I started writing plays when the "Native" voices I heard onstage and on-screen didn't sound anything close to the Indians I knew. My first attempt, back in the early 90's, was with Chuka Lokoli Native Theater Ensemble. I had been lucky enough to find a group of like-minded skins, and our first piece, a collaborative free-form offering called "In The Spirit" attempted to address issues we felt needed more attention, (i.e. - what defines an "Indian", Urban Indian vs. Reservation Indian, racism between Indian nations, etc.) Cochise Anderson ("Goat Cheese" to his pals) was our fearless leader and together Kim Basset, Irene Bedard, Elisa Cato, Steve Elm and I attempted to introduce everyone to our perspective of Indians.

     Cochise hooked us up on the edge of Hell's Kitchen at the Ensemble Studio Theater in New York City. The artistic director loved our ideas but thought we needed a proper "writer" to structure it for us. He brought in a favorite playwright of his, who happened to be a white man. It was decided that he would help us with our piece. Suddenly our funny, quirky little piece about a group of Indians planning to blow the noses off Mount Rushmore wasn't funny or quirky anymore. The piece became very earnest, and in it we (our characters) became very earnest about our spirituality. There was one notably "spiritual" scene featuring an emotion-laden round dance that seemed lifted right out of the New Age handbook. Much of the dialogue was in the same vein. Imagining what my relatives in Oshweken would say if they heard me emote a line such as "Where is your Indian?" had me (pardon the pun) red-faced and embarrassed. The audience ate it up; the play was a success.

     A few years later I found myself in a screenwriting course, attempting to use my writing skills for the silver screen. As an "undercover injun" (a not very obvious breed-girl) I startled the largely Caucasian class when they heard about my script. The teacher had us all do a one-minute pitch for our films.

     Me: "I want to write a horror film, in a contemporary reservation setting with a medicine-based monster."

     Silence. People started looking uncomfortable. A few of the more savvy in the class looked me over and smiled. But the majority...

     One woman put up her hand.

     "I think it's a wonderful idea, it's just that, with a project like that, you'd better know your stuff. I mean...do you know many Native Americans?" "Just my mom's side of the family" I replied with my serial killer smile. The subject was dropped for the moment.

     Later as we worked on structure, shaping of the scripts, many people had "extra" input for my work. "You shouldn't use Indian, that name was a mistake" - Really? - No shit. How to explain to a group of very well intentioned, helpful people that a term like "Native American" has no meaning for me? I didn't grow up being chased down the street and getting kicked off people's property for being a "dirty Native American."

     There were many problems with my writing, too. I took it for granted that people would know what a sweat lodge was, why one would never ever go into the lodge drunk or high. The few who knew about the lodges were also aware of peyote. How to explain the difference between "medicine" and drug abuse? And how to explain it entertainingly? Because if these folks didn't get it, sure as hell a paying audience wouldn't get it.

     And I do want "them" to get it. My whole reason for writing a genre-based Indian film is to try and reach as many people as possible; to make the "Native" perspective a little more familiar to everyone. I'm tired of everyone seeing us as willful anachronisms that won't adapt with the times. Haudenosaunee are renowned for their adaptive skills. Hell, at my niece's funeral the singers played a Chickasaw game because the Mohawk game was "too boring."

     Later, after days and days of expositional writing, the class seemed finally in the loop. I had them saying "Indian" when they referred to my script. I even told a couple of bad pow-wow jokes without eliciting one horrified look.

     Then some new students came in. One was very obviously a breed girl like myself. In addition to some lovely turquoise jewelry and braids, the nose and cheekbones were obviously Indian. Everyone started to tease me about my competition. I laughed and looked across at my fellow breed and she glared back in response. I started to have a sinking feeling.

     Teacher: "Well, Daria (name has been changed to protect the innocent), tell us about your Indian script."

     "We prefer Native American."

     I freely confess I wouldn't have had an issue if she hadn't used the royal "we." As I feared, her script was a period piece, a lovely romance with an escaped black slave and an "Indian Princess". Yeah, she said "Princess." As we read a couple of pages out loud I realized, despite my bias, it was a good story. She was also covering a period of Indian history that didn't have too many stories written about it. There were a couple of moments when the "spirit of the trees" references (Disney rears it's ugly head again) made the hairs on my neck stand-up, but otherwise it was a good story.

     After Daria and I played twenty questions to establish our Injun credibility, we had a conversation about the reasons for writing our pieces. I asked her about the Indian Princess bit, she admitted she used that term so the whites would "get" that the girl was the daughter of the chief. I guess "daughter of the chief" didn't sound quite Indian enough.

     When my script was read out loud, you could see Daria cringing. My white classmates read my Indian script with gusto, sensing a possible conflict and looking forward to it.

     Every curse, and every dirty joke seemed to startle Daria more and more. To everyone's disappointment she didn't quiz me on the material during the Q&A session.
She got me later outside of the class.

Daria: "Good script."
Me: "Thanks".
Daria: "Do you have to make us all sound poor, drunken and vulgar?"

     I was shocked. The script I thought was a tribute to my family came across to this girl as pandering to negative stereotypes. Some characters were poor, as I don't know a reservation that doesn't have poor families. I wrote a couple of characters as drunks because of the same reason. I wanted to write the truth.

     Her last criticism was the most startling. Vulgar? The character she was talking about was modeled on my Aunt Wally. Bawdy and flirtatious, Aunt Wally was the best storyteller in the whole family.

     So you see my problem. I wanted to write about the people I knew, the people I grew up with because that was my only experience of what being Indian was like. Daria was in a different place. According to her, she wanted to write about a period of time before we became an occupied people. I understood that to a point, but we are an occupied people, so why not write about our experiences now? I think it's time to create the new stories.

Vicki Ramirez is of Tuscarora and Jamaican heritage and currently resides in New York City. She is a writer/actor who pays her bills while working in the hospitality industry.

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