I Remember the Shame of Witnessing My Peers Protest the Ojibwe

Unchecked indoctrination in rural areas is used to normalize systems of injustice

Image by Walter Rhein

It takes a code of silence to maintain mechanisms of oppression. We all know this, we know it deep in our bones, yet we remain silent anyway.

It’s a silence born of fear.

The spearfishing controversy blew up in Wisconsin when I was in grade school. I remember the hostility and the atmosphere of imminent violence. A storm rolled in composed of angry faces howling with rage.

News stations broadcast video of the protesters. Men chanted slogans with racist phrases calling for murder. They said unforgivable things like, “Save a fish, spear an Indian,” or “Save two fish, spear a pregnant s — — .”

Naturally, these people insisted they were righteously and uncompromisingly pro-life.

When these horrible chants were repeated at school the boys who said them were met with a slap on the wrist, or no response at all. Teachers would smirk and we knew what side they were on.

Papers covered acts of organized terrorism disguised as “protests” as if the unlawful aggressors had a “legitimate grievance.” The entitled and violent tantrums of the dominant community were clearly outside the boundary of acceptable behavior.

Yet, they were allowed to do as they pleased, confident that they had the sympathy of law enforcement.

The reporters would never admit it, but their obvious bias bowed to the bullying influence of power. Perhaps the reporters feared a truthful discussion would bring the mob to their own doors.

Or maybe they were sympathetic too.

Whatever the reason, the result was that no equal airtime was given to the Ojibwe.

Politicians always keep their focus on suburban areas. They disregard rural communities which allows this form of cultural indoctrination to go unchecked. The media fails to challenge baseless perspectives and disregards the side of reason. This is the mechanism that’s used to normalize a system of injustice.

Protests took place under the cover of night with bonfires and torches. I remarked on this to my friends at recess, “It’s like a Klan rally. Only the hoods are missing.”

That was the kind of comment for which punishment was swift and severe, followed by a lecture on the righteousness of the cause.

Today, it’s rare for people in my state to even acknowledge these protests happened. I wrote an article about it for the local paper and it was declined.

“Why stir up controversy?”

I can’t help but remember how the news was complicit in inciting violence over lies. Today they seem disinclined to report any truth which might encourage diversity and cultural understanding.

There are so many histories that we’re not allowed to teach.

All the Ojibwe wanted to do was go out and fish in the traditional method of their ancestors as had been legally agreed. It was a right they had retained in treaties from 1837 and 1842.

It was about “tradition.” It was about “culture.” It was about “deeply held personal beliefs.” When deployed against the dominant culture those words and phrases are castrated of their influence.

Protesters acted as if spearfishing was going to undermine the entire recreational fishing industry of the state. Rich tourists needed to come up from Chicago with their obscene boats that dumped oil and gas into the lakes and streams. That was the only thing the dominant culture was interested in protecting.

At least that’s what they claimed.

I couldn’t understand why everyone was so angry. I’ve always been a peacemaker by nature. This was the first experience that taught me how often punishment is the consequence of doing what is right.

I set to work on how my community could resolve the issue.

Why were the protesters so angry?

It didn’t make sense. Irrational behavior born of racism and bigotry had not been included in our lessons at school.

I didn’t have the tools, yet I felt an obligation to help. You’re supposed to contribute to your community. This had been beaten into me, sometimes with physical blows. You’re supposed to do well in school. You’re supposed to be obedient. You’re supposed to do what the teacher says. You’re supposed to keep your word. You’re supposed to read.

I think they only say that last one because they don’t believe students will actually do it.

But I did. I read.

I read the treaties that were the topic of debate. I found them in my textbook.

My teacher was in the middle of a fiery speech. In fact, he was inciting the students into a hysterical anger that matched his own. “We are organizing buses! Tell your parents! We are going down to protest! Why should they have rights that we don’t have! We have to put an end to this!”

His anger scared me. But worst of all, I was dumb enough to think that I could make things better. After all, I’d found the text. This was all easily explained! It was just a misunderstanding.

In my innocence, I raised my hand.

“What?”

“Well, it says right here that the Ojibwe have these rights. These rights were granted in treaty. That means our country gave its word. Don’t we have to honor our word?”

The whole class went silent, and the teacher looked at me with such intensity that I understood I was wrong without knowing how. I sensed he was provoked enough to hurt me. His eyes whispered, “The lights are on me now, but wait until the darkness comes.”

I couldn’t gauge what the students’ thought. In our rural school we had learned to freeze to avoid the attention of teachers during their spontaneous episodes of madness.

This was the first time I recognized the meaning of the phrase “code of silence.” It was as if it had manifested as a physical thing in my grade school classroom.

I closed my book, dropped my hands to my sides, and willed myself invisible. Eyes down.

The thing that protected me was a flimsy veil of uncertainty. The dominant culture is full of cowards. They fear retribution.

I had always been “other” from the core population of our town. My family was outside the nucleus of control. We weren’t a church family. We didn’t participate in town things.

Normally, that would mean I was a target. But we weren’t a struggling family. My parents showed up for conferences. Even the ruthless authority of that school district could tell we had some intelligence.

This is the kind of thing oppressive bullies and bigots notice. If they sense the chance that there might be repercussions for putting the screws on somebody, they back off and move on to an easier target.

This is the shame of the United States. We don’t stop the bullies. We’re content to let them move on down the line until they find somebody weak enough to abuse.

“Freedom.”

Decency requires us to dismantle this mechanism. We can no longer be content to let bullies have their way and pretend we don’t know what’s going on.

Out of sight can no longer be out of mind.

They must be stopped.

When I was young, I wrongly presumed reason and facts could be used to deescalate a situation. Reason and facts only give you your heading, you’re still required to step boldly in that direction. Small steps are fine, just move.

Because I was a powerless child, I defaulted to silence as an act of self preservation.

This is how the code is taught.

Unfortunately, too many otherwise decent people never reject this conditioning. After all, it’s “tradition.” It’s our “culture.” It’s the “way we’ve always done things.”

It’s part our “deeply held personal beliefs.”

We’re tricked into forgetting that we grow into adults. We forget that we acquire sufficient power to stop the exploitation of the vulnerable. Through our inaction, we become complicit.

I’ve never forgotten the shame I felt for the behavior of my peers. From that day forward, I endured my classes, but I never respected my community again.

I’d hoped to escape this worldview when I left my small town behind. But modern events have shown that, in America, a fabricated grievance is seen as sufficient cause to overthrow government. This holds true provided the attempt is made by members of the dominant community.

It takes a code of silence to maintain mechanisms of oppression. We all know this, we know it deep in our bones, yet we remain silent anyway.

It’s a silence born of fear.

Dismantling the code of silence is our first step in the direction of progress.

All that’s required is for us to be brave.

My CoSchedule referral link

Here’s my referral link to my preferred headline analyzer tool. If you sign up through this, it’s another way to support this newsletter (thank you).