In re-reading my stories published as Stones from the Creek (http://www.amazon.com/Stones-Creek-Rick-Levine/dp/149447641X/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1388592168&sr=1-1)
I realized that there were a surprising number of military characters, especially considering that I have never served in the military. Of historical protagonists there are Henry Ossian Flipper, the first Black graduate of West Point; Mingo Sanders, the hero of the Cuban War who was discharged by Roosevelt after the Brownsville, Texas Affair; Alchesay, the decorated Apache scout who became the leader of the White Mountain Apaches; and Smedley Butler, the Marine major general who became an antiwar activist. Then there is the fictional Ezekiel Payne, a former Black cavalryman who marries a Creek Indian woman.
Why so many military men? I think a large part of the answer rests in the extreme violence of US social relations at the turn of the twentieth century. The country was amassing an overseas empire with so-called "small wars" in China, the Philippines, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, Honduras, and Nicaragua, along with the big imperial war in Cuba. Historians like to declare the massacre of unarmed Lakota Ghost Dancers at Wounded Knee, South Dakota in 1890 to be the last Indian "battle," but troops continued to be called in to put down Indian resistance throughout this period. In the Creek Nation alone, troops were called up against the followers of Chitto Harjo in 1901 and 1909. And in the history of industrial relations it would be folly to attempt to list here the number of strikes that were countered with federal or state troops during this period.
The personal is important, too. When I realized early on in my writing that I had two soldiers who were unfairly discharged I really had to reflect on why I was identifying so strongly with their stories. It shouldn't have taken me as long to figure this out as it did. As principal of a school with a "B" grade I received, at the end of the academic year, two lengthy critical evaluations from my superintendent. Understand that the position of superintendent had been downgraded to a part-time gig, and that they were forbidden to enter schools on their own initiative. I liked my superintendent and had invited her to come visit earlier that year. She got a stricken look on her face and politely declined. It was only later that I learned of another district superintendent who had been disciplined with a letter to file for visiting a school. So when she did show up, it meant that I was a "person of interest." (The deputy chancellor's phrase!) And then after I had finished running summer school I was politely asked to leave… or else. It would be too much to believe that this experience didn't have anything to do with my choosing to write about H.O. Flipper and Mingo Sanders.
The final reason that I have found for choosing all these military characters was my desire to connect stories of resistance from widely-separated sections of American society. The Apaches' successful attempt to substitute tribal for individual enterprise? African American resilience in the face of the convict lease system? Alchesay and Mingo Sanders served together in the Apache Wars. Mingo Sanders fought side-by-side with Teddy Roosevelt in Cuba so a personal letter from the former to the latter is not unimaginable. There were other ways of linking apparently distant characters, but military service was one good one.
I think these characters stand up as being real. That was always my attempt.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Chancellor Fariña
I will admit to having been only hopeful about where our schools will go under Mayor Bill de Blasio. He has a varied group of supporters. He had to in order to win election, especially by a landslide. Some of those supporters are advocates of corporate educational "reform." Now, with the appointment of Carmen Fariña, I am upgrading from hopeful to optimistic.
The challenge for New York City public schools is that anybody who looks back to a "golden age" is delusional or lying. That is why people can still yap about a "failed status quo" and not mean Michael Bloomberg's TWELVE YEARS of mayoral control. They are still harping on the perceived failures of the Board of Education, which is a phenomenon of the last century. They conveniently ignore the endless structural upheavals, the continual moving targets and the lack of any measurable progress. Mayor Mike and his chancellors have come up with an ever-changing and laughably complex calculus for giving letter grades to schools, teachers and principals. But they have issued letter grades to themselves based on their own purely subjective evaluations: "Things are goin' pretty well; I'd like them to be a little better. I think I'll call that an A-."
So we have had the attorney for Citigroup, a Justice Department attorney, a magazine publisher, and the president of the NY Urban League running our schools. We have not had a teacher. Carmen Fariña is a teacher. She was a classroom teacher for 22 years before becoming an administrator. She was principal of PS6 for ten years before she became a district superintendent. Compare that to Shael Polakow-Suransky, our current first deputy chancellor, who was put in that position as "an experienced educator" to compensate for Cathie Black's utter and complete lack of any experience in the public sector, not to mention education.
