ixnay

The school refused to make any changes regarding the tom-tom intro the marching band does, so I informed the director that Z would no longer take part in said activity. B left a couple of messages for the director and principal and a few hours later, the principal called back to let us know that they would discontinue the “tradition” following Thursday’s performance.
I don’t know what B said to them, but I’m glad they had a change of heart. I hate confrontation or controversy, but this hit too close to home, I just wasn’t willing to compromise on this. I can ignore the Washington Redskins or the Florida State Seminoles and the rest of that because it doesn’t impact me directly—but since my son is a member of the marching band—this was something that he would have done a half dozen or so times during the football season.
His self-respect is too important to just allow this type of display. Even if the school “has been doing it for forty years.” A lot has changed in the past forty years. We used to have separate bathrooms/drinking fountains for Blacks and Whites. Blacks used to have to sit at the back of the bus. Blacks weren’t allowed to sit at the counter in restaurants. In some areas near reservations—it was legal for them to prohibit Indians from entering their establishments—“No dogs or Indians allowed.”
We weren’t allowed to practice our own religion until 1976.
This country, founded by people who were trying to escape religious persecution, didn’t give us the same right until two hundred years after its founding. Because we didn’t matter. We were viewed as being subhuman.
The insistence on their ownership of our culture, our beliefs, our history—stands as a reminder. It reminds me that in some circles, I still don’t matter. My beliefs, culture, ideals, etc . . . are not owned by me—they are held by the dominant culture in an effort to control who and what we are. Black Americans were able to take back their culture, to define for themselves who they are as a people. No more actors in black face—no more Sambo, no more “yes, massa.” At lease not overtly.
So we won a small victory the other day. Just one more battle in the on-going war for the souls of our children and our children’s children and seven generations into the future.
Chi miigwetch Chi Manidoo for the strength to persevere against impossible odds. Chi miigwetch for my life, my children, and all that is important and sacred to us. May we strive to maintain a warrior spirit for ourselves, our families and our peoples.