A Living Culture

I am fascinated by history and I love reading about discoveries made by archeologists who study artifacts humans left behind in the distant past. This is basically what led me to read E. Charles Adams’ The Origin and Development of the Pueblo Katsina Cult, which I discussed about a week and a half ago. However, I think it’s important to remember that pueblo culture is alive in the modern world. While I think it’s fascinating to read the story of changes that occurred in that culture some 500 years ago, I think it’s also fascinating to read what that culture is like today. In order to learn a little about modern pueblo culture, I turned to a writer who was born at Acoma Pueblo in New Mexico, Simon J. Ortiz, and his short story collection Men on the Moon.

I picked this collection for a couple of reasons. Most importantly is that I met Ortiz several years ago when I worked with a local book festival in Las Cruces, New Mexico. At the time, I’d mostly been familiar with Ortiz’s poems, so I was interested in seeing some of his longer tales. Second, I have visited Acoma Pueblo and know the area as it is today. That said, while Ortiz brings his background as an Acoma native to these stories, only a few are actually set at Acoma and the stories aren’t focused exclusively on the “Acoma experience,” whatever that might be. Still, one thing Ortiz says in his preface to the book really resonated with me. “As human beings, we, as personal and social cultural entities, are conscious beings because of story, no other reason.” He talks about how stories have power and how that power is essential to our life. The stories in this collection are personal stories. They are stories of experiences Ortiz has had. They reflect his life and experience and they remind me that he is part of a living culture.

Although I’m curious about the subject after reading Adams’ book, little in this book provided a modern perspective on the katsina. In one story, a character is compared to the virile warrior Kahtzina, Payatyamo. In another story, Ortiz introduces us to a character named Kaiser. The elders tell him legends about the Kahtzina, Spider Old Woman. Later in the story, it’s mentioned that Kaiser always wore his special suit to the Kahtzina dances. Note, the word Kachina or Katsina is not standardized across the pueblos. As I understand, Kahtzina is the Acoma spelling. In a first-person story, Ortiz writes about meeting a man who says, “You see, I teach history, and sometimes I get the feeling my people think I’m giving away secrets. You know Hopi secrets.” The scene reminds us that in the living pueblo culture, many aspects of spiritual life are not for public display. They’re very much a personal thing.

A couple of years ago, my wife and I visited the Museum of Northern Arizona in Flagstaff. While there, we saw a wonderful exhibit about the project that created a Navajo-language dub of the movie Star Wars. The exhibit discussed how much Star Wars resonated with Navajo culture. In particular, the exhibit highlighted Navajo stories of the Warrior Twins and how many Navajo people saw that echoed in the story of Luke and Leia. As I read, Men on the Moon, I also came to really understand Native Americans as a culture subject to an imperial, authoritarian government. Some of this is expressed in the draconian ways laws are enforced on Native lands. Some of this is the way in which Native people are drafted into the military. Some of this is in the way young people were taken from their homes and forced into “Indian Schools” where they had to learn English and American culture. It’s never easy to be confronted with these viewpoints, but confronting this viewpoints is important if we’re to understand a living culture.

Perhaps my favorite moment in this collection occurs in the title story. Young people give their grandfather his first television and he watches one of the early moon landings. The young people tell the grandfather that they’ve gone to the moon to collect rocks and that they believed there’s no life on the moon. “Yet those men were trying to find knowledge on the moon. Faustin wondered if perhaps they had special tools with which they could find knowledge even if they believed there was no life on the moon.” In effect, the grandfather, Faustin, knows that knowledge comes from stories. However, stories come from life. If there is no life on the moon, there cannot be knowledge. It’s a moment that reminds us how important living culture really is.

Men on the Moon is available at: https://www.amazon.com/Men-Moon-Collected-Stories-Tracks-ebook/dp/B0B8T9YC18/

My research into the novella Breaking the Code involved reading and listening to numerous Navajo stories as well as stories from people who lived in Gallup, New Mexico near the beginning of World War II. You can find out more about my novella at: https://www.amazon.com/Breaking-Code-Systema-Paradoxa-Book-ebook/dp/B08RW4CMR8/

When Cultures Meet

This week at Kitt Peak National Observatory finds me working with an astronomer logged in and observing from Kyoto, Japan. Meanwhile, on our walkie talkies, we hear French as optical scientists from France work on the new spectrographs at the Mayall Telescope. A favorite memory of working at Kitt Peak involves an astronomer who left the control room at appointed hours to face Mecca and pray. One of the things I enjoy about my “day” job is the way people of different cultures come together to work toward the common goal of understanding the universe around us.

Morning meeting in the Mayall Control Room

At Kitt Peak, our cultural differences allow people to bring different life experiences to the table when solving problems. Language differences can teach us patience as we learn to communicate our goals with members of the same team and who share the same objective. Cultural diversity is also fun as we share our tastes in such things as music, movies, and food.

As someone whose family has lived in the United States since the early days of European colonization, my own culture is defined by a blending of melding of cultural influences from places like Germany, Scotland, and Mexico. Of course, history is replete with examples of people with different cultures having conflicting goals. The results include invasion, forced relocation, and cultural appropriation. There’s more than a little of that in my ancestral background as well on all sides of the issue.

I find the meeting of different cultures inherently fascinating. It forms a big part of my Clockwork Legion books such as The Brazen Shark and Owl Riders. I find it interesting to think what might have been if different cultures met on different terms and perhaps had different perspectives. In science fiction novels such as The Solar Sea, I echo much of what I see at work, people of different cultures coming together for a common goal.

