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Wisconsin boasts a populace of broad ethnic and racial diversity. Aside from the immigrant Irish, Germans, Poles, Hispanics, African Americans and even Finns, there’s an indigenous population of Native Americans. Some are more LGBT accepting than others. Native Americans claim a long tradition of recognizing their gays. They are known as Two Spirit. In the case of a young man, for example, it manifests itself in certain feminine predispositions, like making a demonstrative eye-roll at the mere mention of hunting but exhibiting an enthusiastic affinity for gathering.
Remember “F Troop”? It was a 1960s TV sitcom about a wacky U.S. Cavalry unit stationed at a fort out West somewhere. The local Native Americans, the Hekawi, had a gayish brave, Crazy Cat. In one episode, at a fireside pow-wow, the Hekawi ponder why they call Caucasians the “white man.” The wise chief suggests “he more beige.” After other mundane off-white color suggestions like “tan,” Crazy Cat offers a lilting “eggshell.” Even as a kid, I got the not-so-subliminal Two Spirit message.
I’ve been told there’s a special ritual to determine Two Spirit nature. A bow and arrow and a basket are placed in a hut. The hut is then set ablaze. The Two Spirit candidate is told to run into the burning hut and save one of the items. If he chooses the bow and arrow, he’s straight. If he grabs the basket, he’s Two Spirit. Now, you may be wondering, like I did, why don’t they simply ask? Well, that would be the easy solution. But then, LGBT people, regardless of their ethnic roots, are all about drama and running into a burning hut is certainly dramatic. Besides, back in the days before Tea Dance, there probably wasn’t much else to do on a Saturday afternoon.
You might also be thinking, as “accepting” as it sounds, there’s something stereotypically sexist to the Two Spirit concept. After all, just because a man, say, likes to cook and sew, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s gay. One could take offense at the idea. But then, at least it’s recognition of our legitimate difference.
In fact, I used to practice archery. A college buddy was a bow hunter and introduced me to the sport. It had a Zen quality with all the concentrated focus and the repetitive ritual of setting the arrow, slowly lowering the bow, taking aim and firing. I’d ease the monotony by pretending I was a Samurai archer in a Kurosawa movie or at the Battle of Hastings. Besides, shooting with my friend was a male bonding moment. Still, it was a little dry.
Maybe there’s something more to the burning hut ritual. It may not just be about superficial definitions of hetero-normative gender expectations. Perhaps Native Americans have an inherent sense of humor, or a deeper insight into the many-splendored aspects of sexuality. Call me Two Spirit, but, although shooting a bow and arrow has its moments, ultimately, there’s really nothing like a nice basket.
