Good intentions...

I am not sure why, as an historian, I am constantly surprised at the kinds of things that are done by well-intentioned people in the name of God. Crusades, Inquisitions, church/state sanctioned pogroms and purges - Catholic, Protestant or Orthodox, every variety of Christianity has had a share of the difficult past. It is a missing part of the general vision of American history that religion played a part in the wide-spread destruction of Native American populations. History is often recounted with a decidedly pro-Protestant slant; the Catholic explorers of Spain and Portugal are seen as zealously converting the Native American populations while stealing their lands and gold, but the early Protestant settlers are seen more often in Thanksgiving-style cooperation efforts, where Native Americans and Pilgrims sit down at the same table sharing meals. After the colonial days, in the expansion of the United States westward, the genocide of the Native Americans is given a more political/military slant, with religion as a minor issue, if included at all.

George Tinker, himself a member of the Osage/Cherokee people, is on faculty at Iliff School of Theology in Denver, bringing a Native American perspective to the predominantly European-American institution. His biases are clear and upfront even from the preface of the book - he speaks of the 'general history of the European invasion and occupation of what today is known as North America', not a dispassionate and objective statement at all, but one designed to challenge the classical interpretations of American history as one where the settlement of the continent was 'manifest destiny', somehow ordained and sanctioned by God. Whether the conquest was seen as being done by invasion or conversion, the results were generally the same.

Tinker states that 'perhaps the most fearful aspect of the church's complicity in the conquest of the native peoples in the latter sense is that it always happened with the best of intentions.' Tinker highlights four main missionaries in this text - John Eliot, Junipero Serra, Pierre-Jean De Smet, and Henry Benjamin Whipple. In the overall history of missionary activity, these men are seen as being faithful and successful ministers who spread the gospel message to those who had not yet received the Word of God. However, their effects were dire for the communities they contacted, even as they often meant only the best for the people to whom they traveled and preached.

Even as they were trying to spread the gospel message and do good works among the Native American peoples, these missionaries were participants in their wider culture's ambitions against the indigenous peoples. Convinced both of the moral/religious superiority of their own faith over the locals, and the societal superiority of European-based culture over the tribal cultures, they saw no ethical problems with dealing with the peoples in ways that were ultimately destructive of their cultures. Tinker goes into detail about the efforts of these missionaries - he looks at the issues of Native American genocide from social, political, economic and religious angles, as well as occasionally from other standpoints with each of the four missionaries.

John Eliot, part of the New England Puritan establishment, was a typical colonial in many ways, seeing Native American culture as inadequate, possibly even evil. Junipero Serra's missions were in symbiotic relationship with the oppressive Spanish hierarchy; while Serra might have argued against cruel treatment by military, governmental and explorer authorities, he did not question the overall task of Christianising the native peoples and reducing the influence of their native cultures. Pierre-Jean De Smet is another Roman Catholic, a Jesuit who saw such superiority in his rational, Catholic theology that he thought nothing of imitating in mocking fashion the rituals and practices of the natives. Henry Benjamin Whipple, the first Episcopal bishop of Minnesota, was instrumental in depriving the Native Americans in the northern plains territories and states of lands in the hopes that they would settle to a more acceptable agrarian lifestyle akin to the European model.

Tinker looks at these times in detail, but they are depressingly similar. Lack of awareness of the value of communities as well as individuals, and lack of understanding the consequences meant that missionaries kept repeating the same, over and over. The Native Americans are now in a post-colonial frame of mind socially, politically, economically and psychologically, and it is perhaps this last element, together with religious expression, that is most crucial to the recovery of the Native American peoples as their own communities. The confusion of the gospel message with European cultural values became ingrained in the Native American thinking, and Tinker charges the people not to become complicit or participate in their own oppression.

While he does not reference him directly, there are parallels between Tinker's analysis and that of Edward Said's studies of post-colonial cultures and mindsets. Tinker never doubts the devotion and well-meaning intentions of these missionaries, even as he lays bare the awful consequences of their actions. This is an important and fascinating history for all Americans to read, showing the ways that we participate in oppression and injustice are so insidious and pervasive that we can be completely unaware even as we strive to work for the betterment of all.

The story of Emma

Emma was my first 'real' cat - I had done cat sitting prior to this, but Emma was the first. I had been raised with dogs and other pets, but never a cat. But, as I was a student and didn't have time for 'doggy duties', I thought a cat would be more self-reliant.

Neighbours had several cats, and a cat-flap door which enabled their cats indoor/outdoor access. Emma was a stray, and wandered through their door looking for food. My friends would have loved to keep her (she had a light brown cream colour fur coat, very soft, and she was very gentle) but they had their requisite number of cats. So, I was called to the scene.

Emma jumped into my lap almost immediately, which is rare given the subsequent history. She most likely wanted to be an 'only' cat. So, I took her home, introduced her to my house (where she decided for the first three days was just too scary to venture beyond from under the sofa), and we settled into life together. During the first week, Emma did something she only did once more--climb into my lap and cuddle for a while. I would have liked this more often, but it was not Emma's style.

Emma quickly determined to be an elegant piece of art -- one may look, but rarely touch. The exceptions to this were at feeding time and while on the dryer (one of her favourite perches, especially after laundry had been run through).

When I moved, she came along, and after the indignity of noticing other cat scents, determined that the house was safe nonetheless, had windows in better positions (from her vantage point) and a dryer perch that would enable her to see much more than before.

The house came with Zeke, an outdoor cat, who continued to live with us for about 6 years (until he disappeared), but as an outdoor-only cat (even in the worst of winter weather he didn't want to be inside) he and Emma had a peaceful coexistence.

