I realized today that in my body, in my genes I am half oppressor, half oppressed.

My mother used to tell a story about the family silver. There was once a set of silver that made the journey from Europe to America. That silver was packed into the little carriage that then ambled across the continent. It landed in its old wooden box in Northern California. Times were hard for those settlers, six generations ago. They had to manage surviving with very little. They also had to fight to gain the land they would eventually clearcut and turn into farm fields. They fought hard and used up all their ammunition. My mother used to tell the story about how that family silver was divided in half. Half was kept and half was melted down to use as bullets in the fight against the indians who wanted their land back. Funny that five generations later my mother would marry an indian and create two identity-confused children. She also has that silver, still in its box, half a set.

Montana is different than I expected. I am suprised by how institutional the racism is here. I have heard a lot of discussions about how the Indians don't do this or don't do that or are just uneducated and poor and drunk and fat and addicted and terrible parents and abusive partners and so on and so on and so on.

The strangest thing is that when people look at me they don't think I look like an indian. well, part of me certainly does, but the part that doesn't- the decently dressed well educated part doesn't fit their stereotype so they dismiss me as one of them.

which makes it safe for them to tell me all these disgusting and racist things.

This is a big suprise.