Protected: Of Value and Values on the Tribal Reservation
This blog entry is a brief reflection and commentary on tribal values based on experiences growing up in the Midwest.
While eating lunch in the office break room I thumbed through The Wall Street Journal. Today was one of the rare exceptions that an article caught my interest. The Lac du Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians made the cover of the Money & Investing section. According to the article the tribe is refusing to pay a bond to a private investment company based on a technicality. The WSJ article seems to support the same stereotypes that accompanied my recollection of growing up in the Midwest.
With the experience of having spent almost my entire life near various tribal reservations, and only 2 hours from Lac du Flambeau, my perspective on the rights the tribes posses has always been accompanied with a lot of questions and misunderstandings. As an outsider looking in the apparent value placed on natural resources by the local tribes was often spoken of in less than stellar regards. Perhaps the local fisherman who I listened to had a biased opinion of tribal rights when fishing was bad because the tribal members had the right to commercially net fish in Lake Superior. A poor summer of fishing on Lake Superior was often blamed by aggressive netting earlier in the spring. Was it a legitimate argument? I don’t know, I’m not a biologist. It was just one of several common stereotypes that regional tribes were branded with.
Reading List
Books on my reading list. In no particular order:
- The Screwtape Letters
- Cryptonomicon
- Atlas Shrugged
- Code Complete: A Practical Handbook of Software Construction (Paperback)
- A Scandalous Freedom: The Radical Nature of the Gospel
- The Shack
Velocity vs. Desires
Morning Runs - Velocity is almost proportional to the issues of the heart. Inversely related to distane (not shown).
Format inspired by Indexed
Subway Violinist
Lost in thoughts of finding the next subway connection to catch the Path back to the train in Hoboken I heard violin music. The music took me by surprise as I realized subway cars don’t play music. At the far end of the car was a young woman playing a violin. She played with vigor as she walked toward my end of the subway car. It was no small feat, especially since the car was clipping right along! It would jump, dive, and bouce left and then right. As the car passed under the East River the music filled the car. It was as if a subtle and beautiful voice was beckoning to each person in the car. “Stop, reflect, and appreciate the music” the voice seemed to say.
As she reached the end of the car where I was sitting she finished the piece and sat down. Under her left cheek was a small brown mark that revealed this wasn’t her first performance. As the car pulled up to the stop I, alone, politely applauded. Why did she choose to share such an enriching piece of music in the bustle of the subway car? It was no easy task and it was played beautifully. I saw no solicitation for gratuity and wondered if she was simply playing to share some joy she had deep inside?
Deep down I wish that I had continued with piano and had something to give in return – simply to give. Yet, even though my musical talents might consist of playing a CD player and singing a tune off key I have something to give. “… Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk…” I might not have the power to heal people or provide all the right answers I can testify about who Jesus Christ is to me. I’d love to hear who he is to you and to share who he could be if he isn’t already someone to you.
We Fall Down…
Driving in the country with the windows down listening and singing to my favorite music is so releasing. Lately I’ve had the desire to try out a convertible car. I can’t recall ever having ridden in one and I think it would be wonderful on a beautiful summer day like today.
Anyhow, back to the point. I was driving in the country listening to “We Fall Down” as performed by Kutless. As I sang and thought about what the lyrics meant to me I drove past eight 1990’s era Corvette convertibles in the oncoming lane. It caught my attention that everyone in the procession looked to be over 60 years old. How foolish it would be to wish I could be in their position if it meant giving up the wonderful memory of singing praises while driving down the road with the windows down in a less than sporty vehicle.
