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“I’M JUST AS INDIAN STANDING BEFORE YOU WITH NO FEATHERS

POPPING OUT OF MY HEAD”

Critiquing Indigenous performativity in the YouTube performances of the 1491s

Jeff Berglund*

Abstract

This article analyzes two YouTube videos by the 1491s, a Native American sketch comedy troupe. By using the interpretive framework of social media and film studies, which considers the role of viewership and fan participation in shaping reception, this article argues that the 1491s chal- lenge Indigenous people to resist becoming complicit in the processes of simulation through an assertion of “visual sovereignty”. Additional analysis examines a representative range of viewers’ responses to the videos to flesh out how the 1491s’ work is understood and valued by various viewers, many of whom take the opportunity to self- identify as Native American. Taken together with additional insights provided by the performers themselves, this article assesses how comedy is used to draw attention to the ironic situation of Native people “redfacing,” of fabricating false and stereotypical identities, to appeal to non- Native peoples, particularly consumers, but also to enact critiques.

Keywords

YouTube, performativity, simulation, redface, visual sovereignty, humor

* Professor of English and Director of Liberal Studies, Northern Arizona University, Flagstaff, Arizona, United States. Email: [email protected]

DOI: 10.20507/AlterNative.2016.12.5.8

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When members of the 1491s, a Native American sketch comedy troupe, were asked what their purpose was at a TEDx event in 2013, they first offered a humorous retort: “The 1491s is raw sex mostly. Passion. Lust. Betrayal. Nudity. Mostly male.” After this joke was out of the way, or, more likely, after the joking answer had opened the minds of the audience, their second answer was more serious and theoreti- cal: “Well, we generally talk about reclamation of Native imagery because the colonial mind- set has decided it’d be a good idea to warp everybody’s view about what Native America is” (TEDx Talks, 2013). Since 2009, the mem- bers of the 1491s have been circulating their work through YouTube and expanding their audience by promoting their work via Twitter and Facebook. As of September 2016, their YouTube channel had 6,857,111 million hits with 37,044 subscribers. They have nearly 60,000 followers on Facebook and 17,700 follow them on Twitter at @1491s.

1491s’ members hail from diverse tribal nations in the United States. The four cen- tral and founding members are Bobby Wilson (Sisseton Dakota), Ryan Red Corn (Osage), Dallas Goldtooth (Santee Dakota and Diné), and Migizi Pensoneau (Ponca and Ojibwe). They are routinely joined by Tito Ybarra (Red Lake Band of Ojibwe) and Sterlin Harjo (Mvskoke). Through their videos on YouTube and through live performances the 1491s stage interventions against ongoing injustices, especially those linked to misrepresentations and limited understanding of the complexi- ties of Indigenous peoples, specifically Native Americans. Importantly, though, the 1491s also portray the ways that Indigenous peoples are complicit by their participation in stereotypical productions of “Indianness.” As Sterlin Harjo has explained,

that’s the success of the 1491s—we do make fun of ourselves, and we do make fun of people that will exploit their culture to get a leg up . . . we’re making fun of

ourselves, instead of just making fun of white people. (as cited in Bullock, 2015)

In fact, the subtext of a large number of videos by the 1491s is a humorous depiction of the per- formativity of “Indianness” as it is transformed into an uber- Indianness, an “Indian- more- Indian- than- thou.” This can be seen in More Indianer Than You (The 1491s, 2012c) and sev- eral other videos which will serve as the primary focus of this article. In More Indianer Than You Ryan Red Corn plays a white man (another level of performativity) who participates in a contest of sorts to play into particular expecta- tions of Indianness. What becomes clear as Red Corn’s character dons the largest bolo tie, when he possesses the largest weaving, when he wears a Pendleton wool jacket, has a superior dog, or sleeps with more people, is that he has become the “most Indian.” A good number of the 1491s’ videos implicate Native peoples for playing into dominant culture’s needs and desires. This is true of their first video, New Moon Wolf Pack Auditions!!!! (sterlz501, 2009), which explores the excitement over Hollywood’s interest in casting Native actors for supporting roles in the Twilight film franchise. Despite an interest in Native actors, the film series grossly perpetu- ated stereotypes about Native peoples. This is depicted in the 1491s’ satirical try- out scenario where actors try to exaggerate and outdo one another in their Indianness.

The implicit logic, of course, is absurd, and draws attention to the ritualization of perfor- mances in the everyday, of the ways that Native people are surveilled by community members and how this goal of being the “right kind of Native person” becomes a burden as well as an internalized logic. As Bobby Wilson clari- fied at the TEDx event referred to above, the larger aim of the 1491s’ work is to dispose of the notion that there is one particular way to be “Indian”: “But what we propose is that I’m just as Indian standing before you with no feathers popping out of my head. Sometimes I might take off all of my clothes for somebody’s

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enjoyments, preferably his (points to Migizi Pensoneau), but it doesn’t always necessarily work out that way” (TEDx Talks, 2013). Nor, might it be added, is it necessary in order to be Native American.

