Gambling on Authenticity: Gaming, the Noble Savage, and the Not-So-New Indian
191
Gambling on Authenticity: Gaming, the Noble Savage, and the Not-So-New Indian
191eBook
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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781628953077 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Michigan State University Press |
| Publication date: | 11/01/2017 |
| Series: | American Indian Studies |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 191 |
| File size: | 3 MB |
About the Author
Julie Pelletier is an Associate Professor of Indigenous Studies at the University of Winnipeg. She has published in the areas of identity and representation, and the indigenization of the academy. Her most recent work is Insider/Outsider Ambiguities and the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Pan-tribal Nationalist Fantasy
Scott Andrews
"Columbus Day 2092" is a modest appetizer to the main course of the essays offered here. It is a daydream, a little game of "what if," a pan-tribal nationalist fantasy.
I realize that pan-tribal and nationalist may seem contradictory, since a pan-tribal perspective crosses national/tribal boundaries. However, despite the varieties of American Indian cultures to be found in the United States, those communities do share many similar experiences with colonization, and they do share the desire for greater political and economic sovereignty. So the magnitude of my "what if" game required me to imagine the tribes cooperating fully — admittedly, this is another element of fantasy for the poem. Those familiar with the history of North American colonization know how well the divide-and-conquer strategy worked then. And now.
Being the product of a pan-tribal wish fulfillment, my poem required imagery from a variety of tribes and regions, so I have references to the salmon of the Northwest, the shell-makers of the Southern California coast, the ceremonial masks found in various locations, and the Ghost Dance that originated in the Great Basin.
More than imagining the full and secret cooperation of the gaming tribes in the United States, "Columbus Day 2092" imagines proving Audre Lorde wrong: perhaps the tools of the "master" can be used to dismantle his house. What if the powerful duplicity of corporate capitalism could be turned against those who had benefited from it for so long?
History books like to attribute the North American conquest to evangelical agendas — the desire of Europeans to spread the Gospel in particular and Western civilization in general. But so much of the energy that drove the conquest from the very beginning came from capitalist interests. John Smith's tidewater adventures were conducted on behalf of the Virginia Company of London. Westward expansion was driven by many things, but among them were the monetary interests of railroad companies and vast government subsidies of land to assist them. Etc. Etc. And most recently in the United States, corporate desires have come in conflict with the sovereignty of the Native nations that would be crossed by the Keystone XL Pipeline, the Dakota Access Pipeline, and similar projects. Imagining that legacy of conquest being turned back on itself seems like a delicious irony. Or appetizer.
Columbus Day 2092
Scott Andrews
the letters flew on Columbus Day little messengers landing on porches and desks to tell the Europeans they must leave must imitate the salmon and return to their homes
the Europeans had never heard of the company on the letterhead:
the trust had been hidden beneath a coat of other names a coat of papers and papers and papers layers of shell companies shells had once served the California natives so well and had become useful again
the Europeans had been tricked at their own game, with their own magic
fueled by a century of bouncing balls spinning wheels thick chips caressed and stacked by the blue-haired and the sun-starved the Wovoka Real Estate Investment Trust had bought every piece of America that had been for sale secretly patiently and it was all for sale eventually
the famous Indian poet and Hollywood Squares regular Sherman Running Jump Shot used his own personal wealth to buy a bar called the Crazy Horse and closed its doors on Columbus Day
the Ghost Dance vision was not fully realized not all the Europeans left since many were not Europeans anymore they were husbands, wives, cousins, children of the joint owners of the trust many others stayed as well but they paid rent they obeyed the rules of the new landlords
everything was different after that everything
Raised Stakes
Writing on/and the New Game of Chance
Becca Gercken
Both Indian and non-Indian readers of contemporary Native American literature recognize gaming as shorthand for identity politics; gaming foregrounds questions of identity (both individual and communal), authenticity, history, and sovereignty in a compact yet complicated space. The concrete reality of the Indian casino both mirrors and perpetuates the intangible vagaries of contemporary Indian life. In the wake of the American Indian civil rights movement, Indian identity politics, as reflected in literature and film, were often predicated on notions of cultural participation. These identity politics were dramatically altered by gaming, which for many tribes prompted more rigid guidelines for enrollment based on blood quantum, and this change is reflected in Native American literature, which itself compels readers to question the role gaming plays in today's Indian Country. This chapter examines how the tensions surrounding gaming play out in relation to identity, authenticity, and sovereignty through a study of representations of Indian gaming in post-1988 Native American literature. In the postgaming literary world, we repeatedly see characters standing on opposing sides of the gaming divide: Is gaming traditional? Is it preserving traditions? Is it dismantling traditions? Who should count as a "real" Indian, and when and how do per caps play into that decision? I consider Jim Northrup's The Rez Road Follies and Anishinaabe Syndicated, Louis Owens's Dark River, Stephen Graham Jones's Ledfeather, Gerald Vizenor's The Heirs of Columbus, and Louise Erdrich's The Bingo Palace to see what they reveal about the always contested, often shifting paradigm of Indian identity in the wake of the 1988 Indian Gaming Regulatory Act. Northrup, Owens, Jones, Vizenor, and Erdrich each reveal a profound ambivalence toward gaming. Their texts, which vary widely in their engagement with and assessment of gaming, teach us about gaming's peril and its protection, its limitations and its possibilities. Northrup offers occasional commentary on gaming, revealing his preoccupation with identity and sovereignty through his focus on the political and economic ramifications of gaming, while Owens and Jones limit their commentary to brief but pivotal scenes that provide expository commentary on identity and authenticity. Vizenor, in contrast, makes gaming — and all of its sovereign implications — the center of his novel and offers a scathing political critique of gaming that reimagines America's history through its lens. Like Vizenor, Erdrich builds her novel around gaming, which has masked itself as opportunity.
