Writing

University of Arizona Press

Chapter Title: SINGING FOR THE PEOPLE: The Protest Music of Buffy Sainte-Marie and Floyd Westerman Chapter Author(s): KIMBERLI LEE

Book Title: Indigenous Pop Book Subtitle: Native American Music from Jazz to Hip Hop Book Editor(s): JEFF BERGLUND, JAN JOHNSON, KIMBERLI LEE Published by: University of Arizona Press. (2016) Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt19jcghr.8

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4

sIngIng for the PeoPle

The Protest Music of Buffy Sainte-Marie and Floyd Westerman

KImBerlI lee

The wisdom of Infants and Elders Crying and laughing Weeping and laughing Songs in the beginning Sung in the end. —John trudell

m usIC Is PoWer. It is one of the oldest forms of communication between humans, but it is also a form of expression among all living beings. Sometimes a song is only sung to oneself. The song is sent

into the vibratory universe, and for those who hear it, it can evoke deep emo- tions. It’s important to remember that every culture has music and songs in one form or another. For Indigenous peoples the world over, music and songs are so intimately integrated into everyday life that it would be impossible to function as a culture without them. Song-makers and music-makers among American Indian populations are still regarded in some ways as keepers of sacred knowl- edge, tribal memory, and even as healers. This is particularly true for “tradi- tional” and tribally specific music; however, I would argue that is also a facet of what is known as contemporary American Indian music. Many American Indian musicians have worked their craft outside the traditional parameters of pow wow, flute, chant, or stomp. And, since before the 1960s, Native American music has been bringing a unique fusion between traditional sounds and con- temporary musical instrumentation to general audiences the world over.

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Indigenous musicians from all over the western hemisphere are writing and performing contemporary music in practically every genre of popular music today: rock, country, jazz, blues, hip hop, punk, folk, and heavy metal, among others. The creativity is astounding, and many Native songwriters are winning awards, scoring for films, and showcasing their work around the globe. Vital messages of Indigenous continuance, survival, and resistance are interwoven into these works of art, and help the listeners to think critically, stand strong, and engage in understanding tribal points of view. In this essay, my focus sharpens on two particular artists: Buffy Sainte-Marie and Floyd (Red Crow) Westerman. These two songwriters/performers, often deemed “folk singers,” are really much more than that—they are agents of change and teachers of truths— demonstrating through music how oral traditions are persisting yet evolving, and functioning productively for Native people and others through songs.

Buffy saInte-marIe

Artist, author, mother, actress, singer, educator, and accomplished musician, Buffy Sainte-Marie has also been an activist for Native causes for more than fifty years as well as a cornerstone of the contemporary Native American music scene. This is music that, since the early 1960s, has brought an uncommon blending of traditional indigenous instrumentation with modern electronic and digital technologies. Sainte-Marie’s music has long illustrated that as the forms and styles of Native music evolve, songs still carry the realities, hopes, dreams, and experiences of Native people.

Born in Saskatchewan in 1941, on the Piapot reserve in Qu’Apelle, Sainte- Marie is of Cree heritage, but records of her birth were lost. She was raised by her adoptive parents in the northeastern United States—both in Maine and Massachusetts. Only later in life would she reconnect with her Cree relatives at the Piapot reserve in Saskatchewan, and those connections would be deep and long lasting. Growing up with her adoptive parents in New England, Sainte-Marie became interested in music at a very young age, tinkering with piano sounds at the age of three (Stonechild 17). As a teen, she became inter- ested in guitar and writing songs. Her interest in music took on new focus when she began studies at the University of Massachusetts in the early sixties, although she had virtually no formal training and could never read music—she always played by ear. Sainte-Marie honed her craft in the burgeoning coffee

