REQUIEM FOR ALT.NATIVE 2
The final invasion of whites is by Seashepherd wiccans. They are the final assault. They have partnered with FBI informant Richard Two Elk. They muddy the discussion of the case of Anna Mae Aquash.
A seashepherd wiccan announced on another list that his job was to close down places where Indians posted. It was so we would have no voice.
The racism of Seashepherd and Paul Watson could not silence our support of Makah Treaty whaling. Seashepherd wiccans will not stop the quest for justice for Anna Mae Aquash, real justice not FBI Just Us.
Again there is the usual assortment of scouts and sellouts that agree with the white invaders that alt.native was never an Indian discussion list but a hippie heaven made up of people of all colors. There is nothing wrong with that. Although it’s not true. This used to be an Indian discussion list.
The wiccans are putting the final nails in alt.native’s coffin. The place is filled with whites and wannabes and wiccans. Maybe the name should be changed to alt.www.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 09, 2009
THE FLUTE PLAYER
THE FLUTE PLAYER
There are those who live their lives in the spotlight. Their most mundane actions are reported and commented on.
There are those that live their lives in humble obscurity. They change lives and leave the world in a little better condition.
Such was the life of Johnson Charles, Uncle John, Uncle Johnson, my cousin Junior.
He lived the history of Indian People. He fought and overcame alcoholism and homelessness.
He came home with a beautiful wife and flutes…..those beautiful flutes. He played our old prayer songs on them. They helped soothe and heal our broken hearts.
He didn’t preach. He told stories. Sometimes those stories were on him. He told of waking from a blackout in a Midwestern cemetery. He didn’t know how or why he was there. He would smile and say “Don’t do that.”
He was the Shaker hired to work at Tsewhitzen. He loved helping the young people. He would counsel them and pray for them. Soon everyone was calling him Uncle Johnson.
His sister had been our Shaker minister. She had Multiple Sclerosis and could no longer walk. She knew she was dying. She told us that she didn’t want a flowery send off. She wanted her obituary to say, “She died.”
I assume he would say the same. I just wanted to express how much we loved him and will miss him and those flutes……..those beautiful flutes.
There are those who live their lives in the spotlight. Their most mundane actions are reported and commented on.
There are those that live their lives in humble obscurity. They change lives and leave the world in a little better condition.
Such was the life of Johnson Charles, Uncle John, Uncle Johnson, my cousin Junior.
He lived the history of Indian People. He fought and overcame alcoholism and homelessness.
He came home with a beautiful wife and flutes…..those beautiful flutes. He played our old prayer songs on them. They helped soothe and heal our broken hearts.
He didn’t preach. He told stories. Sometimes those stories were on him. He told of waking from a blackout in a Midwestern cemetery. He didn’t know how or why he was there. He would smile and say “Don’t do that.”
He was the Shaker hired to work at Tsewhitzen. He loved helping the young people. He would counsel them and pray for them. Soon everyone was calling him Uncle Johnson.
His sister had been our Shaker minister. She had Multiple Sclerosis and could no longer walk. She knew she was dying. She told us that she didn’t want a flowery send off. She wanted her obituary to say, “She died.”
I assume he would say the same. I just wanted to express how much we loved him and will miss him and those flutes……..those beautiful flutes.
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