Mankiller, page 31
While I was lying in yet another hospital bed, one of my doctors came in to speak to me about my various options. I was struck by her youth and vigor. Earlier, she had told me about her marriage plans, and how excited she was about beginning her medical practice. As she spoke, I allowed myself the rare luxury of wondering what it would be like to have her life—a life without constant social and political struggle, without endless battles with disease.
Later that afternoon, after I questioned myself at length about my troubles, I slept. I got through the frustration and sense of helplessness, and I dreamed. When I awoke, I felt refreshed, as if I had come back to a safe place. Once again, I knew I could make it if I tried. I also realized that I would share every step along the way with the public and the Cherokee people.
The transplant team projected that I could wait about six months before the surgery. They wanted to wait until my diseased kidneys totally failed, and then remove them. Then they would place me on dialysis, and put my name on the national waiting list for a donor cadaver kidney. I did not feel good about that plan. I was already weak, and I could not understand how I could possibly survive all the procedures that were ahead of me. During that time, I learned a lot about the great number of people who are on waiting lists for kidneys, hearts, livers, and other organs. Although there has been an increase in awareness of the need for organ donors, the number of donors has not increased. If potential donors could talk with some of the people whose lives have been saved by transplants, they would be convinced that organ donation is the right thing to do.
While I waited, I asked for my close family members to be tested as possible kidney donors. The surgical team agreed. Charlie asked all my brothers and sisters, my mother, and my two daughters if they were interested in donating a kidney. Six relatives immediately signed up—three brothers, two sisters, and my daughter Felicia. After they were all tested, only my sister Frances remained as a viable donor. Most of the others had some form of the genetic kidney disease themselves, although not nearly as severe as mine. Frances, although clear of disease, had slightly elevated blood pressure and blood-sugar level. After further tests, the doctors decided that unless her problems could be eliminated, she would also be struck from the list of potential donors.
I was not very comfortable with much of the medical advice I had been receiving. I told the doctors I was considering getting an opinion from another transplant center. My main physician became very defensive, and told me I could not dictate my treatment.
I was sharing this trauma with my good friend Gloria Steinem. We had become close through our joint work together on the Ms. Foundation board. Gloria gave me the name of an excellent physician who she believed would help me. When there was some hesitation on my part, Gloria insisted that I set up a meeting with the doctor at his office in Boston. She was right to persist. Dr. Anthony Monaco, a skilled transplant surgeon affiliated with New England Deaconess Hospital and Harvard Medical School, saved my life.
Only fifteen minutes into our first meeting, I knew I had found the right person. He asked that further tests be conducted on Frances, and although she again appeared to be a good match for the procedure, Dr. Monaco was concerned about her blood-sugar level and blood pressure. He ordered more tests.
Meanwhile, my condition was worsening. I was becoming badly anemic, and I was coping with profound weakness. My kidneys were barely functioning when Frances took the final battery of tests. Charlie and I were at a fund-raiser in New York when we received word that Frances had failed the tests and was definitely eliminated as a donor. We had come full circle and had nowhere else to go.
But then a few days later, Charlie called my last remaining sibling, who had not been tested—my big brother Don in California. Charlie explained the situation, and Don agreed immediately to take blood tests and consider serving as a donor. The results were good—Don was free of any disease and could serve as a donor. The decision to donate one’s kidney is difficult. This was especially true for Don, who hates being near hospitals and medical doctors and made it a point to stay healthy so he would not have to get even remotely close to a medical facility.
Don talked with his wife and children about the situation. They were, of course, fearful for his safety. But Don and I went to Boston for a final test to make sure there was a complete match of blood and everything was in order. Everything checked out.
In the spring of 1990, Don agreed to go ahead with the surgery and to give me one of his healthy kidneys. The operation was set for June. I know how hard that decision was for him to make. There are obviously no words to thank him for his sacrifice. As he had been all my life when he worked so hard along with my father to put food on the table and shoes on our feet, my big brother Don was once again a hero. He is indeed my special hero. Without Don, without the diligence of my friend Gloria Steinem, and without the skills of Dr. Monaco, I would not be alive today. One more time, death visited with me, perhaps lingered nearby for a while, and in the end gave me a reprieve.
The surgery took three hours. My brother’s kidney was removed and transplanted, and it began to work almost immediately after it was placed in my body. Don experienced incredible postoperative pain, but both of us soon mended, although I suffered much guilt from watching Don go through a painful rehabilitation. But except for a few minor problems, there have been no real complications since the operation. I was back to work in Oklahoma in August, less than two months after having received my new kidney. I am much more respectful of death than to declare myself a clear victor, however. With an illness such as this, even though I feel well most of the time, I am aware that things could go wrong again, that I could experience kidney rejection or other problems related to the transplant.