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house scene so prevalent in college towns of the mid-to-late 1960s, and even- tually began to book gigs in New York City. By age 24, she was touring both the United States and Canada, and gaining popularity worldwide. From her earliest performances, she sang songs that carried messages of the struggles and oppression Indigenous peoples faced, singing out for social justice and fair treatment. Since those early days of coffee house and college gigs, Sainte-Marie has gone on to become an internationally known and respected recording artist, winning prestigious awards and honors around the globe. Her songs have been recorded by such mainstream artists as Elvis Presley, Cher, Barbara Streisand, Donovan, Chet Atkins, and many others (buffysainte-marie.com).

fIgure 4.1. Buffy Sainte-Marie. Photo credit: Kat Ho

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But it seems that few people are aware of Sainte-Marie’s dedication and commitment to American Indian activism and education. In her early years in New York City, she, along with songwriter Peter La Farge (of Narragansett descent), founded one of the first organizations to promote social justice for Native Americans—the Federation for American Indian Rights, also known as FAIR (Wright-McLeod 74). La Farge, son of author Oliver La Farge, was best known for penning the “Ballad of Ira Hayes,” a song popularized by Johnny Cash on his controversial album Bitter Tears. La Farge died prematurely in 1965 under suspicious circumstances, but his work is still being recovered and recorded today. Fewer people still are aware that some of Sainte-Marie’s songs were considered so controversial for the times that her music was “black-listed” and refused air-play (Wright-McLeod 74). As she has mentioned in interviews, high-ranking U.S. political officials considered many of her songs, especially “Universal Soldier,” un-American, and the FBI began a dossier on her activi- ties. Despite this scrutiny, it is important to note that Sainte-Marie never shied away from putting herself “out there” in terms of her songwriting or physical commitment to a cause. For example, in 1970, she spent time on Alcatraz Island during the occupation by Indians of All Tribes, and gave considerable support to the American Indian Movement in its various endeavors. She, along with Anna Mae Aquash, and other prominent AIM supporters, took part in the protest at Gresham, Wisconsin, in 1975, which turned into a violent confronta- tion (The Spirit of Anna Mae).

In 1976, Sainte-Marie took her activism in a new direction—she became a mother for the first time, and, along with her son, Dakota Starblanket, became the first American Indian cast members on the popular children’s educational television show Sesame Street. Her commitment to education for, by, and about Native Americans is beyond significant—it’s astounding. Sainte-Marie has set up foundations and scholarships to assist Native students in both the United States and Canada through the Nihewan Foundation, and provides support and teaching materials for educators and students through her Cradleboard Teaching Project and interactive website. In fact, Sainte-Marie was at the fore- front of linking Indigenous communities via the Internet and in utilizing dig- ital technologies for educational opportunities for underserved children (Run- ning for the Drum). Having earned advanced degrees herself, she understands that a good education is a powerful tool Native folks can deploy in support of the People. Further, she understands how music can be powerful as an educa- tional tool to promote understanding within and between various cultures.

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The three songs I want to concentrate on here address crucial issues and situations that have impacted Native people in the past and continue to have serious repercussions today: ongoing exploitation of Native people and Native lands, the appropriation of Native cultures, and the revitalization, reclaiming, and reimagining of Native American futures.

Written early in her career, the song “Now that the Buffalo’s Gone” was included on Sainte-Marie’s first record, It’s My Way (1964). Although it is 50 years old at this writing, I feel it holds as strong a message today as it did in its infancy. It speaks to a predominantly white audience—using an interest- ing rhetorical element favored by writers in the nineteenth century, the direct address. In the song, our singer pointedly, yet gently, reminds Americans that they need to face the responsibilities of ongoing oppression of Native peoples and debasement of Native lands. She sings:

Even when Germany fell to your hands Consider, dear lady; Consider, dear man You left them their pride and you left them their lands But what have you done for these ones? Oh, it’s all in the past you can say But it’s still going on here today The government now wants the Navaho land That of the Inuit and the Cheyenne And it’s here and it’s now you can help us dear man Now that the buffalo’s gone.

