Dancing with the German Natives

By Sara Waldmann

The original task for our class was to go looking for indications or influences of the Native American cultures in our everyday life – and how they are presented. Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t have to look very hard or walk very far…

This is a replica of an Indian hoof rattle of the Northern Plains around 1860, hanging at my chamber wall above two self-made pictures. A few years ago, I bought it from the Hudson’s Bay Indian Trading Post Company (see also: www.Hudsons-Bay.de if you’re interested). I usually only take it down once a year, at the end of July or the beginning of August, so that it – and I – may catch some much needed breath. For a little more than a week the air around us is full of wood-fire smoke, the earthy smell of leather, bird song, laughter and bickering, the clinking of beads and bells, the siirrrr of mosquitoes and the deep pulse of the drums. Grab your tepee and your loincloth - Welcome to the German Indian Week!

This photograph was taken by me in 2008, somewhere on a meadow in the woods near Triptis. At first glance you might believe it to be picture from a movie about Native Americans. It is, however, plain old Germany that offers you such appetizing sights, if only you know where to look.

A historical re-enactment camp



The first meetings of ‘German Indian Natives’ took place during the GDR regime in Eastern Germany. For some they offered a means to escape the socialist culture, for others the possibility to express individualism within a system that asked for conformism. The question as to why the Native American cultures appealed so strongly to the Germans has not been answered satisfactorily, nor will it probably ever be. Perhaps they felt as if their own life took place in a kind of reservation. Or maybe it was a way to identify with the West, without attracting too much disapproval from the authorities. The official explanation back then was that people wished to support and research the Indian struggle against capitalism, marking the Native Americans as one of the first victims of the Western imperialism.

There is, of course, more to it than just the political aspect. What motivates people from different social backgrounds to come together and “play Indian”? You might get as many answers as there are members to the Weekbund, the umbrella organization for Indian hobbyists. Most of them are organized in clubs, some are “without a tribe” attend the big annual meeting, our “Week”, as guests. Last year we celebrated an anniversary, the 40th Week, with a bison supper for all, proceeded by a symbolic bison hunt. You can see a short video of the occasion below.



In the following, I hope to provide you with some impressions of what it is like to attend a Week. Please note that I am relatively new to it and that my knowledge is limited. I have decided not to upload anything that could compromise people and you’ll therefore unfortunately not see a lot of close-ups.

The Week does not necessarily consist of only seven days, and I do not know how the name came to be. The camp is moved every other year, but it always takes place on a secluded meadow in the woods of East Germany. Whatever club is organizing the camp also takes pains to ensure that there is a possibility to go swimming. There are wash tents for women and men, a grocery van every morning, portaloos, a water pipe and a parking lot for our metal horses. Naturally, there is also one for the real horses.

At the opening ceremony we dance, listen to speeches, honour members who have done something special and watch the presentation of a bison skull that gets its horns reattached. Throughout the Week different activities are offered, such as a Lakota language crash course, a herbal class, or you can learn how to make a fire with nothing but flint stone and cooked mushrooms or birch tree bark. The modern Indian may also use stripes of singed jeans. But usually, we are anything but modern – it’s a historical re-enactment camp. Any influences and developments beyond a certain year are not welcome. (I forgot which year that was…) The clothes, the beadwork, the tepees and the weapons, some of the tools are either authentic or authentic replicas.

My brother in a loincloth.

Each day at the camp is dedicated to another theme. We’ve got the children’s day, where the young hobbyists carry blankets through the camp to collect gifts that will later be distributed amongst them. But first they have to prove themselves worthy in a range of games! Then there is the Bread and Coffee Day, one of my favourites. We gather in the middle of the camp, where the dance circle has been marked with young birch saplings, and listen to stories while being served honeyed bread, coffee and tea. In addition to that we’ve got the day where the Woodland tribes such as the Iroquois practice their dances, once we had a corn day… the list could go on and on.

The strange little construction next to the tepee is a backrest, some kind of equivalent to a chair... well, at least something to rest your back against. I had never heard of them before I came to the camp.

Storytelling

Stories are at the heart of our Camp. At around seven o’clock in the evening most of the children and a few adults are gathering for our Indian version of the “Sandmann”, where volunteers tell a bedtime story or two - or three, because the young German Indians can be very persuasive. Depending on the storyteller the children are either asked to act out parts and bits, to improvise the sounds of animals or to simply listen.

I had the chance to act as “Sandmann” and I hold the memories of those precious evenings close to my heart. My audience immediately reacted either pleased or disappointed, thus giving me uncensored feedback and quite a lot of inspiration. Below you will find one of my adaptations, in case you are interested.

Creation– Inuit: The Raven

In the beginning, there was only blackness. But even in the dark, the raven already existed. He felt the ground under his feet and walked a few paces. Behind him, water suddenly wetted the earth and mountains rose where his feet had fallen. As he flapped his wings he became aware of who he was: Tulugaukuk, the creator of everything. He flew into the air and the world came into being.

At the seashore he noticed a pea plant. With a loud bang one of the pods burst open and out fell the first human being: a man. “How strange!” the raven cried, “Though I made the pea plant I would never have imagined what might come out of it.” And he helped the man to gather nuts and created animals for him to hunt. But the man felt lonely. It was then that the raven took a handful of clay and the softest grass for the hair, forming him a companion. The man was overcome with joy. But soon enough the humans became greedy and arrogant and ignored the raven’s warning and advice. And so he left the earth, taking with him what had been his greatest gift: the sun. The humans cried and pleaded with him. “Alright,” he said, “I shall be merciful, yet I fear you will err again.” And he flapped his wings, sending the earth spinning and setting everything into motion. This was how day and night were born, as a warning not to forget that what has been given may be withdrawn if we do not handle it carefully.