Since the operation, I have continued to work as hard as possible for my tribe and other Native Americans by adhering to the principles of self-government and by fulfilling as many of my people’s needs as possible without the bureaucratic delays of the past. I am proud to watch my people improve their individual lives on their own through various educational and employment opportunities. We Cherokees have managed to figure out how to live successfully in a very modern, fast-paced world, while preserving our cultural values and traditions.
There is still much to be done. That is why, in 1991, I decided to run for another four-year term as principal chief of the Cherokee Nation. I wished to continue my work—especially to concentrate on health and housing issues. Although I drew two stalwart opponents, William K. Dew and Art Nave, I won another term by a considerable margin. The newspapers called my victory a landslide because I received 82.7 percent of the votes. I really did not expect to do that well. I was only hoping to avoid another runoff. But by receiving so many votes, I felt that our people were saying the issue of gender and doubts was at last buried.
My inauguration ceremony was held on August 14, 1991. It was another full house. Charlie held the Bible as I again took the oath of office. There were a lot of speeches and warm words. I felt very comfortable at the podium delivering my address. I knew many others were present there that day besides the people gathered in the auditorium. I felt their presence, too.
It’s a fine time for celebration because as we approach the twenty-first century, the Cherokee Nation still has a strong, viable tribal government. Not only do we have a government that has continued to exist, we have a tribal government that’s growing and progressing and getting stronger. We’ve managed not to just barely hang on, we’ve managed to move forward in a very strong, very affirmative way. Given our history of adversity I think it’s a testament to our tenacity, both individually and collectively as a people, that we’ve been able to keep the Cherokee Nation government going since time immemorial.
Wilma Mankiller, inaugural speech, 1991
Although our tribe has continued to make remarkable progress, we still have much to do. Issues I am working on now include a new education plan, Cherokee language and literacy projects, developing Sequoyah High School into a magnet school, developing a comprehensive health-care system, an extensive array of services for children and youths, settlement of old land claims, taxation, housing initiatives, safeguarding the environment, and economic development.
My family also remains very important to me, and is a great source of joy.
Felicia is quiet, somewhat shy, and expresses little interest in politics. She is content with a nice job at Northeastern State University in Tahlequah. She is tall, and very slender and striking. She has dark brown hair and brown eyes. Felicia has two sons and a daughter, Aaron, Jaron, and Breanna Swake, ages seven, three, and two, respectively.
Gina is very bright and outgoing, and was always on the honor roll. She too is tall and pretty, with thick black hair that she keeps in a wild tumble of curls, even now at twenty-seven. She has inherited my interest in politics. She has one son, Kellen Quinton, who is four years old.
Both of my daughters married men with Cherokee ancestry.
When my girls were growing up, I encouraged them to read, appreciate music, maintain a sense of humor, and dance. We danced to all kinds of songs, but our favorite was Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” After the car accident in 1979, I could no longer do that type of dancing. I am always saddened when either of my girls refers to “the time when Mom danced with us.” I still do ceremonial dances, but I no longer do very much contemporary dancing.
Charlie’s son Winterhawk Soap, who lives with us, is thirteen. Like his father, he is a Plains-style dancer. He attends Cherokee ceremonial dances, and is interested in Cherokee culture. Winterhawk likes art and history, and is a good student at Rocky Mountain School, where my brothers and sisters and I walked down those country roads to school years ago.
Now, at my home at Mankiller Flats, surrounded by my books, my art, my grandchildren, and the natural world, I realize that my journey had indeed brought me to the place where I was always destined to be. As I sit by a winter fire or walk to the spring where my family has gone for generations or rest on the porch where the walkingsticks like to come to munch on redbud leaves, I often think about my past and the history of my people.
I recall the numbers of Cherokees who, in the last two centuries, left behind our traditional ways. Those Cherokee elite, as I call them, adhered to the white ways. I also think of their counterparts, the traditionalists who remained true to our tribe’s past. I remember hearing that this division created incredible stress and confusion within our Nation, and in 1811, a large comet blazed across the sky for weeks. There was talk of more war with the British and with the Creeks. I recall the old stories.
It was during that time that our people reached a crossroads. It was a period of great uneasiness, and that year and the next, there were severe earthquakes that caused fear to spread among our people. An indication of this turmoil was conveyed by the Warrior’s Nephew to the Moravians. He reported that some native people—led by a man beating a drum—had descended from the sky. The man had warned the Cherokees that the Mother of the Nation was unhappy. She was unhappy that we had given up planting corn. She was unhappy that we had let the whites take over our sacred towns. The Mother of the Nation wanted the Cherokees to return to the old ways.
According to the oral tradition, it was during this time that a great Cherokee prophet called Charley claimed to have received a message from the Great Spirit, the Creator of Life and Breath. Charley emerged from the mountains accompanied by two wolves. Charley told an assembly of Cherokees that the Great Spirit was displeased that we had given up our old ways in favor of the white man’s mills, clothing, and culture. He told them that the Great Spirit was angry and wished the Cherokees to take up the old dances and feasts—to return to the time when they listened to the Great Spirit in their dreams. Charley warned that if they ignored the message he delivered, they would face death. However, when death did not overcome those who chose to ignore his prophecy, his power diminished among our people. But some of us realize that the death Charley talked about may not have been physical death, but the death of the spirit.
