“This Long Looked For Event”: Retrieving Early Contact History from Penobscot Oral Traditions

Black Peril, White Virtue: Sexual Crime in Southern Rhodesia is a richly researched analysis of Black Peril laws passed in early twentieth-century Southern Rhodesia to combat the perceived danger of native black men raping white women. Scarlett Doesn't Live Here Anymore: Southern Women in the Civil War Era synthesizes the best recent scholarship on the lives of American black and white southern women in the nineteenth century. Although these are two different kinds of histories, they have much in common. Most notably, each grapples with the complex interconnections among race, gender, sex, and power. In white-dominated societies, although black and white women shared a lack of power due to their gender, racial difference almost always overrode their similar status. White women had a stake in racism and saw no possibility for power in joining forces with even more powerless black women. Jock McCulloch and Laura Edwards complicate this intricate story by exploring how women, regardless of race and despite their lack of legal, economic, or political power, shaped society. African women who migrated from village to town, white women who brought attention to white men's sexual relations across the color line, women who left husbands and went to court over domestic abuse—all find a voice in these two excellent books.

Battles, Syntheses, Revisions, and PropheciesHistories and Modernities in the Phoenix Indian School's Native American, 1901–1916 Jennifer Bess (bio) Ever since the schools have been established and the Indians have come under the control of the government, most all have dropped our ways and have accepted the white man's ways. Today our race has given up not only its superstitious customs but also many of its legends and beautiful songs which we love so well. They are of great value to us because they tell of the happiness, joys, longings and love of our people, as well as their hard struggles. Today in our homes some of us are not allowed to sing the Indian songs. If we do we are thought to be very impolite or rude. They prefer to hear us sing the English songs. Had the white people let the Pima have their dances and songs, like other tribes, the songs would be of more value to them than the white man's. Lately the white people have begun to realize the beauty of our songs and legends and to urge us to write them. —Emily Allison (Pima) in The Native American, 19091 Emily Allison's account of the Pima (Akimel O'odham) legend of Hauk, the witch of the mountain, provides its audience with much more than a story of its frightening protagonist: in the lengthy metanarrative cited above, Allison challenges the assimilationist agenda of the federal Indian boarding schools with the value she finds intrinsic to Indigenous ways of knowing. Published in the Phoenix Indian School's carefully edited periodical, The Native American, commencement speeches such as Allison's often reflect what James Scott calls the public transcript, which he defines as a "self-portrait of the dominant elites," in this case, validating the successes and righteousness of the Indian Office (18). Yet speeches like Allison's also confront the authority of this master narrative. Addressing [End Page 29] audiences composed of Indian Office employees, local Anglo residents, Phoenix Indian School alumni/ae, and a multitribal student body, she and her peers engaged in acts of resistance by defining their identities as boarding school students in ways that, to adapt a phrase from Scott Richard Lyons's X-Marks, connected new ideas to their own interests and objectives under conditions beyond their control (70). While few went on to become activists, community leaders such as George Webb (Pima, graduated in 1912) and Peter Blaine (Tohono O'odham, attended 1915–16), or widely read memoirists such as Webb and Anna Moore Shaw (Pima, graduated in 1916), all of them used their ability to read and write English to "transform the discourses into which they enter[ed]" and to critique and reinterpret Anglocentric historiography and its ethos of cultural superiority (Katanski 9). Scholarship on the federal boarding schools has acknowledged the Carlisle Indian Industrial School's Red Man as a model instrument of propaganda and as a record of student learning. Daniel Littlefield and James Parins's reference work details what little context is known regarding the editorial control, student contributions, and printing process of The Red Man and its many heirs. Amelia Katanski, Jacqueline Fear-Segal, and Beth Haller deepen contemporary understanding of the forms of coercion and censorship typifying boarding school publications, which forced student to reproduce stereotypes supporting white supremacist ideologies. The recent studies of Cristina Stanciu and Amanda Zink add that, while "ventriloquizing institutional rhetoric" (Stanciu 37), students also managed to assert their individual and communal identities, their hopes for the future, and, in the words of Robert Allen Warrior, their "intellectual sovereignty" on the pages of school publications (Tribal Secrets 98). In K. Tsianina Lomawaima and Teresa McCarty's terms, Phoenix Indian School commencement speeches and their publication supplied a modest "safety zone" where students were able to articulate their knowledge of Native American history, oral traditions, and local geography in "carved out spaces of Indian-ness" (74, 90). Accordingly, the following close reading of commencement speeches' engagement with these topics reveals the extent to which the students were able to stop seeing "through the eyes of a prejudiced white" and express "pride in our own Indian blood...

