when I was in college, I had the privilege of seeing Winona LaDuke give a lecture. Basically nobody came--it was me and like ten other kids on campus who knew who she was, and I was the only indigenous person in the audience.
She gave a lot of great wisdom in that speech, but by far the thing I reflect on the most (and what keeps me up at night) was a story she told, about going back home to the rez after earning her doctorate.
And the way she tells it, she was really excited. She was so jazzed up on books and education and academic discussions and went to her father with all these ideas on how they could improve the lives of Ojibwe people--this is what she'd been studying, after all.
But her father, instead of going along with her excitement, listened very quietly to her accolades and ideas, and then said: "Well, that's great, Winona, but can you grow corn?"
and it stopped her cold.
because no, she couldn't.
she'd done so much reading and research and had so many endless discussions, but she hadn't actually rolled up her sleeves and tried to feed anybody yet. not even herself. the most important part of environmentalism, of agriculture, of the way humans shape our world and what's inside it. One of the most important staple crops, the foundation of civilizations. She'd never even tried.
anyway. That's what I think about a lot. sure, maybe you're well-read, maybe you say all the right things, you have the right words in your bio or letters after your name, but can you grow corn? Have you actually tried?