All of this contributed to my excitement when Sheila Hartney proposed assembling an anthology of stories about exchange students to be published by Hadrosaur Productions. There’s a lot of potential for drama as people learn about each other and try to understand each other. Of course, since we publish science fiction and fantasy, Sheila wants to give this anthology a science fictional twist. We want to imagine exchange students coming together from other planets, across time, and across dimensions. Do you have a story of a vampire exchange student staying with a werewolf family? We want to see it? Do you have a story of someone from Earth going to Kepler-22b to study. We want to see it. Do you have a story of an elf studying in dwarven forges? I think you get the idea. The guidelines are at: http://www.hadrosaur.com/ExchangeStudents-gl.html. I hope we’ll see a submission from you.

Coco

This past weekend, I finally had the opportunity to watch Disney/Pixar’s film, Coco. It tells the story of a boy who wants to be a musician, but music is banned in his family of practical shoemakers because his great-great grandfather abandoned the family to pursue his own musical dreams. The boy, Miguel, gets transported to the land of the dead on Día de los Muertos and learns the truth about his family history along with ways to bring the power of music back to his family. I was warned that it was an emotionally affecting tale. I teared up anyway. If you haven’t seen it yet, you should.

Día de los Muertos has held a special place in my heart for a long time now. Although I’m ethnically some mix of German and Celt, my family has lived in Nuevo México for more than a century. Día de los Muertos is actively celebrated in Mesilla and Las Cruces—and I live next to a cemetery. Family and their stories have long been important to me as a writer and Día de los Muertos is all about remembering family and their stories.

Listening to the film’s commentary track, it was clear the filmmakers took care to represent the celebration as authentically as possible. This pleased me, but it also gave me something to think about. A week before on the NPR food show, “Milk Street Radio,” a chef talked about the fallacy of creating culturally authentic dishes. The reason he described it as a fallacy is that what foods and cooking appliances are available in a region change and shift with time. What’s more cultures shift as people migrate and as technology changes. The food he cooks in America today is closer to what he grew up with than the food cooked now in his hometown.

Día de los Muertos is very much a part of Southern New Mexico’s culture and the film’s depiction is almost identical to what you’ll see here. Almost is one of the keys. While people celebrate at the cemetery, we also have ofrendas on the Mesilla town square. While you see marigolds like they had in the movie, we see a lot of other flowers as well. We even say “Día de los Muertos” while other people say “Día de Muertos.” Both have been used to describe the celebration going back to the sixteenth century and both are used in the movie. The former is literally “Day of the Dead” while the latter tends to be a more specific reference to All Souls Day.

In recent years, I’ve often seen culture erected like a wall to keep outsiders at bay. I prefer it when culture exists as a bridge to allow others a glimpse into the important aspects of people’s lives. That’s why I liked Coco. That’s also why I set a pivotal scene at a Día de los Muertos celebration in my novel Owl Dance. You can learn more about the novel at: http://www.davidleesummers.com/owl_dance.html

I’ll wrap up today’s post with a poem I wrote back in 2003 that gives you a glimpse of the importance of Día de los Muertos to my family. Christina Sng published it in her zine Macabre the following spring.

Pan de Muerto

All Soul’s Day—The Day of the Dead—
Picnics and parties at the cemetery.
Gravestones decorated with flowers,
Pinwheels, photos, favorite toys,
Candies and pan de muerto—
The Bread of the Dead.

My daughter and I make the bread.
She beats the eggs—even in death,
There is the memory of new life.
I add the orange essence—memory
Of the orange trees Grandpa—
My dad—loved so much.

Together, my daughter and I add the
flour—grown from the soil where
Grandpa now rests. Together we
Kneed the dough—making a
Connection across time.
Grandfather to father to daughter.

We set the bread out with a photo,
Some Halloween candy, and many
Happy memories. Sleep that night is
Restless. There is a chill in the air.
Morning comes and a chunk is gone
From the Bread of the Dead.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

A little over a week ago, I took my daughters to see the movie Hidden Figures about three African American women whose work at NASA’s Langley Research Center was integral to getting the first American astronauts into orbit. I loved the film, it’s depiction of the early days of manned spaceflight, and the courage and determination Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughn, and Mary Jackson displayed in pursuing their personal and professional dreams. The movie reminded me how far we’ve come as a society in the last fifty years.

Concurrent with the events of the movie Hidden Figures, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. fought for civil rights in the south. One of my favorite quotes by Dr. King is from a speech he gave at Iowa’s Cornell College in October 1962. During the speech, he said, “God grant that the people of good will will rise up with courage, take over the leadership, and open channels of communication between races, for I think that one of the tragedies of our whole struggle is that the South is still trying to live in monologue, rather than dialogue, and I am convinced that men hate each other because they fear each other. They fear each other because they don’t know each other and they don’t know each other because they don’t communicate with each other, and they don’t communicate with each other because they are separated from each other.”

In this era in which political leaders talk of building walls, I find Dr. King’s words take on new relevance. What’s more, it’s become fashionable to decry “political correctness.” I agree to the extent that watching your words so carefully that you don’t say what you mean can be a barrier to communication. However, using your dislike of “political correctness” as an excuse to be a jerk and spew hateful rhetoric is just another way of closing off communication. Sometimes people should shut up for a while and let the other guy talk. That’s living in dialogue rather than monologue.

As a writer, I’m committed to showing people of different cultures living and working together. It’s not just a dream or a vision for me, but life as I prefer to experience it. I don’t want to be separated from people of other races and cultures. That communication and dialogue I experience enriches me and I often find people of different cultures are more alike than different. I find more security in good neighbors and friends than I ever have alone behind a wall.

It’s become apparent these last few years that we still have a long way to go in creating a society where everyone feels they have an equal chance to succeed. However, looking back to Dr. King, I see how far we’ve come and know that we can’t afford to go backwards.