Over the years, studies of materials about Africa, especially in the fields of religion, history, anthropology, culture, and sociology, have contributed to the reconstruction of the predominant modes of thought and reason that led to the rise of the people’s belief systems, values, and religious doctrines. Though limited in many ways and still in the most rudimentary stage, the study of African religion has helped in some ways in the understanding of the basis of thought and action which determine African cognitions and total experience, in other words, African consciousness of his universe, feeling, and understanding of the state of being. It is important that interest in the study of African religion should be sustained, for one is still confronted today–often by those who should know–with derisively cynical questions such as: Is there an African religion? What in fact is it if there is one? Isn’t it really the worship of ancestors? Is not African healing merely the practice of magic and mumbo-jumbo?

Wounded Knee and the Prospect of Pluralism Scott L. Pratt In the 1880s, a new religion called the Ghost Dance emerged in the Northwestern United States among the Native peoples there. What followed was a struggle to understand the meaning of the religion by European Americans, a struggle that led, on December 29, 1890, to the Wounded Knee Massacre. In this paper, I consider the process by which the Ghost Dance came to be understood by non–Native Americans. I argue that contemporary efforts were marked by two philosophical commitments: naturalism and ontological reductionism. These commitments left European America with few choices in how to respond to the practitioners of the Dance. After Wounded Knee, Charles Eastman, a Lakota trained in Western medicine and author of a series of books on Native culture and philosophy, offered an alternative philosophical perspective—pluralism—as a better way to understand Native traditions and as a means to foster coexistence. Along with Eastman, other non-Native thinkers also sought a viable form of pluralism to respond to the burgeoning religious and cultural diversity that marked the turn of the nineteenth century. I conclude by considering the conceptions of pluralism developed by William James and John Dewey in relation to the Ghost Dance and to the pluralism offered by Eastman. In the spring of 1890, a Cheyenne named Kicking Bear addressed a Lakota council. In his address, Kicking Bear described a journey to the Great Spirit, who entrusted him with a message for all Native American peoples. The journey had begun at the Cheyenne reservation and proceeded at first by railroad. When the tracks ended, Kicking Bear disembarked and met two companions—witnesses, he said—whom he had not met before. After the three men ate, they mounted horses and set off past the point where "white men had cause to go." As they crossed this border they encountered a black man who offered them wealth as long as they were willing to go no further down the trail. Kicking Bear and his companions turned away from the temptation and traveled two more days. As they reached the limit of their endurance, they encountered a man who seemed both white and Indian. This man fed Kicking Bear and his companions and then led them up a ladder to a place above the clouds that was the camp of the Great Spirit and his wife. From this place, through "an opening in the sky," [End Page 150] their guide showed them a vision of "all the countries of the earth" repopulated by Native people and great herds of buffalo. After a proper welcome, the Great Spirit addressed his visitors. "Take this message to my red children," he began, "and tell it to them as I say it." The earth, he explained, was getting old and it was time for renewal for the sake of the Great Spirit's people. "I will cover the earth with new soil to a depth of five times the height of a man and under this new soil will be buried all of the whites, and all the holes and the rotten places filled in." Indigenous plants and animals would be restored to the land and Native peoples would again "eat and drink, hunt, and rejoice." As the people await the coming renewal, the Great Spirit directed that they learn to perform certain dances and perform them regularly. When the Great Spirit was finished speaking and the men had eaten, their guide, who they realized was the Messiah, led them back to earth so that Kicking Bear could deliver his message, verified by the witnesses who had accompanied him.1 By the fall of 1890, the message of Kicking Bear and several other Native prophets had spread throughout much of the Northwest and the northern plains.2 As the movement, by then called the "Ghost Dance," spread, European Americans in the United States began to take notice. On November 16, 1890, the New York Times published a long article titled "The New Indian Messiah." The report tells of the encounters of Sitting Bull (an Arapahoe man) and Porcupine (a member of the Cheyenne) with the Messiah described by Kicking Bear and...