Shael was a teacher for six years, and assistant principal for a year, and a principal for two. He has been a senior executive at Tweed longer than all that put together. He is precisely the kind of educational leader who has no personal knowledge of the history of the system or of previous initiatives to improve the schools and how they fared.
The DOE is a huge and self-perpetuating bureaucracy. The endless forcing out of any senior people with institutional memory means that it is no longer so important for a successful leader to know the cast of characters. Right now, many of them, from principal up, see this as a short stop in their career, like Teach for America teachers who want to "do good" for two years before moving on to their real lives. That means we have principals, network leaders and deputy chancellors who are -- for all intents and purposes -- temps.
What has that meant for kids? I will give one quick example. Early in the Bloomberg era, Joel decided that off-campus suspension sites were a scam. He closed all of them. He dispersed their administrators and teachers -- the people who knew how to educate a rotating cast of kids who were in trouble and needed lots of extra personal attention -- into the other schools. The theory was that schools should hold on to their own suspended kids and keep them in the building. I don't need to explain why this is a bad idea because Chancellor Klein himself decided six months later that it would be a great idea to create suspension sites! Only now it had to be done from scratch, as if nobody had ever tried this before in the history of the universe, because he had squandered all the human capital the city of New York had amassed for accomplishing this task.
It is probably unfair to ask Carmen Fariña to come back and fix this mess at this point in her life. But if you do the math it is clear that an entire generation of leadership has been lost. A child entering Mike Bloomberg's school system as a kindergartner has now graduated high school having known thirteen years of endless structural upheavals, the continual moving targets and the lack of any measurable progress. (Oh, did I say that already. I can't say it enough.) But the same is true for a fifty-year old school leader. If they taught for 15 years before going into school leadership, they have now had to undergo 13 years of etc. see above. Oh yes. And threats to their livelihood. And enforced sycophancy. And -- all too likely -- scheming to meet numerical targets by any means necessary. They have been rendered unsuited to actually lead a school system of one million pupils.
We need courage. We need memory. We need a love of children and of learning. I think we have it.
The challenge for New York City public schools is that anybody who looks back to a "golden age" is delusional or lying. That is why people can still yap about a "failed status quo" and not mean Michael Bloomberg's TWELVE YEARS of mayoral control. They are still harping on the perceived failures of the Board of Education, which is a phenomenon of the last century. They conveniently ignore the endless structural upheavals, the continual moving targets and the lack of any measurable progress. Mayor Mike and his chancellors have come up with an ever-changing and laughably complex calculus for giving letter grades to schools, teachers and principals. But they have issued letter grades to themselves based on their own purely subjective evaluations: "Things are goin' pretty well; I'd like them to be a little better. I think I'll call that an A-."
So we have had the attorney for Citigroup, a Justice Department attorney, a magazine publisher, and the president of the NY Urban League running our schools. We have not had a teacher. Carmen Fariña is a teacher. She was a classroom teacher for 22 years before becoming an administrator. She was principal of PS6 for ten years before she became a district superintendent. Compare that to Shael Polakow-Suransky, our current first deputy chancellor, who was put in that position as "an experienced educator" to compensate for Cathie Black's utter and complete lack of any experience in the public sector, not to mention education.
Shael was a teacher for six years, and assistant principal for a year, and a principal for two. He has been a senior executive at Tweed longer than all that put together. He is precisely the kind of educational leader who has no personal knowledge of the history of the system or of previous initiatives to improve the schools and how they fared.
The DOE is a huge and self-perpetuating bureaucracy. The endless forcing out of any senior people with institutional memory means that it is no longer so important for a successful leader to know the cast of characters. Right now, many of them, from principal up, see this as a short stop in their career, like Teach for America teachers who want to "do good" for two years before moving on to their real lives. That means we have principals, network leaders and deputy chancellors who are -- for all intents and purposes -- temps.
What has that meant for kids? I will give one quick example. Early in the Bloomberg era, Joel decided that off-campus suspension sites were a scam. He closed all of them. He dispersed their administrators and teachers -- the people who knew how to educate a rotating cast of kids who were in trouble and needed lots of extra personal attention -- into the other schools. The theory was that schools should hold on to their own suspended kids and keep them in the building. I don't need to explain why this is a bad idea because Chancellor Klein himself decided six months later that it would be a great idea to create suspension sites! Only now it had to be done from scratch, as if nobody had ever tried this before in the history of the universe, because he had squandered all the human capital the city of New York had amassed for accomplishing this task.
