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Photos: Ivan Vdovin/Alamy; Lyn Alweis/The Denver Post, via Getty Images.
With no known contemporaneous sketches or paintings of Sacagawea, artists have largely invented her look, even as historians have invented her story by relying on Lewis and Clark’s misunderstandings.

In a long article at the New York Times Magazine, Christopher Cox writes about researchers trying to piece together the real story of Sacagawea. Will these more-accurate accounts stick? As I learned when reading Josephine Tey’s mystery The Daughter of Time, truth may be “the daughter of time,” but popular legends are often too stubborn to die.

Cox writes, “In a conference room in the middle of the Great Plains, 50 people gathered to correct what they saw as a grave error in the historical record. It was July 16, 2015, on the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation in North Dakota, not too far upstream from the camp on the Missouri River where Meriwether Lewis and William Clark first met Sacagawea, the teenage girl who would accompany them to the Pacific Ocean and back.

“The story of that journey has been told many times: in the journals that Lewis and Clark kept; in more than a century of academic histories; and in countless more fanciful works that have turned the expedition, and Sacagawea’s supposed role as guide to the Americans, into one of the country’s foundational myths. The people in the conference room, members of three closely related tribes, the Mandans, the Hidatsas and the Arikaras, thought basically all of it was nonsense.

“Jerome Dancing Bull, a Hidatsa elder, took the microphone first. … ‘They got it all wrong!’ he told the people in the room, referring to the bare-bones, truncated life sketched out for Sacagawea by Lewis and Clark and the historians who followed them. In that telling, Sacagawea was born a member of the Shoshone tribe in present-day Idaho, was kidnapped by the Hidatsa as a child, spent most of 1805 and 1806 with the expedition and died in 1812, while she was still in her 20s. The Hidatsas insist that she was a member of their tribe all along and died more than 50 years later, in 1869. And not of old age, either: She was shot to death.

“History has always been a process; it has also long attracted partisans who insist that its judgments should be frozen in time. … Sacagawea long ago left the realm of the apolitical dead. Over the years, she has been pressed into service as an avatar of patient humility or assertive feminism, of American expansionism or Indigenous rights, of Jeffersonian derring-do or native wisdom. …

“The Hidatsas’ portrait of Sacagawea is both richer and more ambiguous than the one found in standard histories. By adding decades to her life, they have changed its meaning: The journey to the Pacific, rather than the whole of her existence, becomes a two-year blip in a story that stretches across the 19th century, from the opening of the Western frontier to the Civil War and beyond. Almost all those years were spent back where Lewis and Clark found her, among the Hidatsa.

“The meeting at Fort Berthold was organized by Dennis and Sandra Fox, married scholars who worked for the education division at the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Dennis is a direct descendant of Cedar Woman, whom the Hidatsas believed was Sacagawea’s daughter, born some 30 years after the Lewis and Clark expedition ended. He has heard about his famous ancestor since he was a boy, an oral tradition that included direct observations of her life long after her supposed death. That memory of her, he knew, was at risk of being lost. …

“The Foxes invited tribal historians and Hidatsa elders, many of whom believed themselves to be Sacagawea’s descendants, to speak. Everyone who participated got a Pendleton blanket. ‘It was a long day because we let everybody tell their stories,’ Sandra said. The discussion repeatedly veered away from the historical accounts of Sacagawea herself to more personal stories of what followed, in particular how the tribe’s memories of her had been suppressed in government and public schools. There she was called Sacajawea, with a J, and she was a Shoshone. …

“Some of those present wanted to make a film putting forward their version of Sacagawea’s life. But Gerard Baker, a former superintendent of the National Park Service’s Lewis and Clark trail, suggested that a book might be a better approach. ‘The first thing we learned in academia,’ he said, ‘is if we see something written, we believe it.’

“It was an early hint of a theme that would come to define the work that followed: the long-running historical debate over the relative value of oral and documentary evidence. In the moment, though, no one doubted Baker’s judgment. The tribal government agreed to fund research toward a book, with Dennis and Sandra Fox managing the project. The initial grant was for $30,000.

“Before the meeting ended, the Foxes chose five Hidatsa elders to serve as an advisory board: Baker, Calvin Grinnell, Bernie Fox, Wanda Sheppard and Carol Newman. Though the book would be credited to them, as the Sacagawea Project Board of the Mandan, Hidatsa and Arikara Nation, it was Dennis and Sandra who would do most of the writing. …

The board members themselves were important sources. Newman, one of the last surviving native speakers of Hidatsa, had polio as a child, which meant she spent an unusual amount of time among elder caregivers. From them she learned not only about Sacagawea’s life but also about the whole deep history of the Hidatsas, a tribe of farmers and buffalo hunters that, together with the Mandans and Arikaras, dominated trade on the Great Plains before the arrival of the Europeans. In passing along these oral histories, Newman was careful to cite her sources, most notably Philip Snow, her grandfather. ‘He’d describe it in our language,’ she said, ‘and I could see it.’

“Ultimately, the process of researching, writing and publishing the book stretched over six years and would cost some $250,000. ‘There were many nights when we thought, What have we done?’ Sandra said. ‘This story is just too complicated for anybody to understand.’ By 2020, though, they had a manuscript ready.

“The Foxes sent the book to a few independent and university presses but were dispirited by the responses. Even in written form, no one seemed to take their testimonies seriously. They felt themselves at a dead end and worried that the book might never reach the public. To the project board, it was a familiar result. … ‘the century-long efforts of the Hidatsa to overcome the power of the Lewis and Clark journals.’