This chapter evaluates the historical history of philosophy. Given the very strong philosophical assumptions underlying the early philosophical histories of philosophy, and given in particular the fact that they tended to be written from the point of view of some kind of idealism, it is not surprising that they should have met with some resistance, in particular outside philosophy. Thus, one finds Albert Schwegler criticizing Hegel’s method of treating the history of philosophy, rejecting any kind of philosophical history of philosophy as history. He insists that the systematical study of the history of philosophy is the task of a historian and has to be pursued in precisely the way one studies any other kind of history or history in general. Zeller therefore advocates a purely historical approach to the history of philosophy, a historian’s history of philosophy, and his own monumental work on the history of Greek philosophy is inspired by this conception, just as it, in turn, inspires a lot of work, at least on ancient philosophy of the same kind. The chapter then presents a systematical consideration of the historical history of philosophy.

Few aspects of American history have gone through as rapid a transformation as Native American history during the past generation. In the not too distant past scholars, including many anthropologists, wrote accounts of particular Indian ‘tribes’. Many of these works, which were often quite sympathetic to their subject, concentrated on politics and wars. Beginning in the late 1960s, historians, anthropologists, and those calling themselves ‘ethnohistorians’ began to bring new perspectives to the subject. To date, many of the most important studies focus on the period before 1850. Taken together, these works testify to the fundamental importance of understanding the histories of indigenous peoples in the Americas. In recent years, scholarship about Native Americans has boomed. The cluster of six articles here suggests the range of work being done in the field. Nicholas Rosenthal provides an overview of some of the major developments and Joshua Piker offers a penetrating view of the concept of race and how it has shaped our understanding of Native peoples in early America. Ruth Spack’s short essay on American Indian schooling reveals a shift in the history of education based on the incorporation of indigenous perspectives. Tyler Boulware investigates the notion of national identity and its application for Native peoples. Dixie Ray Haggard’s perceptive piece offers nothing less than a major revision of scholars’ understanding of the Yamasee War of the 1710s, an event that played a pivotal role in the southeast during the eighteenth century. Finally, Steven Hackel and Anne Reid reveal the benefits of electronic publication. Their essay on the Early California Population Project provides insight into a major database housed at the Huntington Library in San Marino, California, a project now available to scholars that will revolutionize our understanding the period from the 1760s to the midnineteenth century. The full cluster is made up of the following articles:

