So The Boy comes home from school a couple weeks ago and tells me there are parent-teacher conferences coming up. Because I am a Good and Caring Mom (and because I live in a small town, and the school administration and teaching know where I live and while Hunt Me Down if I don’t show up) I dutifully trot myself down to the school on the night of conferences, The Boy in tow. It’s a beautiful place, our school. I think it was designed by the same guy who designed Central Park in New York (he did a number of schools in our area, apparently while he was out slumming), and the building has been kept up, but not aggressively modernized. Our school has not an auditorium, but a theater, with theater seats, plaster molding and a crest around the proscenium, and a stage. I sit in the dark in that theater and I slip out of time, and sit with all the other parents who have listened to their children play and sing from those seats. It’s a good part of history, and I love history.
I particularly love local history, and so when The Boy’s history teacher tells me that she’s going to have the students read Deep Creek, a novel based on local history, I am intrigued. She explains that the incident on which the novel is based occurred at Deep Creek, on the Oregon side of the Snake River.
So I go home, and download the novel onto my kindle and start to read, and then every afternoon The Boy and I sit in the sun outside our coffee shop and talk about the book we’re both reading. At least we do that for a few days, and then I get far, far ahead of him, so we can’t talk about it anymore lest I spoil the story for him.
I finish the book. It’s a terrible story. Well written, but a terrible story. The facts are these: A group of Chinese miners were camped at Deep Creek on the Snake River while they mined various sites in the area. And then one day a group of seven cattle rustlers swept down upon them, tortured and massacred them. According to some sources it’s the worst such even in Oregon history.
That was bad, but then it got worse. Turns out that the men doing the massacring (and there’s virtually no doubt who they were and what they did) weren’t just cattle rustlers. When they weren’t rustling cows and and massacring Chinese miners these men were good, upstanding, church-going members of the Wallowa community. They were ranchers, farmers, laborers, family men in some cases. In fact, that was their primary defense–that they were “good men” (in one case a “good schoolboy” with a bright future in front of him–the youngest member of the group was in his mid-teens) and so of course wouldn’t have done such a thing, and if they did, well, the Chinese probably deserved it–they weren’t real Americans. They looked different, spoke a different language–there was some question whether they had souls. Certainly they didn’t see America like the good folks in Wallowa saw America…is any of this starting to sound familiar?
In the end, the three men who were caught were acquitted (they blamed the others who had evaded capture–even though all of the men had been there, and from the ammunition recovered it appeared that all but possibly one had participated in the killing). After all, they were Good Men, and the Chinese were, well, Chinese, not good Christians, likely not even fully human. Nobody was even completely sure how many men were there–eventually the best estimate was that around 34 men had died at Deep Creek. There wasn’t even an accurate record of their names. Besides, they were dead, and Deep Creek was so very, very far from anywhere. Even if one of the miners had survived, he quite likely wouldn’t have been allowed to bring legal action, or possibly even testify, since they weren’t citizens. In the end It was easier, and better for Lewiston (the closest town) to simply push the dreadful incident into one of those dark and shadowy corners where we put the shameful things that remind us that all too often we are more than we appear. In this case, the records were literally shoved out of sight–lost or hidden for nearly 100 years in a basement.
Eventually the records were unearthed, and there was a sort of acknowledgement of the Deep Creek Massacre–the cove where the creek enters the Snake River is now called Chinese Massacre Cove. But we still don’t have a firm record of them men’s names who died that day. After all, they were Chinese, not real Americans.
I finished Deep Creek, and found myself wondering about the men who perpetrated this outrage–and about the people who chose to close their eyes to the monsters in their midst, to deny that “good men” had done a horrifying thing–and torturing and killing 34 virtually unarmed men is horrifying, particularly since there seems to have been no real reason for the act apart from race hatred.
What does it mean to us when the “good men” we respect and admire commit evil deeds? What does it mean that we prefer to look the other way, to refuse to call their actions by their true names, and hold them accountable? What does it mean when we refuse to demand an accounting from those who have done evil in our name, when we say we choose to “focus on the future?” How can we have a healthy, happy future when it’s built on such a shoddy foundation?
There has been a lot of talk about returning to the principles that we like to ascribe to our forbears. Nobody likes to mention Deep Creek. Nobody likes to mention the havoc wreaked on the people who were here before us. Nobody likes to mention the deep prejudice that has marred our history.
