Steve 2X was a member of the BSU but more importantly than that he was a member of the Nation of Islam under the guidance of The Honorable Minister Farrakhan. That was how he introduced himself. We met in the main room of the Multi-Cultural center and for two hours we spoke and found commonality.
"Do you know what the Fruit of Islam or F.O.I. is?" Steve asked, I told him I had personally seen Farrakhan speak a few times and was familiar with them. "Did you know that you are an Original Man?". Steve asked leaning forward. This caught my attention because I had only ever heard other Indians refer to ourselves as that. "What do you know about us being the Original People?" I smiled. Steve broke it down for me. According to the teachings of the Nation of Islam, Blacks and Indians are actually the same people. We are just different in our complexions a little. He pointed out that his eyebrow hair and my hair are the same, we both come from spiritual practices that emphasize service to our people and submission to the will of The Creator. We have a warrior spirit, not a warrior mind, but it, the warrior in us, is as natural as breathing. We are made in God's image and as such we have a divine direction to work with our people to bring us out of the condition that we were put into by White Supremacy.
For hours we spoke, we left and had dinner together, Steve only ate once a day and I was suprised at how much food this guy could put away. We drank coffee and spoke about our people's shared history that is kept from us by White's. Steve put a spin on why the HRL was so adamant about getting back the logo. As he told it I still believe it until this day as it is something that is just logical when you consider the depth of twistedness within White Supremacy. What the original crew of NASO did when they made logical and rational arguments about using Native Americans as mascots and logos was strip away a bit of White power over how we, as Original People, are projected through out the world. We had managed to add one more chink to the armor of the oppressor by asserting our rights to be respected as human beings. When people ask me what the logo was all about that is always m answer. We Native Americans, we Original People, had the audacity to reclaim a bit of ourselves and how we are presented. Back in the early 70's AIM bought pride back to our people but they soon lost sight of the goals and we became complacent in doing for self and kind. It's coming back around more and more with Idle No More and of course many other programs put on by certain bands to focus on their people first and leaving the education of Whites aide for a bit while we save our own.
I told Steve of the problems we were having and asked if he could maybe bring some people out to support us when we have to go to these regent meetings. I needed someone to watch the sisters so I could focus on what I was going to speak about. Steve nodded in agreement and assured me that next time there would be no problems.
Barb was so well loved by all the student groups that many members of the BSU stopped by to ask why she had not brought to their attention that there was harassment aimed at her and Connee. They assured her that she would not be alone on campus again. They all kept their word.
I had become in demand by professors to talk about the issue and I used that as a springboard to discuss other issues important to us. I spoke on names, I asked how they felt when they heard the name Jesus or Moses. I used that as a tool to show that names are important and carry depth and weight that will invoke emotional responses. I explained how all Native nation names translated into First or Principal people thus Huron s, like Cherokee or Apache or any of our names as a handle for cars, war machines or what have you is not honoring us. I worked on this with Kevin to seek out a kinder gentler way to introduce our way of thought to Whites. Kevin hated it when I pointed out the mental process of White Supremacy and would often ride my ass about "picking on White folks" or being a racist. Joe would jump on that but not as much as Kevin. Joe told me he thought I might be trying to prove something because I was not a full blood. Then and now that is a stupid statement. My blood quantum is not my measuring stick to how I'm a native and besides I'm damn near close enough to full blood for government work.
The tact of appealing to White people's sense of fairness and justice was an utter failure. The threats were now coming to my room by notes left on the door and phone calls at all times of the morning warning me to shut up and go away. My poor roommate and his girlfriend were disturbed and worried about me to no end. We would stay up late and have those great college conversations that would go on for hours about different issues and how to view them. They were both hardcore democrats and was forever trying to get me to become a democrat. They are still trying!
Barb asked me to go to the next board of regents meeting and tell the regents to do something about the increasing hostility on campus towards Native American students. She had been getting phone calls and letters also. The newspaper was giving editorial pages over to the HRL and none to us. The Multi-Cultural Times came out once every two weeks and no matter how many articles me or Charity or David Bomar would write we could not keep up the heat. There was a real swell growing to bring the name back and we were worried that President Shelton would bow to the pressure. The next meeting came and Barb pulled an old Roberts Rules of Order trick and had others sign up to speak and speak in half the time and pass it on to the next person so that when it came my time to speak I had damn near ten minutes! Barb was legit old school.
I answered my dorm room door 90 minutes before the meeting and outside stood Steve 2X and three other casket sharp Black men in suits and bow ties. The Mighty F.O.I had arrived. I smiled and welcomed them in. I gave them all coffee and finished getting ready. Just then my roommate and his girlfriend came in. Did I mention that he was White? He was Polish white! Freckles and red hair and everything. His girlfriend was just the cutest little White girl who was whip smart and kind hearted as they come. The FOI stood when they came in and Dan O, my roommate, introduced himself and his future wife Kristen. The brothers were more than polite and Steve made a joke about me taking so long to get my hair just right and they all sat around chatting talking about their majors and what have you. It's a damn shame the Nation of Islam teaches hate like they do. The way the FOI treated my roomie was appalling!