The Bridge of the Gods Jeanne Eder (bio) Crow Indian historian and storyteller Jeanne Eder opened the Fifth Women's West Conference with her interpretation of Sacagawea, the Lemhi woman who was a member of the Lewis and Clark expedition. In her persona as Sacagawea, Eder drew a convincing portrait of a self-contained and competent Indian woman unaccustomed to taking orders from men and remarkably tolerant of the white men who refused to admit how much they could learn from Native people. Then she took off her wig, changed her posture and her accent, and as Jeanne Eder, Ph.D., explained to a fascinated audience how she researched her character, drawing particularly on sources for Hidatsa women (Sacagawea was captured by the Hidatsa when she was a child) and on the oral tradition claiming that she led a long life that included a happy marriage with an attractive Comanche husband. Later in the conference, leading off the panel on Pacific Northwest women, Eder told a version of the "Bridge of the Gods" story reprinted below.1 In Eder's version, however, Loo-wit generously shared her fire with the people and later was rewarded with youth and beauty, rather than (as in this version) bargaining for them beforehand. This small change in emphasis reminds us of the flexibility of perspective that is an inherent part of living oral traditions, and it points to exciting and different ways to understand how the Native peoples viewed the land we now call the Pacific Northwest, no longer fixed and unchanging but alive with personal meanings. Tribes from central Oregon to northeastern Washington related traditions about a legendary rock "bridge" that spanned the Columbia River "one sleep" below the site of The Dalles. When it fell, old Indians said to early travelers, its rocks formed the Cascades in the river; its fall, two Indians explained to travelers in 1854, was accompanied by quarrels between [End Page 57] between Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens, who threw fire at one another. The most familiar version of the myth about the stone arch has been altered so freely that no one now can determine the original tradition, even in the variant written by a Puyallup-Nisqually Indian. The source of the story given here, Lulu Crandall, seems to have been the one closest to the Klickitats, who had this tradition. Mrs. Crandall, who had known those Indians from her pioneer childhood, was a historian of The Dalles area. Long ago, when the world was young, all people were happy. The Great Spirit, whose home is in the sun, gave them all they needed. No one was hungry, no one was cold. But after a while, two brothers quarreled over the land. The older one wanted most of it, and the younger one wanted most of it. The Great Sprit decided to stop the quarrel. One night while the brothers were asleep he took them to a new land, to a country with high mountains. Between the mountains flowed a big river. The Great Spirit took the two brothers to the top of the high mountains and wakened them. They saw that the new country was rich and beautiful. "Each of you will shoot an arrow in opposite directions," he said to them. "Then you will follow your arrow. Where your arrow falls, that will be your country. There you will become a great chief. The river will separate your lands." One brother shot his arrow south into the valley of the Willamette River. He became the father and the high chief of the Multnomah people. The other brother shot his arrow north into the Klickitat country. He became the father and high chief of the Klickitat people. Then the Great Spirit built a bridge over the big river. To each brother he said, "I have built a bridge over the river, so that you and your people may visit those on the other side. It will be a sign of peace between you. As long as you and your people are good and are friendly with each other, this bridge of the Tahmahnawis will remain." It was a broad bridge, wide enough for many people...

The oldest, recorded oral tradition ofthe Lemba of southern Africa, individually also known as mušavi (buyer/trader), nyakuwana (the man who finds the things which are bought), or mulungu ('white man' or 'the man from the North'), is that their Israelite ancestors came to Africa by boat as traders from a remote place called Sena on the 'other side' of the 'Phusela'. Some say they came through Egypt. From anthropological and archaeological evidence it has become clear that at a very early stage continuing influences between the Semitic world (Phoenician, Hebrew and Sabaean) and the eastern parts of Africa had a reciprocal impact. The Sabaean (Yemenite) colonies were established in Ethiopia very early. There seems to be a historical link between the Lemba and Yemen. Later documents (684-900 CE) (for example Arab and Portuguese) refer to 'Moorish' traders along the east coast of Africa who possessed notably Semitic characteristics without being clearly Muslim. It is not certain who those 'Moorish' people were, but their traditions and customs were reminiscent of those that we know today as Lemba. Numerous Lemba songs, recitations, prayers, praises, proverbs and customs bear witness to their traditions of origin and their trading skills. One advantage of dealing with a 'living source' is that the researcher can sometimes verify some of the information on traditions. A qualitative study of Lemba 'Israelite' culture underlies this article. Oral traditions do not provide us with chronology, and some cannot be verified. The oral traditions of the Lemba and historical, archaeological and genetic data suggest that the immigration of the Lemba to Africa as traders could have taken place before the Christian era, but probably before the 6th century CE. An oral tradition can survive many generations.

Merapi volcano in Central Java, Indonesia, is one of the most hazardous volcanoes in Southeast Asia, yet humans have inhabited the area around Merapi since ancient times. As a consequence, a rich but complex volcano‐related folklore has developed. The local legends describe the interaction of the spirit kings that reside within Merapi volcano and the Queen of the South Sea, who resides in the Indian Ocean near Parangtritis, some 50 km SSE of the volcano. The royal palace in Yogyakarta is located half‐way between Merapi volcano and Parangtritis beach and is believed to balance these opposing forces. In 2006 and 2010, Merapi erupted explosively and on both occasions, earthquakes shook the region and caused the eruptions to grow more intense. Notably, the 2006 earthquakes clustered along the Opak River fault system to the south of the volcano that reaches the sea at Parangtritis beach, the fabled residence of the Queen of the South Sea. We argue that local legends were used to rationalize the dynamic interaction between the volcano and the frequent regional earthquakes through the rich oral traditions and ceremonies in the districts around Merapi. These legends can thus be thought of as comprising an ancient hazard catalogue with respect to local eruptive behaviour and seismic phenomena. This realization is now finding increasing use in communicating volcanic hazard knowledge to diverse local resident and interest groups, including local primary schools, with the aim to further reduce casualties in times of future volcanic crisis.

