John M. Setzler, Jr.

SWA

Originally uploaded by John Setzler.

I have returned from my trip to the southwestern United States. I arrived back in Hickory on Tuesday night and have been, to some degree, recovering from a long trip. This trip was a great experience. It was a great adventure. I also made some new friends along the way. I’ll be telling you about some of the experiences in future posts, but the first encounter I will describe was the most difficult of the journey.

On Thursday, May 10, our group visited the Navajo Prep School in Farmington, New Mexico. When we arrived on site, we were greeted and checked in as visitors in the school office. We were then given a brief history of the school. Mr. John Tohtsoni, Dean of Instruction, conducted our history discussion and then he turned us over to senior student, Andrew Sarracino. Mr. Sarracino took us to a classroom where Mr. Tom Chee was teaching Navajo History to a group of students. We sat in on this class and listened as he discussed subjects relating to the Navajo language. Part of his discussion included a brief history of his own education where he was punished for speaking the Navajo language as a child.

This was the moment when I realized that I did not belong in this place. I can’t get my thoughts together completely about this, and maybe I never will understand it fully. The visit to the Navajo Prep School was, by far, the most emotional event I encountered on this trip, and possibly beyond that.

I don’t know how far into early American history my own family tree roots extend, but the crux of the matter is that those who were here before us suffered great losses upon our arrival. Redundant discussions of these events in Richard Eller’s Native American History class didn’t hit home until I arrived in Farmington, New Mexico this day. Native American people and culture were practically wiped out. Europeans practiced their own version of genocide upon arrival on this continent. We made promises that were rarely kept. The native people are lucky to have survived at all, and lots of them didn’t.

During this trip, I worked with Amanda Higgins every night to prepare our daily blog. I spent some time discussing my feelings on this visit with her. I think she understood what I was trying to verbalize, and she summed it up in two simple words: White Guilt. I suppose that works and makes sense.

After our visit to Mr. Chee’s classroom, our group was invited outside to the Hogan, where we were prepared a meal of mutton stew, grilled mutton, blue corn mush, Navajo fry bread, potato salad, and lemonade. Just as I thought my feelings about this visit were about to relax, they got worse. Not only was I feeling guilty about the atrocities my forefathers had committed against these people, I was now feeling guilty because those people had invited me into their personal space and had prepared a meal for me.

For those of you who have followed my photography for any length of time, you know how fascinated I am with people. One of the things I wanted to focus on during this adventure was the Native American face. At this point in time, I could not make myself raise my camera to single out anyone. I just didn’t feel like I was worthy of that privilege, so I didn’t do it.

I did watch the people though. There were distinct difference in the attitudes of people I observed. Some seemed glad that we were there, and others were not. This observation complicated my own problems even more. In thinking about this situation, I’m really surprised about several things. First of all, I am surprised that ANY of them would want to do what they were doing for us. I’m confident that they are fully aware of their own post-Columbian history. What do they have to gain by extending a warm hand to me? I’m not sure. What do I have to gain by extending my hand in reply? I think the content of this post explains that quite well. I have a feeling of guilt and a desire to do something about it. I can thank Amanda for that desire to ‘do something about it.’ I don’t know what I can do about it. I’m one man in a sea of millions who don’t share my feelings on this. It’s an overwhelming thought to try to make a difference, but I will find a way.