These are the Native American children who had no choice but to attend these schools and are just now finding their voice to start healing from their experiences there. For those unfamiliar with the Residential or Boarding school system required of Native Americans (because it is definitely not something taught in most history classes), these were government-funded, generally church-run schools that “were set up to eliminate parental involvement in the intellectual, cultural, and spiritual development of Aboriginal children.” If you’ve seen the film Rabbit Proof Fence you might have some clue about what these schools were like, but they existed in the US and Canada as well (and some are still functioning in the US). Native American children would be placed in these schools – often by force against their parent’s wishes – to have their culture “civilized” out of them as a means of assimilating them to white culture. Often parents would not know where their children were taken, and frequently never saw their children again. Children in these schools were forbidden to speak their own language or practice their own culture. Many of the schools used the children as forced labor for government projects. As stories of these schools have emerged, tales of molestation, rape, abuse, disappearances, murders, and medical experimentation and sterilization are common themes.

The horror of these schools is a reality as are the racist assumptions that lead to their formation. The children who were forced into these schools now have emotional scars that need serious healing. As in any case of abuse, to find that healing and to properly mourn what they lost through what was inflicted upon them, the victims need to tell the truth of their experiences. And in the US, the only legal way to do so is to bring a lawsuit against those that harmed them. Sadly though that opens up the victims to further abuses and pain. Those bringing this particular lawsuit are being vilified for their audacity to accuse elderly nuns of abuse. They are being accused of being greedy for money and that they are only doing this out of a hatred for the Catholic Church. As a numbers of responses have said, how dare the Native Americans mar the good name of these nuns and the Church without proof (as if the testimony of 45 Native Americans doesn’t count as proof). If this is even allowed to come to trial (which is doubtful since the allegations are so old), they will face further struggles as their story is suppressed by the loopholes of the legal system.

In reading about this recent lawsuit all I could think is that this is exactly why we need a Truth and Reconciliation Commission in the United States. Desmond Tutu’s book No Future Without Forgiveness, describes how it was precisely for this reason of allowing the truth to be told with the least amount of pain for the victims that South Africa set up their commission as they did. They knew that to bring all the acts of injustice to trial would not only bankrupt the nation, but that it would hide the truth as perpetrators did everything in their power to not be found guilty and punished. It would not bring healing to their nation to have the victims constantly be told that they were lying about their pain and abuse. So the Truth and Reconciliation Commission choose to promise amnesty in exchange for confessions of truth. Only by telling the truth – all of the murders, abuses, and sins – could a person be exempt from being possibly punished by the government for their crimes. While this system angered those hungry for revenge, it served the purpose of telling the truth necessary for healing. (And it’s not like perpetrators were never punished – confessing to such crimes often led to ostracism from friends, broken marriages, and even suicides as they came face to face with their depravity). But as the name states – the purpose is reconciliation not revenge.

Canada has created a Truth and Reconciliation Commission for precisely the purpose of telling the truth about the Native American residential schools. The Commission believes they have a mandate to find out the truth of what happened in those schools so as to help with the reconciliation process of all involved. The system is far from perfect, but it is a step towards allowing true healing to be possible for the survivors. Instead of making the victims out to be the bad guys as they search for healing in a system that often refuses to acknowledge their continued mistreatment, a Commission like this in the US would at least start a dialogue that is long overdue. This most recent lawsuit and the responses it has provoked serve as poignant reminders that there is a lot of truth our nation still needs to face. Pretending such things don’t exist by writing them out of our textbooks or washing our hands of any responsibility only leads to more pain – for everyone. The truth will set us free, but only if we are courageous enough to let go of our defensiveness and let it be heard.

It’s no secret that alien invasion films are a way our culture attempts to deal with the sins of our past. Just like we colonized, pillaged, and exterminated indigenous peoples around the world with our advanced technologies of deadlier weapons, we now explore how that might have felt by imagining aliens doing the same to us. But of course, in our never-ending hubris those films always end with the hero kicking the aliens' butt. Identification with the other can only go so far.

It is into this postcolonial genre that Cowboys & Aliens attempts to fit in, except with the twist that it’s actually set during the period of Western “Manifest Destiny” expansionism. In trying to make such an odd marriage work, the film very self-awarely makes use of all the stereotypes of those genres. You have the old West mining town populated with stock characters like the bespectacled Doc, the crusty old preacher, the lawful sheriff, the prostitute with the heart of gold, the grumpy old Civil War vet turned cowboy (Harrison Ford), and the rugged outlaw (Daniel Craig). The aliens too are the expected insect-like slimy vicious being with no hint of compassion. Added to that is the Hollywood version of a band of Apaches, including the favorite colonial narrative story of the young Native American boy who had been adopted by the racist cowboy (Ford) after his parents died in raids who now serves him as a field hand, looks to him as a father, and willingly sacrifices his life for him later on. Of course, in this alternate world the cowboys and Indians quickly see that they must overcome their differences and work together to fight the aliens (or at least the white men condescend to fight alongside the Natives after the Natives accept that the white men’s attack plan is superior.) Perhaps more ironic self-awareness would have made the stereotypes actually work instead of just descend into the uncomfortable, but as it was they made it difficult for the rest of the films' theme to play out fully.

As for that, the narrative attempted to follow the colonial trope almost too well. One of the opening lines of the film states that “we are near to Absolution” which is soon followed by Daniel Craig’s wounded character being asked if he is a criminal or a victim to which he replies “I don’t know.” From there the story becomes the journey to seek absolution – in the personal characters’ story arcs and awkwardly in the cultural story of White/Native American relations. While the Preacher is an entertaining character, it quickly becomes apparent that religion will be of no help on this particular journey. In their pursuit of aliens who have abducted their family members, the group of main characters come across a wrecked upside down-steamboat in the middle of the New Mexico desert. Five hundred miles from the nearest river large enough for it, the boat (named the “Amazing Grace”) doesn’t belong. It also is where the Preacher gets attacked and killed. Finding absolution becomes not a religious quest, but a way for boys to become real men as they learn to fight to preserve their way of life.

They soon discover that the attacking aliens (which they call demons) came to earth on a scouting mission to plunder us of gold. Yes, gold. Not some odd resource needed for advanced technology, but the exact same resource that sent pox-infected Conquistadors and Cowboys alike off on quests to plunder the lands of indigenous American peoples. The aliens also round-up humans and keep them sedated in holding pens until they can experiment on them to discover weaknesses. So a combined cowboy, Indian, and outlaw force launches an assault on the alien ship making use of six-shooters, dynamite, arrows, and spears. They, of course, rescue their enslaved family members and (with the help of an angelic-like being) use the alien’s technology against them to destroy the scout ship. The oppressive colonizers are vanquished, the American narrative remains intact.

The happily-ever-after ending has the characters not questioning how gold led to evil and oppression, but prospering off the alien’s discovery of nearby goldmines. Cinematic absolution has been reached, relationships healed, and the threat of colonization seems to have vanished for good. Hollywood delivered some decent action sequences, a hint of a love story, and stock character arcs that make for good entertainment (not to mention the requisite shots of Daniel Craig with his shirt off). Summer blockbuster status achieved.

And yet I wanted more. There was too much historical commentary for Cowboys & Aliens to simply be entertaining escapism, but not enough for it to have anything meaningful to say. Good commentary on our colonial past forces us to examine current assumptions by allowing us to see things from the perspective of the other. But in this film the cowboy still won. The cowboy is both the criminal and the victim, demonstrating superiority in both roles. Just as the Native Americans in the film had to concede to the superiority of Harrison Ford’s ideas, the message is that even when faced with stronger beings and more advanced technology the cowboys (with God’s angels on their side) will by their very nature always come out on top. The other is still other. True absolution, true reconciliation, remains elusive as the hierarchical status quo remains.

In a blundering attempt to deconstruct the colonial narrative, Cowboys & Aliens simply reasserts the myth of the rugged individualist who has no need to ever apologize for current or past sins. But sadly most viewers will be more disappointed with the film’s lack of explosions and sex scenes than its neocolonial message. But I guess that’s the prerogative of cowboys trying to retell their own story.

In writing about how the sugar cane industry has destroyed the land and economies of many Latin American countries and led to numerous human rights abuses, Galeano mentioned that in certain plantations in Brazil (at least as of his writing) it was common practice for the plantation owners to claim jus primae noctis, or, right of the first night with the daughters of their workers. Most commonly known to us from the movie Braveheart this is a medieval custom giving to the Lord of an area the right to the virgin night of all the women he ruled. Although in Medieval times the actual consummation was rarely if ever practiced as many families chose the option of “giving” the Lord the bride’s dowry instead (what the Lord was after anyway), Galeano reports that on the plantations the owners would demand the right to have their way with their workers’ 11-12 year old daughters in exchange for the worker remaining in their employment.

Reading that affected me in a visceral way. In the midst of a litany of oppression, I was reminded that women truly bear the brunt of injustice worldwide. Their bodies are chattel, they aren’t deemed worthy of education, and they are fed leftovers if they get food at all. Because they are women their oppression is magnified. Not only must they endure the poverty and the colonialism, but also the objectification of their bodies and the required subjugation of their wills. When voices for liberation or revolution arise the women are called upon to endure hardships and make sacrifices, but it is never their liberation that is fought for. The few that call out for women’s needs to be addressed and for liberation to come to women are told that in light of the greater injustices and oppression that their cause is just a selfish distraction. I hear it all the time in the church – there are just too many more important things to spend energy on than trying to bring justice to women. We aren’t even worth the effort of those that make it a point to care about injustice and the oppressed.

Feminist postcolonial theologians are quick to point out this imbalance. They ask how can we say that we truly desire liberation if in achieving that liberation women still remain oppressed? They repeatedly insist that equality and respect for women should never be an afterthought to be sought sometime after the real work of combating injustice is done, but an instead should be at the very foundation of what it means to seek liberation itself. Nations and races cannot ever fully work for reconciliation and mutual respect if those nations are built upon oppression from within. But sadly, theirs are not the voices that are commonly heard.

In reading non-Western theologies recently (both postcolonial and evangelical), I have in fact encountered the very opposite. Men, who write on combating injustice and prejudice by calling the church to learn from say Korean or First Nation theologies and church practices, insist upon, as part of that process, an affirmation of gender roles that give men a strong (and sole) leadership role in the home, the community, and the church. They see a firm affirmation of this hierarchy of men over women to be integral to ending race divisions in the church itself. So not only are the needs of women ignored, healing and justice are proposed through the continued oppression and sacrifice of women.

Injustice and oppression make me sick and prompt feelings of rage inside of me. But reading about these young girls being raped as pawns in the never-ending cycle of colonial and commercial oppression left me feeling raw. This isn’t just about greed and economics. It isn’t just about racism and power-plays. It’s rooted in a subjugation of women that denies our worth and turns us into mere objects for men to use as they see fit. Most of the Western world hides behind their ignorance of history and injustice (often willfully sought) as an excuse to uphold the status quo. But when even those who claim to care about justice say that speaking out of behalf of women isn’t worth the effort I can barely respond. How can justice be justice if it is only for men?

My first thought in the “what a tangled web we weave” category, was to wonder if the Allied airmen dropping those bombs some years ago ever thought that their action had the potential to kill their unborn grandchildren. Or that one day we would live in a globalized world where the idea of Germany and America being at war with one another would be utterly preposterous. And still the violence and the hatred of a time gone by had its latest causalities in 2010.

I’m fully aware that if any war could ever be called a “just war” it would be World War 2. I also know that this could simply be seen as a freak accident. But it isn’t just in Germany where the conflicts of the past still reach into the peaceful times of the present – harming generally those with no stake in the fight. The poor farmer in Laos whose legs were blown off when he overturned a bomb leftover from when his country was used as a pawn as the colonial powers of the West fought for control in Vietnam. The three children killed in Columbia when they triggered a landmine while playing a game of soccer. The people in Japan dying from cancers caused by the atomic bombs dropped in their country. The children born with birth defects because their parents were exposed to Agent Orange in the Vietnam War. Wars never end when a treaty is signed or peace declared.

It can be easy to dismiss these as simply the vicissitudes of life, but I wonder if that is just a way to avoid dealing with the issues. Our news channels don’t give us body counts of those we’ve killed in Iraq or Afghanistan because that would make the conflict too real – too human. Thinking about the lingering effects an act of violence might have seems to do the same. In the moment the goal of winning trumps any understanding of the enemy as a real person. Considering that in a decade one might be sitting down for a cup of coffee with the person one is attempting to kill today isn’t conducive to gaining the upper hand today. But the future still comes.

I recall first understanding the strangeness and regret hindsight can elicit when in grad school I sat down for a lunch with a friend from the Ukraine and we joked about the duck and cover drills we practiced in our grade schools. Each of us was conditioned to hate the other, sure that our respective countries would launch an attack at any moment. And now we were in school together, studying missions theology, eating sandwiches at the local deli. It is easy to question why I assumed she was my enemy then, I just wish I had had the courage to do so when I was a child.

I know how simplistic it sounds to suggest that a long-term perspective be applied to the conflicts of the present. Most would answer that the peace of tomorrow can only come through the violence of today. But how many of us would look at our closest friends and tell them that if we could travel back in time we would have no problem killing their grandparents. So why are we interested in killing people today whose children will go to school with our kids in a few years? Are we okay with the bomb we dropped today killing our allies in Afghanistan in 70 years? I hope if anything good comes from this incident in Germany it is that some of these questions start being asked. It’s complicated and messy, but that’s what generally happens when we take the time to think beyond the moment.

What I found fascinating though was seeing a picture of Evangelicalism from this time period that mirrored exactly what I grew up with in the 80’s and 90’s and that still exists today. The young evangelicals of the 1970’s did influence certain streams of evangelicalism, but this more fundamentalist variety retained a dominant voice. Interestingly enough, the streams had so diverged by the end of the 1970’s that people today in either camp are often surprised that the other exists. It’s like how repeatedly on this blog when I share my personal church experience there are always a couple of people who say that I am misrepresenting evangelicals with my portrayals. Of course, not all evangelicals are the same, the stream they know and the stream I know are just very different. I just wish the discussions could sometimes get past the debate of “whose evangelical experience is correct?”

So for instance, take this passage from the book on the role of women in traditional evangelical churches (note – Orthodox here refers to the new orthodoxy of doctrinally correct evangelicals)

Orthodoxy has not yet taken Women’s Liberation seriously. In almost all non-Pentecostal Evangelical or Fundamentalist denominations, women are not ordained to the ministry. “Unmarriageable” types, however, may be encouraged by their churches to make the ultimate sacrifice – to become a missionary. Single females are welcome on the mission field, but not in the home pulpit. Alternatively, an aspiring young lady with a graduate degree in theology might be called by an Orthodox church to become an unordained director of Christian education – for less pay than her ordained male counterpart would get for the same job. But, for a marriageable young lady in the typical Fundamentalist or Evangelical congregation, the highest vocational aspiration she can have is to become the wife of a minister. Every Orthodox pastor – lest he be regarded as a playboy or, worse yet, a homosexual – must have a wife. In taking on a minister, the young woman will lose her identity completely. The ideal pastor’s wife is simply an extension of her mate – sweet, sociable but not aggressive, talented, above reproach in her behavior and, above all, entirely submissive to the will and career of her husband. As such, she becomes a “nonperson” in every sense of the word. P.58-59

That perfectly describes (in far more blunt language than anyone would ever use today) the sort of evangelicalism I grew up in and still encounter on a regular basis. But many of the women I encounter online (i.e. those who already are educated and progressive enough to be participating in discussions about theology and religion), do their best to deny that women are ever treated that way within the evangelical world they know. While some of them do eventually take the time to reflect and admit that their voice has at times been silenced, they have never had to truly be seen as a “nonperson.” In my experience though women that are taught to lose their identity are also told that they shouldn’t think for themselves, and therefore rarely are present in conversations on religious matters. But it breaks my heart to see generations of women continuing to be taught to be nothing. I grew up in that environment and still have a foot in that world so I know it’s out there. But for many progressive evangelicals (or at least those with progressive evangelical roots), it can be easy to forget history and not grasp the nuances of our differences.

In some ways, just getting a glimpse of this history and understanding differences is helpful. I also wonder though if finding ways to say engage these "nonperson" women and help the ones who are cracking under the pressure of years of suppression of the self would be easier if we all were just open and honest about the sorts of pain that occur in the church without fearing tainting our own church’s reputations due to guilt by association? I don’t know, but sometimes a good understanding of where we all have come from helps mitigate that fear.

in the book, author Chris Fair takes a close look at the evil powerhouses in the world (i.e. those countries with the bomb or those who are trying to get it) and humanizes them with an exploration of their cuisine. From the so-called "axis of evil" (Iraq, Iran, North Korea), to nuke-possessing human-rights violators (Israel, India, and Pakistan), to the dashers of democracy (Cuba, Burma, and China), to the Great Satan herself (USA), the reader embarks on a rather peculiar world tour. Fair is unashamedly biased and opinionated, and yet manages to present a balanced perspective on many of these countries. What is extremely helpful is her brief modern histories of each country. Basically she explains why these countries hate the USA and what our past relationship with them has been. So for all of us 30-somethings who were too young to watch the news while, say, the Iran-Contra affair was unraveling, and whose history textbooks and teachers never made it past World War 2 (because what teacher wants to touch Civil Rights and the Vietnam War), these brief histories are the most concise explanations of these events you will have ever heard. One reads of the whole convoluted history of our relationship with Saddam Hussein, how the Taliban got its weapons, and why we let China walk all over us. The author doesn't hold back – all the countries are equally criticised and celebrated at the same time. It truly is a dinner party approach where friendship has to guide all other conversations.

And I know this sounds bad, but my biggest issue with the book was in it's treatment of the USA. Now, I have no problem pointing out our flaws. We are hardly ones to point the finger at other "evil" nations when we were the ones who funded their armies and set-up their regimes to begin with. America is far from perfect. And I appreciated the author setting the record straight that the Muslim world doesn't hate us for our freedom, they hate us for being a bully. But in exploring other reasons why the world hates America, I think the author let her personal opinions influence her focus a bit too much. She argues that the world hates us because a majority of us are so stupid we don't believe in evolution or at least think God might have been involved. Whatever her opinion on that issue, I highly doubt that most of the world hates us because we believe in God. If she thinks we are idiots, fine, but the argument went a bit too far in that particular case.

But in general, this provocative and satiric take on world politics was pure brilliance, and the featured cuisines were enticing. The author not only describes typical meals in each of the countries – complete with drinks and ambiance, she provides detailed recipes for a full-course dinner party. Since reading the book, I've tried a couple of the recipes (and can highly recommend the Margat Bamya stew from the Iraq chapter). They are easy to follow and she takes care to tell you exactly what should be happening with the food at each step and where you can go to find the more exotic ingredients listed. On the whole, I can only say that I wish all approaches to international relations were this entertaining and yummy.

It is strange being at places in America where our own sordid history has not been completely hushed up. In most of the country it is easy to forget who we stole the land from, who we enslaved to build initial infrastructure, and who we oppressed on our path to becoming a "great" nation. If those reminders aren't there before our eyes, we tend to forget they ever happened (and then get accused of being unpatriotic or of outright lying if you even mention the history). But its hard to hide from that history in New Mexico – at least once you make even a vague attempt to open your eyes.

For instance – I attended the Emergent Gathering in Glorieta, NM a couple of times in the past. While I had heard that Glorieta was the site of a major Civil War battle, often called the Gettysburg of the West, I knew little else of its history or culture except for the fact that the Southern Baptists had built a camp there that did its best to pretend New Mexican culture didn't exist. But this trip, I discovered that it was at the opening of the Glorieta Pass on the Santa Fe trail that the Mexican army made its last stand against the invading U.S. army in 1846. You see, for years U.S. citizens had been settling in Texas (often for the freedom to trade slaves). In 1836, these U.S. Texans declared Texas an independent country and went to war with the current ruler – Mexico. After remembering the Alamo and all that, the Republic of Texas formed. When the U.S. then annexed Texas in 1846 (which at that point included most of New Mexico), Mexico chose not to simply give up the land and leave. This was seen as cause for war and the U.S. invaded to secure the land we stole. General opinion saw it as our right to take the land, with some citing it "Our manifest destiny to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for the free development of our yearly multiplying millions." A small group of dissenters called this invasion robbery and murder, and Abraham Lincoln asserted "Let us put a check upon this lust of dominion." But their protest was to no avail. And so the U.S. army met and massacred the Mexican army at Glorieta – claiming the territory for ourselves. It puts things in perspective to know the history of the place – knowing who died so we could use a spiffy retreat center.

Same thing in Taos. One of the oldest continuously lived in pueblos in America is the Taos Pueblo. In 1847, after the U.S. took New Mexico, local Indians and Hispanics were fearful that the U.S. wouldn't honor their ownership of the land and so staged a rebellion against the U.S. governor in Taos. The governor ended up dead and the U.S. Army moved quickly to quash the revolt. (the Indians actually claim that they had nothing to do with the murder, that the Mexicans set them up). As the U.S. army attacked, many of the pueblo's residents (the women and children) as well as some of the insurgents took refugee in the Catholic church on the pueblo seeking its protection and sanctuary. The U.S. army burned them alive inside the church. The picture is of the remains of the church that has simply been left in ruins since that day.

I hear those stories and know that even though I am enjoying the benefits of past oppression, I have to at least acknowledge that great evil has been done. But there were others touring the Taos Pueblo I overheard who were offended that the Indians dare tell the story of how the U.S. army massacred their people. They thought it was rude and uncalled for to even bring up such stories. I found it interesting that here I was having no choice but to confront the sins of our collective past, and others around me were trying to silence history. But then I thought, at least they were hearing the stories whether they choose to believe them or not. That's why I am a huge fan of going to places where that history is in your face. No, its not fun to visit the site of a massacre, or of a firebombing, or the Holocaust Museum, but unless we make that effort we too soon forget that they exist. And from there we quickly start pretending that the evils they remind us of never happened. We need those reminders.

Pliny mentions that once he ramped up the persecution of Christians and insisted on their following Roman customs (like venerating the emperor), certain changes occurred in the culture. He mentions that the Roman temples, once deserted, were once again being filled, and religious rites practiced. And that the market for sacrificial animals, which had all but dried up, was once again flourishing. He proudly asserts that these Christians had been reformed into dutiful citizens of the Empire.

It intrigues me that Christians simply being who they are could so impact an economic system to the point that suppliers for animals to sacrifice to idols almost died out. It took the Empire persecuting and torturing Christians in order to restore that way of life and for the economic system to revert to the way things had been. I can't help but notice how the situation is reversed for Christians today. Instead of subverting the unjust economic systems of empire, we have married it to our faith. For many it is our Christian duty to uphold the economic system of our government. In fact those who question the system, or even question small parts of that system, are labeled as unpatriotic and (therefore) unchristian. It is those who stand with the poor and the oppressed, who choose not to give their money to false gods and unjust entities, that face ridicule for their faith these days.

I wonder what it would take for Christians these days to have such a significant economic impact on a part of our culture that it starts freaking the government out. What if we all choose not to buy products made by slave labor? What if we choose not to invest in companies that provide brothel visits with trafficked children as incentives for businessmen? What if we only bought clothing or food for which workers were paid a living wage? Would we maybe then be known for being something other than the lapdogs of Empire? I don't want to incur persecution, but if you are messing with the powers that be (especially the economic powers that be) then persecution is bound to follow. These Christians lived out their beliefs and seemingly had profound impact until the Romans started pressuring them to abandon their values. Are we even ready to admit that our faith has something to say to economic systems much less live out Christian values in that realm?

It's something that amuses me. For as hard some choose to believe that certain formulations of history are the gospel truth so to speak (i.e. that America was founded as a Christian nation, that the 1950's were a more moral time…), alternative interpretations of the facts still exist. But it takes a lot for a culture to let go of one collective interpretation in favor of another. Granted, major shifts, like deciding slavery is wrong or that women are people too, are rare. But even the small stuff fascinates me.

I was reminded of these shifts a couple of times recently. The first was after hearing about a recent report on NPR. The report basically was about how science sometimes gets it wrong. It discussed how when around 1900 doctors began autopsies on SIDS victims (babies), they identified the thymus glands as being enlarged. Thinking a cure for SIDS simply involved shrinking the gland, tens of thousands of babies were given radiation treatments to shrink their thymus. Unfortunately this was a misdiagnosis based on faulty anatomy research. Early anatomical research was done on cadavers collected from poor houses. The thymus gland is interesting in that it shrinks when a person is under high levels of stress – such as experiencing abject poverty. So, when the anatomy books were first written they identified the thymus as much smaller than a healthy one should be. The babies in fact had healthy thymus glands. The sad outcome of the mistake is that some 30,000 of these babies later died from radiation induced throat cancer. A costly mistake, but at one point the facts and the research had seemed so sure…

Similarly I recently discovered that absinthe is now legal in the United States. This surprised me – I’ve seen Moulin Rouge and the paintings of Toulouse-Lautrec. I’ve heard the stories that this liquor is more hallucinogenic drug than alcohol – perhaps laced with opium or something equally addictive and life destroying. Why else would it be banned in almost every country in the world? But as those bans have been overturned worldwide recently, it’s become known that absinthe’s bad reputation was based solely on cultural myth. Early tests linked the herbs in absinthe to the same chemicals as in LSD, but those were proven false. In fact there is no evidence that Absinthe is in truth anything more than a really strong drink. Sure it is addictive – back in the 19th century this herbal distilled liquor had a high alcohol content but mixed with sugar and tasting of licorice was extremely drinkable. It was the fruity girly drink of its day – making it a bit too easy to have a few too many. Sure dripping sugar slowly into it produced a chemical reaction that turned the liquid green (releasing the green fairy), but it was basically alcohol pure and simple. And for nearly a century the world believed that something this easy to drink had to contain sinister drugs and kept up the bans. It took some hard lobbying with the truth for the U.S. government to finally admit in 2007 that they were wrong and allow the green fairy across our borders.

There’s nothing extremely significant or deeply meaningful about either of these stories beyond the cultural ability to shift perspective and admit mistakes. They serve as a reminder to me to hold truth lightly. I can have faith and I can believe, but I need to take care not to cling so tightly with certainty to an idea that I am unable to admit I am wrong when need be. Our interpretations of the facts, the cultural myths we hold dear, the lenses though which we view the world all shift over time and if we truly do care about truth, we will be ready and willing when those shifts need to happen in our lives.

I grew up in Texas and so had required Texas history classes in both 4th and 7th grades. The hero stories of David Crockett's, Jim Bowie's, and my ancestor James Bonham's last stand fighting for Texas "freedom" fed my childhood conception of the world. I wasn't quite as enamoured as Mike was, but this is Texas and constant repetition and countless field trips make an impact. I recall even getting a talking to from my grandparents for not showing proper reverence and gratitude on one family Alamo excursion. So as much as I grew up with those stories, they are in truth stories that are 1. only true from a certain point of view and 2. that I don't want Emma to be brainwashed with. Hence my attempt to explain to Emma the story of the Alamo sans hagiography from my own biased perspective. What emerged was more of a story of greed, land grabs, racism, power, and machismo than heroic last stand. Call it revisionist, call it true, I want her to learn more of the story than I ever did.

The best part though was after I set the historical stage and told Emma that all those people came to the Alamo to kill each other, she thought for a minute and then told me "I don't want to be like those people." I loved that. The heroes we worship as children often shape what we value as adults. While there are historical figures that I would encourage my daughter to emulate and respect, I'd rather her not be encouraged to admire men who steal and kill for their own vainglory (no matter how history has re-interpreted their acts). I'd rather her know that all heroes are flawed and that every story has more than one side. I doubt she'll hear that in school. So if I want to teach her to love others and to treat them with respect, I need to make sure the heroes she is given to admire model those characteristics. But unfortunately most of the heroes from America's cultural mythology fall rather short on that account. I don't want to avoid exposing her to history – we still visit the sites, tell the stories, and stick her in coonskin caps – but let's just say that we will have our own way of remembering the Alamo.