There has been some research in literary studies in representations of gaming, particularly for books like The Heirs of Columbus and The Bingo Palace, for which gaming is the central topic, but much of the critical conversation is focused on sovereignty or economics. Those scholars who do address the cultural ramifications of gaming focus on the history of games and chance in relation to the present, in particular how they are — or are not — transformed in contemporary texts. Consider, for example, Paul Pasquaretta's assertion that "in modern times, the gambling story is important both as a feature of traditional culture and myth and as a theory of present conditions and possibility." While he makes the connection to contemporary concerns, Pasquaretta's focus is on traditional stories as they are represented in new fiction. Similarly, Norma Barry's analysis of Vizenor's The Heirs of Columbus argues that Vizenor's "combining of the wiindigoo and gambler figures in a new variation on traditional myths and rituals reflects the evolution of traditional texts and traditional ceremonies." In the context of gaming as industry, Eileen M. Luna-Firebaugh and Mary Jo Tippeconnic Fox remind us that "gaming has ancient and Indigenous roots in the Americas; it is associated [with] rituals of play and storytelling that connect the peoples to their communal origins and destiny." My analysis here is not meant to be an exhaustive study of gaming as it is represented in post-1988 Native American literature or of the scholarship of said literature, but rather a reading of selected texts that demonstrate that contemporary Native American literature can help us understand the effectsgaming has, both positive and negative, on Indigenous communities. Whether gaming is central to a text — The Heirs of Columbus, The Bingo Palace — or presented fleetingly — Dark River, Ledfeather — or is somewhere in-between — The Rez Road Follies, Anishinaabe Syndicated: A View from the Rez — the increasing appearance of gaming in literature reveals that it is becoming a permanent, if troubling presence through which Indians and non-Indians alike understand and interpret contemporary Indian life.
*
Readers can track the progression of Jim Northrup's attitude toward gaming through Rez Road Follies and Anishinaabe Syndicated, the latter a collection of his nationally syndicated "Fond du Lac Follies" column. In "Gambling and Other Follies" from Rez Road Follies, Northrup, mocking both his tribe and the state of Minnesota, details his "reservations" about Indian gaming: "I had reservations about the Reservation's plan for gambling. I was reserved because I had seen so many sins committed in the name of economic development." Much of his concern stems from the fact that gaming is creating new negative stereotypes of Indian identity rather than dismantling the old: "Gambling is creating a new stereotype ... the idea that all of us are getting rich from the casino profits." More important to Northrup is his perception of what gaming is doing to Indians' understanding of themselves: "Gambling begets greed. The gambling tiger is making us forget who we are as people." He goes on to write that gambling works against the principle that has allowed Indians to survive, the belief that "the community is more important than the individual." He repeatedly refers to gaming as a tiger, working to undercut the belief that gambling is the "'new Buffalo' for the Indian people." He details similar concerns in a more comical vein: "How can you tell they liked to play bingo? Their dog was named Dauber, their kids were called Early Bird, Postage Stamp, Four Corners, and Blackout."
In "Full-Blooded White People," written in 1995 and included in Anishinaabe Syndicated, Northrup acknowledges that Fond du Lac Indians are finally financially benefiting from their gaming operation: "Hell just froze over because Fonjalackers got a per capita gambling payment. After almost fifteen years of high-stakes bingo and gambling casinos, we got a check for $1,500 each. That comes out to a little over a hundred dollars a year." His comments hint at suspicion over the small size of the payout relative to the scale of the gaming operation, and while he is pleased that the tribe has followed through on its promise, he does not like the ensuing social changes. Thus he is less subtle in his commentary on the outcome of the per caps:
What is it about this gambling? It has taken over our lives. If we're not actually gambling, we're talking about it. If we have or don't have a job at the casino, we're talking about it. We're always talking about gambling. Now the latest subject is the per capita payment. We're all talking about the $1,500 payment. Wall-to-wall Shinnobs at Wal-Mart. Everyone is just cashy now.
