It is now time for a destructive order to be reversed, and it
is well to inform other races that the aboriginal cultures of
North America were not devoid of beauty. Futhermore, in
denying the Indian his ancestral rights and heritages the
white race is but robbing itself. America can be revived,
rejuvenated, by recognizing a Native School of thought.
--
Chief Luther Standing Bear
The seeds for this book were sown in my mind during a
late-summer day in 1975, by a young American Indian whose
name I've long since forgotten. As a reporter for the Seattle
Times, I had been researching a series of articles on
Washington State Indian tribes. The research took me to
Evergreen State College in Olympia, where a young
woman, an undergraduate in the American Indian studies
program, told me in passing that the Iroquois had played a
key role in the evolution of American democracy.
The
idea at first struck me as disingenuous. I considered
myself decently educated in American history, and to the
best of my knowledge, government for and by the people
had been invented by white men in powdered wigs. I asked
the young woman where she had come by her information.
"My
grandmother told me," she said. That was hardly the
kind of source one could use for a newspaper story. I asked
whether she knew of any other sources. "You're the
investigative reporter," she said. "You find them."
Back
at the city desk, treed cats and petty crime were much
more newsworthy than two-centuries-past revels in the woods
the width of a continent away. For a time I forgot the
meeting at Evergreen, but never completely. The woman's
challenge stayed with me through another year at the Times,
the writing of a book on American Indians, and most of a
Ph.D. program at the University of Washington. I collected
tantalizing shreds -- a piece of a quotation from Benjamin
Franklin here, an allegation there. Individually, these
meant little. Together, however, they began to assume
the outline of a plausible argument that the Iroquois had
indeed played a key role in the ideological birth of the
United States, especially through Franklin's advocacy of
federal union.
Late
in 1978, the time came to venture the topic for my
Ph.D. dissertation in history and communications. I
proposed an investigation of the role that Iroquois political
and social thought had played in the thinking of Franklin
and Thomas Jefferson. Members of my supervisory committee
were not enthusiastic. Doubtless out of concern for my
academic safety, I was advised to test my water wings a little
closer to the dock of established knowledge. The professors,
however, did not deny my request. Rather, I was invited to
flail as far out as I might before returning to the dock,
colder, wetter, and presumably wiser.
I
plunged in, reading the published and unpublished papers of
Franklin and Jefferson, along with all manner of revolutionary
history, Iroquois ethnology, and whatever else came my
way. Wandering through a maze of footnotes, I early on found
an article by Felix Cohen, published in 1952. Cohen, probably
the most outstanding scholar of American Indian law of his or
any other age, argued the thesis I was investigating in the
American Scholar. Like the Indian student I had
encountered more than three years earlier, he seemed to be
laying down the gauntlet -- providing a few enticing leads
(summarized here in chapter one), with no footnotes or any
other documentation.
After
several months of research, I found two dozen scholars
who had raised the question since 1851, usually in the context
of studies with other objectives. Many of them urged further
study of the American Indians' (especially the Iroquois')
contribution to the nation's formative ideology, particularly
the ideas of federal union, public opinion in governance,
political liberty, and the government's role in guaranteeing
citizens' well-being -- "happiness," in the eighteenth-century
sense.
The
most recent of these suggestions came through Donald
Grinde, whose The Iroquois and the Founding of the
American Nation (1979) reached me in the midst of my
research. Grinde summarized much of what had been written
to date, reserving special attention for Franklin, and
then wrote that "more needs to be done, especially if
America continues to view itself as a distinct entity set
apart from many of the values of Western civilization." He
also suggested that such a study could help dissolve
negative stereotypes that many Euro-Americans still harbor
toward American Indians' mental abilities and heritage.
By
this time, I was past worrying whether I had a story to
tell. The question was how to tell it: how to engage
readers (the first of whom would be my skeptical professors)
with history from a new angle; how to overcome the sense of
implausibility that I had felt when the idea of American
Indian contributions to the national revolutionary heritage
was first presented to me.
Immersion
in the records of the time had surprised me. I
had not realized how tightly Franklin's experience with the
Iroquois had been woven into his development of revolutionary
theory and his advocacy of federal union. To understand how
all this had come to be, I had to remove myself as much as
possible from the assumptions of the twentieth century, to
try to visualize America as Franklin knew it.
