Not to long ago there was a man who came among the people. Everyone has heard of him, hell they teach of him in schools even today. This man, an extraordinary man, came from the Shawnee Nation. Born not of the chiefs, with no hereditary status. Just another member of the Nation, who was so thoroughly fed up with the state of affairs in his time, he did the impossible. Looking around him he could see the despair and destruction of his People and he refused to accept it. He knew the Shawnee were not the only ones. He knew every Nation was suffering in the same way. One day he woke up, and said the hell with this shit. Not a chief, with no right or privilege to the title or position. A member of the Nation, like everyone else, but this man was unlike anyone else. With nothing more than brass and balls, he stepped up and did what had to be done and to hell with anyone who didn’t like it. Up to and including the Chiefs, the Council and the US Government.
This isn’t a story the begins long ago, in the time of the Ancients. This isn’t a parable, made up to teach a moral lesson. This man actually existed. Died in 1812. Think about that. 1812. 199 years from this year. If we assume the average life span is 70 years, we are talking less than 3 generations. Our parents generation, our grandparents generation and our great grandparents. Our Great Grandparents. This man was walking, talking and kicking ass when our great grandparents were alive! I don’t know about you, but I remember my Great Grandma. The locals referred to her as the crazy Indian woman who lived in the woods. She carried a side by side 20 gauge, and wasn’t afraid to use it.
This man, who simply would not lay down and go along to get along had a brilliant idea. He said we, the First Nations People, are sticks. Scattered and easily broken as individuals. But, put us together. Bundle us as one. Unbreakable. Then he took that idea to every Nation he could. From the Gulf to Canada and as far as the Lakota. To everyone in between. Many refused to join him. Fear of the government raining hell fire on the remnants of their People. Fear of losing the iron pots and steel sewing needles. All the innovations making life easy. No more war, no more death, rape and destruction. I don’t fault the Chiefs for making that decision. If they hadn’t, there would be even less of us today. Yet they were relying on a group of people to keep there word. A group that never had and to this day, still hasn’t. I think its safe to say they never will.
In a short time, this man brought the People of many Nations together. As one, unified, willing to fight and die to remain who they were. Refusal to assimilate and become what they weren’t. Refusal to go along and be “good Indians”. This man left his People and with those he brought together from the many Nations, they formed Prophetstown in 1808. A new Nation, a return to life as themselves, not what a newly formed government wanted them to be. A place that was spiritual, social and political. Their main goal was to halt US encroachment into Native lands. On November 7th, 1811, the newly formed government burned it to the ground. They paid a hell of a price. He paid a hell of a price. In a desperate bid to be themselves, to live as their Ancestors had lived. To keep the culture alive and so their children, our grandparents, would not forget who they were. His name was Tecumseh, and look at us now.
Beaten, broken, dispersed among the population. Our grandparents did forget, as did our parents. How many of us were taught who we are? How many of us have grown up, only to learn our true heritage when we became young adults? How many of us are still lost? What in the hell are we doing? The bundle has been broken. Someone figured out how to untie it, and then one by one, snap each stick in two. In less than 200 years, everything he fought for, everything he stood for, those with him stood for, is gone. Or is it?
Is there a way to put the bundle back together? Can we again become the unbreakable force we once were? Can we be again what he gave his life for, what all our Ancestors gave their lives for. Yes, I for one believe we can. I believe we aren’t broken. I believe the fire still burns, as hot as ever. I look around me and see my relatives of the many Nations beaten, but not broken. Scattered across this great country that bleeds with every step we take. Bleeds the blood of those who gave so much, gave their lives, so we could live. I see us again, as One People of many Nations, living the dream he gave his life for. Like this great man, I will travel from the Gulf to Canada,to the Lakota and beyond. I will bring his message of unity to those who will listen. Many will turn away. Fear of the government. Fear of losing the innovations that makes life easier.
I am not that great man. I certainly don’t believe some new age version of a reincarnation of the man. But I do believe in his dream, in his vision. I believe that vision is alive today. Burning in all of us. The lost, the forgotten, the unknown. I believe many more, like myself, believe that great mans vision. I'm not a chief. I have no right or privilege to the title or position. But like that great man, with nothing more than brass and balls, I will live to see us united, and to hell with those who dont like it, up to and including the Cheifs who have sold out, the Council that is corrupt and the US Government that only wants us dead.
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