Sixty Years in America: Anthropological Essays

Copyright © 2019 by Helene E. Hagan.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2019912050

ISBN:     Hardcover       978-1-7960-5346-3

               Softcover         978-1-7960-5345-6

               eBook              978-1-7960-5344-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 11/13/2019

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

801496

CONTENTS

Preface

Introduction

Mustapha

Tisquantum

Chief Seattle’s Legacy

Plastic Medicine People

St. Vincent And Silveira Ranch Ethnographic Report

The People Of Niram

Apuleius Of Madaurus

A Field Of Golden Mummies

Islam And The Enslavement Of Africans

The Argan Tradition Of Southwestern Morocco

The Importance Of International Alliances For The Amazigh Movement Of North Africa

Book Review One

Book Review Two

Book Review Three

UCLA Lecture On Ancient Berbers

Amazigh Movement In Morocco

French Indians Of America

PREFACE

In the midst of winter, I found there was within me an invincible summer. (Albert Camus)

I was born in Morocco, a North African country which is regarded as a land of mysticism and erudite spiritual knowledge in the entire Arabic world. Its name, Maghreb, means the Far West, or The Land of the Setting Sun for Arabs of the Middle East. It is a region which has given birth to a considerable number of holy men, visionaries and scholars. The visit of a traveling sage from Morocco is generally believed to bring unusual tidings, and his words are heeded. The land of Morocco is the land of baraka - spiritual power - of great abundance. The sacred bird of the country is the Marabou stork. Marabout, and the name of Marabout is also given to the various saintly individuals and the shrines and tombs of the miracle workers who have passed away and whose baraka continues to grow beyond their temporal lives. It is important to stress, however, that even though the country is often known as being a Muslim country, it is not essentially Arabic, but numerically and genetically predominantly Berber or Amazigh. Indeed all of North Africa is called Tamazgha by indigenous Amazigh peoples of Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya and the Imazighen Tuareg groups who inhabit the Sahara Desert, south of those countries.

Such was the environment in which I grew up, among Arabs, Berbers, Jews and Europeans of several origins, mainly from France, Spain and Italy. My father was an exiled Catalan who arrived in the early days of the French Protectorate of Morocco, with a few francs and a banjo, and made a living of his talent as a musician and singer in Marrakesh where he first settled in 1925. My mother, whom he met in Rabat a few years later, was a French Jewish Berber from Algeria, whose ancestry can be traced far back in that country, with ties to Spanish and Tunisian Judeo-Berber culture which existed there long before the arrival of France and the colonization that followed. Through my mother, born Levy, I am both a member of The Great Tribe of Levites who were assigned the responsibility of the altar under Mosaic rule, and a member of the Kabyls (The People) who are aboriginals of North Africa, and whose presence in Africa anteceded the invasions of Romans, Turks and Europeans. Amazigh groups of North Africa continue to observe ancient sacred teachings and ceremonies in an official Muslim world. Through my father, I carry the famous independent traits of Catalans and their love of music and dance. Catalonia was also the land of the earliest troubadours who sang of the spiritual aspects of womanhood for the first time in Europe. It is a region still renown for its sunshine, its colorful culture and wry sense of humor.

I was taught in French, Arabic, Latin, Greek and English in an all-girls high school of excellent reputation in Rabat. I studied the Classics, Art History and Philosophy. At age 11, I met a Franciscan missionary brother, Brother Danset, who served as Catechist for our high school, and he introduced me to the Archbishop of Morocco when they selected me for a special ceremony of dedication to Mary Mother of God, on behalf of the Catholic community of the Archdiocese of Rabat, in the Saint Peter’s Cathedral of Rabat, the capital of Morocco. The imposing cathedral is still standing today on the well known Al Joulan place which has changed its name, as have the majority of streets and sites following independence in 1956. It was a supremely important event of my adolescence. After a couple of years of university studies in France, I entered the United States as a student in American Civilization, under some special, unique circumstances. Having played a minor role in the relations between the government of the United States and that of Morocco represented by three ministers of the Sultan’s Cabinet, in the summer of 1959, the ministers thanked me and offered their help in return for my services: following a phone call on my part, my visa was obtained within hours after the Minister of the Interior requested it from the American Ambassador. The Ambassador was baffled by a diplomatic request he apparently could not refuse, expressed his astonishment repeatedly, and admonished me at length about gratitude and responsibility, and the great privilege just bestowed upon me. I left Morocco two days later for a journey which has lasted a life time. It is my sincere hope that my life and work would do honor to the Ambassador’s instructions.