It is probably unfair to ask Carmen Fariña to come back and fix this mess at this point in her life. But if you do the math it is clear that an entire generation of leadership has been lost. A child entering Mike Bloomberg's school system as a kindergartner has now graduated high school having known thirteen years of endless structural upheavals, the continual moving targets and the lack of any measurable progress. (Oh, did I say that already. I can't say it enough.) But the same is true for a fifty-year old school leader. If they taught for 15 years before going into school leadership, they have now had to undergo 13 years of etc. see above. Oh yes. And threats to their livelihood. And enforced sycophancy. And -- all too likely -- scheming to meet numerical targets by any means necessary. They have been rendered unsuited to actually lead a school system of one million pupils.
We need courage. We need memory. We need a love of children and of learning. I think we have it.
Monday, December 30, 2013
chutzpah
Posting the song "Mañanitas Tapatias' on the Facebook page for the book Stones from the Creek is a good opportunity for reflecting on chutzpah… particularly my chutzpah in presuming to create characters and voices that are so distant from my experience. I have mentioned elsewhere that it was actually meeting and discussing process with the carving Ortega family that convinced me that a carved saint had to be at the center of one of these stories. And my scholarly work on the common lands of Mexican and Spanish grants in New Mexico made that a must, too.
But this is a distant and unfamiliar part of the United States for me. How do I avoid romanticizing and exorcizing? One way is by drawing on the people I have met when I travelled there. Another way is by remembering that they are people, and I have spent a lifetime trying to understand people. the details can be a challenge though. For a very long time the mountain villages of New Mexico were dramatically underserved by ordained clergy. The religious life of the people had to be sustained by lay brotherhoods, as Magdalena explains in the story "Warrior Princess."
The rise of an Anglo-Protestant elite in New Mexico, along with its promotion as an "enchanting" tourist destination by the Santa Fe Railroad, meant that those lay brotherhoods became more guarded about public worship. The frequent Protestant opposition to ritual art meant that the lay Catholics found themselves derided for idolatry. And the public processions of the brotherhoods were turned into a source of titillation for people who did not understand them.
I wanted to include the music of the procession in the story. I found a book of Penitente alabados (http://books.google.com/books/about/The_Alabados_of_New_Mexico.html?id=8fGyC-Vn0FkC) and a set of YouTube videos (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ggbd9Exi4M) and I listened to the songs and read the liner notes of the Smithsonian Folkways recordings: "Music of New Mexico, Hispanic Traditions (1992)" (http://www.folkways.si.edu/music-of-new-mexico-hispanic-traditions/american-folk-gospel-latin/album/smithsonian) and "Spanish and Mexican Folk Music of New Mexico (1952)" (http://www.folkways.si.edu/spanish-and-mexican-folk-music-of-new-mexico/american-folk-latin/album/smithsonian)
One song that really captured my imagination was "Mañanitas Tapatias." It is sung on the Folkways 1992 recording by a church choir from Las Vegas, New Mexico. The liner notes explain that, with very few changed lyrics, it also serves as the New Mexican happy birthday song. I guess that should have been a big red warning flag for me. But when I come at a fact from a particular direction, I have trouble letting go of that path and seeing all the other approaches.
When I finally became concerned it was because I was trying to find a way to shared this beautiful song with my readers on the book's Facebook page. I own the Folkways CD, so I hadn't bothered to try to find a good link to an online recording. And then when I did? Overproduced Pedro Infante videos, mariachis playing to young women, home-made birthday photo albums, and underproduced church bands. It got me wondering: had I made a laughable error in including this song as part of a procession for Saint Michael Archangel?
I continue to find evidence that this song serves both purposes. But I have also decided to stop worrying about it. The story "Warrior Princess" is very compelling to me. I think that it is one of the strongest in the book. I hope that if it ever reaches actual New Mexicans, they will be able to respond to it in the spirit in which it was written.