“Academic historians have come a long way since, as E.H. Carr put it, they treated the past like a collection of facts ‘available to the historian in documents, inscriptions and so on, like fish on the fishmonger’s slab.’ For Lewis and Clark scholars, though, the journals have an irresistible pull that no oral history can match: an illustrated, contemporaneous, day-by-day account of the journey. ‘It’s something you can put your hand on,’ said Gary Moulton, the editor of the definitive version of the journals. ‘You can trace its lineage.’ …

“After a year of trying, in 2021, the Sacagawea Project Board found a small press in California, the Paragon Agency, that agreed to publish the book, with a long title drawn from Dancing Bull’s speech at Fort Berthold: ‘Our Story of Eagle Woman: Sacagawea: They Got It Wrong.’ In one of the few reviews the book received, Thomas Powers, the author of a well-regarded book about Crazy Horse, wrote, ‘One way or another, every future history’ of Sacagawea ‘will have to take it into account.’ ”

Lots more at the Times Magazine, here.

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My husband and I are on our own for the first time at Thanksgiving. We ordered turkey takeout, but I did make the apple pie.

I want to avoid perpetuating any Thanksgiving mythology but at the same time write about the enduring appeal of a universal idea — people with differences breaking bread together.

We now know that our traditional Thanksgiving story is both inaccurate and hurtful to descendants of the indigenous people who first encountered the Pilgrims. As you can read at the Christian Science Monitor, here, the New York Times, here, and the Smithsonian, the story of colonial contact is considerably more heartbreaking than uplifting.

This knowledge has been discussed widely for quite a few years now, and yet there are still schools where children make feather headdresses and Facebook friends who post Pilgrims and Wampanoag chiefs holding hands. So what is the appeal, apart from the spin and wishful thinking of conquerors?

Pretty sure it’s the breaking-bread-together part.

I remember my sense of gratitude and privilege (the good kind of privilege) when I was invited to my friends’ Passover seder. How I loved hearing about the words that are said over all the traditional dishes and the history associated with them. I loved learning that I shouldn’t quiz my friend’s father on his WW II experience because “we focus on peaceful topics at Passover.” How else would a person raised Episcopalian gain this interesting knowledge about cultural differences?

Even at non-Covid Thanksgiving meals, you know, we often break bread among differences. Friends regularly say they hope they can keep distant relatives off religion and politics and just focus on things everyone enjoys in common. Because among differences, there are always commonalities.

All of which is my roundabout way of sharing my delight in some unusual combinations of dishes ESL students I know are preparing for Thanksgiving. It’s a merging of cultures.

“For Thanksgiving, I’m going to cook baked pork in sweet and sour pineapple and orange sauce, turkey, Russian salad, and Italian pasta.”

“For Thanksgiving, I plan to cook baked pork with pineapple, cranberry, and ginger sauce. Mashed potatoes and fruit salad.”

“I plan on cooking turkey, rice, pork, and Salut bacalao [Puerto Rican fish stew]. The drink will be Coquito [coconut eggnog].”

“I plan on cooking turkey, potato salad, chicken lasagna, and fruit.”

“I plan to cook turkey, rice, salad, and lasagna. For dessert we will make a brownie and three-milk cake.”

“Our plan for Thanksgiving is to cook a turkey, chicken, rice. And we are going to make a salad.”

Another student told me she usually makes the same things I think of as traditional Thanksgiving dishes but adds corn fritters. This year, she writes, she’s alone and isn’t sure what she’ll make, adding, “The smallest number of people in the home will be best for avoiding Covid-19. I think I’m in the smallest group by myself.”

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Back in the day, I was a great fan of Mary Renault. I took her every word as gospel, down to the conversations Theseus had with Ariadne, because the stories generally meshed with what I knew from studying ancient Greek.

The Bull from the Sea was about the sea god Poseidon, who also is the god of earthquakes. I remember Renault’s description of the eerie stillness in the air before an earthquake and the strange behavior of the creatures.

So I am not at all surprised to read in the Washington Post that animals at the National Zoo knew before this week’s earthquake actually quaked that something was about to happen.

“The zoo documented a broad range of animal behavior before, during and after the tremor … . For example, a gorilla, Mandara, shrieked and grabbed her baby, Kibibi, racing to the top of a climbing structure just seconds before the ground began to shake dramatically. Two other apes — an orangutan, Kyle, and a gorilla, Kojo — already had dropped their food and skedaddled to higher turf. The 64 flamingos seemed to sense the tumult a number of seconds in advance as well, clustering together in a nervous huddle before the quake hit. One of the zoo’s elephants made a low-pitched noise as if to communicate with two other elephants. And red-ruffed lemurs emitted an alarm cry a full 15 minutes before the temblor, the zoo said.

“During the quake, the zoo grounds were filled with howls and cries. The snakes, normally inert in the middle of the day, writhed and slithered. Beavers stood on their hind legs and then jumped into a pond. Murphy the Komodo dragon ran for cover. Lions resting outside suddenly stood up and stared at their building as the walls shook. Damai, a Sumatran tiger, leaped as if startled but quickly settled down. Some animals remained agitated for the rest of the day, wouldn’t eat and didn’t go to sleep on their usual schedule.” Read the full story.

And while we’re on the subject, please read about 96 percent of a certain kind of male toad abandoning their breeding ground five days before the 2009 L’Aquila, Italy, earthquake! (That lead came via Andrew Sullivan’s blog.)

 

 

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