Accepting Things as They Are
by Henry Frank
“I want to be known for two things. The first is that I was the best Christian I could be and the second is that I was the best Indian I could be,” Ada Mae Frank, my grandmother, would always say. To all that knew her, they remember her as just that. She knew the Bible and spoke Yurok fluently. She knew hymns as well as traditional songs. She knew of nature and of heaven. A delicate and complicated dance between two worlds, which never collided within her. I hope I am remembered by the people who know me that I was the best Indian I could be.
Most of the Natives I grew up around did not wear regalia, they as I wore clothes and necklaces made of gold and silver. Half of my family went to church. I prefer the sweat lodge. I can’t stand the taste of abalone or eel (my tribal survival foods). I know my heritage and I have been taught and learned traditional songs, dances prayers and knowledge. I have lived on the Rez in Wietchpec and in Hoopa. Just because my name isn’t Hawk Flying at Highnoon over Twelve Deer Drinking at the River as an Otter Swims By and I was named Henry Edward Frank changes nothing.
Furthermore, if I tell the world that I am a savage, or if I tell one person that I am Indian, or if I tell no one that I am a Native American, or if I didn’t know that I was from the P-LIK-LAH nation would not change the blood flowing through my veins or the dna in my genes. I am Yurok because I was born Yurok.
I was recently asked at the San Quentin Fall Pow-Wow, located in the visiting room, by a young woman from San Francisco state, “How do you maintain your identity as a Native American while incarcerated?” I found this question absurd, as she was a skin too. “I do not have to maintain anything, act a certain way, believe a certain things, wear my hair long, or be classified by the administration as an AMI within this prison system. I maintain my identity by breathing. Anything I do, think, or say will be Indian, because that is what I am,” I thought to myself. I didn’t voice these thoughts because I didn’t want to be perceived as hostile or bitter from my incarceration. I simply answered, “I was born Indian and nothing has changed since.” She smiled as she jotted my quote down and responded with, “that’s cool.”
I consider myself lucky, because my brother and I were raised “Indian.” I knew I was a Yurok before I knew I was a boy. Being raised “Indian” is probably the same as being raised any other nationality. My parents, aunts, uncles, grandmother and their friends were proud to be Yurok. Based upon the characteristics of my loved ones, I learned that being a Yurok meant: Loving your children unconditionally, hiding your drugs in a pair of boots in the corner of your room underneath a pile of clothes so your mother would not find it. Compromising some of your happiness so your loved ones could be happy as well, children were to be seen and not heard. Spending time with your family because you want to, drinking unconditionally until you pass out. No matter what you are doing or how old you are, you checked in with your mother so she knew you were still alive. Indians lived in apartments in Eureka, slept on the ground in Star Wars and Alf sleeping bags in Weitchpec, lived in San Francisco in an apartment where I had to walk down the hall to use the restroom. We ate at a table at the apartment. We went out to restaurants. We ate hunks of salami, cheese and sourdough bread while drinking Welch’s white grape juice on a pier at Fisherman’s Wharf. We attended church. We attended Brush dances and Pow-Wows. We attended school, we dropped out of school, and we graduated from the University of San Francisco with a Bachelor’s of Arts degree. Everything I saw my family do, everything I heard them say, everything I saw them eat and every reaction, response and emotion displayed contributed to my ideology of what it meant to be Indian. Now, everything I say, do and think is what an Indian is.
I do not beat my clothes against a rock, I do not, nor even have a ridden horse. It hasn’t ever rained after I finished dancing. I do not wear a loincloth and I do not greet people with “How.” I don’t throw a net in the Klamath River to catch salmon. I do not live my life on “Indian time,” which is a sense of time of when I get there, I get there and when it gets done, it gets done. I don’t wear moccasins nor do I have a desire to. I do not speak my native tongue, but I do speak perfect English. I wash my clothes at a laundromat. I drive a car or ride a bike. I wear “American” clothing and I am comfortable. I greet people with “Hello” or “What’s up, dog?” I purchase my salmon at Safeway. I wear a Timex digital watch so I am not late to appointments and I get things done by the designated deadlines. Finally, I wear triple E wide New Balance tennis shoes. I do practice my Native American culture (like my grandmother) but I have also assimilated to American culture. Still, it does not take away from my Red Heritage.
In prison I am identified by other prisoners and staff as an injun, because I sweat and wear beads. I have long dark hair and I hang out with mostly other Indians. They have seen me play the drum and heard me sing songs. They have seen me at Pow-Wows and that my pigment is consistent with what color an Indian should be. As most Natives know, all these things do make me an Indian.
The things I do believe in are not ways for me to show the world that I am indigenous to this land. It’s just who I am. I sweat in the sweat lodge because that is where I feel most comfortable, most connected with God and where I have gained the most understanding. A place where I learn who I am and sit before God in my truest form. I am a spirit as every other living being in existence is a spirit. Due to this understanding I know I am no greater nor any less, but equal to all life.
I play the drum because I like the sound and the feeling of the drum. It connects all the generations before me and the generations that will come after me. As I pound the same sounding beat of the past and of the future into existence, interweaves our spirit as I sit here in the present. I offer up songs with my drumming because I understand that each song has power and when I sing them, I am calling upon its power and directing it. Songs are prayers and there is a time and place to sing each song.
My pigment changes shades with the seasons. During the summer I am the color of bronze and during the winter I attain an orangish red color with a copper tint. Mentioning my skin: I have tattoos, which do identify me as a wagon burner. Again, I did not get my tattoos to show the world that I am a Native American. They all have meaning that remind me of why I travel on this Redroad to the Creator. The Hawk in the center of my back swooping down for a landing with a salmon in her talons, which has a Yurok design (which I use to symbolize the Universe) for his eye, reminds me that no matter where I end up, I will be provided for. The P-LIK across the top of my back translates into “Down River” in English, and reminds me that no matter how many times I have to tell my incarcerators that I am J-80928, I know where I came from and how my existence came to be. The ROK-CIHM KU TE-NU-MO-NOK, translates into “Trust the Spirits,” which came to me when I needed a sign that I was not on this earth by randomness or that I was not at this moment in time, occupying this space by accident. The Creator did not fail me and I have greater faith that I am walking the path I am supposed to, because He reached down and blessed me and gave me a spirit calling song. I sing this song during the first round of the Sweat Lodge ceremony. Finally, I have a red tailed hawk gliding at full wing span, soaring from my left side of my back, behind the center hawk, to the right side, which reminds me that I am free, no man-made structure can retain or restrict my spirit.
I am proud of being a Native American and that I am connected with nature and my understanding of the divine, all add to who I am. My upbringing, education, hardships and celebrations, my joys and pains, my wisdom and ignorance, and just living and experiencing life add to who I am. None of these factors make me a Yurok Indian. I am the best savage I can be, because I have no choice, I can be nothing else.
