fooling our own people.

Indian people, just like any other people, thrive on gossip. We tell stories about each other. We bring news back. When somebody does something good or bad, everybody knows about it. And this personal history is stored up in a lot of people's minds. And we know each other. So in a sense, there's no reason to assume or presume that we are something that we're not. We're pretty equal when we live on the reservation.

The stories every now and then are rather humorous. A couple of winters ago, logging was pretty good. There were a lot of contracts.

And so one guy gets a new pickup. And we all know that he didn't pay cash for it that he had to sign his life away for it with some finance company. And after a while, you see a couple of other families, three or four other guys decided they want to get a new pickup too. So you see, all of a sudden when, times economically are pretty good, a couple of new pickups around or several new pickups around.

Then when time gets tough, these cars have a tendency to disappear one by one. And we're all back again driving a brand new '53 pickup or a third, fourth hand '55 Ford or something like that. So it both reflects kind of what's happening economically in the community and also some of the, well, if that guy gets a new pickup, I guess I can get a new pickup, whether I can afford it or not, and enjoy it for a while. And then if things get kind of close, well, then you've got to let it go.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) Going back

And there, I'm going to stay

Going back to try and find the way

Going back where I belong

To the land that made me strong

Leave me alone

Can't you see I'm going home

SPEAKER 8: Also, when somebody hasn't seen a person for, it could be a period of weeks, months, years, he'd expect to have a lot of old small talk about where they've been or what they've been doing. But often, it'll happen where maybe that individual and the other person we're talking about something when he had left, whenever it was-- months, years ago-- that Indian might pick up that same conversation without saying hello or where you been or batting an eye. Just say, do you still think that that Inger rice paddle is still better than a ball club rice paddle or stuff like that and pick it up from there and kind of incidentally find out everything that's been going on.

But the humor isn't so much a part of me uniquely. It's a part of us as a people. And those of us who have known each other for over the years, and a lot of us have been called upon to speak and make presentations, we tend to listen to each other. And what we talk about afterwards is how many goof ups we've made, how many words we've mispronounced, how many kind of facts we got garbled-- things like, Cass County is the most racist state in Minnesota, little blurbs like that.

One time in Virginia at the college, I said, talking about treaties, and I said something to the effect that these treaties are for us as long as the grass shall flow and the river shall grow. And I wasn't aware of it until I saw some Indians out there holding their guts and rolling around on the floor.

So we tend to make fun of each other. And quite often, the hardships of life and the realities can only be stood or borne within the context of a sense of humor. And I think until you get to humor, you're not really being objective about some things. You're being too uptight.

And when we can-- usually, many situations are not very humorous when you're experiencing them, when you're in them. Like, coming out of a rice field, if your canoe tips over, you're not very funny at that point. But other people look at you, and they make sure that there's nothing-- you're not drowning or anything like that. And then the generally have a good laugh at your expense.

So the humor has always been there. It really has its place in the whole society among the old and among the young. And it's a very warm, encompassing sort of feeling-- a sense of belonging, a very real sense of belonging and acceptance.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[VOCALIZING]

(SINGING) Don't blame you for your problems

I'm not your Indian anymore

You belong to white man

[VOCALIZING]

SPEAKER 1: Music from Songs of the Sioux on the Canyon Label. And the album Custer Died for Your Sins by Floyd Westerman-- a Perception Recording. Special thanks to Conrad Balfour for reading his poem. A Sense of Place was written and produced by Claudia Daly for Minnesota Educational Radio under a grant from the Minnesota humanities commission. Engineering by David [INAUDIBLE].

[MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) We don't want your white man rules no more

We can live our own way

[VOCALIZING]

(SINGING) Don't you blame me for your problems

I'm not your Indian anymore

You belong to white man

[VOCALIZING]

(SINGING) You can't change me

Don't you try

We don't want your white man rules no more

We can live our own way

[VOCALIZING]