A friend and I took a walk in the park during the recent holiday weekend. Along the way, we came across a plaque mounted upon a large rock that marked the location of a time capsule. It was buried just a few years ago in 2007, and is scheduled to be dug up and opened after half-a-century in the dirt.
We could guess what might be within, what people thought would be representative objects of 2007. An i-pod. A sad remembrance of the Virgina Tech massacre. A Harry Potter book. Some not very smart cell phone. If they had a sense of humor, maybe a picture of President Bush and his Scotty.
But what interests me far more than the capsule’s contents beneath the ground is the plaque bolted to a rock above it.
The first and biggest words on the plaque read:
Tell me and I’ll forget
Show me, and I may not remember
Involve me, and I’ll understand
American Indian proverb
Tribe unknown
I have two reactions to this. The first is pretty straight forward: What a load of fuckin’ hogwash. I don’t have to google this adage to know it’s origin is most certainly not an “American Indian proverb.” It’s such a trite cliché that the true origin is probably a Hallmark card. Then again, it’s so awkwardly written that it probably just came from a chain email your aunt sent you.
But my second reaction is about why the plaque’s authors (or more likely the website they got it of from) felt the need to ascribe a vague American Indian origin to this dull aphorism. Why go to the trouble of fabricating a mythical connection to Indians? Why do Americans in the 21st century still insist on casting Indigenous people as quaint caricatures of yesteryear?
The answer is cultural narcissism. Americans co-opt, misappropriate, misrepresent, and even fabricate mythological versions of Indian culture in an effort to actually represent themselves. Americans don’t serve up versions of Indian history that are severely mangled or even make believe because they’re trying to understand Indians. They do it as a way of reflecting back upon themselves as Americans in ways that make them feel romantic or courageous or authentic or wise.
Every fucked up Thanksgiving school play, every nauseating Indian themed summer camp, every drunken, thick headed, tomahawk-chopping sports fan, every non-Indian moron who ever dressed up as an “Indian” because it’s “cool” or “stylish,” and every ill-informed, misattributed pearl of wisdom on a plaque in a park somewhere is just another example of Americans using fantasized versions of Indianess to cast themselves as improved Americans. As Americans-plus.
Not feeling quite American enough? Get your “Indian” going. Need to be more spiritual? Buy a dream catcher that was made in China. Wanna be a little more badass
? Add some buckskin fringes. Needs some wisdom for your time capsule? Dig up and old Indian proverb.
Of course Indians are hardly the only minority who have been subjected to such cultural misappropriation. For example, Edward Said spawned a whole academic sub-field around the concept of Orientalism: Westerners indulging in stereotypical fantasies about the exotic East.
You know. Like some putrid romance novel where the innocent and reticent, but courageously curious white woman waiting to come out of her shell is swept away by a wealthy and surprisingly sophisticated sheik who keeps her safe but also indulges her sense of exotica. Or maybe she tames and domesticates him. Choose your fantasy.
Or like those websites that claim the proverb in question actually comes from China, that other font of mythic wisdom. Because if it’s not the quiet wisdom of American Indians, it must be an ancient Chinese secret.
Confucius say . . .
Chinese, American Indian, whatever. Which is why it’s completely unsurprising that the attribution on the plaque, likely taken from a website, claims the origin is an “unknown” tribe.
Mohawk. Comanche. Apache. Sure, why not. Or some tribe you’ve probably never heard of, like the Kootenai or the Yurok.
Well jeeeez, if it’s gonna be some tribe you never heard of, maybe just say “unknown.” After all, it doesn’t really matter. Cause it’s not about them, don’tcha know. It’s about us misusing them as a mirror to gaze at our own navels.
If you look real hard, you can see the cultural lint.