The 1491s’ name honors the year prior to the onset of the European colonization of the Americas. Early on someone suggested the name “1492” to mark the starting point of Western imperialist expansion in the Americas, but they quickly realized that it would be more poignant and humorous to subtract a year, to imagine a world free of the devastating impacts of coloni- zation. After all, the 1491s’ work, by and large, is to decolonize, to push back against ongoing neo- and paracolonialism. Their targets are not just the inheritors of the settler- colonial state, Euro- Americans; their comedic lens is turned on Native peoples and communities as well. That is why the 1491s’ logo consists of an arrow turned back on the shooter. Bobby Wilson has described it as “an arrow shooting ourselves in the ass” (as cited in Haskie- Gonzalez, 2014); their target is not just beyond themselves, out- side of their communities; the focus of their critique is also themselves and their family and neighbors, their fellow tribal members (see Figure 1).

Many academics follow the 1491s and have referenced their work. Michelle Raheja (Seneca) (2015) includes them in her list of artists engaged in “visual sovereignty” in her contribution to Native Studies Keywords (Teves, Smith, & Raheja, 2015). Mishuana Goeman (Tonawanda Band of Seneca) (2011) used a discussion of their beautiful video, Smiling Indians to introduce a special issue of American Indian Culture and Research Journal on Indigenous performance. Goeman (2011) suggests that the film is a rhe- torical response to “the boxed- in stereotype of stoic Indians that has abounded throughout the decades and was manifested through [Edward] Curtis’ portrayal of Indian bodies and the sub- sequent circulation of his numerous prints” (p. 4). Two other recent publications provide some in- depth analysis of the 1491s, but neither

examine in detail the formal, content- specific, and comedic stylings of Indian Store, my primary focus here. Mary E. Stuckey’s (2015) “Arguing Sideways: The 1491s’ ‘I’m an Indian, Too’” provides a rhetorical analysis of the indirect argumentative style of the video with little atten- tion to its formal elements and its social media context, or recognition of Indigenous cultural contexts. By contrast, Dustin Tahmahkera’s (Comanche) (2014) contextually rich afterword to Tribal Television: Viewing Native Peoples in Sitcoms touches on a significant amount of the 1491s’ work. Tahmahkera importantly positions the group as the next wave of Native visual comedy and the inheritors of a televisual tradition that will continue to evolve in the networks of social media.

Building off of this emerging scholarship, my analysis of the four- minute YouTube video Indian Store (The 1491s, 2013) situates the work within the interpretive framework of social media and film studies, which considers the role of viewership and fan participation in shaping reception. My analysis also examines a representative range of viewers’ responses to the video to flesh out the ways the social media platform of YouTube develops a community surrounding the group’s work and provides a gauge as to how their work is understood and valued by various viewers, many of whom take the opportunity to self- identify as Native American. Additionally, my analysis of this 2013 production is informed by Raheja’s (2015) theorization of “visual sovereignty” and the strategic use of “redface” (Raheja, 2010), a form of “playing Indian” by and largely for

FIGURE 1 The 1491s’ logo.

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other Native peoples. Finally, my understand- ing of the comedic elements of the 1491s’ work is informed by Indigenous perspectives on humor and its role in reframing conversations and perceptions of everyday realities. I explore the specific ways that they humorously develop their critique about Indigenous performativity and issue a challenge to Indigenous people to resist complicity in the processes of simulation.

In Engaged Resistance: American Indian art, Literature, and Film from Alcatraz to the NMAI, Dean Rader (2011) coins the term “aesthetic activism” to articulate the activist contributions made by artists. He defines it as “a manner of political and social activism that finds representation in the artistic realm. Unlike marches, sit- ins, or other forms of physical pro- test, aesthetic activism implies social action on the plane of artistic discourse, such as poetry, painting, and film” (p. 5). This comes close to what Raheja (2010) has described as visual sovereignty, a concept which structured her book Reservation Reelism: Redfacing, Visual Sovereignty, and Representations of Native Americans in Film. Raheja (2010) explains that visual sovereignty is a concept

whereby Indigenous filmmakers take a holistic

approach to the process of creating moving

images. Visual sovereignty simultaneously

addresses the settler population by creating

self- representations that interact with older

stereotypes but also, more importantly, con-

nects film production to larger aesthetic

practices that work toward strengthening

treaty claims and more traditional (although

by no means static) modes of cultural under-

standing. (p. 19)

With videos such as Indian Store and I’m an Indian, Too (The 1491s, 2012a), which I also discuss briefly, the implicit claims of visual sov- ereignty are about asserting control over one’s identity—the right to embody realistic, con- temporary, non- stereotypical and non- limiting identities. Here, by ironizing Native people

“playing Indian,” by fabricating false and ste- reotypical identities to appeal to non- Native peoples, particularly consumers, the 1491s dis- mantle received expectations of “Indianness.” Critics such as Philip Deloria (1999) and Shari Huhndorf (2001) explore the phenomenon of non- Natives “playing Indian,” but Raheja (2010) turns the emphasis to Indigenous per- formers embodying stereotypes:

Redfacing is the complex performance of

the Hollywood Indian both on- screen and

off- screen. It resembles the ambivalent cul-

tural and political work created by African

American performers who appropriated

the controversial and sometimes subversive

valances of black minstrels. . . . The term

redfacing signals the ways in which the work

of Indigenous performers, like that of the

trickster, is always in motion and therefore

creates acts that operate ambiguously, acts

that open themselves up for further reading

and interpretation. (p. 21)

My interest here is in the critical tool afforded by Native people embodying, exposing, and critiquing stereotypes. The 1491s’ redface stag- ings open complex possibilities for Indigenous viewers by revealing Native peoples’ internali- zation of colonialist mindsets that limit the evolution of Indigenous ways of being in the contemporary world and that police the bor- ders of authenticity and traditionalism. Their comedic work lampoons those who feel too self- important, those who believe only they may be the true arbiters of cultural traditions and authenticity. While the 1491s’ truthful messages may sting or hurt, they are intended to purge negativity from communities and to renew, strengthen, and revitalize.

