Star Trek and History (22 page)

The proposed evacuation of the colonists seems to represent a repetition of history, yet another removal: the first occurred by force in North America due to white encroachment, the second by choice in the decision to leave Earth, and the third is in the hands of Picard and Starfleet. As Picard notes, “There are some very disturbing historical parallels here. . . . Once more they are being asked to leave their homes because of a political decision that has been taken by a distant government.” The good news is that Native identity, culture, and community survive to the twenty-third century, if in a bland, homogenized, general form; the bad news is that Native Americans are still the victims of the same familiar injustices they have endured for centuries, and they once more face the possibility of losing their lands.

Not only does the episode provide a future history (that, alas, seems very reminiscent of past history) for this Indigenous group, but it also invokes past history in order to raise the question of generational guilt. Anthwara brings to Picard's attention the Pueblo Revolt of 1680, when Natives defended their land against the Spanish, and the resulting Spanish response a few years later, which he calls “savage.” It so happens that one of the Spanish soldiers responsible for the slaughter of Native Americans was an ancestor of Picard's. By doing the right thing and defending the colonists' rights now, Anthwara suggests, Picard will erase the stain of his familial guilt. Picard privately claims not to hold himself responsible for the deeds of his forebears, but the situation disturbs him greatly. In the end, however, salvation comes from the Natives themselves, not Picard; they choose to renounce their Federation membership and remain without representation or advocate in Cardassian territory.

Both the framing of the future history and the discussion of past history suggest a commitment by the writers (the story is by Shawn Piller and Antonia Napoli; the teleplay is by Ronald D. Moore) to confront some of the more complex issues surrounding Native American history. Part of the effect of this more informed and mature approach is counterbalanced, however, by the manner in which the episode handles spiritual issues. Wesley Crusher, the genius son of Dr. Beverly Crusher, returns on leave from Starfleet Academy unsure of his path in life. While on the surface of Dorvan V, he encounters a “holy man” among the Native Americans named Lakanta, who claims that he has been waiting for Wesley. Under his guidance, Wesley undergoes a vision quest; Lakanta then reveals himself to be the Traveler, a shape-shifting alien who can alter time and space with his thoughts, who wishes to teach Wesley how to realize his remarkable potential.

This story line raises two problems. First, the generic and rather flippant portrayal of the vision quest ignores the sacred aspects of the practice; Wesley enters into it ignorant, unprepared, and for selfish reasons, which make it seem not only inauthentic but also disrespectful to some First Nations audience members.
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Second, some of the most profound insights viewers seem to learn about the colonists—the way they hold all things sacred, the way their religious understanding of the spiritual world includes not only Earth animals but also the various alien species of the universe—are spoken not by a Native leader, but rather by an advanced alien impersonating one (an alien who, in fact, appears to be white). The Native Americans are not allowed to speak for themselves, and ultimately we are left uncertain whether we should attribute these ideas to the community's Native culture or to the Traveler himself.

The casting of Chitimacha actor Ned Romero as the colonists' leader Anthwara and Cree actor Tom Jackson as the “holy man” Lakanta marks the first time in
Star Trek
that Native characters—at least those with speaking roles—were portrayed by actors of Native ancestry. Romero later portrayed another Native character, Commander Chakotay's great-grandfather, in the
Voyager
episode “The Fight.”

The Next Generation
also builds upon the foundations laid by
The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Motion Picture
, and
The Entropy Effect
by showing how Starfleet recognizes and includes Native Americans as part of its own identity. In turn,
Deep Space Nine
develops this further. Not only do Native officers serve in Starfleet, but Starfleet also honors great Native Americans and their nations by naming ships after them. The first example we have of this comes in
The Next Generation
's sixth-season episode “Descent,” which introduces the USS
Crazy Horse
, named for the legendary Oglala Lakota warrior.
Crazy Horse
appears again in the seventh-season episode “The Pegasus,” and the USS
Pueblo
, named after the Native American tribe, appears in the same season in “The Eye of the Beholder.”

Deep Space Nine
includes references to three additional Federation ships named for Indigenous subjects: the USS
Lakota
(“Homefront” and “Paradise Lost”), named for the Sioux tribe; the USS
Malinche
(“For the Uniform”), named for the Nahua adviser/interpreter/mistress of the conquistador Hernan Cortez; and the USS
Tecumseh
(“Nor the Battle to the Strong,” “In the Pale Moonlight,” and “Image in the Sand”), named for the Shawnee resistance leader. In
Voyager
, one of the ship's shuttles is named the
Sacajawea
(“Coda,” “Macrocosm,” and “Rise”), after the Lemhi Shoshone guide of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Such references suggest that the awareness and knowledge of Native American history survives into the twenty-fourth century, and Indigenous American culture is one of the many claimed and celebrated by the Federation.

No single episode of
Deep Space Nine
focuses on Native characters or subjects. The second-season two-part episode “Maquis” updates viewers on what has happened on Dorvan V and other planets in the Demilitarized Zone since
The Next Generation
's “Journey's End,” however. A group known as the Maquis has formed, made up of Federation-born colonists and rogue Starfleet officers who oppose the Cardassian occupation of their homes (which was made possible by a treaty between the Federation and the Cardassian Union). The Maquis consider themselves to be independent of both the Federation and the Cardassians, thus drawing opposition from both. An unnamed and unspeaking Maquis representative appears to be of Native American descent; the representative is dressed similarly to the Native American colonists in “Journey's End,” which suggests he may be from Anthwara's community on Dorvan V.

The theme of Natives being removed from their lands also hangs over the 1998 film
Star Trek: Insurrection.
Captain Picard and his crew discover that Starfleet leaders have been conspiring with a group of aliens to steal the planet of a peaceful species known as the Ba'ku. The Ba'ku are not human, much less Native American, but metaphorically speaking they are the epitome of the noble savage stereotype: living close to nature, unimpressed with technology, even possessed of a veritable fountain of youth (“metaphasic particles” that render them nearly immortal, the reason behind the plot against them). What is more, Picard draws an explicit comparison between the dispossession planned for the Ba'ku and similar outrages in Earth's history, including, viewers may assume, the Trail of Tears and other Native removals. He says, “But some of the darkest chapters in the history of my world involve the forced relocation of a small group of people to satisfy the demands of a large one. I'd hoped we had learned from our mistakes, but it seems that some of us haven't.” In the end, the insurrection of Picard and his crew breaks the cycle of history and saves the Ba'ku.

As a statement of Native self-determination, even metaphorically speaking, the film is weak. The “Native” life is as two-dimensional and idyllic as that depicted in the original series episode “The Paradise Syndrome,” and the villagers are just as ineffective; a heroic white man must come in and save the day. Nevertheless, the film is significant for casting Starfleet in the role of the aggressor and struggling with the ethics of the situation. When told that only six hundred people need to be removed, Picard responds with a challenging question: “How many people does it take, Admiral, before it becomes wrong? A thousand? Fifty thousand? A million? How many people does it take, Admiral?” It seems the jury is still out. Film critic Roger Ebert, for example, protested the film's message in his review: “It would be difficult, indeed, to fashion a philosophical objection to such a move, which would result in the greatest good for the greatest number of people.”
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Even at their most sophisticated, however, these incarnations of
Star Trek
continue to use a future history to comment on Native Americans' past, not their present. Looking to the twenty-fourth century, viewers are met with nineteenth-century issues. It's worth noting that many events took place in Native American life during the decades when these later
Star Trek
series and movies were produced. The momentum and influence of the American Indian Movement waned after the late 1970s, as many of its leaders faced various legal charges. Of these, Leonard Peltier remains the most well known. Peltier (Anishinabe and Dakota/Lakota) was one of a number of AIM activists who traveled to the Pine Ridge Reservation in 1975 at the request of traditionalist Oglala Lakota community members who hoped the outsiders would help to resolve the factionalist violence there. After a tragic shootout with FBI agents in that year, Peltier was convicted of first-degree murder and given two consecutive life sentences. Due to the handling of his case by the FBI and the prosecution, as well as the lack of evidence presented, doubts remain in some quarters about the fairness of the trial Peltier received and the sentence he now serves.

In 1992, Peltier's controversial story became the subject of a documentary,
Incident at Oglala
, directed by Michael Apted and narrated by Robert Redford. Over the years, a number of international organizations and leaders have spoken in support of Peltier's freedom. For example, in 1999, Amnesty International issued an appeal for his release, stating “there is concern about the fairness of the proceedings leading to his conviction and it is believed that political factors may have influenced the way the case was prosecuted.”
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A decade later, Desmond Tutu, the South African human rights activist and the Archbishop Emeritus of Cape Town, wrote to the parole commission in charge of Peltier's case, stating, “It is clear Leonard Peltier was persecuted because of his beliefs and refusal to accept the injustices imposed upon the people of Pine Ridge.”
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Although Peltier drew international attention as one symbol among the many representing the plight of modern Native Americans, his story and others failed to capture the attention or imagination of
Star Trek
writers and producers.

The passage of the Indian Self-Determination and Education Act in 1975 promised Native nations greater control over their funds and thus their welfare. Its implementation, however, met resistance from the entrenched interests in the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA). Greater attention to the problem came in the form of
Stealing from Indians
(1994), in which David L. Henry, a certified public accountant and former BIA employee, exposed multiple cases of agency theft, embezzlement, and fraud against a number of Native nations by BIA agents. Tribal losses, according to Henry, amounted to billions of dollars. Later, in 1997, the BIA's occupation of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma proved that Native American rights and sovereignty remain very vulnerable.
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Needless to say,
Star Trek
possessed—and missed—many opportunities over the decades to provide relevant and thoughtful commentary on contemporary events in Native American life and the relationship of the events to the mainstream U.S. culture and policy.

Star Trek
's most significant opportunity to comment on Indigenous America came during the
Voyager
series in the form of the first regular character of Native descent, Chakotay, portrayed by Mexican American actor Robert Beltran. (This casting choice reversed the trend begun in
The Next Generation
of choosing Native American actors to portray at least the more visible Native characters.) When the series begins, Chakotay is a former Starfleet officer turned Maquis captain, thus tying together story lines from
The Next Generation
and
Deep Space Nine.
Starfleet captain Kathryn Janeway, in command of
Voyager
, pursues Chakotay and his renegade team. When both groups are flung against their will into the Delta Quadrant, they put aside their differences and form a single, blended crew, with Commander Chakotay as Janeway's first officer.

Chakotay's promise as a pathbreaking character, however, remains unfulfilled. Uneven and contradictory writing failed to make the character or his heritage three-dimensional, and this in turn led to the disillusionment and apathy of the actor, Robert Beltran, who characterizes Chakotay (with a mixture of arguably understandable frustration and truly regrettable homophobia) as “limp, weasely, cowardly, homosexual, charming.”
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It's singularly unfortunate that Beltran chooses to criticize how his minority character was marginalized and stereotyped by stereotyping and marginalizing another minority group. But setting his own prejudice aside, we are still left with a question: What went wrong with Chakotay?

First, in an effort to be generically “Indian,” the creators of the episode choose not to give Chakotay an authentic affiliation with a Native American tribe, but rather to create a fictional Native nation, the “Anurabi,” as his extended family. As the scholar Al Carroll points out, the writers “deliberately avoided making Chakotay a member of a tribe that existed anywhere outside a screenplay. This enabled the writers to mix and match bits and pieces of New Age clichés about Natives without any regard for accuracy or believability.”
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After all, it's difficult to fact-check information about imaginary people.