This is one of my favorite stories. It is a lesson. When it is told well, I can visualize the prophet and his two wolves coming out of the night to warn the Cherokees about the impending loss of our traditions and culture.
Among the artworks I keep in our home are a painting and a wood sculpture. They are depictions of Charley and the wolves appearing before the council of Cherokees. Having Charley in my home reminds me every single day of the need for contemporary Cherokees to be on guard. Having Charley nearby reminds us to be sure to do everything we can to hold onto our language, our ceremonies, our culture. For we are people of today—people of the so-called modern world. But first and foremost, and forever, we are also Cherokees.
CHAPTER 14
THE COURAGE TO CHANGE
The Cherokee people stand upon new ground. Let us hope that the clouds which overspread the land will be dispersed, and that we shall prosper as we have never before done. New avenues to usefulness and distinction will be opened to the ingenuous youth of the Country. Our rights of self-government will be more fully recognized, and our citizens be no longer dragged off upon flimsy pretexts to be imprisoned and tried before distant tribunals. No just cause exists for domestic difficulties. Let them be buried with the past and only mutual friendship and harmony be cherished.
Chief John Ross
I have come to accept that for the Cherokee Nation, for me, and for all people, change is a critical and inevitable part of the cycle of life. Change proceeds uninterrupted like the passing shadow of a hawk in flight. Sometimes life’s transitions are terrible to face, and even more difficult to endure. Yet change can bring opportunity and can offer hope and joy. Change also can mean renewal.
During even the most trying times, I have attempted to follow the example of our ancestors and their approach to life’s transitions. I recall the example of John Ross. A bright star for the Cherokee people and one of our most esteemed leaders, Ross served as principal chief of the Cherokees after the tribe’s forced removal from our beloved ancestral homelands along the Trail of Tears to what became Oklahoma. It was a period of great discord and drastic change.
Unlike the traditional stories which open the previous thirteen chapters of this book, the passage we selected to introduce the new chapter for this revised edition came from Chief Ross. His remarks were taken from an address delivered before the Cherokee National Council in Tahlequah on October 9, 1861. Ross uttered his stirring words as bloody Civil War divided not only the United States but our own Cherokee tribe.
On August 14, 1999, when newly elected Principal Chief Chad Smith gave his inaugural address at the historic Cherokee capitol in Tahlequah, he quoted excerpts from Ross’s 1861 speech.
Despite the passage of time, the sage advice Ross offered so long ago remains relevant today. Even now, as our people emerge from several years of political upheaval and internal strife which have to rank as one of the most difficult and distressing periods in our history, we find comfort in knowing that nothing is as enduring as change. This knowledge helps us restore our balance as once more we stand on the new ground of another century. I remain confident that if we all work together, the Cherokee Nation will heal its wounds and will unite.
Along this journey, we must pray not for an easier path or a lighter load. Instead, we must ask for strength to face challenges, wisdom to make the right decisions, and perseverance to never give up.
Principal Chief Chad Smith
Inaugural address, August 14, 1999
Since the original publication of this book in the autumn of 1993, there have been many changes—turbulent as well as orderly—within the Cherokee Nation and in my own life.
One of the first major changes was my retirement from tribal politics. All my life, I have been blessed with the ability to know when it is time to make an important change. After devoting more than one-third of my life to the Cherokee government, serving as deputy chief under the capable Ross Swimmer, and then serving two terms as principal chief, I determined that it was time for me to move on to new experiences and challenges and to give someone else an opportunity to guide the second-largest Indian tribe in America.
I never overestimated my importance to the Cherokee Nation and the history of my people. In the totality of Cherokee history, my time at the Cherokee Nation was very brief. I remained focused on the challenges and tasks of serving as chief rather than the historical implications of the work.
I also realized how lucky I was to have a job I truly loved. Still, deep within me, I knew I had been in office long enough. It was time for a change for me and for the folks in the Cherokee Nation. I had begun to sound like the people I used to protest against, and I had said if that ever happened, I would leave.
During my seventeen years of service to the tribe, I was given so much. It was an incredible, positive experience with an abundance of highlights. I met and married Charlie Soap, a man I truly love and respect and who loves and respects me in return. I watched my two daughters mature into bright and caring women, and I became a proud grandmother. I faced a daunting set of health problems more than once and managed not only to survive but also to prosper.
I met with three presidents and was honored at the White House. I lobbied Congress for everything from health clinics to Head Start. I received more awards than any person deserves. I had the opportunity to work directly with our people in Cherokee communities such as Bell, Kenwood, Cave Springs, Burnt Cabin, and White Oak. But the episode I appreciated most was when a group of male Cherokee elders officiating at a memorial service asked me to sit with them in a spot usually reserved for respected elders.