Northrup's commentary here is telling. While one concern — that tribal members will see no economic benefit from the tribe's gaming operation — has been eliminated, more pressing concerns remain. No one (except Northrup) is questioning the size of the per-cap payment. No one is talking about treaty rights or language loss, topics to which Northrup often devotes his columns. While Northrup is surely using humor to exaggerate or at least illuminate the tribe's fixation on something he considers marginally important — the per-cap payment — his language reveals his conviction that there is danger in these payments. Not fiscal, but social. He does not like what is happening to the social fabric of his community in the per-cap era. A similar critique is found in "So Sioux Me" (1999). In the midst of his description of how the Ojibwe language class at the Cloquet Community Center is "going great" and is "filling an empty hole inside [him]," Northrup questions "where the rest of the Shinnobs are from this rez, or are they only Indians at per capita time?" His frustration that many community members focus on the monetary benefits of per caps and not the programs they make possible is clear.
Northrup expands his social critique in "Blue as a White Guy's Eyes" (1998). Venting his frustration at the reservation's "Enrollee Day," held at the casino, he observes that the roll of quarters given to enrollees "quickly disappeared inside those Wiindigoo slot machines." His language here suggests that the casino is a cannibal devouring his tribe. He goes on to bemoan the focus of the celebration, wondering why his people are not instead honoring "a date important in Fond du Lac history, like the date the treaty was signed that established the reservation? Or perhaps the date the perpetual compact was signed with the state of Minnesota that allowed casino gambling?" This comment reveals Northrup's growing ambivalence toward gaming: while he wishes his people would celebrate something he perceives to be more important to the tribe, such as the reservation's founding document, his somewhat sarcastic notion that one alternative to "Enrollee Day" is to celebrate the signing of the tribe's gaming compact indicates his growing awareness of the casino's value to the community. And of course there is Northrup's glee when his wife wins a 1964 Corvette in a drawing at the Black Bear Casino. In "Brown-Bellied Sapsucker" (2001), he notes that "the rez car license plate looks good on the silver machine."
Northrup's critique of gaming, while humorous, is so pointed precisely because he understands the inherent dangers of gaming, dangers that Owens and Vizenor represent in greater detail.
*
Owens directs his critique at the social consequences of tribal casinos in Dark River, using gaming to highlight the tensions surrounding Indian identity and authenticity on the Black Mountain Apache Reservation. The tribe's casino appears at the opening of a brief but crucial expository scene whose purpose is to help readers understand the competing Indian identities at play on the rez. The novel's protagonist, a Choctaw named Jacob (Jake) Nashoba, has "been forced back by the evil of the place." He observes that "the tribe was making a bundle, doing to the white world what that world had always done to Indians," but he simultaneously acknowledges the good that has come from gaming: "the tribe was plowing the profits back into medical centers, retirement care, prenatal counseling, a few college scholarships, housing, and investments that would ensure a cash flow when the feds or the state managed to squash the too-lucrative gaming." Jake's comment reflects deeply held, well-earned suspicion on the part of Indians that the government will eventually take away the Indians' right to own and operate casinos.
More important for Owens than commentary on the fiscal impact of gaming, however, is the manner in which the casino facilitates and indeed compels a specific type of performance, the performance of authentic Indian-ness, or, more specifically, what the Anglo dominant culture reads as authentic Indian-ness. While the following scene takes place in the reservation hotel rather than in the casino, it occurs after Owens has dedicated three paragraphs across three pages to describing Jake's reaction to the casino. In contrast, he writes only a few sentences about the hotel: "At the end of the valley the tribe's resort hotel, built from old-growth pine harvested on the reservation, stood like a big ski lodge against a wide, smooth-surfaced lake. [Jake] parked in front of the hotel and paused as he stepped out to watch men in belly boats fishing for the stocked trophy rainbows." Jake is there to talk to Xavier Two-Bears, tribal chair, who is preparing to meet a documentary film crew in the hotel. His "long, unnaturally black hair" is "tied in a tight ponytail," and his hand is "heavy with turquoise and silver rings." He hires only white, blond college students to work in the casino while the Apache "play ... the white man, a subtle and satirical amusement on the reservation." While the Indians emulate white social posturing, they work to meet whites' phenotypical expectations of "real Indians," performances that are witnessed by the hotels' white employees as Two- Bears attempts through his hiring practices to invert his mother's experience at Haskell Indian School, where she was "worked nearly to death by a Swedish farmer." As Jake tells us, "Indian retribution [is] patient but inevitable."
(Continues…)
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