WEHELU PEACEMAKER, Craven Gibson

[Should indigenous Historians cease parroting this fabricated and calculated thing, “American History,” and take a deep, fresh breath after opening the window to look out on a new dawn, please let us correct this “warrior” image because it is false, deliberately, and in its falsity leads weak brains to accept that which has never been true concerning indigenous of this hemisphere]

WEHELU PEACEMAKER, Craven Gibson

Atwum (Big Valley, NE California. Mt Shasta 30-miles north. Mt Lassen 29-miles south). According to our lessons and legends given to us by our Elders (which many of us did not pay attention to because we were busy growing up and we were pup-dumb), it takes a certain qualification to become hisnawa. Hisnawa means “warrior,” and it often means “Young warrior.” Not just anybody can become a warrior.

Later, at her home in Burney, Gramma Lela Rhoades, further instructed my brothers, cousins and I about these things. She was not really my DNA “Gramma,” but she was the mother of my foster mother and the boys of our families called each other “cousin,” so that settled it. She was “Gramma..” We youngsters were new at being English-colonized and Gramma was not practiced at the English language, either. We did not understand her native dialect much, but with help from my foster mother, “Tiny,” Gramma again explained to us the original rules that we must fulfill before we could become a warrior in the “old way,” a goal that we must always reach for.
It was in the 1940’s. Hollywood and history books were busy characterizing indigenous beings as blood thirsty savages living only to attack and burn the wagon trains of peaceful, God- fearing pioneers who were innocently looking for 600-million acres to take by military force, and a hundred-million Indians to kill. Text books and the movie industry displayed that the indigenous were a population devoid of feeling and emotion so it could not hurt for us to die a mangled death – especially after the assault of the Army, the “Good guys.”

The American culture pointed out that there was unequivocal proof of indigenous callousness because, in theaters across “The land of the free,” young natives did not cheer when the Cavalry came “Ta-ta-ta-taing” in at the last moment in the show, natives bleeding, broken and splattered all over the place.

Gramma said:

A warrior is strong and use his strength to care for the people
A warrior is peaceful to everyone
A warrior does not wait for peace to come. He take peace and offer it first
A warrior is good hunter, fisher, tracker. He can run over mountain run down and catch deer, carry it in and share it. He can carry five salmon across valley to feed hungry family
A warrior always eat last
A warrior always speak true
A warrior respect earth and all people
A warrior sing at dawn for all people who cannot sing for self
A warrior, responsible
A warrior never thinks of self first, but others
A warrior dance for earth
A warrior take children to flower in meadow
A warrior have good heart, take to people in need
Above all, warrior respect “way” and Aponi’ha (Great Universal Powers)

It was the middle of the 1960’s, turmoil and revolutions all around. From many fires (African, Oriental, LaRaza, This homeland) there was a cry for justice and respect. The younger generation was not listening when wisdom spoke. Some of us in our mountain tribe were furious because America kept taking from us and giving to strangers whatever it took from us. The Americans and the strangers said that everything belonged to them because God made everything just for them. We could not agree with God or the strangers. Some of us younger ones decided to strike back, an eye for an eye.

We made plans. True, our logistics were flawed, but we were in a hurry. We gathered a variety of old, rusty guns, most of them without bullets. Angry with America, we went back to Craven’s home for his approval of our war plan. He was home. We filled his little house and spilled over into the yard. We laid out our plan. He thought and thought, then, he squeezed into a small back room emerging with an old, broken, weary, rusty rifle. He must have found it after the first battle ages ago.

Where we could all see, he dusted it off then looked around the room with sad, old eyes and said, “Outside, yard.” We thundered out, old home swaying. He gathered us in a circle, him in the center with his rifle. He chanted then spun the rifle over his head and danced. He passed the rifle behind from hand to hand while dancing and chanting. Then rifle was overhead spinning once more. He stopped singing and dancing and held rifle with both hands overhead.

He was out of breath but said, “This (dance and chant), dis’wassi’wi.” “This (still holding the rifle up and shaking it) not our way.” He looked upon us searching our faces, searching our hearts. We came to him for war approval but he said the rifle was not our “way.” Dis’wassi’wi seemed like approval, but then…. We were confused and disarmed in our confusion.

Again his old, cloudy-blue eyes searched our hearts. He was looking for understanding within us. His tired face turned to each of us and his eyes that have seen many seasons pierced our aspirations. He gave a slight nod with his white head and something like eagle power wrapped around him. He said,

“I don’t need warriors with guns in their hands. I need warriors with their hearts in their hands and all of their dreams in their hearts.”

Silently we filed away into the valley evening filled with mosquitoes. He returned to his coffee cup. We did not understand his words. They sounded like a truth. They sounded simple enough but what did they mean for sure? We were all smart enough to know, weren’t we? In my old pickup I found a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote his words so I could not forget. Arriving at camp I read his words again. I pondered there under the stars. Over the velvet evening again I heard Gramma Lela’s explanation of a warrior in our “way.” When my spirit heard her say, “A warrior take peace and offer it first,” I cried.

Late, I flopped into bed and dreamed. At a table Craven was there with the great Generals of the world. The Generals got up, went to their Captains and ordered them to dismissed their mighty armies, then gathered at the table again. In a silent contest they were seeing who could offer peace first. I snapped awake from that beautiful dream and thought, “Yes Craven is a warrior, a great warrior and he must be honored above all Generals for all time.”

In my heart I called him Wehelu Peacemaker (Chief Peacemaker).

Sul’ma’ejote