But this is a distant and unfamiliar part of the United States for me. How do I avoid romanticizing and exorcizing? One way is by drawing on the people I have met when I travelled there. Another way is by remembering that they are people, and I have spent a lifetime trying to understand people. the details can be a challenge though. For a very long time the mountain villages of New Mexico were dramatically underserved by ordained clergy. The religious life of the people had to be sustained by lay brotherhoods, as Magdalena explains in the story "Warrior Princess."
The rise of an Anglo-Protestant elite in New Mexico, along with its promotion as an "enchanting" tourist destination by the Santa Fe Railroad, meant that those lay brotherhoods became more guarded about public worship. The frequent Protestant opposition to ritual art meant that the lay Catholics found themselves derided for idolatry. And the public processions of the brotherhoods were turned into a source of titillation for people who did not understand them.
I wanted to include the music of the procession in the story. I found a book of Penitente alabados (http://books.google.com/books/about/The_Alabados_of_New_Mexico.html?id=8fGyC-Vn0FkC) and a set of YouTube videos (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ggbd9Exi4M) and I listened to the songs and read the liner notes of the Smithsonian Folkways recordings: "Music of New Mexico, Hispanic Traditions (1992)" (http://www.folkways.si.edu/music-of-new-mexico-hispanic-traditions/american-folk-gospel-latin/album/smithsonian) and "Spanish and Mexican Folk Music of New Mexico (1952)" (http://www.folkways.si.edu/spanish-and-mexican-folk-music-of-new-mexico/american-folk-latin/album/smithsonian)
One song that really captured my imagination was "Mañanitas Tapatias." It is sung on the Folkways 1992 recording by a church choir from Las Vegas, New Mexico. The liner notes explain that, with very few changed lyrics, it also serves as the New Mexican happy birthday song. I guess that should have been a big red warning flag for me. But when I come at a fact from a particular direction, I have trouble letting go of that path and seeing all the other approaches.
When I finally became concerned it was because I was trying to find a way to shared this beautiful song with my readers on the book's Facebook page. I own the Folkways CD, so I hadn't bothered to try to find a good link to an online recording. And then when I did? Overproduced Pedro Infante videos, mariachis playing to young women, home-made birthday photo albums, and underproduced church bands. It got me wondering: had I made a laughable error in including this song as part of a procession for Saint Michael Archangel?
I continue to find evidence that this song serves both purposes. But I have also decided to stop worrying about it. The story "Warrior Princess" is very compelling to me. I think that it is one of the strongest in the book. I hope that if it ever reaches actual New Mexicans, they will be able to respond to it in the spirit in which it was written.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Wade in the Water
"Wade in the Water" is the chorus and the title of an old song. The phrase refers to the Gospel of John (5:4) where it says, “For an angel went
down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whoever then
first after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatever
disease he had.” The fictional Mingo Sanders of the story "Wade in the Water" is consumed with rage, guilt and regret. He -- exactly like the historical Mingo Sanders -- has been a decorated soldier for the US Army. He was personally thanked and congratulated by Colonel Theodore Roosevelt with whom he fought side by side in the Cuban War. Then, also exactly like the real Mingo Sanders, is discharged without honor for his failure to provide information about an incident with fellow Black soldiers that never happened.
The historical Mingo Sanders went with his wife on a speaking tour of prominent African American churches to explain the events of the so-called "Brownsville Raid" which was very much in the news around the country. The fictional Mingo Sanders walked back toward Georgia, friendless and alone. The drama of this story can be read as the redemption of his soul by a ritual cleansing. Or it can be read as a recovery of his personhood through his re-entry into the community of African Americans. There is evidence in the text for both readings.
The historical Mingo Sanders went with his wife on a speaking tour of prominent African American churches to explain the events of the so-called "Brownsville Raid" which was very much in the news around the country. The fictional Mingo Sanders walked back toward Georgia, friendless and alone. The drama of this story can be read as the redemption of his soul by a ritual cleansing. Or it can be read as a recovery of his personhood through his re-entry into the community of African Americans. There is evidence in the text for both readings.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Culture for Tourists
Today's post on my Facebook page for the book (https://www.facebook.com/stonesfromthecreek) offers the viewer a look at Garífuna drumming and dance from last summer's Smithsonian Folklife Festival. I wasn't there; I just found the video on YouTube. I like the festival, though. I always feel that it is an opportunity to meet artists and artisans from elsewhere in a respectful setting.