Indeed, humor functions in complex ways. Kristina Fagan (2005), in her brilliant chapter “Teasing, Tolerating, Teaching: Laughter and Community in Native Literature,” explains:

A Native community is continually being built

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and challenged, and humour can play a role in

both these processes. On the one hand, humour

is deeply social: a shared laugh is an affirma-

tion of norms, attitudes and assumptions in

common. Humour can allow the tolerance

of disruptive forces, teach social values and

enforce social norms. But these functions can

have a problematic side, sometimes leaving

people feeling excluded or humiliated. . . .

Thus, Native writers also use humour not only

to shore up community but also to complicate

and problematize it. (p. 25)

Writer and feminist theorist Paula Gunn Allen (Laguna) says, “Humor is the best and sharpest weapon we’ve always had against the ravages of conquest and assimilation” (as cited in Lincoln, 1993, p. 7). Within Native communities humor can be a source of renewal, a means to critique the residue of colonialism, but it comes with risks as well. Kenneth Lincoln (1993) charac- terizes this as “the contrary powers of Indian humor” as “the powers to heal and to hurt, to bond and to exorcize, to renew and to purge” (p. 5). Jennifer Andrews’s (2011) In the Belly of a Laughing God considers humor and irony in poetry by Native women, and the author explains that irony

often tempers the playful elements of humour

by reminding readers of the legacy of oppres-

sion that has shaped the lives of Native North

Americans for centuries; it also creates a space

for other perspectives and voices, offering a

venue for alternative articulations of selfhood

and community. (p. 1)

One of the most frequently cited sources in discussions of Native American humor is Vine Deloria Jr.’s (1969) essay “Indian Humor” in his Custer Died for Your Sins. Deloria (1969), who is Hunkpapa Lakota, writes, “The more desper- ate the problem, the more humor is directed to describe it. Satirical remarks often circumscribe problems so that possible solutions are drawn from the circumstances that would not make

sense if presented in other than a humorous form” (p. 147).

While humor plays an important role in Native communities, discussions of comedy and humor have not always been part of aca- demic discussions in Indigenous studies. Will Rodgers (Cherokee), Charlie Hill (Oneida- Mohawk- Cree), and Vincent Craig (Navajo) are recognized as powerful forces shaping per- spectives within and about Native peoples. Worth consideration in the ongoing explora- tion of comic stylings by Native artists are the following scholars: Dustin Tahmahkera (2014); Beverley Singer (2013); Joshua Nelson (2013); LeAnne Howe, Harvey Markowitz, and Denise K. Cummings (2013); Daisy Purdy (2013); Joanna Hearne (2012); Joseph Coloumbe (2002); and Philip Heldrich (2010). Humor always reframes to a certain extent; something is funny because it is unexpected and familiar at the same time; it depends on a displacement, an acknowledgment of the unsaid that draws attention to absurdity and brings about a strategic reframing. In this respect, the 1491s’ YouTube videos embody several strategies and Indigenizing projects outlined by Mäori scholar Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999) in Decolonizing Methodologies, in particular the projects of “Reframing,” “Intervening,” and “Representing.” As non- scholars, the 1491s’ humorous work challenges dominant culture’s representations and critiques unrealis- tic versions of Nativeness; in this respect, their work reframes and challenges. Playwright and humorist Drew Hayden Taylor (Ojibwe) (2005) offers some insight into how humor manages to elicit deeper understandings that reframe situations:

Humour requires intelligence. It calls for the

ability to take in information, deconstruct

it and reconstruct it in a new, improved,

refined format. The humorist then reintro-

duces that information to the world to achieve

a completely different reaction. Humour also

requires surprise. Generally speaking, if the

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punchline is something you’re expecting, then

it won’t be funny. (p. 3)

While there may be nothing new about Native humor or its intervening role, the way that it’s being deployed today in a strategic and tacti- cal way via social media is unique. Being able to forge connections across distance, across tribal nations and continents, is worthy of consideration. In his groundbreaking study of representations of Native people in television sitcoms, Tribal Television: Viewing Native People on Sitcoms, Dustin Tahmahkera (2014) remarks that YouTube “functions . . . as one of the primary visual- sonic hubs for screening the Indigenous” (p. 170). He later notes that such a platform affords a group such as the 1491s “digital sovereignty over their product in cyberspace. Sure, ratings and viewers’ opinions can and do vary and commercial sponsorship is optional, but the videos continue without fear of cancellation.” Co- founder Ryan Red Corn is quoted as saying the 1491s are trying to combat the control of media by acquiring more of the representational bandwidth: “Create more and better art and you’ll take up more bandwidth and tip the scales” (as cited in Tahmahkera, 2014, pp. 170–171). Sterlin Harjo explains that “no one had really picked up a video camera and made YouTube videos for Native people. There was a space for us to do it, because no one else had done it” (as cited in Bullock, 2015). With the advent of video technology that can be held in the palm of one’s hand, and which is more affordable than ever before, expressive artists who plug into social media now possess the potential to reach broad audiences quickly and efficiently. Mobile technologies mean that like no other time in the history of the world, technologies can be used to connect us, to help us understand one another.

