On Current Injustice

Absorbing Native American history is a process that is comparable to the dark diffusion of tea leaves in hot water: the longer you look, the murkier the water becomes. Since the greedy settler's first step onto American soil, American Indians have seldom encountered sympathy or justice; throughout the centuries, they have been made to fight for land that was theirs to begin with. However, past battles are not enough to grant them freedom from participation in today's wars. Despite the fact that it has "been trying to kill Indians since the very beginning", America's government still finds it just to draft them to fight its battles, happy to ignore past differences and overlook the damaged state in which they find themselves at present (Alexie 29).

How is it that Native Americans, whose descendants came here thousands of years before those of today's average citizen, find themselves confined to reservations that resemble small third-world countries as punishment for desiring to continue tradition that has been in place since before Christ was said to have walked the earth? How is it that, in ignorance of reservation poverty and rampant disease of both body and mind, America's main focus remains hypocritically rooted in preservation of the past? Historical artifacts which, today, gain more attention than the people they represent should serve as a reminder of the attrocities American Indians have suffered for this country. Instead of directing public attention to the discovery of an ancient Native American relic, the news should center itself on the people alive now. More healthcare must be provided, more jobs must be created, more homes must be built, and more government resources must be allocated to aid; after all, isn't it every nation's goal to improve the quality of life as much as possible? This issue must not be forgotten; by turning away from their plight we do these people a great injustice. Only constant awareness can initiate change.

Fiction With a Slice of Truth

Fact and fiction are, by definition, two rigidly separate things. Upon closer examination, however, the border between the two proves to be somewhat fluid. Imagine, for a moment, that you are seated at a dark wooden table. Directly in front of you is a white ceramic mug partially full of dark coffee, with steam rising steadily from its surface. In reality, this object does not exist. However, in your mind it is unquestionably real; the coffee cup is unquestionably right in front of you. Now, if you assume, for the day, that the events that transpire in your imagination are just as much a part of reality as those which are able to be observed by others, you have just established that your thoughts can be considered actions that have come to pass. For instance, if somebody asks you, “What did you do today?” you can reply, “I had a cup of coffee.” Unless you are widely regarded as a liar, your words immediately become fact to the person inquiring: today, you drank coffee. If the same person poses the question, “What did you think about today?” then the response, “I thought about having a cup of coffee,” is still equally applicable. From your perspective, both events actually transpired, so neither of your answers is false. Nevertheless, to your companion, thought and action are two distinctly separate ideas. According to this belief, if when posed the question, “What did you do today?” you reply, “I had a cup of coffee,” but later say, “Actually, I only thought about having a cup of coffee,” then your companion will immediately assume that you are disproving your previous statement, thereby turning fact into fiction. However, since these thoughts sparked a tangible emotional response, the experience does not lose its authenticity even though it took place inside your brain. Emotions can turn fiction into fact. In this manner, in the role of author Tim O’Brien, you could combine the thoughts you had in Vietnam with the events you experienced as a catalyst for fabrication of a new kind of truth. You could write, “When Ted Lavender was shot, they used his poncho to wrap him up, then to carry him across the paddy, then to lift him into the chopper that took him away,” and never have to specify which portion of this statement was factual because it is true that dead soldiers were wrapped in ponchos and lifted into the air by helicopters (O’Brien 3). Or, you could conjure up something barely believable and associate it with emotions you had actually felt at some point, and because of those palpable emotions and your credibility, no sympathetic individual would question its validity. So, it appears that fiction can be truth if it is not established as fallacy, and yet fiction can also be truth because it conveys feelings, which are their own kind of truth.