However, a few years later, Paul arrived. Paul wanted to play, which didn't fit with the framework of being a work of art, as Emma was. So, she regarded Paul with great disdain, some huge orange oaf come to disrupt her happy home. An equilibrium (or perhaps I should say, detente) was achieved, as Paul liked being affectionate, and they weren't competing for food, perches, or attention.

In time Zeke was joined by Gray Kitty outside, as another regular outdoor-only visitor, come to sample the cuisine that was freely given. After more than a year of mistrust, of slowly coming closer and closer, Gray Kitty began to sit for brief periods in my lap while eating his food.

But, one summer Mommy Cat arrived, fat and ready to pop. She was obviously a well-cared-for and indoor kitty -- she was looking for a place to have kittens, and I let her inside as all the spots she was investigating had draining problems (which she wouldn't discover until it rained). The next day she delivered seven kittens.

Almost to the same day, Gray Kitty stopped coming by. A few months later, Zeke stopped coming. My outdoor cats had found new homes, in this world or the next. It was a very sad realisation, when I finally had to acknowledge that neither of them would return for food, and I could stop putting any out for them.

The kittens grew, and homes were found for six of them. I determined that I would keep Mommy Cat, who had proven to be affectionate and well-behaved, and a good companion for Paul (who wanted one) and courteous and distant to Emma (who preferred that). I also kept one kitten, Prancer, who would adjust, I was sure, and thus I would have my usual stable number of four cats, not an unreasonable number for a country house.

Unfortunately, shortly after the last kitten went home, Emma began turning yellow. Despite the best veterinary efforts, no cause could be determined and no treatment worked for more than a few days. I took Emma home and kept her isolated in the basement, which she rather enjoyed, as it had windows, her bed, a private litter box and food, and no other cats.

One morning before going to work, I went into the basement to give her her usual breakfast (warmed-over Wendy's burgers were the fare she preferred that week--the menu of what she would eat changed every few days at this stage). As I sat on the steps next to her bed on the landing, she climbed over beside me and cuddled, the second time in her life.

On my way to work, I collected some new antibiotics (hope springs eternal), and talked about a new course of treatment, and the possibility of more radical treatment involving biopsies and surgery and chemo-therapy (all things that I, as a struggling student, couldn't afford even for myself, but, I wasn't ruling anything out). That day at work, I worried, and considered what I might need to do to be able to afford the time and money this might take. And hoped for a miracle.

When I returned home, I went to the basement with Emma's dinner (chicken from KFC, I thought we'd give that a try as the burger had been gently refused at breakfast). Emma was not on her bed, and as I called for her, she didn't respond. It took a while searching to find her little body stretched out beneath the staircase, peaceful at last, soft and gentle as the first day we found each other.

I buried her in my flower garden in the back of the house, next to a stray cat I found on my road, and a possum I found near the drive. I wrapped her in her blanket and buried her catnip toy with her -- as it was her toy and she was possessive of it, it was only right that it should go with her. There is no marker -- I won't live in this house forever, and it won't mean anything to those who come after me. She is buried in my heart, and I shall always remember her.

It wasn't until later that evening that I realised, I had lived with Emma longer than any other pet-companion, and excepting my parents, longer than any other living creature. She had seen me through many transitions, and was always the same. I miss her. I thank her for her faithfulness. I trust she forgave my shortcomings with her as I forgave her hers. No other will be like her. And that is how it should be.

A VITAL week

This past week has been a busy one. Many of my AMU/APUS classes are drawing to a close, as are my Ivy Tech classes. They operate on different schedules, so it takes effort to keep on track.

In addition, this week was the VITAL Quiz Bowl -- each year, 32 teams compete to become the trivia masters of the Monroe County area. This was the 25th anniversary of the Quiz Bowl, so it was special. I hosted two evenings on (live) area television; it takes a lot out of one to do this. The Quiz Bowl (and its attendant silent auction) raises several thousand dollars each year to support the VITAL office -- the adult literacy program run by the public library. It is a good cause, and I am happy to be involved, although each year I secretly tell myself this will be the last one. However, when asked again, I find that I'm just a guy who can't say no...

I reconnected this week with one of my seminary professors, Ron Allen, with whom I worked in several courses in the Bible and the preaching areas. We had a good lunch, talked about writing projects, politics, church matters, and the lack of pepper in potato soup -- in all, a good time. I hope I'll see him more than once every other year, but we both recognised the limitations and loss that occurs when people move on, and there's really no blame to be ascribed to what is for the most part a very natural process.

My own courses continue apace - my orbital mechanics class is now completed, and I move on to remote sensing satellites; the midterm exams in solar system astronomy and the stars and galaxies classes are completed. I need to catch up this evening in my CDSP certificate class, in which I have fallen behind largely because of my concentration on the situation with my parents.

My mother and father are both having major health problems; my mother has an aortic aneurysm, and my father a recurrence of cancer. Even though I am not there with them in Florida (my sister has been doing a lot of work in that regard, visiting and helping, for which she gets stars in her crown from me), the emotional energy that it takes to deal with such things really takes it toll. This has been the first week in a while where they have both been home from the hospital for a good amount of time; there is more down the road, but for now, things are stable and steady.

Welcome to my blog!

Blogs are different things to different people -- I'm not sure what will become of mine. But, here it is, and I hope it will be worthwhile.

Today we had an earthquake in the south-central Indiana area (and much further afield). It woke me up this morning, but nothing was damaged, save perhaps the hope that the midwestern states were immune from such rumblings.

Stay tuned for more...