Dark Winds and a New Coat
Some weeks back I watched Dark Winds on Netflix. Based on a Tony Hillerman book, it takes place in a part of the country where I spent a dozen years. Where my biligaana (white) kids grew up in the minority—as was part of the plan, so they wouldn’t get any silly ideas about their whiteness.
The show was captivating. A few flaws—and I’m sure I didn’t see them all since I was not raised in the Dine (Navajo) culture. But for a biligaana woman who spent twelve years in the vicinity, I found a good bit of realism in the scenery and cultural ceremony.
Despite having spent a dozen years near Gallup, New Mexico, teaching in schools run by the Bureau of Indian Affairs (later the Bureau of Indian Education)—schools where the majority of the student body, and much of the staff, was Dine—I learned to speak very few Dine words.
My students tried to teach me, but inevitably laughed when I garbled the pronunciation of certain sounds. The Dine language contains sounds that American English dismisses as erroneous. Sounds that, if regularly produced in English words would land a kid in my therapy room for speech correction. They’re difficult for a native speaker of American English to produce on purpose—even a speech-language pathologist.
But shame on me. Twelve years among the Dine, and I can say Hello, Goodbye, and Yes. How dare I presume to strengthen students’ English language skills if I can’t even meet them halfway.
The Dark Winds story takes place around the time I graduated from high school. Long before I’d ever heard of Gallup. Or fry bread. Or mutton stew. Jim Chee wore wide collar shirts with bold print. A young Dine man was in distress because the Selective Service called his birthday in the draft lottery, and he feared being shipped to Viet Nam as a soldier.
I knew such young men, though none were Dine. Some went into hiding. Some went overseas in a uniform.
Some came home heroes. Some came home addicted to heroin. Some didn’t come home.
One went to prison—for disobeying orders to blow up Vietnamese women and children digging roots in a field.
The lottery draft is not how it’s done these days—at least in the USA—and I am grateful. I suspect the military acquires a better caliber of soldier via volunteers.
There were other things in Dark Winds that hit home. Like women unable to make decisions about their own bodies. In this case, native women were being sterilized without consent. Because they were native. I don’t doubt the accuracy of this portrayal one iota. And am appalled at how little our nation has evolved with respect to women’s autonomy over their own bodies—native or otherwise.
I visited New Mexico after seeing the show. Even after eighteen years away, I felt at home. Maybe the Hillerman story readied me to return.
Given that it was my birthday, I finally bought that winter coat I always wanted—made from a colorful Pendleton wool blanket. (My late husband frequently tried to convince me to buy one way back when, but I always said we couldn’t afford it.) I bought it from the Dine women who made it—rather than in a trading post geared for biligaana tourists. I think of her every time I look at it. And imagine my sweetie would be pleased that I finally got it.
Now I look forward to cold winds—dark or otherwise.