No Guilt, Just Change

I was processing this catalogue yesterday at work, right?

What do you mean by “processing”?

I mean I’m getting it ready for the public to view the catalogue or use it. Entering it into the database, etc.

Oh, okay.

So anyways, it’s a catalogue from Sotheby’s announcing there’s going to be an auction of American Indian Art sometime this month. And I flip through it because we get all the catalogues for Sotheby’s auctions and I’m always interested to see what they’re selling.

Uh huh.

Well, I was looking through the catalogue and they had all these moccasins and dresses and costumes and baskets and pipes and all these things that were made by Native Americans. They were so beautiful and you could just tell they were real, you know? I mean authentic. Original.

Cool.

I know, right? I mean the items were just amazing. I looked at every single page. And at the end I thought to myself these things should be elsewhere, you know?

Where? A museum?

No. I mean they should be in the homes of the ancestors of the people who made them. They should be with the people to whom they belonged.

Well, I guess the people are just going to have to buy them then, aren’t they?

Do you know how much some of that stuff was going for?

No.

Hold on a sec I wrote some of these down. Okay. A blanket: $8,000-$12,000. A pictorial jar: $20,000-$30,000. Moccasins: $5,000-$7,000. A Blackfoot beaded and fringed hide dress: $15,000-$20,000. A Cheyenne tobacco bag: $30,000-$40,000. A Cree quilled and fringed hide costume: $250,000-$350,000. $350,000! There’s no way any of the people who should be getting those things could pay for them.

Well what do you want, Sotheby’s to just give the items to them? I mean, I’m sure they were bought or traded for somewhere along the way. The Indians probably have dozens of quilled and fringed hide costumes sitting around their houses.

They don’t even have houses! They live in squalor! I don’t know. It just pisses me off. It’s not right.

Do you have Native American ancestors?

Yes! Yes I do. I mean no. I mean not really but I think we all do. I mean I think we all have connections to them; we’re all related to them.

How are we all related to them? My people come from France.

Not by blood but by the fact that we’re all living on land that was once theirs. There has to be something to that.

I think you’re taking it too personally.

I’m taking it too personally that my people destroyed their lives? I think not.

Well, you’re kind of sketching out, pal.

I know but sometimes it just gets to me. I mean I drive to work and I look at the road and all these buildings and all the pollution in the sky and I think it must’ve been so calm and peaceful and clean. The air must’ve been so fresh. I feel like I’m trespassing, you know? I mean I swear I can feel the history of the land reaching up and it’s all I can do to drive my Honda Civic over these paved roads to work where I sit in a giant building all day and then drive home to my comfortable house and I do it over and over again.

So you feel guilty for living a comfortable life?

Well…yeah. I mean that’s part of it. But I also feel like we’ve lost part of our identity, you know?

Man, that life isn’t our identity. They lived in teepees. I’ve never lived in a teepee. Have you ever lived in a teepee? They hunted buffalo. I’ve never hunted buffalo. Once my neighbor made me a hamburger that was made out of ground buffalo meat. I ate it and the only thing I thought was, “Wow, this tastes just like beef.” I felt no connection to the Indians. There are no similarities between the Indian’s life and my life. It’s a different time. Things change. There’s no guilt, just change.

I know things change.

So what’s the problem? If some guy in Connecticut wants to drive into New York City in his air conditioned Bentley and pay $350,000 for a leather costume made by an Indian woman 200 years ago just so he can hang it up in his $17 million dollar mansion that is built on a parcel of land that used to belong to the same tribe the Indian woman who made the costume was a part of then so what? Him not buying it isn’t going to bring her back is it? And it isn’t going to give the land back to whoever used to own it. And it wouldn’t stop someone else taking the land if my ancestors or your ancestors hadn’t taken it first. It’s not personal, it’s history.

Yeah, I know. I understand that. But…

And not only that it’s the future. You don’t think someone is going to take your land after you die? You don’t think someday people are going to fight over the things you worked hard for during your life? Or if you don’t show up to work tomorrow someone will take over your job processing those catalogues and change a bunch of stuff and make it their own? Man, we’re all replaceable. We’re all disposable.

I know that. That’s not what I’m saying.

I don’t think you know what you’re saying. You’re talking soft.

It’s not soft to want to respect others.

Respect? You can respect someone without feeling guilty about your own life. You can say, “Thank you and I respect what you did and I’m moving on.” Simple as that. It doesn’t mean you have to find some way to recreate a life that’s already been lived. Let the dead rest. They’ve done their share.

I know. But I don’t have to act like they never lived.

Okay man. You do your remembering. Pay your respects as you kick back and watch Major League Baseball on ESPN with a pizza and Dr. Pepper on your lap.

Yeah, really.

You like it.

I do. I love it.

(Sol leaves the room.

Buck takes off his shoes and looks down at the carpet.)