People's History of the United States_ 1492 to Present, A - Zinn, Howard [319]
After Wounded Knee, in spite of the deaths, the trials, the use of the police and courts to try to break the movement, the Native American movement continued.
In the Akwesasne community itself, which put out Akwesasne Notes, the Indians had always insisted their territory was separate, not to be invaded by the white man’s law. One day New York State police gave three traffic tickets to a Mohawk Indian truck driver, and a council of Indians met with a police lieutenant. At first, he insisted that he had to follow orders and give out tickets, even in Akwesasne territory, although he obviously was trying to be reasonable. He finally agreed that they would not arrest an Indian in the territory or even outside of it without first having a meeting with the Mohawk council. The lieutenant then sat down and lit a cigar. Indian Chief Joahquisoh, a distinguished-looking man with long hair, rose and addressed the lieutenant with a serious voice. “There is one more thing before you go,” he said looking straight at the lieutenant. “I want to know,” he said slowly, “if you’ve got an extra cigar.” The meeting ended in laughter.
Akwesasne Notes continued to publish. On its poetry page, late autumn, 1976, appeared poems reflecting the spirit of the times. Ila Abernathy wrote:
I am grass growing and the shearer of grass,
I am the willow and the splitter of laths,
weaver and the thing woven, marriage of willow and grass.
I am frost on the land and the land’s life,
breath and beast and the sharp rock underfoot;
in me the mountain lives, and the owl strikes,
and I in them. I am the sun’s twin,
mover of blood and the blood lost,
I am the deer and the deer’s death;
I am the burr in your conscience:
acknowledge me.
And Buffy Sainte-Marie:
You think I have visions
because I am an Indian.
I have visions because
there are visions to be seen.
In the sixties and seventies, it was not just a women’s movement, a prisoner’s movement, an Indian movement. There was general revolt against oppressive, artificial, previously unquestioned ways of living. It touched every aspect of personal life: childbirth, childhood, love, sex, marriage, dress, music, art, sports, language, food, housing, religion, literature, death, schools.
The new temper, the new behavior, shocked many Americans. It created tensions. Sometimes it was seen as a “generation gap”—the younger generation moving far away from the older one in its way of life. But it seemed after a while to be not so much a matter of age—some young people remained “straight” while some middle-aged people were changing their ways and old people were beginning to behave in ways that astounded others.
Sexual behavior went through startling changes. Premarital sex was no longer a matter for silence. Men and women lived together outside of marriage, and struggled for words to describe the other person when introduced: “I want you to meet my . . . friend.” Married couples candidly spoke of their affairs, and books appeared discussing “open marriage.” Masturbation could be talked about openly, even approvingly. Homosexuality was no longer concealed. “Gay” men and “gay” women—lesbians—organized to combat discrimination against them, to give themselves a sense of community, to overcome shame and isolation.
All this was reflected in the literature and in the mass media. Court decisions overruled the local banning of books that were erotic or even pornographic. A new literature appeared (The Joy of Sex and others) to teach men and women how sexual fulfillment could be attained. The movies now did not hesitate to show nudity, although the motion picture industry, wanting to preserve principle as well as profit, set up a classification system (R for Restricted, X for prohibited to children). The language of sex became more common both in literature and in ordinary conversation.
All this was