In 1976, they had all the AFL-CIO building trades demonstrating their craft by building structures on the National Mall. They also had sessions in which the constructions workers could share lore and story. After that it felt less like gawking when I watched a New England stone mason, or a Senegalese tie-dyer, or Inuit high schoolers demonstrating Arctic sports. And I got to have lunch with Betty Fikes, who was there performing with the SNCC Freedom Singers. She was alone at the picnic table and I was there with a very young Maya so we got to talking. At the Folklife Festival it doesn't feel (at least to me) like they make exotics out of the guests.
But in looking for that video on YouTube I also found one from "the Garífuna Experience" on Roatan Island, Honduras. Like the video from the National Mall, the audience is mainly white. The costumes are similar, as are the dancing and drumming. But I visited "the Garifuna Experience" and it gave me a little different vibe.
We were on a Norwegian Cruise of the western Caribbean and Roatan was one of the ports of call. I had already started on the story "All These Blue Things" about a detachment of US Marines chasing "bandits" in the mountains near La Ceiba, Honduras. It occurred to me that actually seeing these mountains would be a lot better than Google Earth but, for a variety of reasons, that was not going to happen. We were, however, going on this cruise, so I figured it would have to help somehow.
If you have never gone (and I actually recommend it) you will need to understand that the ships offer tours of various kinds at each port of call: shopping, sunbathing, "adventures," and various cultural experiences. At a previous stop we went to a truly spectacular classical Mayan ruin. In Roatan Island we chose the Garífuna Experience. The guide was an engaging young Afro-Caribbean woman, not Garifuna, who took us in boats through the mangroves and showed us plants and their uses on the bus ride to the cultural center.
The centerpiece there was clearly the drumming and dancing, but there was also traditional food preparation and other crafts. The stew was really good and reminded Judith of her uncle's cooking. What there was not was any contemporary (as in today) culture. It felt as though this was a kind of living museum, without which the culture would not exist.
There was no Aurelio Martinez. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03P18xJeEEU
There was no La Buga. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1AvYMyUS6M
There was no Big Kev. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1AvYMyUS6M
The fact is that I was looking for some historic material. The stories take place in 1906. But this culture is alive and growing. And it is really close by, too. I don't have to travel to Honduras. The community here in the Bronx is on Tremont Avenue, a few minutes from my home. And the children have been my students for years.
So I do my best to set a historical stage. But my work is not without ambivalence.
In 1976, they had all the AFL-CIO building trades demonstrating their craft by building structures on the National Mall. They also had sessions in which the constructions workers could share lore and story. After that it felt less like gawking when I watched a New England stone mason, or a Senegalese tie-dyer, or Inuit high schoolers demonstrating Arctic sports. And I got to have lunch with Betty Fikes, who was there performing with the SNCC Freedom Singers. She was alone at the picnic table and I was there with a very young Maya so we got to talking. At the Folklife Festival it doesn't feel (at least to me) like they make exotics out of the guests.
But in looking for that video on YouTube I also found one from "the Garífuna Experience" on Roatan Island, Honduras. Like the video from the National Mall, the audience is mainly white. The costumes are similar, as are the dancing and drumming. But I visited "the Garifuna Experience" and it gave me a little different vibe.
We were on a Norwegian Cruise of the western Caribbean and Roatan was one of the ports of call. I had already started on the story "All These Blue Things" about a detachment of US Marines chasing "bandits" in the mountains near La Ceiba, Honduras. It occurred to me that actually seeing these mountains would be a lot better than Google Earth but, for a variety of reasons, that was not going to happen. We were, however, going on this cruise, so I figured it would have to help somehow.
If you have never gone (and I actually recommend it) you will need to understand that the ships offer tours of various kinds at each port of call: shopping, sunbathing, "adventures," and various cultural experiences. At a previous stop we went to a truly spectacular classical Mayan ruin. In Roatan Island we chose the Garífuna Experience. The guide was an engaging young Afro-Caribbean woman, not Garifuna, who took us in boats through the mangroves and showed us plants and their uses on the bus ride to the cultural center.
The centerpiece there was clearly the drumming and dancing, but there was also traditional food preparation and other crafts. The stew was really good and reminded Judith of her uncle's cooking. What there was not was any contemporary (as in today) culture. It felt as though this was a kind of living museum, without which the culture would not exist.