This is an effective rhetorical piece because Sainte-Marie is making a tactical emotional appeal for a change in the status quo toward Native people. By making a comparison between the treatment of Germany after World War II and the near-annihilation of Native peoples on this continent, Sainte-Marie brings the argument into the present. As a professor who teaches several Native American– focused courses, I often hear a similar refrain from my non-Native students who say, “It’s not my fault. What happened to the Native Americans was a long time ago; I had nothing to do with that part of history.” Oftentimes it surprises my students to learn that American Indians are part of their contemporary world since they have always thought of “Indians” in the past tense. Rather than allow- ing listeners to revel in romanticized notions of Native peoples in the past, Sainte-Marie’s songs help illustrate that these situations are part of an ongoing

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neo-colonial agenda against Native Americans today. Further, I think of this song as a clear call to action—if the public wants “to help,” then they need to do so by acknowledging the past, but also by taking responsibility in the here and now.

Another important song by Sainte-Marie is “Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee,” a song that traces the American Indian resistance movement (and the deep reasons for it) of the early 1970s. Sharing the name of Dee Brown’s best- selling book of 1970 was clearly no accident. Brown, a non-Native historian, was one of the first American historians to tell the story of the “Indian Wars” of the nineteenth century. His book was one of the first books to accurately portray the military conquests in the West against Indigenous peoples. It was widely read and reviewed quite favorably in those days, and for many readers, both Native and non-Native, it was a real moment of awakening about American history and tribal peoples. The song itself is a rhetorical call to resistance and a way of highlighting systematic colonial practices perpetrated against Indige- nous people. In this song, Sainte-Marie represents and tells the Native side of the story. As Linda Tuhiwai Smith points out in Decolonizing Methodologies:

Indigenous communities have struggled since colonization to be able to exercise what is viewed as a fundamental right, that is to represent ourselves. The repre- senting project spans both the representation as a political concept and represen- tation as a form of voice and expression. In the political sense colonialism spe- cifically excluded indigenous peoples from any form of decision making. States and governments have long made decisions hostile to the interests of indigenous communities . . . (150)

This point of view is clearly seen in the lyrical content of the song—Sainte- Marie reveals to us the manner in which much of this “dirty-dealing” is present now, and has been present in the past. She sings:

I learned a safety rule / Don’t know who to thank Don’t stand between the reservation and the corporate bank They send in federal tanks / It isn’t nice, but it’s reality. Bury my heart at Wounded Knee / Deep in the Earth Cover me with pretty lies / Bury my heart at Wounded Knee They’ve got the energy companies that want the land And they’ve got churches by the dozens that want to guide our

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Hands / To sign Mother Earth over to pollution, war and greed. Get rich, get rich quick! Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.

This song, ensconced in a rock and roll vibe of truth-telling, and punctuated by instances of the Cree women’s victory cry, is powerful indeed. And, the song is made more powerful by invoking the iconic place and history of Wounded Knee, South Dakota. It is a place of sorrow, resistance, survival, and initiative, as most any Native American will confirm. It is truly hallowed ground—from the massacre of Bigfoot’s band in 1890, to the AIM occupation in 1973, to the Remembrance March 2014, Native people from many nations will forever hold Wounded Knee in reverence and respect. In Sainte-Marie’s song, we listeners come to understand that all Americans should know the significance of that place and acknowledge its history.

floyd (red croW) Westerman

Good friend and sometime stage-mate of Buffy Sainte-Marie, Floyd Wester- man was born in 1936 in Veblen, South Dakota, on the Lake Traverse Res- ervation. According to Brian Wright-McLeod, Westerman spent most of his childhood away from his parents in either Catholic missions (until age 7), or in the Wahpeton and Flandreau boarding schools (until age 17). During these years, he picked up a guitar and began to learn basic chords and started to sing. At Wahpeton boarding school, he also met Dennis Banks, who would become one of the founding members of the American Indian Movement (AIM), and the two became friends. After a two-year stint in the United States Marine Corps, Westerman returned to his music, and made his way out to Colorado, playing a folk-music circuit in and around the Denver-Boulder area. According to journalist Eugene Chadbourne, this is where he first met and became close with a young Dakota writer, Vine Deloria Jr. Both men loved music and wrote songs; country/western music was high on the genre list of favorites for both of them. The crossing of their paths would begin collaboration for Floyd’s first recording, Custer Died for Your Sins (named for and based on Vine Deloria Jr.’s first book) and a lifelong friendship between the two. Westerman revealed in an interview in Native Peoples Magazine (2005) that:

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Vine is the reason why I moved into the public eye. He’d come to the lounges and piano bars where I was playing in and near Denver and sit around and sing. We’d talk about his book he was writing—Custer Died for Your Sins. He said, “You know, there should be a song about the anthropologists who poke around in our lives.” I said, “I’ve been thinking about that. That’s true.” He’d written about anthropologists, about missionaries and the Bureau of Indian Affairs, who really got Indians hung up and frustrated and castrated. I decided I wanted to express the Indian point of view through songs, so we lifted songs out of these chapters. It’s possible I could have gone to Nashville and had a very successful career on the country-western route, but instead I went to the core of expressing the Indian point of view—sometimes very critically of America . . . which probably explains why my music is more popular in Europe. (Gibson)

It should come as no surprise, then, that the recording was a deliberate effort with his good friend Vine Deloria Jr., with songwriting credits also going to Jimmy Curtiss. The album is unique in that it coalesces in a crossroads of resis- tance rhetoric, calls for social justice, and a stand for American Indian sov- ereignty—all with a bit of humor injected. It is one of the earliest instances of a powerful pairing of Native literature and contemporary Native Ameri- can music meant to inspire, influence, and most of all change the status quo for American Indians in the late 1960s, and still resonates today. Among the most striking songs on the recording are the title cut, “Missionaries,” and “Here Come the Anthros.”

In “Custer Died for Your Sins,” a song clearly critical of the genocidal fed- eral policies of the U.S. government, our singer reminds us that the government has indeed sinned against the tribes. In straightforward, clear communication, Westerman calls up the past and present state of affairs. He sings:

For the tribes you terminated / For the myths you keep alive For the land you confiscated / For the freedom you deprived Custer died for your sins / Now a new day must begin

These powerful images and stinging accusations are tempered with the words: “Now, a new day must begin.” This is a way of imagining a new future for Native people, and an imperative call for de-colonization and change for American Indians. Creek scholar Craig Womack reminds us, in Red on Red, that “[the

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process of ] decolonizing one’s mind, a first step before one can achieve a polit- ical consciousness and engage oneself in activism, has to begin with imagining some alternative” (230). It is no wonder that Westerman’s album and Delo- ria’s book served as touchstones for many involved in the American Indian Movement and other Native civil rights groups during the 1970s. These songs encouraged and motivated activists, young and old alike, to take initiative and continue to struggle onward. That Westerman envisioned his audience to be both Native and non-Native seems clear, but the Native audiences were the ones who were listening intently, it seems. Clearly, he worked on this record as an activist for the Native nations. He meant it as an act of resistance, a testa- ment to survival, and an avowal of unity.

fIgure 4.2. Celebrating the conclusion of The Longest Walk, Washington, D.C., 1978. From left to right: Muhammed Ali, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Floyd (Red Crow)

Westerman, Harold Smith, Stevie Wonder, Marlon Brando, Max Gale, Dick Greg- ory, identity unknown, Richie Havens, David Amram. Courtesy of David Amram

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The style of the song is country-folk, following a sort of Woody Guthrie model of protest songs. Yet there is a decided emotional edge to the sound. Interestingly, Westerman’s baritone, while a bit raw, has the depth and range similar to that of Johnny Cash, and “Custer Died for Your Sins” has that same sensibility of being a “lived song.” The power of this song comes from the imag- ery in the lyrics and the unembellished, straight-from-the-heart honesty con- tained therein.