world, yet it also privileges itself as the fiduciary of all knowledge with authority to authenticate or invalidate other knowledge (when it gets around to it). Colonial-power-knowledge conceptualizes intellectual colonization in Foucaultian terms, in this case with a Western knowledge fiduciary acting as guardian over its Indigenous knowledge ward (Foucault 1977; Feldman 1997). I suggest that the resulting contradiction embroiders some Western knowledge expertise with unreasonableness through its ignorance of other knowledge. Posing as the fiduciary of all knowledge exposes the limits of Western knowledge. Early twentieth-century poet Carl Sandburg poses the knowledge landscape as circles in the sand that help explain Western knowledge's conundrum. The white man drew a circle in the sand, Sandburg begins immediately, told the red man 'This is what the Indian knows.' Continuing, Sandburg describes the white man drawing a big circle around the smaller one: This is what the white man knows. Then, as though responding to international development and Western knowledge experts, Sandburg shows the Indian sweeping an immense circle around both rings in the sand. This is where the white and the red man know nothing (Sandburg 1971, 30). Often it never seems to dawn on experts that there are limits to their knowledge. In the early twentieth century the philosophical syzygy of modernity included the spheres of Marxian ideology and liberal theory. Sandburg poses his view of colonial-power-knowledge amidst Western self-doubts after the horrors of attempted world colonization became known and

Research concerning fathers' birth attendance, early contact, and extended contact with newborn infants is reviewed in this paper. Relationships between fathers' early history with infants and subsequent patterns of involvement are discussed. The methodological challenges of studying the effects of fathers' birth attendance and early contact with infants are considered. In contrast to popular belief, no conclusive statements can be made at this time concerning the effects of paternal birth attendance, early contact, and extended contact on father involvement in infancy. Implications for future research and policy-making are discussed.

Research concerning fathers' birth attendance, early contact, and extended contact with newborn infants is reviewed in this paper. Relationships between fathers' early history with infants and subsequent patterns of involvement are discussed. The methodological challenges of studying the effects of fathers' birth attendance and early contact with infants are considered. In contrast to popular belief, no conclusive statements can be made at this time concerning the effects of paternal birth attendance, early contact, and extended contact on father involvement in infancy. Implications for future research and policy-making are discussed.

A Surrealist Writer’s Diary of a Twenty-One-Month Anthropological Expedition

Carl Sandburg, in his People, Yes, writes of the meeting of an Indian and a white man. The latter, impressed with his own importance, draws a small circle in the sand and says, This is what the white man knows. The Indian, the much wiser of the two, draws an enormous circle and then correctly points out, This is where the white man and the red man know nothing. Sandburg's story is an appropriate way of introducing a few summary remarks about this symposium. Just a few years ago, shortly before most of the research pre? sented here was initiated, our knowledge could be described by a small circle. As a result of the work presented at this sympo? sium as well as the work of other scientists

This chapter centers the important role of Black women, including those who eschewed the feminist label, in so-called “second-wave” feminism from the 1960s-1980s, and beyond. The chapter explores why, when partnering with white women, they were more likely to join multi-racial coalitions rather than predominantly white organizations; and to promote multi-issue, rather than single-issue organizing. The chapter challenges the popular misconception that the low participation rate of Black, Indigenous, and other women of color in rape crisis centers and other predominantly white women’s liberation groups means they did not organize against sexual violence or support feminist issues more broadly. Instead, they frequently formed their own groups, like the Combahee River Collective and the Third World Women’s Alliance, which advocated for Joan Little among other efforts, or worked through existing organizations, such as Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA) branches on historically black campuses in the South, to combat sexual violence. But Black women also co-founded women’s groups most often associated with white women, including the National Organization for Women (NOW) and the National Women’s Political Caucus (NWPC), among others.