“Ekvnv Heraten: This Good Land”
“My Creek brothers and sisters, I come to you today on a mission from God,” bellows U.S. Senator Henry L. Dawes (R-MA). “I come to you at the behest of your Great White Father. Your father knows what is best for you, his children, and he earnestly desires that you give up the chase and put the plow to the land. Your Great White Father desires that you accept the fruits of civilization that will be bestowed upon you by private ownership of the land. Father knows best.”
It is 1894 and Sen. Dawes is addressing a gathering of Creek citizens in Okmulgee, Indian Territory. He is standing on the second-floor balcony of the Creek Nation Council House. Below him, a legion of Creeks are arrayed shoulder-to-shoulder on the great lawn. Sitting next to Sen. Dawes is Legus Perryman, Principal Chief of the Creek Nation. An interpreter conveys the remarks of Sen. Dawes to the crowd of Creeks.
Dawes is the chairman of the eponymous Dawes Commission to the Five Civilized Tribes. The commission was created under an act of Congress in 1893. Its purpose is to convince the tribes to cede Tribal title to Indian lands and accept the foreign concept of private ownership of land. Individual Indian land allotment is a key component of the federal policy of forced assimilation of Indians into the broader fabric of America. Indeed, President Teddy Roosevelt described compulsory land allotment as “the mighty pulverizing engine to break up the tribal [land] mass.”
“My children,” Dawes continues. “Tribal communal ownership of the land is an impediment to your progress, and it stifles industry. God himself has commanded that man have dominion over the earth. I implore you to join the community of your white brethren by agreeing to fractionate your lands. Under communal ownership your valuable lands will continue to lie fallow. You must monetize the land.
“Vast tracts of timber eagerly await the axe. Bountiful seams of coal beg for the shovel. Rich deposits of oil invites the drill bit. The land desires to be transformed into beautiful cotton and corn fields. Expansive herds of cows will graze placidly upon the land and will cheerfully march to the abattoir.
“To reap these benevolent blessings of civilization, you must become an individual and not a member of a tribe. The Indian should be treated as an individual, like the white man. The tribal system is detrimental to the Indian. It promotes beggary, perpetuates pauperism, and stifles commerce. Your warriors must give up the chase and become farmers. Your women must attend to domestic chores. I therefore implore you to accept this agreement, embrace private ownership of land, and thereby receive the gifts of civilization that your Great White Father so earnestly desires for you.”
Senator Dawes sits nodding in a confident manner. Sotto voce murmuring in the Creek language emanates from the crowd of Creeks. Many shake their heads while shrugging their shoulders. Principal Chief Perryman confers with Sen. Dawes. He then steps forward to address the Creeks. The Creeks cease talking among themselves and give their respectful attention to the chief.
“My brothers and sisters,” Chief Perryman begins. “You have heard the words of the esteemed Chairman of the Dawes Commission. You have heard his message about why we should accept this agreement and the private ownership of the land. The chairman has requested that we now take a vote. We will vote in our traditional manner. Those of you in favor of the agreement, please stand to my right. Those of you who are against treating with the Dawes Commission, please move to my left.”
Immediately and en masse the great crowd of Creeks move amoeba-like to the Chief’s left. Not a single citizen stands to the right. Senator Dawes stands with his jaws dropped. He gazes at the unified collective of Creeks to his left and the empty lawn to his right. He slowly rubs a stub of whiskers on his chin with the palm of his hand.
“How can this be?” he meekly asks Chief Perryman. “I don’t understand.”
“They don’t either,” the chief replies.
“Huh?”
“They don’t understand either.”
“How can they reject the fruits of civilization? Of being masters of their own destiny?”
“Because they don’t understand the concept of owning the earth.”
Senator Dawes again rubs his chin whiskers.
“What’s so hard to understand?”
“I am afraid it is you, the Great White Father and all that he represents, who do not understand. My people cannot relate to the idea of owning the earth. If anything, the earth owns us. You must understand that you are asking my people to violate a foundational principle of our way of life. That is our communal society. We live as one.”
“Yeah, that was patently obvious today,” Dawes laments.