The ongoing responses and comments by viewers of the 1491s’ YouTube videos form a record of their impact on the real lives of people. In her epilogue to Reservation Reelism, Raheja (2010) muses on the possibilities of these virtual

spaces: “An online community on the virtual reservation coalesce[s] as a generative space for creating Indigenous media whose accessibility stretches far beyond what has been possi- ble with cinema” (p. 233). In Unruly Media: YouTube, Music Video, and the New Digital Cinema, Carol Vernallis (2013) describes the innovative nature of YouTube as a distribution site for media that simultaneously functions as a social hub for the exchange of ideas:

[YouTube clips’] online distribution also

encourages participation. In miniature, the

video’s performers may carry more weight

than they would on television—the techno-

logical magic that brings them to us feels

palpable. We may also experience greater

agency with viral media, because a click allows

us to seek out the video’s performers, who

address us directly—one more click or turn

away from the monitor would break a frag-

ile bond. As we forward the link to those in

our affinity groups, our sense of connection

branches outward. (p. 171)

In previous decades, one could have written a letter, formed a fan club, bought a ticket to an event, but YouTube enables direct engagement in a direct way.

New scholarship is emerging on the expansive role played by social media in Indigenous com- munities, with clear reminders that Indigenous peoples are early and frequent adopters of new technologies (despite equally valid concerns about a possible digital divide linked to eco- nomic realities). Research by Bronwyn Carlson (2013), Acushla O’Carroll (2013), and Alex Wilson (2015) has examined the role played by social media in Aboriginal Australian, Mäori, First Nations, and international Indigenous contexts. In terms of scholarship on YouTube, very little has yet been focused on Indigenous content and subscriber and viewer comments.

Social media formats such as YouTube trans- form the typical power relationships between media technologies and media makers. The

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website YouTube went live in 2005 and was purchased a year later by Google for US$1.56 billion, leading quickly to its commercializa- tion and monetization. Fan bases elevate the status of all works, irrespective of origin, and dictate the terms of further monetization and thus commercial viability of particular sites. Some independent producers of videos have engineered their careers to earn up to US$12 million a year (Berg, 2015). The use of social media platforms such as YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter enables control over the means of production, the maintenance of a relatively reasonable capital investment, an almost imme- diate accessibility, and the ability to cultivate and maintain relationships with and among fans. Self- identification by commenters on the 1491s’ videos suggests that the subject mat- ter compels viewers to share their own tribal identification or non- Native status; if debates occur, they are often provoked by the content of the video. In other cases, typical of internet troll culture, negative and personal attacks are hurled at creators and defenders; here, true fans come to the defense of members of the 1491s and attempt to engage and then shut down the haters. A surprising number of com- ments are left about Ryan Red Corn, either questioning his Native identity or referring to him as the “white dude,” which often leads other commenters to clarify that Red Corn is Osage and only playing a white character in particular sketches (e.g., More Indianer Than You). Some commenters fail to see the humor in the sarcastic take- downs and admonish the 1491s and their fans for not respecting their cultural traditions. Most commonly, however, comments relay gratitude for hilariously depict- ing and acknowledging a lived reality.

In Indian Store, which was uploaded in December 2013, Bobby Wilson and Dallas Goldtooth play two Native men who work in (and perhaps own) a Native curio shop, stores typical in “Indian Country,” broadly, and in the southwestern United States more specifically. These stores—located in tourist

destinations such as Santa Fe and Albuquerque, New Mexico, and in Sedona, Flagstaff, and Scottsdale, Arizona, as well as airports in the region—sell artifacts created by Native artisans (in accordance with the U.S. Indian Arts & Craft Act [1990], and are often staffed, though not always owned by, Native people. Despite an interest in working with Indigenous artisans to “front” the stores, there’s also the com- mercial pressure to deliver profits and goods that a tourist market will support, which often means that the higher quality and more tra- ditional work of artisans is neglected because of their well- earned but high end price tags. It is in this context of commodity culture and simulations of Indian cultural traditions that the 1491s develop a performative critique of the manufacture of superficial and/or limited representations of “Indianness.”

Much of Indian Store is funny because it draws attention to the consumer- as- dupe. The scene opens with two unnamed men opening a store for the day: one (Dallas) wears a hoodie, another (Bobby) a porkpie hat and a back- pack. As they enter, each carrying a coffee from Starbucks, they are talking about a scene from the 1984 Steven Spielberg film Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. These details may seem unremarkable to an Indigenous person, but they disrupt settler temporalities by showing Native Americans utterly engaged in the con- temporary world, immersed in popular culture. This is all juxtaposed against the backdrop of the “Indian” curio shop that trades in assump- tions about Native people and Nativeness that is unchanging and rooted in the past.

The two men stand at the counter, sur- rounded by sand paintings, rattles, arrowheads, kokopellis, kachinas, eagle feathers, dream catchers, and so forth. They banter and laugh, smile broadly, take sips from their coffee, flip the open/closed sign, and set out on the side- walk items like a pueblo/kiva ladder and a woven blanket. In the next interior, Bobby says, “She’s buck- ass naked on a wrecking ball,” referring to Miley Cyrus’s video for her song

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“Wrecking Ball,” in she which wears nothing but her underwear. Dallas responds, “That should be illegal,” to which Bobby responds, “I blame Obama.” This line of critique—pinning blame on President Barack Obama, the first black US president—was nascent in 2008 and by 2013 had become a familiar refrain among the conservative right fringe in the United States. In 2015–2016 it has gained further notoriety with the rise of the Black Lives Matter move- ment and its social media response to police killings of black men and women. Famously, on July 7, 2016, politician Joe Walsh (2016) tweeted “10 Cops shot. / You did this Obama. / You did this liberals. / You did this #BLM. / Time to defend our Cops. Wake up.”

