news Warriors of Anikituhwa serve as cultural ambassadors for the Eastern Band of Cherokee, performing here at Mountain Heritage Day at WCU. The troupe intermingles traditional dances with stories about their customs, history and modern Cherokee culture as well. Mark Haskett photo
Who are we? Cherokee programs find innovative ways to keep the flame burning for future generations
Smoky Mountain News
July 10-16, 2013
BY CAITLIN BOWLING STAFF WRITER rowing up on the Isleta Pueblo reservation in New Mexico, 26-year-old Cody Grant could name off the tribes he descended from — Cherokee, two sects of Pueblo — but he didn’t know anything about them, except their names. “For me, it was because culturally, I was lacking,” said Grant, who split his time between New Mexico and Cherokee as a child. “I didn’t place big stock in cultural values.” His family told him tidbits about his heritage here and there, but he never took it upon himself to learn. At 16, Grant participated once in a native dance with other Cherokee youth as part of a larger performance. “But I never really touched it any after that,” Grant said. It was not until a few years later when Grant made the permanent move to the Qualla Boundary, the official name for the Cherokee Reservation, that he started delving into what exactly it meant to say, “I am Cherokee.” In truth, during the last decade, the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians has worked on figuring out the answer to that as well — how to not only preserve but also propagate Cherokee culture both for enrolled members and visitors. Qualla Arts and Crafts, the Museum of the Cherokee Indians, “Unto These Hills” outdoor theater and the Oconaluftee Indian Village were already cultural attractions. 8 And there were always people on the Qualla
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Boundary telling traditional Cherokee stories, picking reeds to make baskets and carving statues from native woods — skills that their ancestors had passed down through the generations. But there were few concerted efforts to pass traditional knowledge onto young Cherokee. “If those opportunities were available, they were not organized in a way that is as widely available as it is now,” said Annette Clapsaddle, executive director of the Cherokee Preservation Foundation and an enrolled member of the Eastern Band. Many young enrolled members didn’t speak the language, know the dances or know how to make Cherokee crafts. Their understanding of the culture depended on what family they were born into, but for the most part, there was a gap in knowledge between the older generations and the new. In addition to that, faux tribes — groups of people who claim native ancestry — seemed to be cropping up everywhere and were trying to advertise themselves as true Cherokees, which got the goat of members of the federally recognized Eastern Band. “A lot of them were making up fake dances, and they were calling it Cherokee,” said enrolled member Sonny Ledford. It was “getting out of hand.” Ledford is a dancer with the Warriors of AniKituhwa, a performance group created 10 years ago to be the official ambassadors of the Eastern Band and in response to the faux tribes.
Around the same time, the Cherokee Preservation Foundation started up thanks to proceeds from the new and blossoming casino enterprise. One of its key missions: to fund initiatives that protect the native culture. “We see Cherokee culture as an asset for the progress of the Cherokee people,” Clapsaddle said. Together, the creation of the Warriors of AniKituhwa and the Cherokee Preservation Foundation kicked off a revival of the culture that has led to the establishment of youth mentoring programs and the opening of a language immersion school. “There was no one to teach (the youth). No one to wake that spark,” Ledford said. “Now, the fire is started again.”
‘A GAME OF SURVIVAL’
“chiefs” sported were never actually part of the Cherokee culture. “It was a game of survival, and you give customers what they want, and you can’t criticize someone for making a living that way,” Clapsaddle said. But “we would like to present a more culturally authentic picture.” While the Eastern Band has made strides toward that end, there are always ways to grow and improve in that mission. Some tourists still visit the reservation and wonder “Where the Indians are?” because they are not wearing the clothing of their early ancestors. John Tissue, executive director of the Cherokee Historical Association, which oversees the Oconaluftee Indian Village and “Unto These Hills” historical theater, said people who watch performances at the theater sometimes question why the Cherokee wear European garb for part of the show. “The Cherokee adapted what was useful and good,” Tissue said. “Just because you want to see them in something else doesn’t mean it’s accurate.” When tourists visit the Oconaluftee Indian Village, a recreation of a traditional Cherokee village, some will still ask earnestly where the teepees are, not knowing that the Cherokee lived in homes more structurally similar to today’s houses. “That is one of the most common things that we get,” said Grant, who works at the village. If a person is asking such questions, it is important to turn the moment into a learning experience, Grant said.
ALWAYS AMBASSADORS For Grant and many other enrolled members, it’s their duty to be ambassadors of the Cherokee people at all times, whether telling stories to groups of tourists or simply shopping at Walmart. When you tell someone you are Cherokee, “you put yourself in a position to speak for a whole nation,” Grant said. “You can either put them in a positive light, or you can put them in a negative light.” If someone runs into a cantankerous enrolled member, that will be their impression of who the Cherokee are, he said. Much of the job of ambassadors, whether formal or informal, is to dispel stereotypes about the Cherokee.
Tourists first started traveling to Cherokee in the 1940s era of John Wayne and expected to see the image of Native Americans that they had watched on the silver screen. At the time, Cherokee was little more than a one-horse town. Ledford still remembers his parents’ description of the now-bustling downtown Cherokee. It featured “There was no one to teach (the one building, and there was a single road cutting through the youth). No one to wake that spark. reservation, he said. Now, the fire is started again.” His mother would walk four days from Snowbird as a child — Sonny Ledford, enrolled tribal member with her family to set out handand Warriors of AniKituhwa dancer made goods on a blanket along the side of the road to hawk to a passersby. Other native peoples would dress up In fact, that is what Ledford, a Warrior of in feathered headdresses, or war bonnets, and AniKituhwa, does each time he starts his greet tourists with a “How” — even though educational presentation. He clarifies that that wasn’t the traditional Cherokee greeting. his people are not “Indians” or “injuns;” they “The kids liked it,” Ledford said of the are Native Americans. gawking tourists. “It was a way to make “It’s not a regalia. It’s not a costume. It’s money.” clothing,” Ledford said of the garb the Known as “chiefing,” it still persists as a dancers wear. way to make a quick buck by charging The Warriors of AniKituhwa, who range in tourists to pose for a photo — even though age from their 40s to nearly 60, hold commuthe teepees and feathered headdresses the nity bonfires at 7:30 p.m. Thursdays, Fridays