“Look, Senator, I know you have the best intentions for my people. As Chief, I realize we Creeks stand on the precipice of cataclysmic change. We are being vastly outnumbered in our own lands. Do you know that in the 1890 census they counted 50,000 whites living on the Chickasaw reservation? Do you know how many Chickasaws they counted? Only 5,000. I agree that change is inevitable, and resistance is futile. But you must give us time. Time to adjust.”
“That is impossible, Chief. President Cleveland and the U.S. Congress demand assimilation and allotment. Thousands of land hungry whites are ready to gorge themselves on the feast that is the pristine Indian land mass. Now. If the Creeks do not accept assimilation and allotment, the U.S. Congress will be forced to act unilaterally.”
Chief Perryman slams his hand down hard on the balcony railing.
“Your people need to understand we aren’t ready!”
Dawes leans away from the chief, his eyes wide. Chief Perryman clasps his hand around the senator’s hands. Perryman’s face is only inches away from Dawes.
“If this thing is to move forward, my people need time to understand the white man’s idea of owning the earth. My people need to be educated about land deeds, mortgages, leases, and that sort of thing. We do not want to repeat the mistakes of the past. Of what happened to us in our homelands of Georgia. And of what will happen to us here in Indian Territory. Our lands will be stolen, and we will become vagabonds on the lands that were promised to us for as long as the waters run and the grass grows,” the chief pleads.
Dawes looks away. He removes his hands from Perryman’s grip. He stands and moves to the balcony railing and lights a cigar. He gazes at a now empty lawn below him. Dawes blows a series of smoke rings. He taps the ash off the end of his cigar and turns to face the chief.
“Chief, you were right about the Chickasaws being outnumbered ten to one by the whites. So too are the Creeks and the other tribes.”
“Illegal immigration,” the chief replies. “You feds failed in your duty to keep the whites out of Indian Territory. Arkansas hillbillies have overrun us. All looking for free land.”
“Your people have been outnumbered, Chief. And it is only going to get worse. They may be hillbillies, but they are U.S. citizens. Your people are not. Who do you think the congress and the president are going to listen to?”
“That sounds like a thinly veiled threat, senator.”
Dawes takes a deep breath. He again rubs his chin whiskers with the palm of his hand.
“I don’t mean to couch what I have to say as a threat but rather as an inevitability.”
“Please continue, senator.”
“You know that the Dawes Commission is on a diplomatic mission to convince the Creeks to voluntarily agree to private ownership of land and to assimilate into the larger fabric of America. We are extending the olive branch.”
“And if we refuse?”
Dawes reaches into the inside pocket of his overcoat. He produces a document and shows it to Perryman.
“Then the congress is prepared to act. This is a draft of legislation called The Curtis Act. It provides for forced allotment and the abolishment of the Creek Nation government. Admittedly its terms are harsh. It is designed to pave the way for Oklahoma statehood.”
“Just Oklahoma Territory?”
“No, Indian Territory too.”
It is Chief Perryman’s turn to break away from the conversation. He too lights a cigar and takes a long draw. He emits a huge cloud of smoke as he stares far into the distance.
“It is clear that we Creeks don’t have a choice. The whites are going to get what they want one way or the other. Owning the earth is a foreign concept to my people. They will be the victims of wholesale plunder, pillage, and theft by those who arrogantly think they can own the earth.”
“I’m afraid you are right, Chief. But the Boomers, the U.S. Congress, and your Great White Father want to open the land to more productive uses. If you sign the agreement with my Commission, you’ll get slightly less onerous terms than under the Curtis Act.”
“You’ve seen what my people think of your agreement. I cannot and will not betray my people. I cannot be party to driving the nail in the coffin of the culture of my people, of the foolishness of owning the earth, nor being a conductor of your mighty engine that seeks to pulverize my people.”
“So be it, Chief. Godspeed,” Dawes says as he stubs out his cigar, dons his hat, and shakes Perryman’s hand as he departs.
Resigned to the fate of his Creek people, the wizened old chief sits and sings a traditional Creek hymn.
“Ekvnv heraten, ekvnv heraten (“This good land”), O’ momis komet, awacken (“Oh, patiently endure, come”), Cesvs likan vpeyakvres (“We will go to where Jesus lives”)…”