There was no Aurelio Martinez. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03P18xJeEEU
There was no La Buga. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1AvYMyUS6M
There was no Big Kev. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1AvYMyUS6M
The fact is that I was looking for some historic material. The stories take place in 1906. But this culture is alive and growing. And it is really close by, too. I don't have to travel to Honduras. The community here in the Bronx is on Tremont Avenue, a few minutes from my home. And the children have been my students for years.
So I do my best to set a historical stage. But my work is not without ambivalence.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Na'ii'ees
The Apache Sunrise Dance is a kind of four-day Bat Mitzvah for Ndee girls. I dreamed about actually seeing one for years, while realizing that I probably never would. They had big public dances associated with tribal fairs and rodeos for July 4, but being a teacher, that was just too close to the end of the school year for me to wrap up work, get started traveling, and make it to the Southwest unless that was the main reason for the trip. And that was the era before YouTube, so I was just going to have to live without seeing Na'ii'ees.
In the summer of 1987 (I think) my brother and daughter and I camped across two-thirds of the country. On a Friday afternoon we paid for a camping permit at the Mescalero Apache tribal office and stood chatting with the cashier. She asked if we were going to the Sunrise Dance that night. I was stunned into incoherence and the woman explained what it was and that two families had arranged for a ceremony for their daughters in a big meadow nearby. I must have stammered a question about invitations, because she gave me a funny look and then said that she was inviting us. There was a direct road from the campground over the mountain to the dance site, but it was unpaved, unlit, winding and mountainous. So that night we drove about 12 miles south, 12 miles east, and another 12 miles north to get to the ceremony.
It was clear where we were going once we arrived. A huge bonfire burned in the middle of an open field. A large circle of at least a hundred vehicles, mostly pickup trucks was parked at a good distance from the fire, rear ends facing in so that people could sit in the truck beds in lawn chairs and rockers with a good elevated view of the dancing. To the side was a long brush arbor and women with big stew pots were cooking and distributing the banquet on paper plates.
I am a high school teacher, so I immediately noticed a group of teens leaning on a car parked near ours. School apparently opens in August out there, and these kids were talking a lot of mess about what what happen on the first day, mostly about who was going to fight who.
Meanwhile, closer to the fire, masked dancers with kilts, painted chests, and high, wood-slat crowns were performing. The drummers were setting the beat and chanting while the ankle bells of the dancers kept time with the drum. After a while the two girls came out, in pristine beaded leather dresses and they, too, danced around the fire, hands held in the air.
We stayed for a good long time and nobody questioned our presence, although I admit to being too shy to go over to the ramada for some dinner. Like other things that I have imagined for a long time before actually witnessing, the dance's reality was much more than anything I dreamed of.
Writing the story "The Giant Believed Her" for Stones from the Creek was not so much a matter of suddenly realizing that my memories of the na'ii'ees would fit the theme of a people's survival in a new context. Rather, I knew from the beginning that this scene would have to be a part of the book. And then I discovered that it was at just the time the stories in the book take place that Alchesay chose to bring the na'ii'ees out of the shadows and allow it to be public again. The story of White Clay Woman tricking the Giant, too, was not consciously on my mind when I chose the title Stones from the Creek, referring to the weapons David picked up for his duel with the giant Goliath.
I tend to plan my writing carefully. When there is this much apparent coincidence, it has less to do with serendipity and more to do with themes that have been percolating in my thinking for a very long time.
In the summer of 1987 (I think) my brother and daughter and I camped across two-thirds of the country. On a Friday afternoon we paid for a camping permit at the Mescalero Apache tribal office and stood chatting with the cashier. She asked if we were going to the Sunrise Dance that night. I was stunned into incoherence and the woman explained what it was and that two families had arranged for a ceremony for their daughters in a big meadow nearby. I must have stammered a question about invitations, because she gave me a funny look and then said that she was inviting us. There was a direct road from the campground over the mountain to the dance site, but it was unpaved, unlit, winding and mountainous. So that night we drove about 12 miles south, 12 miles east, and another 12 miles north to get to the ceremony.
It was clear where we were going once we arrived. A huge bonfire burned in the middle of an open field. A large circle of at least a hundred vehicles, mostly pickup trucks was parked at a good distance from the fire, rear ends facing in so that people could sit in the truck beds in lawn chairs and rockers with a good elevated view of the dancing. To the side was a long brush arbor and women with big stew pots were cooking and distributing the banquet on paper plates.