I married and raised three children in California, while pursuing my studies. I obtained my License-es-Lettres from the University of Bordeaux, France, and a graduate degree from Stanford University in French and Education. I owned and managed a Palo Alto boutique importing French swimwear and lingerie, La Ruche, French Imports from 1973 to 1978. I then obtained the equivalent to a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and entered a PhD program in Psychology which I quickly left for anthropological studies at Stanford University. It is at that time that American Indians began to enter my life. I was invited to South Dakota where I lived and pursued fieldwork at Yellow Thunder Camp in the Black Hills and at the Oglala Lakota College on Pine Ridge Indian Reservation for some three years. During those years, I created a photo project and obtained a grant from the South Dakota Committee on the Humanities to conduct an oral history project among elders of the reservation. My fieldwork allowed me to establish a number of friendships with Lakota women who welcomed me in their midst, guided me, and provided a substantial network for my work. I attended some ceremonies and was granted many opportunities to discuss historical and spiritual matters with a number of traditional men and women, as well as spiritual leaders of the Oglala Lakota people of Pine Ridge Reservation and other reservations in South Dakota. I owe a great deal to such special moments of friendship, and many kind individuals.

Indeed, I owe much to a variety of teachers who have touched my life and inspired me on a unique life journey, in Morocco, from the markets of Fez to the school benches of Rabat, to thinkers such as Voltaire and Albert Camus whose philosophies have offered important guidelines early in life and nourished my adolescent heart and soul. As an adult, I found inspiration again in the writings of Carl Jung and his disciples. At Stanford University, I learned a new discipline which helped charter the course of my professional years, under the guidance of Anthropology professors Dr. Bill Durham, Dr. James L. Gibbs, Jr., and Dr. George Spindler. Mostly, throughout the years, I have highly valued the caring emotional support of a loving French family, and of my children, Phillip Durk, Jennifer Jane, and Marianne Elizabeth. I dedicate this book to them.

Forest Knolls, California

October 10, 1989

INTRODUCTION

In the course of the last 60 years, I have written a good number of essays and stories on topics ranging from memories of my childhood in Morocco (Mustapha, Per/Se Magazine, Stanford University Press 1969) to American Indian cultural issues (Plastic Medicine People, Sonoma County Democrat Press, 1989) and scholarly articles and reviews of books on Berber or Amazigh culture which have been published in a variety of publications and are in some cases available on the internet.

I have gathered the majority of these essays to compose this book with the hope that it will be a valuable addition to the books I have published earlier, and will indeed complement them. Sixty Years in America is not a reprint of its predecessor Fifty Years in America published in 2013, but contains most of the same essays.

I have my favorite pieces of course, but each one of the articles included in this compilation derives from a special topic of interest, and some of them are the result of months of research into one particular topic. For instance, "The Field of Golden Mummies (1999) preceded two years of research in Egyptology, the study of hieroglyphs, and the writing of The Shining Ones: Etymological Essay on the Amazigh Roots of Ancient Egyptian Civilization" (2001).

I feel very strongly about the piece which examined a speech falsely attributed to Chief Seattle. I presented the evidence on the actual origin of such a speech on Thanksgiving Day during an American Indian program on KPFA radio station in Berkeley, Ca, hosted by two good friends, Titus Frenchman (Oklahoma Lenape) and Kathy Rosenmeyer (Washington Quinault.) I have completed a fully developed manuscript which I might someday publish on the matter of the lack of authenticity of speeches attributed to Chief Seattle, a Northwestern Suquamish American Indian. The excessive abuse of the words forged by a couple of white men, cited in books, and passing for the wisdom of an American Indian Chief is remarkable and astonishing, to say the least.

My favorite tongue in cheek article, The People of Niram, was written on the eve of my departure from Marin County in August 1998, as I relocated to Southern California. I sent it as a letter to the Editor of the Coastal Post newspaper, and it was not until a couple of years later that I realized it had been published by them, as it appeared on the internet with favorable comments on the part of its readers. I am particularly fond of this Farewell to Marin County letter I left behind. To this day, it makes me smile when I read it.