I
would need to describe the Iroquois he knew, not celluloid
caricatures concocted from bogus history, but well-organized
polities governed by a system that one contemporary of
Franklin's, Cadwallader Colden, wrote had "outdone the
Romans." Colden was writing of a social and political system
so old that the immigrant Europeans knew nothing of its
origins -- a federal union of five (and later six) Indian
nations that had put into practice concepts of popular
participation and natural rights that the European savants
had thus far only theorized. The Iroquoian system, expressed
through its constitution, "The Great Law of Peace," rested
on assumptions foreign to the monarchies of Europe: it
regarded leaders as servants of the people, rather than their
masters, and made provisions for the leaders' impeachment
for errant behavior. The Iroquois' law and custom upheld
freedom of expression in political and religious matters, and
it forbade the unauthorized entry of homes. It provided for
political participation by women and the relatively
equitable distribution of wealth. These distinctly democratic
tendencies sound familiar in light of subsequent American
political history -- yet few people today (other than
American Indians and students of their heritage) know that
a republic existed on our soil before anyone here had ever
heard of John Locke, or Cato, the Magna Charta, Rousseau,
Franklin, or Jefferson.
To
describe the Iroquoian system would not be enough,
however. I would have to show how the unique geopolitical
context of the mid-eighteenth century brought together
Iroquois and Colonial leaders -- the dean of whom was
Franklin -- in an atmosphere favoring the communication of
political and social ideas: how, in essence, the American
frontier became a laboratory for democracy precisely at a
time when Colonial leaders were searching for alternatives
to what they regarded as European tyranny and class
stratification.
Once
assembled, the pieces of this historical puzzle
assumed an amazingly fine fit. The Iroquois, the premier
Indian military power in eastern North America, occupied a
pivotal geographical position between the rival French of
the St. Lawrence Valley and the English of the Eastern
Seaboard. Barely a million Anglo-Americans lived in
communities scattered along the East Coast, islands in a
sea of American Indian peoples that stretched far inland, as
far as anyone who spoke English then knew, into the
boundless mountains and forests of a continent much larger
than Europe. The days when Euro-Americans could not have
survived in America without Indian help had passed, but the
new Americans still were learning to wear Indian clothing,
eat Indian corn and potatoes, and follow Indian trails and
watercourses, using Indian snowshoes and canoes. Indians
and Europeans were more often at peace than at war -- a
fact missed by telescoped history that focuses on conflict.
At
times, Indian peace was as important to the history of
the continent as Indian war, and the mid-eighteenth century
was such a time. Out of English efforts at alliance with the
Iroquois came a need for treaty councils, which brought
together leaders of both cultures. And from the earliest days
of his professional life, Franklin was drawn to the
diplomatic and ideological interchange of these
councils -- first as a printer of their proceedings, then as a
Colonial envoy, the beginning of one of the most
distinguished diplomatic careers in American history. Out of
these councils grew an early campaign by Franklin for
Colonial union on a federal model, very similar to the
Iroquois system.
Contact
with Indians and their ways of ordering life left a
definite imprint on Franklin and others who were seeking,
during the prerevolutionary period, alternatives to a
European order against which revolution would be made. To
Jefferson, as well as Franklin, the Indians had what the
colonists wanted: societies free of oppression and class
stratification. The Iroquois and other Indian nations fired
the imaginations of the revolution's architects. As Henry
Steele Commager has written, America acted the
Enlightenment as European radicals dreamed it. Extensive,
intimate contact with Indian nations was a major reason for
this difference.
In
the telling, this story also seeks to demolish what
remains of stereotypical assumptions that American Indians
were somehow too simpleminded to engage in effective social
and political organization. No one may doubt any longer
that there has been more to history, much more, than the
simple opposition of "savagery" and "civilization." History's
popular writers have served us with many kinds of
savages, noble and vicious, "good Indians" and "bad
Indians," nearly always as beings too preoccupied with the
essentials of the hunt to engage in philosophy and
statecraft.
This
was simply not the case. Franklin and his fellow
founders knew differently. They learned from American
Indians, by assimilating into their vision of the future,
aspects of American Indian wisdom and beauty. Our task is
to relearn history as they experienced it, in all its
richness and complexity, and thereby to arrive at a more
complete understanding of what we were, what we are, and
what we may become.
-- Bruce E. Johansen
Lakota (Sioux)
Land of the Spotted Eagle
Seattle, Washington
July 1981