You Aren’t Native, You Are White!
Taylor Danielle,
Morris, MN.
Being a “full” Native American is not defined by phenotypic gene expression. Yes, I am a blue-eyed, blonde Native American.
I flourish farming ancient tribal lands
Ed Kaufman,
Morris, MN.
Another Six words: My grandfather stood witness at Mankato. I enjoyed seeing you at UM Morris a while back (when this would have been timely given the 150th anniversary of the Mankato Debacle)
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Why is the pool filled up?
Alonzo Peeke,
Morris, MN
When I was in 4th grade we moved from Overland Park, KS to Lynchburg, VA. My dad and I would shoot hoops and talk walks at Riverside Park, a beautiful forested park right off the James river. We were walking home and we came across a strange structure like ruined monument, old stone with grass growing over the side like it had overflowed somehow. We followed a sort of retaining wall but the wall had numbers along the edge like a pool. I asked dad, “why anyone would fill in a pool?”, dad didn’t know but said he’d ask around. I forgot about it until we passed by the pool again much later and I asked dad if he’d found out what had happened. In the summer of 1961, rather than allow black people to swim in the pools in Lynchburg with whites the city chose to drain all 3 and fill them with dirt. I remember standing on the wall looking down at the 9 ft. mark and the grass growing around it in silence, with my father. I suppose it was a monument after all.
You’re Indian? With Dot or Feather?
Sam,
Morris, MN.
I have a grandfather that is fully Native American, from the White Earth Tribe. So my mother is ¼ Native American, and I am less than ¼. My father is mostly German. So I have fairly light skin, and my hair is light brown. In most situations I consider myself Caucasian and others just assume that I am Caucasian, because of my skin tone. However, when I told two of my male friends that I am partly Indian, their response was “With Dot or Feather?”. I was kind of surprised by the bluntness of their question, but I guess that since we are close friends they felt comfortable asking and they probably wouldn’t have asked that question to a complete stranger. In response, I just said “with feather.”
Be Humble, Give back, Don’t judge.
Mariah Frisk,
Morris, MN.
Being from a small town in northern Minnesota, I haven’t been exposed to much culture in my day. My sophomore year of high school, I took a trip to New Orleans with my church for the 2012 National Youth Gathering. We were there to help the community recover from Hurricane Katrina. It was here that my horizons were expanded and I really learned what it meant to give back. I heard countless stories about the struggles people had gone through, whether it was from Hurricane Katrina, or just in life. I learned that you can’t judge someone based on their appearance. It taught me to be humble and appreciate what I have, and the life I’ve led so far. Everyone comes from different places and is going through something that you may not understand. It’s important for everyone to be treated equally and given the same chance in life.
I’m white privileged, or white trash.
Tim Spilman,
Morris, MN.
Hearts changed. Adopted from Ethiopia. FAMILY
Kent & Laurie Runge
Morris, MN
Too Easy Pretending Race Doesn’t Matter
M. M. S.,
Morris, MN.
Growing up white means that you never have to notice that you are represented in the media more than any other race is, even in situations where that should not be the case (-Exodus: Gods and Kings- I’m looking at you). It means that it’s so easy to turn away from the real world situation that other are facing everyday because of the color of their skin, of their perceived goodness or badness. It’s easy to say you’re colorblind and be willfully ignorant to all that’s wrong with that statement. It’s easy not to look at the brutality of the world and claim that racism is over because the civil rights movement was forever ago. I’m white and it’s too easy to pretend race doesn’t matter, even though it does.
White is not absent of colour
Elijah Chapple,
Morris, MN.
For the explanation of this I will use a poem written by a child from Africa:
Colour
When I was born, I black; When I grow up I black; When I go in sun I black;
When I scared, I black; When I sick, I black;
And when I die; I still black
and U white fellows;
When U born, U pink;
When U grow up, U white;
When U go in sun, U red;
When U cold, U blue;
When U scared, U yellow;
When U sick, U green;
When U die, U grey;
and U call me coloured