At the Dance Circle everyone is hanging on the lips of the best tellers the camp has to offer, and the particularly good stories are followed by enthusiastic cries of “Ho!” Practically every ceremony during the Week makes use of the oral tradition, not only to entertain but to explain how and why we find ourselves to be here, doing what we are doing. The themes and origins of the tales range from actual Indian stories like those about Coyote to adapted fairy tales from other cultures or stories made up by camp people. And then there are of course the events that happened during our annual meetings.

During of the earlier Weeks the forest near the camp suddenly was aflame! As you can see on the canvas some hobbyists used very un-historical tools to fight off the blazing fire:

One year we had a most unpleasant surprise visit from some neo-Nazis. Our brave soldiers prevailed, protecting the women and children gathered in the middle of the camp.

Fortunately, there are also positive events that were most the important of some year’s annual meeting. Once, for example, the women met for a patchwork contest.

For each Week the most characteristic event has been painted on an immensely long canvas. Since I am unsure about the Copyright of the art I decided to only share this one picture.

Personal impressions and experiences

During the few Weeks that I have been fortunate to attend I learned quite a lot, not only about the Native Americans and their history but also about myself and my instincts. You rest differently in a tepee and next to the glowing embers of your fire place – you are more alert, as if part of you never really goes to sleep. This holds true for the night and especially if there are children in the tent. On some of the hotter days, however, my afternoon nap revealed nothing to me but my own deep exhaustion. The weather, too, is something that you have to accept during camp. You cannot hide in a comfortable house with a solid roof and central heating or air-conditioning. I have known the lulling pitter patter of rain against the canvas and the gentle breeze on my face, but more often than not we hastened to draw paths for the water on the tent poles, rushed outside to close the smoke flaps and hoped that our tepee would stay on the ground. The picture below shows one of the more impressing thunderstorms arriving at the camp.

Facing the heat of early August can also be a challenge, more so if you are wearing traditional leather outfits, blankets and animal furs. I thank the Great Spirit for the fact that some European clothes are allowed due to the trading history between the two cultures.

After a week of carrying your milk can full of water to your tent and collecting fire wood every day you come to appreciate the preciousness of water and warmth. Even if it is just for a short period of time you nevertheless cease to take hot tap water for granted.

Critique and Problems

This hobby is one that requires a lot of commitment, more so since the community has moved from the novels of Karl May to real, well-founded research and exact reproduction of bead patterns. To me it sometimes seems to become more and more exclusive. There are detail fanatics who will not regard you as an actual member unless you follow the historically established lifestyle. There are those who mean well in their advice but preach ostentatiously. There are, however, also those who think nothing of an inflated pink plastic swimming pool next to their tepee. The camp guards disabused them of the notion and proceeded to confiscate the nappies we had laid out to dry in the sun – until we told them what exactly those clothes of the white man had been used for. Necessary things such as wheelchairs or glasses are accepted, cameras and camcorders have become fashionable, but there can be a lot of discussion about a plastic bottle or a “wrong” outfit.

Moreover this is quite an expensive pastime occupation. It will either cost you a lot of money or a lot of time, and people who have neither therefore encounter problems in keeping up. I furthermore can imagine that vegetarians might have serious objections to using actual leather etc. Nowadays we need to have special certificates for some of the furs, in order to prevent the exploitation of endangered species.

We are living in a modern world for the rest of the year. It was perhaps unavoidable that a problem with the traditional gender roles would arise for those who do not wish to comply with the macho-culture of some of the tribes. This has apparently led to so much discontent that an all-women association was founded: The Crazy Women. The members live by their own rules, dance as they wish, and they have even found a historical precedent for their emancipation.

My last advice to you would be to bring your own supply of toilet paper. Oh, and you’ll need a flash light or something similar. There is no light at the portaloos, and you might need using them one night.

This is me in a Nez Perce dress made by an acquaintance. As my club focuses on Cheyenne we agreed that I was probably kidnapped and adopted into the tribe. I was very lucky to be able to purchase this beautiful outfit at such a low price. It is surprisingly soft, light and it does not hinder my moving most untraditionally to the pulse of the drums. There are some things that I and my rattle prefer to sticking to the old ways– and one of them is dancing. The men are enjoying a repertoire of creative moves (some alluding to certain creatures) which I envy whereas I am extremely bored by the dull step by step that women were allowed in the Plains. Some people object, others don’t mind, some agree. We have our disputes like everyone else. Nevertheless it is a wonderful little fantasy world – and I would be happy to introduce you to it in real life.


Further information

Press:

http://www.pnn.de/pm/667852/
http://www.tagesspiegel.de/kultur/literatur/indianer-in-der-ddr-das-rote-reservat/1823294.html

Others:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqWrgz4uNGE (A youtube video of the opening of the week in 2009, uploaded from another German hobbyist. Reading the comments below it has proven interesting – apparently some Native Americans failed to realize that this is a historical re-enactment camp and expressed their disapproval of us depicting them as “barbarians”.)