To Be, Or Not To Be

To be an American Indian
you must trace ancestors
clear back to the roots, the authorities tell me.
You must produce the papers, official papers,
birth records, government records.
Records, that is, of the invaders’ government.

Records of that same government which
forced natives off their land,
crushed tribes, ruined habitat,
spread disease and pollutions,
tore apart families, broke treaties and
wrote it all down in their crooked history.

They say I need records from that same government which
captured families halfway around the world and
brought them here, no matter how many were lost at sea, and
enslaved them, sometimes worked them to death,
sold off their mates and children and then
bragged about “...this country is built on our hard work.”

They suggest I seek out church records,
records of that religion which set out to
destroy American Indian culture, and customarily
beat American Indian children for speaking their own language
in those schools where they made native kids
into god-fearing Christians.

They say that for me to be a legitimate American Indian,
I must dig up my roots for governmental inspection,
to show that my ancestors surrendered to the invaders and
obeyed the invaders’ new laws, reporting their weddings and births
to those same racist invaders who pretended piety and
looked upon American Indians as less than human.

Trouble is, the invaders’ government and all its records
have nothing to do with my roots.
My mixed-blood roots live in the earth, in the past, and
regardless who asks, I’m not about to dig up my roots.
What the hell? I already know who I am.

©2005 Thomas Hubbard