Native On. Native Off.

“When did you start being a Native American?”

“When did you stop being a Native American?”

These sound like odd questions, but they're honest ones. They're also realistic ones in modern American society in which “being Native” means many things to many different people. They deserve honest and realistic answers. I'll give mine, and along the way surely anger some people who would give different answers to these questions.

I was asked the first question some time ago by someone who was listening to me talk about my journey as a person reconnecting with my Mohawk heritage. That journey involves adoption, discovery of some facts about my birth parents, and a period of time during which I was led to believe I had to forgo my Native heritage. As such, the question is a valid one.

I was adopted by a mixed blood couple (Mother: Mohawk, Father: Cherokee) who spoke little of their Native American heritage, mainly out of concerns about racism. In fact, I was told to always put “White” or “Caucasian” on forms I filled out to avoid possible discrimination. My mother was a little more open about her Mohawk father, and she even had a photo of him with a frame that displayed a Native American motif. About all I heard about the Cherokee side was I had a couple of great aunts living on a reservation in Oklahoma.

Growing up, I didn't know I was adopted. I took pride in my Native American heritage. In first grade, the first day of school the teacher asked us about our various family histories and heritage. I happily declared my Indian roots.

That was the first time I'd ever heard the term “Prairie Nigger”.

I grew up with darker skin, hair and eyes than most of my friends. None of them seemed to make a point of it, at least not to my face. I occasionally uncovered the bias of some of my friends' parents. (“Mom said she won't allow me to go to a party with no redskins” was the response I got as to why a friend couldn't come to a birthday party.) Growing up, I was more or less oblivious to such things. It wasn't until adulthood, when I looked back on certain incidents in my life with a better understanding, that I realized I encountered a degree of latent prejudice without even realizing it.

After deciding to follow Christ at age 13, I was told by a mixed blood Cherokee pastor that Native traditions and belief in Jesus were incompatible. That's when I "stopped" being Native and tried very hard to fit into mainstream church thinking and attitudes. I wasn't very successful.

Years later I found out I was adopted, and so let my identity as a Native American fall by the wayside completely. It would be another two decades before I had access to adoption records that showed that my birth father was indeed Native American. Talk about a curve ball. (To do my birth mother honor, I will recognize her Lebanese, Maronite Catholic heritage as being important to me as well, but not in the way my Mohawk heritage is.)

This revelation came at a time when I had been questioning my walk of faith. Not my faith itself, but rather how much of it was truly what Jesus wanted for me, and how much of it was just following the status quo. An event called a Many Nations, One Voice gathering hosted at my church helped clarify things and answer many questions I had. In the most blatant act of Divine Provenance in my life, I received the paperwork confirming my Native American heritage the day before the MN1V gathering began.

The Many Nations, One Voice gatherings were intended to educate people about how Natives can maintain our traditions and still follow Christ in a way that is compatible with Biblical teaching. For me, the first sound of the Big Drum, and sight of the dancers in regalia, was a life changing epiphany. I heard and saw a way of life, the Good Red Road and the Jesus Way, that I knew in an instant was what I had been seeking my entire life. It's what I was meant to be.

That was when I started being Indian again. More specifically, that's when I started the journey of learning to be a Mohawk Jesus Lover. (According to the Great Law, since I was adopted by a Mohawk woman, I should consider myself Mohawk.) It's been a wonderful journey, realizing more each day that, in honesty, I never stopped being Indian, no matter what I thought of the matter.

I wish I could say this was the case with everyone, but it's not. One thing I noticed at that gathering was how many people from my church suddenly had Native Pride. People who had made no mention of Native heritage showed up wearing moccasins (cute how people would buy those comfy, fur lined Minnetonka bedroom slippers and think they were wearing traditional footwear) or little feathered roach clips in their hair. They would flock to the merchandise tables and buy chokers and CDs and flutes and books, talking about how their great grandmother was a Cherokee princess, or their grandfather was an Apache.

Some of them were utterly sincere, and, like me, discovered they didn't have to suppress their “Native Side”. Others, however, were Natives for the moment, getting caught up in the glamor and novelty of the event. After it was over, the moccasins and feathers went back into closets and drawers, along with the chokers and other bead work items. The CDs got some play time, the books were read, and that was about it.

As for me, I continued my walk along the Good Red Road, connecting with many Natives who helped educate, encourage and guide me along that road. Along the way I met as much resistance as I did encouragement, but I knew I was on the right Path, as my faith in Christ was becoming stronger and purer than it had ever been. As I shared my thoughts with various Native elders, I was told that the reason why I never seemed to quite fit in with the mainstream churches I attended was because I was Native, and saw the world and thought like a Native. There's a spiritual reality there that cannot be dismissed.

Eventually my walk led to departing that church, not under the best of terms. The leadership wanted to encourage my walk as a Mohawk Jesus Lover, but only so much. I simply reached a point where what they had to offer me in my journey left too many questions unanswered, and I told them so. The pastors didn't like hearing that.

After that MN1V, the church leadership did spend a few weeks talking about developing a Native outreach program,and partnering with the leadership of the nearby Meskwaki nation, but nothing ever came of it. Most of the interest in things Native disappeared after a few weeks. I was saddened to see friends who had embraced their Native heritage let it fall by the wayside in favor of the Next Thing that is always coming about in mainstream churches.

I have observed over the years that for so many people, their “Native-ness” doesn't last. They start being Native when it helps them feel special or significant, and they stop when that is no longer the case. Certain people start being Indian when it's entertaining to do so, or fulfills some longing they might have. Then they stop when being Native no longer offered anything in their lives of value.

We see that a lot, not just among churchgoers, but in American society as a whole. Celebrities brag about being Native. People rush to support Native causes. Respecting the earth is suddenly cool again and movies that portray indigenous people as heroes fighting against evil colonists are huge hits. Nearly everyone who comments on the current controversy regarding the Washington R*dskins and other Native mascots claim some sort of Native heritage, regardless of which side of the argument they favor.

Meanwhile, the “true” Indians continue dealing with the ups and downs of life in Indian Country. The people who never started being Native (because they always have been) still deal with unemployment, poverty, health issues, suicide rates, alcoholism and domestic and sexual abuse rates that are far higher than any other people group in the USA. They still have to deal with others appropriating sacred objects or traditions, of stereotypical representation in the media, and a government which has done little to fulfill treaty obligations, and in fact still has a pogrom in place intended to make the First Nations disappear either by assimilation or attrition.

They neither started nor stopped being Native. They just are. Therein lies the real answer to the questions above. A person either is or isn't Native: it can't be turned on and off like membership to Netflix. A person may be disconnected from his Native heritage, then reconnect, as happened with me, but in essence never stops being native. (Sadly, some never reconnect). That connection is permanent, lifelong and life affirming, because it is made by Creator at a spiritual level, not by some government issued card or entry on a list of names.

It has to be, because the reality of being Native in today's world involves struggles on both a personal and community level that most people really don't want to deal with. It's about far more than hanging dream catchers or posting memes on Facebook about respecting the earth or which feature Native American sayings. Being Native is about realizing that we are an endangered people, and keeping our identities alive takes quite a toll on us spiritually and emotionally.

As for me, I spent many troubled years trying to turn off being Native, and happy years of late coming to understand I never really turned it off, and never could if I tried.