Recently, at a poetry reading at one of the universities in the southern
part of a southwestern state, a middle-aged, Anglo poet, after referring
to himself as a "shaman," began reading poems in which he identified
himself with several historical Indian personae. He had made it clear at
the outset that he wasn't merely a poet--as if that weren't enough in
itself--but he was a "shaman," a man who was going to recreate the
world through the power of his words. I wasn't present at this reading,
though a friend of mine, a well-known Chicano poet, was there, and it
was he who later told me about it. The "shaman," at midpoint in his
reading, began another sequence of poems by suddenly inveighing the
audience with the salutation "I AM GERONIMO!" in a squeaky falsetto,
causing the handful of Indians among the listeners to laugh out loud. I
am told that the "shaman" appeared perplexed for a moment, as though
at a loss to understand why someone should rudely laugh at such a
dramatic moment.

I have seen variations of this moment repeated many times in the past
several years. Sometimes it occurs in art galleries, when little old ladies
from Boston or Kansas City interrupt the Indian artist, there also on
exhibit along with his works, to tell whoever happens to be listening
what Indian art--and perhaps even that particular artist's work--is all
about. Or, when the visitor to Acoma Pueblo or Taos Pueblo begins to
tell the residents there of his or her grandmother back in Syracuse who
was a Cherokee, or Sioux, or Blackfoot (it's surprising how popular
Blackfoot is becoming these days) princess--(always Princess, not
merely an Indian woman--and certainly never, a squaw, although
they will refer to other Indian women as squaws, but not their own
mythical Indian grandmothers). Or, the Junior Chamber of Commerce-
types who explain the new housing project designed for a low-rent
district as being "simply constructed" like an "Indian pueblo," and,
one assumes, with all the comforts of the reservation. Or, in certain
university departments whose liberal members sit dreaming up new
grant proposals and programs for Indian students without even
bothering to consult the Indians themselves; of course, the grant money
is available: big corporate industry wants not just to absolve its part in
the national guilt, but, more importantly, is slobbering for the tax
write-offs that are involved in their Santa Claus-like gestures. In short,
it is still the same old ballgame: Indians are still being exploited, both
materially and culturally, but the forms now employed are much more
subtle than the forms used a century ago by the mountain men and the
Seventh Cavalry.

So, in the same spirit as Leslie Silko's two-part old-time Indian
attack, I would like to examine some things that are happening on the
literary scene today--things that I feel are detrimental to both Indian
people, not only of the past but of the present as well, and to non-
Indians, whose knowledge of Indian cultures has, unfortunately, been
formed too often by the romantic (and now the neo-romantic)
writers/artists/ethnologists who have avidly and imperiously staked

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