Next, the pair set the stage for the custom- ers: they turn on the customer chime for the door, and the extradiegetic soundtrack features dissonant, scratchy vibrations that are synced with each action the men take to physically transform themselves, alter their attitudes, and the general mood of the store. Dallas grabs a bear paw bolo tie with plastic turquoise and coral inlay, and pulls on a blue t- shirt that fea- tures a New Age- style wolf standing within a dream catcher surrounded by mystical clouds. He finishes by placing a medicine bag around his neck. Dean MacCannell (2001), in his dis- cussion of tourists’ desire to encounter the “Other” and “Otherness,” explains that such sites, including curio shops for collectors, fulfill “the drive to reproduce the past, nature, and other cultures [that] seems to be motivated by a limitless appetite for more otherness, but it is an otherness that is under control, a com- forting otherness, an otherness that has been domesticated” (p. 386). Bobby unties his hair, shakes it loose, ties a beaded choker around his neck, unbuttons his shirt and opens it up provocatively. Chins up, lips closed, staring off into space, the two look serious (see Figure 2). Viewers are likely reminded of a key scene in Chris Eyre’s (1998) film Smoke Signals in which Victor instructs Thomas to be the right kind of Native man: “Quit grinning like an idiot.

Indians ain’t supposed to smile like that! Get stoic, like this. You gotta look mean or people won’t respect you.” These moments also engage with Edward Curtis’s ubiquitous photographs that frame all Indigenous people as stiff and serious. Dallas and Bobby stow away their true, humorous selves, their engaged contemporary selves.

These stoic Indian figures are echoed in the video Stoic Off!!! (The 1491s, 2014), in which two men absurdly try to appear more stoic than each other in another lampoon of intercultural expectations. Back in the Indian Store, the Starbucks cups have been put away. “Welcome to our store, here,” Dallas says, in slow, halting English with an exaggerated “rez” (short for “reservation”) accent. He continues, gesturing with his arm: “You will find many fine AMERICAN. INDIAN. ARTIFACTS. HERE. To enlighten your spirit in that waaaaay.” A transition cut next shows the two standing behind a jewelry display, and Dallas continues: “And feel free to check out our fine collection of turquoise jewelry made by the people of the Washitaw Nation of Tennessee.” MacCannell (2001) suggests that when everything in such tourist spaces has “been moved out of time and out of place, recontextualized and domesticated, tourism is no longer a mere vacation activity, an entertainment. It becomes the primary engine of myth and culture in the making” (p. 386). Looked at this way, both Dallas and Bobby are active creators of these myths. Despite his earlier banter and chattiness, Bobby stands by, silent, looking serious, posing, participating in the perpetuation of myths and archaic ste- reotypes of Native peoples. He raises his hand as if to honor the Washitaw Nation, which is not even a real tribal group within Tennessee. The next abrupt cut shows Bobby with his eyes closed, his hair swept provocatively to one side, and holding a wooden flute, while Dallas holds a hand drum and drumstick and intones: “I had to go on a vision quest and ask the raccoon spirit to come to me. I humbly put out tobacco for him, and when he came,

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I killed him.” There are no reaction shots and the action flows quickly. The absurdity of their transformation and their showmanship leaves viewers laughing from bit to bit. In the next cut, Bobby’s shirt is off and he’s playing with a stone inlaid belt, talking about his weight loss, and the fact that the belt no longer fits. Bobby’s disrobing perpetuates a long- running visual trope in representations of Native men (and women, in many cases). Dallas looks bored and stares at his smartphone. In connection with the belt, Dallas says, “Check the other ones over by the spirit mask.” Bobby looks confused. “Yeah, over by the dream catchers.” Bobby looks around and asks, “Which dream catchers?” “Oh, the purple ones with the fur on it,” Dallas responds, not looking up from his phone.

The next quick nine cuts are point- of- view

shots, from the perspective of a customer. Her face is not shown, but we see the back of her head and shoulders. Bobby continues to be silent, offering mysterious, serious looks. Jacqueline Kilpatrick (1999) discusses the absence of speaking parts for Native charac- ters in Hollywood cinema and the conclusions about intellect, value, and humanity that can be drawn from such depictions. If Native charac- ters engaged in any dialogue in Westerns from the 1930s and 1940s, it was in stiff, broken phrases. In Hollywood Westerns, since Native American dialogue was so often absent, music often conveyed vital information about Indian characters. The 1491s are well aware of this and employ music in Indian Store to further highlight generalizing stereotypes. Indian flute music swells as the camera pans across other items for sale in the store, including pottery

FIGURE 2 A still from Indian Store (The 1491s, 2013).

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and ledger drawings. Dallas and Bobby show the customer various items—rattles, mocca- sin boots, sweet grass, charcoal, copal. Dallas screeches a hawk- like incantation. Bobby slinks around display cases, shows the customer two stone fetish animals and makes them kiss as if he’s playing with Barbie and Ken dolls.