The most difficult one to compose was undoubtedly the report on the enslavement of Africans by Arabs, a report which was requested by an international group of Imazighen (Berbers of North Africa and Tuaregs of the Sahara Desert) planning to attend a United Nations gathering in Durban, South Africa, on the topic of discrimination. I was asked if I could gather as much information possible on the role of Berbers in the infamous Trans-Saharan Slave Trade, as it appeared that a large contingent of sub-Saharan representatives were bringing accusations against North African Berbers and Arabs lumped together as culprits of that trade. I was told that other scholars of the group were conducting the same work in French, and I needed to establish facts to the best of my ability and furnish a report in English for the Conference. The goal was not to implicate or exonerate any particular group of people, but to unearth all possible information and reach the truth about the role of Berbers. I delved into months of research at the UCLA Library, consulting all I could in both French and English documents on the matter of this slave trade, starting with the writings of Arabic essayists of the Middle Ages on the conquest of North Africa. I have distilled that information in the article I prepared for publication, and listed the sources of the information. It was indeed a difficult assignment, but I learned much important and often neglected history in the process.

My very favorite piece is the one I have titled "Apuleius of Madaurus: Amazigh Philosopher and World Advocate" which appeared in The Amazigh Voice, a scholarly publication of the Amazigh Cultural Association in America. I have been familiar with prior studies of an Apuleius tale The Golden Ass through Jungian writings, going back to the 1980’s. I knew Marie-Louise Von Franz, a personal assistant to Dr. Carl Jung, who visited Los Angeles in 1980. I respect her enormous contribution to Jungian literature. She, however, analyzed the story from an erroneous perspective, in my view, because she missed a great deal of important data, given the Amazigh (Berber) origin of the story teller, in a study which has become famous among Jungian analysts worldwide. Her failure to recognize Apuleius as a North African man rather than a Roman literary figure led her to falsely analyze the nature of his opus and the meaning of his spiritual journey. Apuleius was, before anything else, an Amazigh personality in a Roman-controlled cultural environment, and his "Apologia" which I consulted for this article offered a great deal of feelings about his Amazigh identity. I wrote that article with passion and I hope clarity of mind and expression. It remains my favorite piece of writing.

For this latest compilation of my essays, I have included three important articles which I wrote since the publication of my first book of essays, Fifty Years in America in 2013. The first addition is a commentary on the Amazigh Movement in Morocco which originally appeared in the cultural section of Amazigh World News, a web site originating from Boston. The second inclusion is a chapter from the book I published in 2018, Russell Means, The European Ancestry of a Militant Indian, titled French Indians of America. As a French scholar living in America, I am particularly proud of the research behind that essay.

Helene Hagan working on photo project with hereditary headman Charlie Under Baggage, in Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, South Dakota 1984. Helene was Director of the Visual Identification Project, Oglala Lakota College Archives, funded by the South Dakota Committee on Humanities (1983-1985). The Photo Exhibit was shown in several National Parks and on recommendation of Senator Daschle of South Dakota, at the Rotunda Building, Washington, D. C.

MUSTAPHA

During the Protectorate years of Morocco (1912-1956), the French Civil Service employed legions of men as ‘chaouchs’, couriers and office helpers. There was none better than Mustapha, my father’s helper for nearly thirty years. He had adopted my father in Marrakesh when he arrived in the early years of the Protectorate, young and destitute, carrying a banjo and a few francs. He fed him and lodged him. Later, when my father obtained a post with the French government, he requested Mustapha to be his special courier. When I was born in 1939, Mustapha was already of an advanced age though his age could only be guessed. He was a World War I veteran and took pride in his uniform, royal blue or khaki according to the seasons, which he wore all his life. Three rows of colorful medals and ribbons decorated the left side of his chest, a tribute to his courage and his dedicated service to the French infantry. Below the immaculate turban which wrapped his closely shaven head, his swarthy face had indeed the martial look of an old warrior’s, and though his angular frame grew thinner with years, and his features more heavily lined, he never lost his alertness and precision of movements.

A number of my childhood recollections revolve around Mustapha. During World War II, my father was regional Controller for the district of Oujda. We lived in a large villa furnished by the French Government for his office as well as our residence. Our household was composed of several women, one of them a Spanish nanny, and a married couple working in the offices. A number of uncles, aunts, and cousins came and went, some staying for extended periods of time. Mustapha lodged in a little cottage on the property behind the main house and was in charge of us whenever my parents had to absent themselves. Perhaps my earliest memory in life is the silhouette of the burnoosed, hooded Arab by my crib, the same one who would sit at my father’s door in the corridor during the day. I grew up to think that indeed Mustapha was a member of my family, as maids came and went, friends of the family did too, and numerous visitors, but Mustapha was my constant companion, and the best story teller I knew. It was from the illiterate old man that I learned the fascinating tales of Islam which delight young and old throughout the market places of Morocco and the Middle East. He also was the first one to put paper and pencil in my hands, and encouraged my early scribbling and drawings.

On warm evenings, my older brother and I would scamper off to the garden near the cottage to curiously watch him tend the