Diversity Diaries: Ray Chavez

By Ray Chavez
Chairman, Department of Contemporary Media and Journalism
University of South Dakota, Vermillion

09.24.04

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Ray Chavez

It was the Spring of 1980 and I had been working in the Yakima Valley of east central Washington State for only a few months. But in that time I had opened up news coverage of the Yakima Indian Nation, a coverage that to my surprise had not been a regular beat at my newspaper, the Yakima Herald-Republic.

Armed with my newly minted master's degree from the University of Washington, I had returned to journalism by taking a general-assignment reporter position in Yakima's east valley bureau. I had begun coverage of Yakima Tribal Council meetings, at times greeted by skeptical eyes from council and tribal members. He could be Indian, they'd wonder, but he is definitely not Yakima. But I persisted.

My meeting with the old Yakima woman was on a much lighter occasion. It was the time of year for the annual Yakima Pow Wow, and I was to do a color piece on the event.

I was sensitive to the criticism that the only time the newspaper had covered Indian news was during Pow Wow and that the color pieces had tended toward the patronizing "quaintness" of tribal customs. I wanted my story to be more.

I had arrived during Pow Wow preparation to search out angles. As I wandered through the dirt field that had been converted to a Pow Wow parking lot, I couldn't help but admire the artwork on the cars that had arrived from hundreds of miles away. These vehicles had become the new Indian ponies, brightly painted with Native designs and pastoral scenes, each with its own heraldic identity. The wonderful odor of smoked salmon filled the air, and I followed the aroma to a nearby tent and canopy. There she was.

The old Yakima woman greeted me with a toothless and endearing smile, and asked me in. I explained who I was and asked if she wouldn't mind a few of my questions. She didn't say no, and proceeded to speak in a steady, drumbeat manner, explaining what she was doing and why.

She said the salmon was sacred to the people of the Northwest and of the Yakima River, and that the creator had given the fish to the people as a gift. She said all of Mother Earth's creatures had a spirit and that we must bless them for the giving of their flesh to nourish us. She spoke about the alder wood she had soaked the night before in river water and was now smoldering, bathing the salmon she had gently placed above the fire in white smoke. The alder wood had to come from a tree that had given up its spirit and no longer grew — not from a tree that had been felled at the hand of human beings — thereby fulfilling their life circle on Mother Earth. She not only spoke eloquently of the other food she was preparing, but of the spirit of the very rocks that had formed the rim of her fire pit — they were gifts from the creator that we must never take for granted. The other elder woman of the tribe then chimed in with descriptions of their own food preparations.

There was gentle conversation, sometimes lapsing into their native Yakima tongue, welcoming the new, young friend in their midst. The old woman then looked at me as I took more notes and smiled and said, "This is tin now wit." Tin now wit? I asked. Yes, she said, "Tin now wit; the Indian Way." I wrote my story, and that's the headline it carried.

Weeks later I covered the opening of the Yakima Nation's Cultural Center. Toward the end of the ceremony, tribal elders announced that an honor song was about to be sung. We were told that during the dance in which tribal members had formed a circle on the Cultural Center floor, the young maidens of the tribe would come forward to invite those who had made a significant contribution to the tribe to join the circle.

The drumbeat and honor song began, and much to my surprise, I found myself face to face with a teen-age Yakima girl. She stretched forth her hand, took mine and ushered me to the circle.

Later I was told that the invitation had been in appreciation of "the storyteller" — I was the one who had told the true stories of the people.

I have journalism awards to my credit. Some hang on my office wall or on my office shelves; some are in boxes, stored away. But of all my awards and plaques, it was the honor of an invitation to dance with the Yakima that stands out.

Ray Chavez is dean of the Freedom Forum's American Indian Journalism Institute held each June at the University of South Dakota.

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Diversity Diaries
Diversity Diaries is a collection of true stories from newspaper people around the country who have experienced or observed pivotal moments in diversity.  10.04.01