By Madronna Holden
Just after the US set up their space program, NASA hosted a group of Asian scientists, treating them to a tour of their facility– with which the visitors were duly impressed. There followed a presentation of the benefits of Western science, during which the NASA administrators touted the importance of specialization.
The visitors listened attentively, but when the time came for questions, one asked, “Your technology is excellent at taking the world apart. What is your plan for putting it back together again?”
To me, that is one of the central questions of the modern age.
There is an ancient answer to that question, in the storytelling technology that bridged so many aspects of the world, bringing them together.
Such stories bridged generations– and brought human culture itself into being. Though we might not recognize passing stories between generations as a technology in the age of digital phones, such stories are the basic human tool that empowered us to expand our reach in both time and space.
This technology is a powerful tool for not only bridging generations, but for linking human life with the larger community of natural life. When Siletz Takelma elder Agnes Baker Pilgrim tells the story of the salmon’s struggle to return to their home waters to carry on the the generations of the salmon people, that story brings humans and the salmon into special solidarity.
Such stories not only bring communities together across generations and species. They have the potential to bring us from times of relative hopelessness and fear into vision.
The Chehalis knew how valuable such stories were, since they would bring those who heard them to a place where they “could take care of themselves”; where they knew “how to get along with one another.”
Children would “pay” for stories by doing a task designated by the storyteller. The nurturance and wisdom of such storytellers was signed by the tasks they designed for these children. A child afraid to go to a certain place in the woods, for instance, might be told to fetch a stick from a place nearby–and then to repeat that task until he or she drew so near to the feared place, their fear would disappear.
Thelma Adamson’s Chehalis fieldnotes (drawn up in 1926) record the profound insight that the power of our past will haunt us until we turn and face it. At that point it will become a vision power for us to use.
There is working knowledge here of the links between past and future– between wisdom learned from our past and vision for the future. There is the working knowledge of how human generations depend upon and may nurture one another.
According to Jacob Bighorn, former administrator of the Chemawa Indian School, Native American education works from the premise that each child is given a natural “life plan” by the Creator that is theirs alone. Certainly, giving children the understanding that each of their lives is a unique story the Creator waits to hear is an antidote to any future smallness imposed on them.
In this context, education is a “natural process” of supporting the child as his or her spirit-calling emerged.
In cultures throughout the world, the time of year surrounding the winter solstice is the season to draw inward and pay close attention to our dreams–and to tell stories. Indeed, many indigenous peoples only tell their traditional stories in the winter.
As Adamson’s recorded statement about the haunting of the past that chases us until we can learn to face–facing up to it may take considerable courage. But certainly each of our pasts as well as our past as a society will continue to haunt us until we face it. Only then might we gain the wisdom of our past and the power to guide our future with vision.
This is the process that traditional stories enable.
Today we stand together on the verge of the longest night of the year, which is also the moment when our dreams are strongest. This is the moment when we need stories and their vision– when we need the hearth of community in which elders and young people come together to share their gifts with one another–and with our precious ravaged world.
The faith in the returning sun celebrated by solstice ceremonies is more difficult to hold to today, in the face of such things to face as climate change — or the 252 toxins recently found in the umbilical cords of 10 babies.
If you were an elder, how you would create the stories that are called for at this moment? What gift would you share? What trust would you express in the actions of the next generation?
These questions were answered in the wisdom, generosity, and trust of the speaker at a gathering honoring indigenous environmental knowledge at OSU.
Here is the story she created, a story that truly brings us together as it teller Val Goodness notes, in relating a bit about the event where it took place, which she helped to organize.
The speaker, Elder Gail Woodside held a handmade clay pot in her hands.
This clay pot was decorated by native hands and she proudly said it was her Grandmother’s pot. It showed wear, and even had a small crack, which Elder Gail said happened when her daughter dropped it when she was young.
This pot was 100 years old. Elder Gail told us that the pot resembled her Grandmother’s knowledge about things in nature, full and complete knowledge handed down generation after generation through oral history. Her Grandmother’s indigenous knowledge about sustainability and the practice of her father’s use of fire to help things grow.
Elder Gail then held the pot up over her head and let the pot drop.We were shocked, and held our breath as the pretty little pot broke to pieces.
In her soft voice, Elder Gail bent down, picking up a piece of the broken pot, and said, “This….is the knowledge I have.”
She said the old ways and the knowledge are broken. Small pieces are used–borrowed from Native peoples– while the rest ignored as un-specialized or not scientific.
Elder Gail then asked all of us to come forward and take a piece of the pot. She challenged us all to come back this coming spring to put the little 100 year old pot back together as a symbol of unity in sharing our efforts to present indigenous knowledge in sustainability as an all day event for spring term.
So that the knowledge of sustainability can once again be whole.
Kiowa writer Scott Momaday once noted that oral tradition is as fragile as it is precious, since it is always “one generation away from extinction”.
The story created by Elder Gail illustrates this. It is only the fact that pieces of this precious pot of tradition are in the hands of community that it has a chance of remaining whole. But only if its members are each willing to keep and share and enable their piece so that it remains alive in the whole.
Filed under: Ethics, Folklore and Oral Tradition, Hope and vision, Indigenous links, Stories, worldviews | Tagged: bridging generations, Indigenous environmental knowledge, solstice, stories and care between generations |