People often ask me what American Indians think about the Fourth of July. I say in jest, I am not all American Indians so keep on asking. However, those that listen, I tell them that I have mixed feelings about the holiday, because while some were gaining their freedoms, we were slowly losing ours.
With this admission, some people feel that I am not "patriotic" and that is true, I am not a patriot.
I am Henook Pinga. I am a Ho-Chunk woman. I am the grand daughter of Henry and Marie Decorah, daughter of Vera Kingbird. I am a mother, a wife, a registered nurse, and so many other things, including a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and a member of the Bear Clan. As a member of Jesus Christ's church, I am endowed with promises from on high, just as my ancestors were, if I remain true to all that Mauna has asked of me. This sacred charge has been restored through the ordinances which the church holds. As a member of the Bear Clan, I protect my own.
Alas, some people want to compare their "patriotism" with my mixed feelings, especially those in my church. It matters very little to me what they think, but I am tired. One more time.
God did not scatter and kill our people. No, it was the immigrants to this land, seeking asylum from their persecutions that ultimately ended up persecuting us, killing us, pillaging our lands, and taking away our God given freedoms. Irony is a hard thing, but no, the end does not justify the means. The papal bull did not grant anyone the freedom to try and annihilate another people. The constitution, which did not include American Indians in the phrase "all men are created equal," did not give anyone permission to exterminate, commit genocide, rape, pillage, steal, or commit mass murder against its original inhabitants.
I think God allowed this to happen to our people to stand as a witness against those that committed these atrocities, and one day, all will be set to right. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, our people need not slumber any more.
With respect to our courage, bravery, integrity, and our God given charge to care of these lands which we love, my grandfather, Henry Decorah along with his father, Foster Decorah and his brothers and numerous cousins, all Ho-Chunk Warriors, volunteered for WWI to fight for our land and our God given freedoms, even though we were not considered citizens of the United States of America. No, we were considered to be lower than the dust, yet these brave Ho-Chunk Warriors were part of the Red Arrow Division, who heroically pierced the Hindenburg Line. A major turning point in WWI.
My great grandfather paid the ultimate sacrifice and is buried in Chateau de Thierry, France.
Furthermore, every one of my uncles and two of my aunts were in the Armed Forces. Ho-Chunks, men and women, and other American Indians in general have the highest enlistment rate given their population density than any other race in these United States. Ho-Chunks honor, even revere their Warriors, so do not speak to me about your "patriotism."
American Indians were given stewardship of these lands from the Creator Himself, and as far as I am aware, everyone of my ancestors paid the price of that responsibility over and over again, and are still paying for this sacred responsibility, yet take this charge very seriously. So please, do not speak to me of your patriotism, unless you want to hear about our sacrifices, our stewardship, our love of land and family.
In an attempt to wrestle with these mixed emotions, a poem was penned. It was set to the words of a song which causes great consternation within me as I think of all that our ancestors had to undergo, and the ramifications of which many of my people still struggle with today, while glorifying and overlooking the numerous atrocities committed in the name of God and freedom.
Awake From Our Slumber
(inspired by American the Beautiful {Bates} by Valerie DeCora Guimaraes)
Home of the free
Thriving, dancing, praying
Land of the brave
Taken from our cradles, slumbering
Pilgrim's feet
Trampling across our ancestors, desecrating
A top purple mountain majesties
God shed his grace on thee.
Liberating strife
Babes taken, shackled, removing
The banner of the free
Assimilation, kinships, defiling
Thine alabaster cities gleam, gold
Made drunken, lost, scattering
Undimmed by human suffering
God shed his grace on thee.
O beautiful for patriot dream
Prayers ascend, our Elders, leading
Every gain divine
Resilience in traditions, transforming
Who more than self, loved
No more slumber, speaking
Crown thy goodness
God shed his grace on thee.
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