The second song on the record, “Missionaries,” is a powerful indictment against the unrelenting push to “Christianize” American Indian populations—a situation that has been ongoing since Columbus landed. Deloria dedicated an entire chapter in his book to mission work in the United States and writes:

Columbus managed to combine religion and real estate in his proclamation of discovery, claiming the new world for Catholicism and Spain. Missionaries have been unable to distinguish between their religious mission and their hunger for land since that time. (105)

These issues are closely paralleled in the song as well. In it our singer is speak- ing directly to the colonizing missionaries, who have managed to wreak havoc with traditional religions of so many American Indian tribes. He sings as a voice for the People, speaking back to the religious organizations whose true mission was to crush tribal culture and retain the land:

Go and tell the savage Native / that he must be Christianized Tell him end his heathen worship / And you will make him civilized Shove your gospel, force your values / Down his throat until he’s raw

This rebuke of the missions (and the ensuing devastation of traditional spiri- tuality they caused among the tribes) is impressive and enduring. In the early twentieth century and well into 1960s, very little was known or revealed about how the churches operated on the reservations, except by the tribes themselves and the perpetrators of the oppression. Ceremonies, songs, and traditional spiritual practices had been outlawed on reservations since the late nineteenth century. The Native holy people who took the ceremonies into closely guarded secrecy managed to keep them from being lost forever. Interestingly, in “Mis- sionaries,” our singer quite plainly tells of this survivance, “Take the white god

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to your white men, we’ve a god of our own.” It wouldn’t be until almost ten years later, in 1978, with the congressional power of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act, that ceremonials and rituals could be practiced more openly. Still, though religious “freedom” has been attained, it is not surprising that many Native spiritual leaders are still keenly cautious and protective of their ceremonial prac- tices today.

While the missionaries pushed and pulled at American Indian spiritual life, another group of invaders, the anthropologists, began to infiltrate Indian country, with another kind of mission. Deloria wrote of them with his own special insights, and poked at them unmercifully in his book. His criticisms are on point, but delivered with his special brand of stinging humor. Westerman’s song, “Here Come the Anthros,” follows suit, also bringing the rhetorical tactic of humor and a lilting tune to address the situation of observational “study” in Native communities during the 1960s. Of special interest here is the irony that the anthropologists themselves are being observed, studied, and written about.

He sings:

The anthros still keep coming / like death and taxes to our land To study their feathered freaks / with funded money in their hand Like a Sunday at the zoo / their high priced cameras click away Taking notes and tape recording / All the animals at play

Both Deloria and Westerman illustrate clearly the ways in which Native peo- ples are objectified in anthropological analysis. For years, academic anthropol- ogists and ethnologists made their careers off the stories, songs, and practices of Native Americans, and precious few thought to “give back” to the Native communities they studied and drew from. Today those academic practices have changed a good deal, and I would argue that the critical attention both Wes- terman and Deloria brought to this issue had some hand in bringing those changes about. This is activism and resistance in its most useful mode: trans- formation. Another Dakota poet and songwriter, John Trudell, also advocates for this kind of critique. Once known for confrontational politics as AIM’s national chairman, Trudell says he thinks that songs, literature, poetry, and art are the venues of American Indian activism that carry the most lasting power today. Through these paths, he says, Native people can be active and move with “direction and force” rather than being reactive with knee-jerk responses to

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problems. In a similar vein, Deloria related in an interview with Osage scholar Robert Warrior that in order to establish new relationships between American Indian people and the rest of the world, he’d turn to poets:

Poetry is one means of describing the human condition that transcends insti- tutional concepts and definitions. We need poets and expressions of insights by artists more than we need alternative solutions or institutions . . . In the poetry of the modern American Indian we find a raging beyond nobility that calls for recognition of the humanity and nationality of Indian existence. (Tribal Secrets)

