The article is an admirable discussion of a proposed bill (and
it subsequently passed if I heard correctly) in the Wisconsin legislature
allowing for a “wolf harvesting” season (bureaucratese courtesy of the authors
of the bill) to run from mid-October every year until the end of February. I
find the idea of a wolf hunt repulsive: the only reason to hunt a wolf is for a
trophy—and if the amendment allowing for the hunting of wolf by dog pack passed
one has to wonder what kind of shape the trophy would be in following
“harvest.” I find it both morally reprehensible and befuddlingly absurd.
What interests me about the article is not the question of
the hunt itself, but rather the fact that it gives extensive space to
Anishinaabe testimony opposing the hunt. While this aspect is admirable, the
other part of the article that interests me is the phrasing of the headline.
Where the part featuring Anishinaabe testimony heartens me, the headline
disheartens me, as it is rooted in notions of that science and faith are two
different worlds and that when brought into dialogue (through politics) they must
“clash.” The article simultaneously legitimizes Anishinaabe knowledge and
delegitimizes it as “faith,” not science. Native knowledge is not real (the way science is), it is a
matter of belief, of—dare we say it—superstition. This American cultural trope
of Native superstition is the all-too-obvious foundation of the headline.
Three Anishinaabe men are given voice in the article, while
only one majority culture scientist is. The majority culture scientist, a
professor of Environmental Studies at UW-Madison, discusses the matter of the
wolf hunt in, not surprisingly, strictly materialistic terms, focusing on
demography and the ability of the environment to support wolves. He feels that
the woodland of northern Wisconsin can carry a capacity of 1000 wolves. The
implication is that an annual “harvest” will keep the wolf population below
1000 and so save the wolves from catastrophic die-offs if their numbers grow
too high. Harvest is seen as responsible wildlife management and, perhaps, it
can be seen that way.
The Anishinaabe men consulted in the article feel otherwise.
All three men are professionals, one is a retired professor, another is the
executive administrator of GLIFWC, and the last is a scientist, a conservation
biologist who also works for GLIFWC. All three men discuss the importance of
the wolf in Anishinaabe sacred history. James Zorn, GLIFWC’s executive
administrator points out in
written testimony presented to the legislators “that Ma’iingan (wolf) is a
brother to Original man” in the Anishinaabe creation story. The author of the
headline chooses to read “creation story” as religion, as faith (and thus by
implication, I think, as “superstition”).
It’s a
good story, but it is not demonstrably true (the way, say, an environment’s
projected carrying capacity for wolf populations might be). It’s interesting,
as we Midwesterners say when we try to dodge the bullet of something so
(seemingly) strange that we risk misunderstanding it (the way sushi is
“interesting” to a hotdish grandma, or eating rough fish is “interesting” to
the catch-and-release fly fisherperson).
Yet
this “interestingness” of the spiritual faith in Native creation stories,
ignores the knowledge—demonstrable historically, perhaps even statistically, in
the best tradition of material scientism—that Zorn’s statement goes on to
provide. He writes, “The health and survival of the Anishinaabe people is tied
to that of Ma’iingan.”
This
simple statement contains a wealth of historical reflection, tying Anishinaabe
experience to the experience of the wolf in the United States. Hunted, trapped,
chased from environments in which they provided very responsible wildlife
management, wolves were driven to the edge of extinction by American culture
and policy at both federal and state levels. Only when they were on the edge of
extinction did the feds intervene and create policies to help wolf populations
recover and grow.
Likewise,
the same generations of Americans that encouraged wolf decimation, also
encouraged the “killing of the Indian to save the man” (as Richard Pratt, architect of the Indian boarding school program, put it). Anishinaabe people saw
their protected lands whittled away in these generations, saw programs
initiated to “help” them assimilate to (superior, non-superstitious) American
ways, and watched as their language was driven nearly to extinction here in the
United States. In recent generations though Anishinaabe populations have grown
and the revitalization of cultural practices, including a revitalization of
language education, is spreading.
Wolf
recovery and Anishinaabe cultural revitalization are coincidental from the rational
perspective of Western science, but from the perspective of Anishinaabe
science—of knowledge gained from ongoing experiential observation and of
thorough knowledge of sacred histories of creation stories and the secular
histories of the recent past—the recovery and revitalization of the wolf and
the Anishinaabe in their woodland homelands are implicated in one another.
Implication is a demonstrable connection: for instance, our lives as humans are
implicated in the lives of the trees. We inhale what the trees exhale. It is
not a matter of faith. It is a matter of fact.
The
Anishinaabe resistance to the wolf hunt is not a matter of faith, but a matter
of fact. What happens to the wolf happens to the Anishinaabe, history
demonstrates as much. Debate about the wisdom of hunting might imply a clash,
but let’s not be so foolish as to believe it’s a clash between “faith” and
“science.” Let’s not let newspapers like the Times fall prey to cultural tropes about the religious superstitions
of Native people that I see this headline engaging. Let’s think about ways to
discuss knowledge. Let’s call
Anishinaabe insight knowledge, not faith.