In the eighth cut, Bobby stands in the fore- ground of the frame, dons a mask (the earlier spirit mask?) and stares into the camera. Dallas is shown in the back, looking puzzled. In the very next shot, Dallas and Bobby swoop into a tight frame. Holding a basket of woven toys, Dallas says in his slow, carefully punctu- ated English, “Could I interest you in some HAND. CRAFTED. DOLLS. MADE IN THE HIGHLANDS OF CHIAPAS, MEXICO?” Bobby raises his hand and wiggles three fin- ger puppets, typical of woven work done by Indigenous Peruvians, not Mexicans. In the last scene of this series of rapid shots, we see the pair standing on the sidewalk, Dallas playing the hand drum, and Bobby holding a lavender- painted carving of a sheep or goat skull. He now wears only underwear and dances to the beat, again raising his arm as an invocation or recognition of some profound truth. Bobby’s near nakedness engages cinema’s obsession with depictions of Native men in loincloths, despite other historical cultural realities of dress and accoutrement. Elizabeth Bird (2001), in “Savage Desires: The Gendered Construction of the American Indian in Popular Media,” explains that this must be understood in “rela- tion to the white gaze” (p. 62):

For years, depictions of Indians tended to

show them almost naked, even if the cultures

concerned actually did tend to wear more

clothes. As long as Indians were not a threat,

their physical beauty was often admired and

their “innocent” enjoyment of their nakedness

was even envied. (p. 68)

These depictions were disconnected from mate- rial and social histories and either eliminated

or erased altogether the complexities and reali- ties of Indigenous peoples, which is akin to what Anishinabe theorist/writer Gerald Vizenor (1999) labels “manifest manners,” which are “the simulation of dominance; the notions and misnomers that are read as the authen- tic and sustained as representations of Native American Indians” (pp. 5–6). In the space of the Indian Store, simulations of authenticity have replaced the real, at least in the context of commodity exchanges. Both Dallas and Bobby have exchanged their contemporary, “real” selves and adopted stereotypical roles, making up stories and lies for items that may have once had important and meaningful ties to some Native tribal traditions.

This is made abundantly clear in the next shot. An abrupt cut returns us to the interior and Dallas proclaims, “You know, there is A. MYTH. OUT. THERE. THAT. THESE . . . [he raises a dream catcher into frame] . . . are only for catching dreams. That’s not true. You place it above your wifi router to boost your signal. $62. It’s a steal.” Bobby raises four other, smaller dream catchers in various colors, including a garish purple and green. Dream catchers do have their origins in Native communities in North America, but they have become ubiquitous items in touristic settings and have been mythologized and separated from cultures of origin. Today they include garish plastic beads, synthetic thread, and dyed chicken feathers. Local traditions have been flattened. Cath Oberholtzer (1995) has traced the proliferation of all types of dream catchers and notes that among all other possible craft items, they fit a particular profile: “They are small, portable, sold generally at reasonable prices, they are functional, they have a purpose, they have an ‘exotic’ origin, they are presented with a story, legend, or myth” (p. 143). They transport consumers back from a “simulated and atemporal mystical past to the present” (p. 143). While the evidence points to an origin in Objibwe culture, with relatable parallels in other tribal contexts, the dream catcher was a

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perfect fit for the “ideological solidarity offered by the prevailing pan- Indian movement[;] this object became re- invented to serve as a symbol and an icon for that solidarity. In doing so the dream catcher serves a multilayered purpose, functioning foremost to establish and reinforce native identity” (p. 147). Installation and per- formance artist James Luna (Luiseño) (1999) humorously comments on the commercialized fetishization of dream catchers in his piece Wet Dream Catcher, which features condom packages affixed to a dream catcher’s webbing constructed from the head of a tennis racket (p. 68)

The last portion of Indian Store shifts to a shot of a customer at the counter, recognized by many viewers as Michael Horse, a Native artist and actor who played Native characters in the television series Twin Peaks, X- Files, and Roswell, in addition to the role of AIM leader Dennis Banks in the TV movie adaptation of Lakota Woman: Siege at Wounded Knee. The following exchange between Horse and Dallas transpires:

Horse: Hey, do you guys have any Native

books?

Dallas: We do, what are you looking for?

Horse: I need stuff on tribal law,

sovereignty.

Dallas: We have books about spirituality,

Mother Earth.

Horse: No, more like history on treaty

rights.

Dallas: Coyote stories, we have coyote

stories that can teach you how not to be.

Dallas’s last line is imbued with irony, since coy- ote is often a trickster figure in Native American tradition, whose antics serve as the vehicle for instruction about “how not to be.” If, as Michelle Raheja suggests, redfacing artists are tricksters in their own right, then this entire scenario might be seen as teaching Indigenous people “how not to be.”

Unimpressed, or perhaps seeing their shtick

as further perpetuating stereotypes, Horse per- severes: “You don’t have any of Vine Deloria’s books?” Dallas responds: “Black Elk Speaks” and shows him the iconic book, whose history is notoriously complicated. It is an as- told- to account imbued, some argue, with the trans- lator John G. Neihardt’s own non- Native sensibilities. For many decades it was one of a few widely read Native American books. Horse persists: “None on the history of coloniza- tion?” Dallas replies: “Animal Speak, a good book. Talk with the animals.” Horse stares at Dallas and Bobby. “Art,” Dallas continues. “We have the newest print of the Curtis PORT- FOLIO.” His hand gestures underscore the well- known early 20th- century photographer Edward Curtis, known for his iconic, staged photographs of serious Native people dressed in traditional clothing, many of which were not an authentic representation of the specific cultures. “Okay, boys,” Horse utters, points his chin, grins and backs away from the counter. Bobby raises his two arms as some sort of honorific. Dallas follows and says, “Have a good day, BROTH- ER!”

The video concludes with the two flipping through the Curtis portfolio. Dallas points to one of the subjects and says, “Looks like my grandpa.” Here, Mishuana Goeman’s (2011) insights are appropriate: “the affective experi- ences of viewing compels us not only to question the circulation of Indian images but also to map new grounds of understanding indigenous people as creators of their own desired struc- tures” (p. 5). Bobby then points to another of Curtis’s subjects and says in a falsetto accent, “Hottie!” Dallas scratches his face, looks bored, and the screen fades to black. The flute music once again swells with stronger drum beats. The 1491s’ logo appears, followed by Michael Horse’s credited appearance, followed by their website address. The interchange with Horse reminds viewers how disconnected the men are from Native political realities as they trade in commercialized simulations. It is this inter- ruption of their control over consumers that

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sends the 1491s’ arrow back at Native peoples themselves, demonstrating the complicity of Native people in supporting and sustaining a consumer interest in all- things Native. The two salesmen demonstrate little awareness of the origins and the context of what they’re selling, offering inaccurate, simplistic, or exaggerated claims that play to consumers’ limited under- standings or stereotypical understandings. As proprietors—situated within the free market structure—the men exchange their real selves and present simulations of Native peoples. They are copies of copies. Ironically, and tellingly, they make no sales during the course of the short video and their one potential sale to an interested buyer inevitably fails because they were unable to foresee an interest in books that are of political and legal significance.

Much of the humor of this video comes from audience recognition that naïve consumers are in fact drawn in by such dubious and stereotypi- cal explanations. It also elicits pleasure because viewers see the deliberate manufacture of these simulated identities and that these stereotypes may be deployed against unwitting consum- ers who may hold on to limited stereotypes of Native people. The logic goes, if you think this is who we are, I will be that for you, albeit tempo- rarily, if it leads to you giving us money. In this way, the video also exposes Native complicity in this exchange system. While it doesn’t show the consequences of this complicity, save for the failed sale of books of political significance that could inspire ideological transformations, it does show a closed system that is destined to be repeated. Bobby’s near nakedness out on the street references his earlier comment about Miley Cyrus’s near nakedness in the video for “Wrecking Ball” and Dallas’s earlier critique, “That’s so wrong,” fittingly resonates. As does Bobby’s misplaced, “I blame Obama.” It might be easy to blame Obama for Miley Cyrus’s nakedness, but it has no basis in reality and makes no sense. Similarly, it would be easy for the two men to blame larger forces beyond their control—the capitalist market that trades in

romanticized notions of Indians—but viewers are forced to acknowledge that these men, in calculated ways, assume their roles and manu- facture identities—and thus are complicit in the perpetuation of misinformation about Native peoples.

As of September 2016, Indian Store had 406,490 views and had received 4,316 thumbs up (likes) and 92 thumbs down (dislikes). Viewers had been compelled to leave 433 comments and the majority are filled with praise or recognition. Launicayoly2 writes, “LMAOOOO I loved it! I WANT A WIFI DREAM CATCHER!” while FuneralRoses notes, “I’m subscribing, that shit made me laugh! It’s the kinda shit me and my brother do all the time!” Charles Buford, meanwhile, commented:

LMAO. I’m dying because I actually do this at

my aunt’s store when I come home to visit. I

make up interesting stories on the spot about

certain items and tell people. If I didn’t know

any better I would’ve believed me too the

stories were so good. I actually did the dream

catcher one as well. The wifi was a good one.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it at the

time. I told them if they hang in their car it

will boost radio signal.

These fans clearly find humor in the consumer- as- dupe scenario and find pleasure and empowerment in using stereotypes and roman- ticized notions of Indianness to turn a profit. There are others, though, that offer some crit- ical insights. Hannah Arthur, for example, commented on the inferior quality of items that will appeal to consumers: “Hey, it sadly profits to sell cheesy crap like this. I bought my cap and gown for high school makin and sellin crappy dream catcher necklaces and beaded, braided bracelets to hipster white kids. White people eat that shit up.” Another, Debra Rincon Lopez, critiques the impulse to sell these inferior goods that are simulations: “Why would you have to sell FAKE Native Stuff? Only if you

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weren’t really NATIVE. You should know how to make something if you’re a Real NATIVE ‘Traditional Style.’ If not I feel for you!~!!,” to which MiCreeNi QuashMah replied, “yes but non- tribal folks only want the stuff from TANDY’s I know My dad and I used to do the pow- wow circuit kickapoos Indian medi- cine show . . . you guy are right on the mark and that’s [what] is really funny Eh English?” Jeanne Brady closes this brief conversation with: “It’s satire, silly.” The other comments by viewers follow a similar trajectory, although many choose to identify their tribal affiliation. One commenter, Lloyd Paul, shows his appre- ciation of their comedic talents and their editing choices, and calls out his tribal nation as a sign of respect: “Hahaha…lol@ the Sound F/X on the 43 second mark when getting geared up … Good one guys. Much Respect from The Mikmaw Nation from Nova Scotia Canada. ‘Millbrook 1st Nation Rez.’. Native Humour Rocks … from my Rez 2 Yours. ‘Native Pride”:)).” Paul’s intricate sign- off functions as both a sign of mutual respect and a means of resisting mainstream culture’s homogenizing tendency to lump all Native people together.

Now, viewers of this 2013 video may very likely have seen another frequently viewed 1491s video from the year before, I’m an Indian, Too, which was uploaded in September 2012 and had received 419,883 views by September 2016 with 3,350 thumbs up and 186 thumbs down reactions. Rather than focus on two men complicit in the loop of simulation, this video serves as a montage of the intersecting discourses on Indianness. Viewers watch Red Corn redface—in a headdress, mismatched socks, underwear, and a makeshift loincloth made from towels—dance around consum- ers of Indian jewelry and art, as well as other Native people in Santa Fe Plaza during what appears to be the Indian Market, which is held each August. The soundtrack to this dialogue- free video is the song made famous by Ethel Merman, “I’m an Indian, Too” from the musi- cal Annie Get Your Gun (1946), in which the

eponymous Annie Oakley sings about being adopted by Sitting Bull. While Irving Berlin’s song plays, the images turn the song’s appro- priative logic on its head, serving as a refusal to become “Indian” through play. At the same time, contemporary Native people are shown, offering a visual answer- back and assertive declaration of presence and existence. The video is funny because of a number of juxta- positions, but much of the comedy is linked to the ridiculous antics of Red Corn whose near- naked, light- skinned body is inscribed with the word “Hipster,” again humorously drawing attention to stereotypes about eroticized and disrobed naked bodies (see Figure 3).

Viewers familiar with the 1491s know that Red Corn is Osage, but his physical body sig- nifies whiteness (as evidenced by the recurring barrage of comments about his non- Native status alluded to above), as does the logic of the original lyrics. His geeky, awkward, and downright absurd performance signals that he’s an appropriator of Native culture, a “hipster,” and his status as a Native American man cre- ates cognitive dissonance: an Indian is playing Indian. By contrast, all of the other recognizable Native American people look comfortable in their own skin: they smile, look into the cam- era, dress in truly hip, contemporary clothing (one young man wears the popular surf and skateboarding brand RVCA). One shot features Bobby Wilson, in sunglasses, a hat, jeans, and a t- shirt with a Northwest tribal design dancing toward the camera, using moves seen in any contemporary hip hop video. Absent, notice- ably, are the feathers and loincloth.

These varieties of contemporary Indigenous subjects issue a powerful visual claim of sover- eignty. Throughout the video we see a montage of mainstream stereotypes and appropriations of Native identity, particularly faux- buckskin costumes most popular during the Halloween season. While no overt critique is offered of these trends (they are elsewhere, e.g., in Halloween Responsibly PSA [The 1491s, 2012b], real, contemporary Indian people demonstrate how

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limiting and misguided such appropriations are, and how out of sync such commercial commod- ities are with the reality of contemporary Native American lives. The video ultimately suggests that comparing these stereotypes against real- ity—the contemporary variety of reality—will provide the antidote. The joke is on the hip- ster who believes he’s embodying something authentic.

One of the crucial ways that the 1491s push back against the persistent forces of colonial- ism to further empower Indigenous youth and others is by highlighting the talents, resourceful- ness, and resilience of Indigenous peoples. This is on display in I’m an Indian, Too, but it is eve- rywhere the subtext of the vibrant and original productions of this talented comedy troupe. It’s also a structural part of other genres of videos they produce such as their REPRESENT series that honors Indigenous brilliance and resilience. As their comedic work makes abundantly clear,

humor is a vital (and never diminished) resource enlisted to challenge stereotypes and reductive and limited notions of Indigenous peoplehood. Significantly, they employ redfacing to confront Native peoples’ internalization of some of these notions. While I’ve discussed the ways The 1491s contribute to the indigenizing method- ologies of reframing and representing, more work remains to be done in analyzing the spe- cific ways that the space of YouTube and social media more generally foster particular types of debates and engagement that is activist in orientation.

The 1491s intend to keep doing what they’re doing and to expand “into feature films, tel- evision, and to work on our live acts” (Red Corn interviewed in MSU Exponent, 2016). No doubt they will continue to use humor to drive their aesthetic interventions and in that likelihood rests the possibility of the resurgence of Indigenous peoples, for as Deloria (1969)

FIGURE 3 Still from I’m an Indian, Too (The1491s, 2012a).

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says, “When a people can laugh at themselves and laugh at others and hold all aspects of life together without letting anybody drive them to extremes, then it seems to me that that people can survive” (p.167). In an article that has looked at the circulation of meanings in the social network, it seems only fitting to let Shay Crowfeather, a fan of the 1491s, offer the last comment—which she made on their Slapping Medicine Man (The 1491s, 2011) YouTube video—on their empowering and healing work: “That’s some good medicine right there! Ahoo!”

Glossary

kachina One of hundreds of spiritual

beings central to Hopi (and

Puebloan) spirituality; kachina

dolls, representing unique

qualities of these deities, are

traditionally carved from the

roots of cottonwood trees.

kiva A room used by Pueblo people

for religious ceremonies and

communal meetings, usually dug

into the ground; entrance and

exit is by means of a kiva ladder.

kokopelli A humpbacked flute player (of

Hopi origin) and a symbol

of fertility, music, dance,

and mischief; ubiquitous in

the Southwest and broadly

associated with Native American

imagery.

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