There are many good and honorable things in our national history, but there are also dark and shameful things, things with which we have yet to really grapple as a nation. Like the men judging the “good men” who went out one weekend and slaughtered 34 other men for no good reason, those who shout the loudest about returning to our forbears’ values don’t like to acknowledge the deep wounds those who went before us caused.
Why does this matter? Because the values that have come down to us have been shaped by those “good men” who loved their children, tended their farms, and in the off season rustled cattle and slaughtered defenseless men. It’s not a spoken thing, but the fear and hatred of the alien, strange, and foreign persist. Listen to the debate about guest workers. Listen to the rabid rhetoric directed at “Islamist Extremists”–and many seem to have forgotten that there are any other kind. Listen to the hate speech about healthcare making us “like Europe.” The attitudes that shaped the tragedy of Deep Creek are very much with us because the values that created those attitudes are still very much with us.
And that is why I get nervous when I hear conservative public speakers and politicians begin to wax eloquent about the virtues of our forbears, and how we should return to their values that “made America great.” Yes, crossing the continent took great courage. Surviving took great ingenuity. Exploiting and enslaving the vulnerable and robbing, imprisoning, and slaughtering those who were here before us because we coveted what they had took a very different set of skills.
All too often these days it seems that conservatism is paired with increasingly open racism, sexism, and exclusionary language and policies. Conservatism in its most virulent form has become little more than an attempt to roll back history on the social contract–and with that rollback we are seeing a new public acceptance of sexism and racism that would have been considered gauche and backward in the last years of the last century.
I don’t believe those restrictive, divisive values made us strong. I think they made us bullies. I don’t believe we should return to those values. I believe we should recognize that those who came before us were human, and sometimes monsters and heroes rode around in one skin, just as they do today.
History is important–we learn from it. But after we learn from it we should grow beyond it. We should recognize that Thomas Jefferson might have written movingly about freedom, but he still kept slaves, just as the men of Wallowa were good family men–and criminals and murderers. Perhaps this is the lesson of our time–understanding ourselves means understanding the darkness and the light that live in each of us.
Speak! Good Dog! 
Thanks for the thoughtful post, Bodie. America tends to mythologize our past, to gloss over the sordid events that mixed in with our nation’s justifiable progress. I wasn’t aware of the particular incident you mentioned, but sadly there were many others. They are not what made America great, but they are part of our history. Perhaps The Boy and his peers will absorb the lessons about both good and bad, and make us a better nation.
Yes–it’s not about demonizing our past any more than it’s about mythologizing it–it’s just about looking at it honestly, acknowledging what we’ve done well, owning what we’ve done badly, and trying to do better now and in the future. (And I, too, hope The Boy and his peers will absorb the lessons this event has to teach.)
Dear Bodie, my cat has given you an award, even though she doesn’t like dogs. 🙂
Thank you so much for writing this. What an even, steady calm voice you have!
-Terry from MatildasJourney.com via Marian Allen
Thank you, Terry–reading and writing about what I read makes me think
Dear Bodie Parkhurst,
Thank you for writing such a thoughtful, moving response to DEEP CREEK, one of the best we’ve seen (and certainly the bravest we got from any Northwest reviewer). It means a lot to know that true readers are out there.
We’d also like to thank the history teacher for assigning our novel; could you let us know how to reach her/him?
Our next novel, SHADOW FALLS, is set in the Northeast, 125 years later, but many of the characters descend from those in DEEP CREEK. Readers who want to learn more about Dana Hand will find us at http://www.dana-hand.com; feel free to write us via e-mail or connect to our Facebook account.
All best wishes, and, again, our thanks,
Will Howarth & Anne Matthews (Dana Hand)
(PS: you run an outstanding blog!)
Thank you! I’m so glad you enjoy the blog, and I’ll definitely check out your next book. I’m sort of an Oregon history buff myself–I’ve done a fair amount of work for various regional historical societies, and I use local and state history as subjects for my college writing courses (Marie Dorion’s a hot favorite, as is the paper I have them do on the factors that led up to the events at the Whitman mission–the blazing of the Applegate Trail’s another fun one).
I’m checking with The Boy’s teacher to find out what contact info she’d like me to pass on. I’m sure she’ll be very happy to hear from you.
No argument that Deep Creek is well structured revisionist Western history. A good modern Western viewed through the prism of the new social values of the 21rst Century, an extension of expansionist democracy, a never ending fight to make democracy more democratic. But the issues and facts of racism dramatized once again in Deep Creek are no surprise. Racism existed when Columbus arrived. