My Friend Sacheen
With all the controversy and drama surrounding Sacheen, I find it necessary to make a statement.
by Julie Holder
This is not simply about the ordeal of Maria Louise Cruz Rubio aka Sacheen Littlefeather, it is about the responsibility of reclaiming identity our history, and our story.
After high school, I had migrated to Marin County in the bay area from San Diego. Before Alcatraz, my grandmother always told me, she was called Diegueño, we were also called Mission Indians. Today, as we revitalize our history and language, we are known as Kumeyaay.
Then came Alcatraz. It was after the warriors made their presence known, my grandmother began to share her stories. She told me her ordeal beginning in 1913 when she was seven years old. Her father had been killed in a railroad accident leaving her Irish mother and her Indian Grandmother alone to care for her older brother, herself and her younger twin brother and sister. Later in 1915, since the children were ‘part Indian’ and there were still no legal rights allotted to the Irish mother and Indian grandmother, the children became wards of the court. Then unexpectedly they were picked up and taken from their home in old town San Diego at great protest from the Indian Grandmother and her then sickly Irish Mom. The children were shipped off to Sherman Indian School in Riverside and were told their family was dead and that Sherman would now be their home. Tears came as she spoke of her older brother running away and separation from the twins. She would speak of her fears, loneliness, sickness and struggles. More tears came and went as she described the suffering, loss, punishment and disconnection. Her story was an open wound that had never begun to heal. It was not until she witnessed the actions of the warriors of Alcatraz that she would begin to identify and understand their efforts and demands for Indian rights.
In 1969 the reservations were vast lands of disregard. Intentionally isolated the Governments designated them tax free sovereign lands. This intent allowed no economic opportunity, health care, clean water, electricity or development of services. Opportunity was non-existent, Illness, disease, drugs, alcohol and indifference ravaged reservations in all of America and California. Also in those years, most Indians were not relegated to reservations, it was Government and politics that terminated populations removing them into urban cities in the name of progress. Termination then relocation created the current displaced populations in far greater numbers than all the reservations combined. This dislodged population, suffering loss of lands, languages and history are the direct outcome of government actions. These actions were called termination and relocation, today we clearly understand and can call this by name: genocide. Alcatraz just like the Indian people was historically disregarded abandoned and surrounded by a sea of prosperity. Alcatraz island became the symbol of our modern-day forsaken people, plundered cultures, ravaged lands and embezzled history.
In 1973 when Sacheen stood up at the Academy Awards it would become another symbol of self-determination. Sacheen would become a folk hero. Her action brought attention on a world scale and it would be another profound event for all Indian people to share. Watching this event we witness this Indian woman in regalia, standing alone, unwelcomed in a room full of non-believers, entitled elites and the empowered media who consistently invented the image of our people, story and history. Threatened with arrest if she read Brando’s full speech: she would improvise in her own words. Also forewarned by Brando not to accept the Oscar, she would with the most graceful gesture of her hand refuse to touch the statue.
In my book, when you are facing the foe in a battle, I do not care if those standing next to me are not of or from the same blood, color or lands that I come from. At that moment, Sacheen became a sister in battle, she was on our side. She was giving us a voice. Her actions that night empowered all Indian nations.
This action shared headlines with AIM and the occupation of Wounded Knee. The undeclared war was censored by the three major TV stations. Many years later, after the making of “Reel Injun,” another ironic episode in Sacheen history, I would meet Russel and Pearl Means at a conference. When Russel learned I was friends with Sacheen he became very animated and began telling me the story of being held under siege by the Feds at the AIM occupation of Wounded Knee. Freezing cold, morale low on that Oscar night, someone ran out of a building and told him to come see what was on the TV. The room was full, all had gathered around the only TV listening as Sacheen spoke. The room cheered, realizing her words carried their voice and their actions. They were being heard on the world stage! Russel said it lifted their spirits and gave them new hope. The words of Gil Scott Herons song, “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” were not true. Here we were and with Sacheen’s voice, “our revolution was indeed being televised.”
In 1978 I would eventually meet Sacheen. My mom worked for region IX at UIN in San Francisco, one of the programs for displaced urban Indians. Sacheen was the VIP on the scene. There was little in the way of celebrity Indians outside of those who had inhabited Alcatraz. I believe it was at the beginning of Mike Smith’s (Fort Peck Sioux Tribe) American Indian Film Festival at the Palace of Legion of Honor –one of the first Native identified events. She along with fellow celebrity Will Sampson, a tall handsome and very humble man, were in the food line and I remember the highlight for everyone was they were serving buffalo meat. The introduction was made and it was fleeting, but I remember how beautiful she was and how likeable she seemed for a celebrity.
But it was not until many years later that I would bump into Sacheen again. I had made arrangements to meet Janeen Antoine (Ms. Dick Trudell, as we like to tease her) to attend the Robert Mirabel concert at Marin Civic Center. We arranged to meet at the San Rafael Sizzler. As I entered, looking around for a familiar face, someone in the corner waved at me and a voice said “are you looking for Indian people, well here we are.” She sat alone at the table, inviting me over to wait for Janeen. I got my food and we began to chat like old friends. A few days later I got a call from Sacheen who just wanted to talk. At the end of this conversation, she invited me to the Marin Indian Alliance. A regular Thursday event at a local church. There, I would meet and be introduced to Charles, her “other side” along with a longer list of local Indian people. In those days, we were all urban Indians. Few were raised on federally recognized lands (most in the urban communities were not). We had very little need to exclude anyone from their self-identified Indian status. At the Indian alliance, no one, other than Sacheen, Charles even “looked like Indians.” Requesting proof for being an Indian was unheard of.
After many years of getting to know the complexities of Sacheen Littlefeather Rubio, hearing her history and life story, I came to understand many of my own feelings of disconnection. I would also eventually find; my mom’s other Grandmother was also Indian. The migratory Mescalero Apache were as historically ambiguous as my California Indian heritage. So, status and identity has always been a question in my family. Over the years I would learn about Sacheen’s birth family. How Sacheen tended to her mother’s health needs during her final years. I would listen to her stories of family grief and the failure of her sisters to reunite after her mother’s death. She admitted her struggles with her own mental health, diagnosed as bipolar, entering a treatment center to maintain and rebuild a semblance of her wellbeing. She was heavily medicated and worked very hard to maintain her balance. She admitted to her obsessive need to control her life and balance the daily interactions of insecurity. She would express the constant betrayed by her sisters’ actions and their unrelenting need to vilify her. She said on more than one occasion, if she had to interact with her sisters, it made her realize how severely her family suffered from mental illness issues and how they would benefit from the same therapy she had sought out.
Yet, Sacheen always managed to face the world with humor and joy. She was genuinely a good person. I would share in the many customs and traditions that were meaningful to both Charles, an enrolled member of the Otoe-Missouria Tribe, and Sacheen, a self-proclaimed Apache. Charles was a regalia maker of the highest order. The dance gear he made with care, tradition and pride was without question the revival of a proud heritage. They both took great pleasure in being invited to dance, tell stories and participate in Native pow wows and community events. That they were always welcome, was important and meaningful to both of them.
Sacheen’s career had been cut short by the blacklisting of her person, she had changed paths and become a physical therapist, she was well known and had many clients. She would continue her work of advocacy and activism, dedicating her time to any worthwhile cause of interest, she used her voice and her person for many significant issues of the day. She was a kind heart and failing the stardom that was snatched by her Brando fame, also a sucker for attention. She was genuine in her care, but naive in her choices. I would caution her about the many fans, supporters, acquaintances who wanted her time, attention, voice and support. I found she was always shocked when people would disappoint her, but she continued regardless. I think it was Charles who would eventually appoint me as someone she could trust to tell her the truth. Not always welcome, but our friendship was founded on honesty and respect and the deep affection lasted to her final days.
Sacheen’s fame was a blessing and a curse. With her mental challenges, public appearances were always a huge task for Sacheen. I became a volunteer roadie — a helping hand. Quelling the anxiety of public appearance’s when Charles was not available. Sometimes at special events it would take both Charles and any of us friends to help manage the “Diva.” We would look at each other, rolling our eyes, as she took the stage. Like any true talent, she became the “force and star,” she was meant to be. She would light up and become the “Sacheen,” that we all loved and believed in.
During our friendship, I would be called on to assist, share and be present for many of the highlights in her illustrious career. I shared premieres and previews for the love/hate infatuation the media had with Sacheen. Every Oscar season they would dredge up her story and reinvent another series of reviews. During these times she suffered the barbs of comedians and the disavowing of her identity. This was never just once; this was every year for as long as I have known her, always when Oscars rolled around. An open wound to be poked at the whim of the media.
When the world called Sacheen out she found ways to laugh. Always during Oscar season. Was she a “real,” Indian or not? Was she a friend of Brando or not? Was she a natural beauty or did she have “work?” Was that her real hair color or not? Was she at Alcatraz or not? Every season it would be a new bevy of critiques by someone inside or outside her world. I asked her once what she felt about the annual attention and she told me: “I must say that most of the comments are from people who do not know or care about me, or any of my values and concerns so If I gave a fig about any of it, I would have to spend all my time caring about all of it, I find that would be a real waste of my time.”
The Bay area has always been a cup filled with Indians. With Alcatraz this cultural mishmash had become a modern melodrama. Genocide caused chaos and spawned the status and identity issues of lands and Tribes which has become a modern telenovela. All Tribes and peoples suffered, we all became people with little hope, lost voices, lost history and uncelebrated cultures. Ironically in California during the 80s, things began to change. The Indian Gaming Regulatory Act of 1988 became the step to empowerment of Tribal Sovereignty. Casinos were being born and the long economic deprivation of sovereign nations suddenly changed. With new riches introduced, the previously dubious distinction of being Indian, now suddenly became an aspiration. What Alcatraz had failed to do; casino money accomplished. Todays “Indian identity,” came into perspective, not simply with the Indian nations battles to survive. But, with the business of casinos money, the status of being Indian suddenly turned into a profitable endeavor. The lure of money changes the adversity of being born “Indian.” into a new desirable aspiration. Casino funds have become the magnet for heritage and Indian identity is no longer a tarnish it has now become a commodity.
That is why I write this today as the granddaughter of an Indian survivor who was stolen from her history, I believe I have a right to my voice. Also, for me, if Sacheen was a was a “real” Indian or not, it did not make any difference. She was my Indian sister who who was brave, kind, proud and fought by my side to the end.
At the funeral, there was a photo of Sacheen on the altar and it was taken at her Academy Apology event several weeks earlier. The apology came simultaneously as Charles, her life partner, had been diagnosed with a blood disorder and it was evident he was quickly failing. She put the Academy invitation on hold, concentrating on helping Charles. After his passing and his return to Oklahoma homelands for ceremony, she was honored to know that his people had made a place for her, next to him. What she loved in this life would also be shared in the next. Prior to Charles death, a few years earlier, she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Throughout Charles’ health crisis she had been waging her own war to survive. When Charles passed, she spoke of losing the momentum to carry on and she began to make resolutions and preparation for her next journey. The Academy offer had remained on the table, and I believe this was what was keeping her grounded.
As I said, over many years I had heard about Sacheen’s family ordeals and the conflict with her sisters. In preparation for the Academy event, I had helped write and voice some of her thoughts about her upbringing, her family challenges and the impact they made in her mental illness. Her family ordeals and personal history were always a hurdle in her life and there was not a day that she did not face and suffer its outcome. Keeping her balance and mental wellbeing was a defining challenge throughout her life and her ability to manage daily was a personal accomplishment. I believe that was how Maria Louise Cruz Rubio became Sacheen Littlefeather and her darkness became light. In the final weeks of her life, she planned and looked forward to the Academy apology as a personal accomplishment and historic event. It would become the goal that was keeping her bound to the earth. She would manage the details for the Academy, create her lists and tie up her final wishes. In one conversation she was gathering names of who she wished to invite to the Academy gala. I asked her if she wanted to use this opportunity to reunite with her estranged family if this would be the time? “She scoffed and yelled hell no, I don’t care if I never speak to or see those people again. I have spent my life balancing my mental health and those people continue to be the most disappointing and sick people I have ever known. The reason I ask people to contribute to mental health causes is because of them. No, thanks, no way it’s over and done.”
The Academy event was attended by many of her friends, followers, fans and whoever had the price of a ticket. It was an audience full of glamor and significant for the overwhelming Indian presence. This legacy was a moment of pride and although she was chair bound and weak, she was the star who had made her mark on this audience and was living to tell the tale. Her humor was well received. The event was wonderful and difficult to experience. I took my mom who was able to say goodbye and we watched as a room full of well-wishers stood in line to share photos. I was proud and torn by the bittersweet understanding of what I knew would come next. I had written a speech for her, much of which she used and at the end it was evident that she had made her mark on Hollywood and would not be forgotten.
Sacheen would return home and within a few short days, she would leave the planet. The image at the altar during the funeral was Sacheen in full makeup, looking beautiful as she was staring directly into the camera smiling as someone was doing her hair. Her gaze could be interpreted as stoic and strong. I know her well enough to know it was her “stink eye” stare. Disarming, and daring and evidence of her humor and what I know was her last effort to directly engage her final audience. “Capture your audience,” was no doubt still lingering in her mind.
At her memorial and at the end of this long service of drums, songs and speakers, a woman in strange dark clothes (Sacheen requested everyone wear purple) ran down the aisle. She began her outburst in the aisle where no one could hear. With courtesy, someone helped her to the microphone. She claimed she was there with the other sister, they were Sacheen’s “real” sisters. With that statement her intent became clear as she began her litany of what “Sacheen Littlefeather was not.” She would inaudibility murmur renunciations of all that Sacheen had claimed about her father and family “to set the record straight.” This non-descript figure making pointless and inconsequential claims had a lifetime to make these statements.
I wondered, why now?
As her rant drifted into nonsense, I stood up willing to remove her from her moment at the altar. I was relieved when the Priest was able to wrangle the “real sister,” away. Their appearance was evidence of what Sacheen had said about her estranged family and their sad mental health status. The sisters having a lifetime to create their drama, choose her funeral for their choreographed media retribution. Sadly, it became evident a few days later the sisters had been egged on by the celebrity-seeking self-appointed “alleged pretend-Indian list maker” Some “real,” Indian woman who has somehow anointed herself the arbiter of who is and who is not a “real Indian.” The sisters had been used to discredit Sacheen and allow this woman her moment of fame.
In her lifetime, Sacheen Littlefeather stood for our nations and our hopes, it is that alone makes her “real” to me. She needs no status or government recognition. Today, my tears come and go. I think about the laughter in our conversations and how the world will not be the same without her strength, trust and bravado. I feel blessed to have known her well enough to know she is holding her fan, laughing and guiding the line of dancers to follow as the drum leads her into the next dance.
