Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee

Dee Brown's Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee is the literary equivalent of Pink Floyd's The Wall - it is just incredibly depressing. And I'm only a bit less than halfway through it.

Published in 1970, the book is, as its subtitle notes, "An Indian history of the American West". Reading it has been the fulfillment of a promise I made decades ago. I remember a copy sitting on my father's bookshelf as a child and was always fascinated by the photo of the Indian on the cover. I vowed to read the book someday and that someday arrived about a week ago.

There's no mystery nor any suspense to be had as we know how the story ends – the American Indians are nearly wiped out and left to lives on reservations where they were all but stripped of their native culture. One need only read a couple chapters to get the gist of Brown's tale. The Indians are living their lives and then white men come and take their land to mine for gold, build railroad tracks, etc. It doesn't matter why they came because the encounters generally end the same way. Pale faces make a treaty and then turn around and break it. They try to corral the Indians into reservations which are tucked neatly out of the way of mineral rich areas. Friction leads to resentment, resentment leads to conflict, and conflict leads to the slaughter of the Indians with little mercy shown to even those still in the womb.

Brown writes from the Indians' point of view. This not only counters the chronicles of this period which had, until this time, had been written from the point of view of pale faces, but is also an attempt to ensure maximum sympathy for the Indians on the part of the reader. And so the names of white men are usually given as they were referred to by the natives. E.g. – an officer with a long black beard is called something like "Black Whiskers" and the President is referred to as "The Great Father". Time gets a similar treatment. Instead of saying that some event occurred in June, it is noted that it happened in the "Strawberry Moon". Trains are called "Iron Horses" and so on. This shift in perspective doesn't take long to get used to as it doesn't take much to figure out most references. Those that are perhaps a bit more obscure to us urban pale faces are explained. (We presumably know that strawberries ripen in June but most of us don't know when ponies shed.)

Although the first chapter notes the earliest arrivals of Europeans on these shores, the focus is on the period of 1860-1890, the height and end of what we call the Indian Wars. And so the reader is plopped down in media res of a centuries long conflict. What we get here is the worst of the worst and I'm left wanting to know more about what happened prior to 1860. This isn't a criticism of the book, really, as it's not an exhaustive account of the relations between white and Indians. I think it's also worth noting that Brown glosses over inter-tribal conflicts. They're noted in passing but are quickly put aside as the tribes join forces against their common enemy. The effect is two-fold. On one hand, the Indians are cast in an overly romanticized light. On the other, the focus is put squarely upon the savagery of the whites.

Textual criticisms and observations aside, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee has spawned an interest in me to learn more about Native Americans. As Brown notes in his introduction, his history is a good starting point for trying to understand the status of Indians in America today, whether it be 1970 or 2009. Here in Wisconsin, I suspect most non-Indians tend to think of casinos and reservations where poverty and alcoholism are rampant when the subject of Native Americans is brought up. And this is despite the fact that many place names throughout the state are derived from Indian words and that "Wisconsin has more reservations than any other state east of the Mississippi". Perceptions, however, vary. If you live up north, you are in much closer proximity to reservations than we here in Madison are. And this will certainly affect how you view Indians, for better or for worse.

Madison's American Indian population is quite small – around 1,000 or so – which probably accounts for the paucity of their representation in Madison's cultural milieu. Outside of the DeJope bingo hall, you really have to look for the presence of Native Americans or, at least, know what you're looking for to recognize it when you see it.

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee was published at a time when many minorities were vocal in their insistence that they be recognized. The plight of American Indians was thrust into the national consciousness. But, as with most things, the gravity of our history was gobbled up by pop culture and turned into an anti-littering commercial. However, life is cyclical. At some point someone or some event will bring the American Indian back into the spotlight. And I'm sure people will look to Dee Brown's book to gain understanding.