I am a high school teacher, so I immediately noticed a group of teens leaning on a car parked near ours. School apparently opens in August out there, and these kids were talking a lot of mess about what what happen on the first day, mostly about who was going to fight who.
Meanwhile, closer to the fire, masked dancers with kilts, painted chests, and high, wood-slat crowns were performing. The drummers were setting the beat and chanting while the ankle bells of the dancers kept time with the drum. After a while the two girls came out, in pristine beaded leather dresses and they, too, danced around the fire, hands held in the air.
We stayed for a good long time and nobody questioned our presence, although I admit to being too shy to go over to the ramada for some dinner. Like other things that I have imagined for a long time before actually witnessing, the dance's reality was much more than anything I dreamed of.
Writing the story "The Giant Believed Her" for Stones from the Creek was not so much a matter of suddenly realizing that my memories of the na'ii'ees would fit the theme of a people's survival in a new context. Rather, I knew from the beginning that this scene would have to be a part of the book. And then I discovered that it was at just the time the stories in the book take place that Alchesay chose to bring the na'ii'ees out of the shadows and allow it to be public again. The story of White Clay Woman tricking the Giant, too, was not consciously on my mind when I chose the title Stones from the Creek, referring to the weapons David picked up for his duel with the giant Goliath.
I tend to plan my writing carefully. When there is this much apparent coincidence, it has less to do with serendipity and more to do with themes that have been percolating in my thinking for a very long time.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
A border corrido
There are two references to border corridos in Stones
from the Creek. In the story "Passion Flower," the Engineer
hears some shepherds singing a song about him begging la santa de Cabora
for aid with the striking miners:
Pedía entonces el Moreno con su sombrero en la mano
Favor de cesa la huelga y regresa a trabajo.
Habla la Santa de Cabora en voz fuerte y clara
La Virgen demanda justicia y defiende la montaña!
Earlier, in the story "The Sun Shone So
Brightly" those strikers dance while the band plays the ballad of Juan
Cortina:
How much blood must be shed
To defend the land?
If they do not know how to respect us
Let us give them war.
In his book about the ballad of Gregorio Cortez, With
His Pistol in His Hand, the folklorist Américo Paredes describes the second
as much more in the line of the actual border ballads of the century 1830-1930,
i.e. a male hero fighting to preserve his honor. And I do not disagree
with that. But Enrique Lamadrid's article "'El Corrido de Tomóchic:'
Honor, Grace, Gender, and Power in the First Ballad of the Mexican
Revolution" (Journal of the Southwest (41:4, Winter, 1999) finds at
least two songs that more resemble my imagined one, with a female hero.
First the ballad of Tomóchic honors Teresa Urrea,
putting her name on the lips of the Tomochitecos' leader, Cruz Chávez:
Teresita de Cabora de mi amor
en la voz de Cruz resonaba
In a later verse the
singer explicitly compares God's power in the Tomochitecos with God's
grace inTeresa Urrea:
En Cabora está la gracia
y en Tomochi está el poder
But the ballad does not make that a gender
distinction. It also honors the prowess with rifles of the Tomochiteco
women, whose blood is the blood of liberty:
Las mujeres en la torre
qué buenas para tirar
la sangre que de ellas corre
es sangre de libertad.
Lamadrid also finds a variation on the hymn Las
Mañanitas which is dedicated to la santa de Cabora. The
first verse goes:
Buenos días Teresita
yo te vengo a saludar
saludando tu hermosura
y en tu casa celestial
And then, in a later verse, we find a reference to
her help in fighting evil, in the form of Satan:
En ti espero niña hermosa
y el Arcángel San Miguel
que en la vida y en la muerte
triunfaremos contra Luzbel.
Which will remind a careful reader of Magdalena in
the story "Warrior Princess" who led the procession of San Miguel and
sang the hymn Las Mañanitas to stop the arrest or murder of her
husband.
So I maintain that my imagined corrido to la santa niña is
not an impossibility. That it was heard by the Engineer, describing his
mission and its failure before he even undertook it? Perhaps magical.
But recognizing the distinctly feminine forms of resistance to power was
not my invention.
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