Alan Michelson’s Answer to the “Vanishing Indian” Myth

Cyrus Edward Dallin, “Appeal to the Great Spirit” (1909) in front of Alan Michelson’s “The Knowledge Keepers” (2024) at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (photo Hrag Vartanian/Hyperallergic)

As a child, Alan Michelson often rode the T past sculptor Cyrus Edward Dallin’s “Appeal to the Great Spirit” (1908) outside the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.  He was riveted by the statue’s grand horse and the powerful yet melancholy figure wearing a striking Plains Indian war bonnet.  It was only in his 20s that the artist learned that he had been separated through adoption from his own Native heritage and Mohawk birth family in the Six Nations of the Grand River in Ontario, Canada.  He soon learned that the Dallin sculpture he marveled at in childhood symbolized the nefarious “Vanishing Indian” myth, which cast Indigenous peoples as doomed to extinction. 

PODCAST:  

TRANSCRIPT: https://hyperallergic.com/1017795/alan-michelson-knowledge-keepers-mfa-boston/ 

 

Let's call this another good example of #ArtBack! - Trace 

Scalp Bounties Another Lost Chapter: a general license for the murder of all indigenous peoples

SCALP COUNT 2024??

By Trace L Hentz (blog editor)

Cash Bounties were paid for dead Indians.  How did you get paid?  Scalps.  

Where are all those SCALPS?

I had an idea to write all the historical societies where I live to see if they have any scalps.  These scalps must be somewhere, right?  (I wonder where all the bodies are buried, too.  We know our bones were scattered clear across this country.)

There was an entire population here that got massacred in New England.  The proof would be their scalps and their bones, right?   Trust me: You cannot find any accurate figure of how many Indians were living in Massachusetts, or how many were killed.  Why not?

It's another chapter.  Again: WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO KNOW.

💀Considering History: The Troubling Story of Scalp Bounties

7/22/2024

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This series by American studies professor Ben Railton explores the connections between America’s past and present.

In 1755, Massachusetts Bay Colony’s Royal Lieutenant Governor issued a scalp bounty proclamation, offering substantial cash payments to any white colonists who brought in the scalps of indigenous men, women, and children. This was just one of approximately 70 scalp bounty proclamations issued in New England in the century before the American Revolution; U.S. governments issued at least another 50 throughout the new nation in subsequent decades.  These planned genocides are a profoundly painful part of American history, but are often little remembered or discussed.

Earlier this month, I was invited by the folks at Revolutionary Spaces, the organization that manages both the Old State House and the Old South Meeting House historic sites on Boston’s Freedom Trail, to view the new short film Bounty. Created by Penobscot Wabanaki Native American filmmakers Dawn Neptune Adams, Maulian Dana, and Adam Mazo, with the support of the Upstander Project, this 8.5-minute film screens on a continuous loop in a second-floor room adjacent to the Old State House’s central attraction, a recreation of the Council Chamber where the Massachusetts Colony’s Royal Governors met with their Councils — and where they signed the scalp bounty proclamations that are the subject of this bracing and powerful film.

Working to recover, remember, and engage such histories is a difficult process, and one in which museums and other historic sites have a vital role to play. Both this film and the Old State House are modeling thoughtful ways to remember these harsh stories from our past.

While these proclamations generally targeted a specific tribe, related to ongoing conflicts for example, there was of course no way of knowing the tribal identity of a particular scalping victim, and so the bounties became a general license for the murder of all indigenous peoples.

The short film Bounty focuses on one particular scalp bounty proclamation, as it targeted the Penobscot Wabanaki people specifically. That proclamation, issued by the Massachusetts Bay Colony’s Royal Lieutenant Governor Spencer Phips in 1755, was one of five issued in Boston in that year alone, including another signed in the same Old State House Council Chamber by Royal Governor William Shirley. But the Phips Proclamation went even further than most: it not only offered bounties for the scalps of Penobscot men, women, and children, but also offered bounties for the capture of living Penobscot males 12 years and older (who would then be sold into enslavement).

 

The Penobscot were seen as allies of the French, with whom England was at war, and this scalp bounty thus represented not just intended genocide, but also a way to weaken a military adversary and bolster both the slave trade and the colony’s coffers in the process.

Bounty does not shy away from any of those complex and painful details. The film (available for streaming on its website) features both the filmmakers and other Penobscot elders reading the text of the Phips Proclamation in full, as well as discussing its contexts and especially its genocidal effects with their children, grandchildren, and other family members.  The accompanying Teachers Guide includes four extensive lessons that delve into not just scalp bounty proclamations, but also a number of other relevant historical and cultural settings.  And to its credit, the Old State House has not only partnered with the filmmakers to screen Bounty continually; they have also located that screening room directly adjacent to the Council Chamber, a space that now features multiple laminated copies of the Phips and Shirley Proclamations which, as the museum’s explanatory materials note (including in a revised caption for the Chamber’s portrait of Governor Shirley), were signed in that very room.

The most powerful elements of this compelling short film were the presence and voices of the featured Penobscot children.  Because the Phips Proclamation directly targeted Penobscot children, this is a historically relevant and painful connection to be sure, and one to which those kids react directly in the film.

The last spoken line in the film (delivered by filmmaker Dawn Neptune Adams) is “They tried to bury us; they did not know we were seeds,” and the film ends with a number of images of its 21^st century multi-generational Penobscot families walking through and engaging with the Council Chamber and the copies of the Proclamations.  These stories continue affect contemporary indigenous peoples (as they do all Americans); for this reason, we all have an important role to play in how we remember, how we engage and discuss, and how we move forward.