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| Hangisi Güzel on a covered wagon |
I got a phone call from a good friend and fellow Rotarian who was looking to give away two tickets to the football game between the Dallas Cowboys and the Washington team. I am not a sports fan meaning I like sports, but cannot suffer through watching sports on television, in particular football. It is such a violent sport from the perspective of the fans. I don't trust the union between competition, white men, and beer which is served at football games. I never know when, or if fans will break out into a rage placing my wife in danger. That's why I don't go to football games. But, this one was special. My wife, a life long Dallas fan, had never seen them live in all the years she has lived in D.C.and my son assured me there would be no such threat.
"Why did God create white men and beer and put them together?" I expressed to the Black lady seated next to me at the game while racial tension and team rivalry was showing itself in the rows near us. Yes, I went to the game. When I got off the phone with Guy I was thinking about combinations of family members who'd like to see the game, but my wife was firm. We were going to the game, and that was that!
Just before we left for the game my phone rang. An elder, a Native elder was on the other end asking me if I was participating in the protest march against the Washington team? I chuckled. "No. I'll be there at the game myself with Jan." Well, that was a short conversation, and it wasn't the only conversation that day about the team. In the middle of the third quarter the Black lady to the left of me in a conspirator's tone of voice complained.
"You know there are people outside the stadium protesting the name of the Redskins. Ain't that some shit? We got bigger problems. They killing our young men in Ferguson, and all over the country. We got bigger problems than a name! What d'ya think 'bout dat?"
I had not planned to discuss any serious issue at this game. I thought about answering. I also thought about the cow farm that used to be here before the stadium, and the serene peace the land held for decades before Jack Kent Cooke, the former redneck owner of the team, purchased the land and leveled the surrounding forest digging up the earth for the team. I remember ten acres of the land outside of the stadium grounds where stands a plantation home of the slave owners who owned vast acreage that includes where the stadium is and miles beyond on Brightseat Road in Landover, Maryland now owned by Jericho Baptist Church. Today the once noble house is insignificant against the visual backdrop of an old folks home and parking lots. The slave church with its small grave site not far from the plantation house sitting on Central Avenue came to mind because of its insistence on remaining a testament of a harsh past in a tiny pastoral setting facing a busy avenue.
I thought of the mystical things I experienced on that old slaver's land miles away when walking on a dark road leading to our cars after a Commodores concert at the Capital Center. It was very dark and the night air felt different as if we (my buddies and I) were on the other side of air and moisture. After a long walk in the dark we walked right out of the woods to our cars parked on the side of the highway a couple miles away. We were amazed thinking about the road which seemed to be lined with spirits watching us. We began wondering why we didn't see this more direct route to the stadium when we'd parked our cars. When we all turned back to see where we'd come from there was no road; only the dark solemn forest looking down upon us.
The spirits of the tribes who'd lived, prospered, raised families and died on this land always sound out to me in muted tones. At times a bony finger reaches out and touches my shoulder reminding me of their time on Earth, our Mother. I was also looking back into the long times ago Red skins, niggers and buffalo were commodities. So, talking about the protests outside of the stadium sank deep into my soul.
I had an answer, but I didn't want to take away from her the joy of losing to the Dallas Cowboys so I said, I agreed with the protesters. She jerked back in astonishment. Expecting solidarity I gave her a simple commentary: "I understand the history of the name and what it means."
That was all she could accept and take in at the moment. We had been trash talking and enjoying the immense energy of the stadium, and the endless up and down of emotions across the stadium. I enjoyed it all. I barely know the rules of the game, but it was fun digging the joy the crowd feels a game. Everyone, Cowboy fans or not were enjoying the game until it became evident the prophecies of the Native Elders was coming to pass again and the DC football fans began to leave the stadium early.
That was my contribution to the protest. Being one's authentic self in every social setting speaks strong to the integrity of one's beliefs and assertions into the complex web spun by the need for expansion into a world meant for more than one group to prosper in as a dominant force to be reckoned with. As an Native man and an African man it felt good in the soul commitment to be myself in the proverbial belly of the beast!
Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories
Creek/African/Crow
1.04.14
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| Washington Redskin cheerleader by Zuma |
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| flag t-shirt worn by Kelly Brook |
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