I would add that contemporary American Indian songs and songwriters like Floyd Westerman are included in this concept—songs are the close relatives of poetry in the Indian world, and if we think about this deeply, we will under- stand that this is true for all cultures. This is why I have my students listen to American Indian songs, and study the “texts” of American Indian songwriters in my writing and rhetoric classes. I have written about this elsewhere, but it’s worth reiterating that many people will listen to music and have a more open relationship to it. Much of the time, folks will discuss a song more freely than they will a poem, despite the commonalities between the two forms. Listening to these songs allows us to approach and discuss topics both Buffy Sainte-Marie and Floyd Westerman point to: American Indian sovereignty, the oppressive dictates of governmental and Christian organizations, and the objectification of Native American people. These issues and topics are often uncomfortable for many students to confront in a classroom, but approached through songs and music, they somehow become less stressful to discuss. I would encourage others to bring contemporary Native songs into American studies classrooms, and to consider the ways they can engage us, sustain us, and make us think.

But I want to return to Westerman and his life for a moment here. Most people will always remember him for his acting career, and certainly, he had a successful one—he played unforgettable characters on the large screen and small. His portrayals of Native characters allowed many in the general viewing public to see Native people as complex, multi-faceted people. He dedicated his life and his voice to speaking out for American Indian rights, the envi- ronment, and Indigenous causes worldwide. Of special concern was Native youth—Westerman knew that support for Native youth was crucial for the continuation of American Indian cultural values and practices. He advocated

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for Native-centered education, protection of sacred sites, and treaty rights. Upon his journey to the spirit world, his longtime friend Dennis Banks said of him, “[Floyd] was the greatest cultural ambassador that Indian America ever had—a real national treasure.” Floyd’s good friend, Anishinaabe musician Keith Secola, told me in a recent interview that music was always Floyd’s first love, and he rarely travelled without his guitar; he was always ready to jam and pick a tune. And, he is certainly well respected among musicians of conscience, singers and songwriters such as Buffy Sainte-Marie, Kris Kristofferson, Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Browne, Robbie Robertson, and Sting. He recorded and toured with many of them. His last recording, released in 2006, A Tribute to Johnny Cash, was dedicated to one who influenced and inspired him. The recording won critical acclaim, and Westerman received a Native American Music Award (NAMMY) for his effort in 2007.

We must never forget that while the forms and styles of contemporary (and traditional) Native American music are always changing, the medium of song still serves, as it has for millennia, to transmit and process information important to Native communities: histories, philosophies, political concerns, and social values. These songs retain memories, stories, and insights. But they also serve to express a wide variety of emotion: joy, sadness, love, anger, defeat, victory, or confusion. Honor songs, prayer songs, and songs of encouragement are all sung with powerful words meant to do something significant for the People, and the world. We should all be listening carefully.

Works cIted

“Buffy Sainte-Marie Biography.” Buffy Sainte-Marie Official Website. Mejia Design, 2013. Web. 12 May 2014.

Cash, Johnny. Bitter Tears. Columbia Records, 1964. Deloria, Vine, Jr. Custer Died for Your Sins. New York: Avon Edition, 1970. Gibson, Daniel. “Floyd (Red Crow) Westerman.” Native People’s Magazine. Vol. 18,

Issue 4, July 2005. Sainte-Marie, Buffy. It’s My Way. Santa Monica, CA: Vanguard. 1964. Secola, Keith. Interview. March 2006. Stonechild, Blair. Buffy Sainte-Marie: It’s My Way. Markham, ON: Fifth House, 2012. Trudell, John. Interview. April 2005.

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Tuhiwai Smith, Linda. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous and Indigenous Peoples. London: Zed, 2002.

Warrior, Robert. Tribal Secrets: Recovering American Indian Intellectual Traditions. Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press, 1994.

Westerman, Floyd (Red Crow). Custer Died for Your Sins. Perception Records, 1969. Womack, Craig. Red on Red: Native American Literary Separatism. Minneapolis:

Minnesota University Press, 1999. Wright-McLeod, Brian. The Encyclopedia of Native Music: More than a Century

of Recordings from Wax Cylinder to the Internet. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2005.

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