We arrived at the administration building just as Connee and Barb were arriving with Charity in front and two very tall very muscular Black men in back. The gathering crowd of HRL members outside in front of the door parted like the red seas as the FOI made a hole for us to walk thru. Not one single word was uttered. If I had not seen it with my own eyes...............
There was an especially vile old cave bitch named Ila who tired to get through the FOI in front of me to, as she said, "give him a talking too". I had become enemy number one to the HRL and someone decided to bring their great grandma along to help get the logo back. It was funny to see her say over and over, "excuse me" and try to push her way through the FOI to get at me. I was actually laughing at this sister of Yoda. Charity was right behind us and in her glorious loudest Sunday done caught the holy ghost voice kept saying, "It's a new day today! Family reunion happening here and there will be no foolishness from now on" She actually had a smile in her voice. Two members sat behind Connee and Barb Charity sat next to Barb and I sat next to Connee with the guys Charity bought along book ending us. The HRL members were confused and not quite sure what to do. They were intimidated by four Black men in suits with stern looks on their faces. Standing tall and walking straight with determination and conviction. The brothers that Charity had brought along were dressed in button up shirts and black pants. I don't see how they could be intimidating at all but I knew that the HRL members were intimidated. It felt good to not have to do this alone and to know I didn't have to worry about Barb and Connee.
As a drum group we were getting better and better as time went on but for all of the events I was going to and gatherings trying to get help with the cause was not happening. U of M students were too busy running the machine that is their pow wow and could not come to our aid. At least that's what they told me. Back then this issue was so hot and contentious that most of the Indian community did support us they just didn't bother to do anything about it. For the most part I was alone going to classrooms and speaking at ever free minute I had, writing articles and sitting on panel discussions and meting with other student groups who had by this time become more curious. It was not enough because each time I spoke I heard the same old refrain, "We didn't even know that EMU had a NASO" or "I never would have looked at it that way if you had not come around".
This was the time I began getting phone calls saying, "You are a dead red nigger" and "for your own safety leave school". While in my own classes I had classmates constantly making snarky remarks about "them Indians" getting back everything that was taken from them." and worse. I had full cans of beer and soda thrown at me from car windows. Water poured on me from the dorms along with the threats and HRL memo's and flyers pasted to my dorm room door. I once had a message to call this number and it was answered by my sister. They found out where she worked I never knew the number but I recognized her voice right away. That scared the shit out of me. I had the FOI but as a non-member I didn't want to use them as a security force even though Steve insisted they were just, "taking care of family" and the members of BSU were fighting their own battles and I could not expect them to do the work that the surrounding community should have.
One night, it was past ten in the evening I was leaving by the backdoor of the Multi-Cultural center after working on an article that I was going to put into the next issue of the Multi-Cultural times when I had my mind on seeing my girlfriend because I was late getting to spend time with her and that was becoming old hat. Her name is Rebecca and she was and still is cool and kind and just a hippie at heart. Creator bless her. Anyways I remember dropping my keys, actually her car keys, and bending over to pick them up. When I stood up there was a guy about my age wearing a military jacket over a plain t-shirt and jeans. He asked me if I was "Davy" I smiled and told him how to pronounce my name and he punched me in my chin. I fell back and was caught bu two guys who pulled my hair and slapped me. I struggled but they held my arms as the one guy punched me in the stomach over and over. He grabbed me and turned me to one of the guys holding my arms and he punched me in the mouth three times and pulled my hair. They dropped me and I was kicked in the face and pushed into the cement leaving a gash on my forehead. "Once a Huron always a Huron" one of them said to me and with one last kick to my side they left. I laid there for a while thinking about the pain and I asked myself what the fuck I was doing to make so many people so angry. I sat up, leaned against the door and smoked a cigarette. A brother with dreadlocks came walking out and saw me. He rushed to my side and was checking if I was OK. It was hard to breath but otherwise I was fine. I told him what happened and he walked me to my car. He said he would follow me until I got to where I was going but I really needed to see the doctor.
I got to Rebecca's and she met me at the door pretending to be mad about me being late but saw my face and began crying and asking over and over what happened. I told her and she insisted I go to the doctor. I wouldn't go but I did promise to go to the medical building the next day. I was just a little bloody but my bottom lip was real swollen. Rebecca took me to the doctor and he said I more than likely had a fractured rib but nothing severe. "I've had my ass kicked plenty of times, I know the deal." I told him and Rebecca. He insisted I make a police report I did not want too. Whites cover for Whites. They got each others backs like I only wish we did.I filed the report and the cop was smirking at me and shook his head a couple of times as he was writing. He did tell me his Great grandmother was a Cherokee princess but her papers were lost in a fire at the courthouse. I hear the most incredible shit still and without one trace of irony in their voices.
Greg People's was a dean of students and he saw the report and told Barb that it was all probably self-inflicted. Barb was livid and told me and Connee about it. I remained cool and didn't say a word but when I saw Greg the nest time, which just happened to be in the Multicultural center, I ripped into him like I have never ripped into someone before. It was cathartic I called him a buck dancing uncle tom and asked him how White dick tastes. I was saying everything I could to get him to swing at me, his only comeback was, "I'm Black Davi! I am Black!" He still a Tom sellout good for nothing coward punk. Still.
In the coming month I would finally get some help and we would become known as Pit-bulls with a attitude problem.
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