The popular take on “how the West was won” evokes images of rowdy cowboys and brave Indians slugging it out, with the noble but obsolete Indians gradually falling back and fading away before the military might of the Europeans, and the moral force of “manifest destiny,” the principle that the white American has a God-given mandate to conquer and rule the entire temperate zone of North America from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast. All the while the Indian is seen as faithfully paired off with his “squaw,” and the cowboy or the soldier as getting his rocks off on the run in the local bordello, under the tough but benign gaze of the hard-nosed madam: “Wham, bam, thank you m’am!”
Whatever may be the merits of that colonial mentality, still prevalent de facto and de jure throughout the U.S., the fact is that this image has little to do with how either the victor or the vanquished lived. But only a handful of scholars are likely to be aware of the rich veins of homoerotic tradition pervading the culture of the invaders as well as that of the First Nations whose lands they barged through.
For the moment the ancient patterns of male love woven through the fiber of almost every (yes, variety allowed even for the occasional homophobic tribe) Native culture on the American continent is of greater interest. The many forms of this tradition have until recently been lumped by historians under the rubric of berdachism, “berdache” being defined by Webster’s Dictionary as a “homosexual male – an American Indian transvestite assuming more or less permanently the dress, social status, and role of a woman.”
Not surprisingly, the experience of Native peoples is something other than either the popular or the professional stereotype. Though it would be presumptuous to claim to represent its essence from the perspective of an outsider, we can still look at certain features of two-spirit life in Native cultures, features that delineate how First Nations peoples integrated individuals with uncommon gender identity into their society.
The first step on the path to a two-spirit life was taken during childhood. The Papago ritual is representative of this early integration: If parents noticed that a son was disinterested in boyish play or manly work they would set up a ceremony to determine which way the boy would be brought up. They would make an enclosure of brush, and place in the center both a man’s bow and a woman’s basket. The boy was told to go inside the circle of brush and to bring something out, and as he entered the brush would be set on fire. “They watched what he took with him as he ran out, and if it was the basketry materials they reconciled [sic] themselves to his being a berdache.”
The Mohave ritual, usually carried out when the child is between the ages of nine and twelve, has a different form, but keeps the central element of allowing the child’s nature to manifest itself: A singing circle is prepared, unbeknownst to the boy, involving the whole community as well as distant friends and relatives. On the day of the ceremony everyone gathers round and the boy is led into the middle of the circle. If he remains there, the singer, hidden in the crowd, begins to sing the ritual songs and the boy, if he is destined to follow the two-spirit road, starts to dance in the fashion of a woman. “He cannot help it,” say the Mohave. After the fourth song the boy is declared to be a two-spirit person and is raised from then on in the appropriate manner.
What manner was that? It consisted of teaching the young boy to do women’s work as well as that reserved for men. He would also spend time with healers, often two-spirit people themselves. Above all, his childhood was marked by acceptance and understanding. That did not necessarily insulate the boy from being ribbed about his ‘otherness.’ Joseph Quinones, the cousin of a Yaqui two-spirit youth, relates that: “One time we kids got down on him for not being typically masculine, but my Great Aunt, who is the clan matriarch, came down on us real strongly. She said it was part of his character and we should respect him.”
All tribes were aware of the existence of two-spirit people, and each still has a name for them. The Dinéh (Navaho) refer to them as nàdleehé one who is ‘transformed’, the Lakota (Sioux) as winkte, the Mohave as alyha, the Zuni as lhamana,the Omaha as mexoga, the Aleut and Kodiak as achnucek, the Zapotec as ira’ muxe, the Cheyenne as he man eh. [5] This abundance of terms testifies to the familiarity of Native Americans with gender-variant people. For proof of the sacred role they held, and hold, in Native society we again turn to Native sources. Terry Calling Eagle, a Lakota man, recounts: “Winktes have to be born that way. People know that a person is going to become a winkte very early in his life. At about age twelve parents will take him to a ceremony to communicate with past winktes who had power, to verify if it is just a phase or a permanent thing for his lifetime. If the proper vision takes place, and communication with a past winkte is established, then everybody accepts him as a winkte.”
From: http://www.gay-art-history.org Adjusted to fit this blog.
The Mohave ritual, usually carried out when the child is between the ages of nine and twelve, has a different form, but keeps the central element of allowing the child’s nature to manifest itself: A singing circle is prepared, unbeknownst to the boy, involving the whole community as well as distant friends and relatives. On the day of the ceremony everyone gathers round and the boy is led into the middle of the circle. If he remains there, the singer, hidden in the crowd, begins to sing the ritual songs and the boy, if he is destined to follow the two-spirit road, starts to dance in the fashion of a woman. “He cannot help it,” say the Mohave. After the fourth song the boy is declared to be a two-spirit person and is raised from then on in the appropriate manner.
What manner was that? It consisted of teaching the young boy to do women’s work as well as that reserved for men. He would also spend time with healers, often two-spirit people themselves. Above all, his childhood was marked by acceptance and understanding. That did not necessarily insulate the boy from being ribbed about his ‘otherness.’ Joseph Quinones, the cousin of a Yaqui two-spirit youth, relates that: “One time we kids got down on him for not being typically masculine, but my Great Aunt, who is the clan matriarch, came down on us real strongly. She said it was part of his character and we should respect him.”
All tribes were aware of the existence of two-spirit people, and each still has a name for them. The Dinéh (Navaho) refer to them as nàdleehé one who is ‘transformed’, the Lakota (Sioux) as winkte, the Mohave as alyha, the Zuni as lhamana,the Omaha as mexoga, the Aleut and Kodiak as achnucek, the Zapotec as ira’ muxe, the Cheyenne as he man eh. [5] This abundance of terms testifies to the familiarity of Native Americans with gender-variant people. For proof of the sacred role they held, and hold, in Native society we again turn to Native sources. Terry Calling Eagle, a Lakota man, recounts: “Winktes have to be born that way. People know that a person is going to become a winkte very early in his life. At about age twelve parents will take him to a ceremony to communicate with past winktes who had power, to verify if it is just a phase or a permanent thing for his lifetime. If the proper vision takes place, and communication with a past winkte is established, then everybody accepts him as a winkte.”
From: http://www.gay-art-history.org Adjusted to fit this blog.
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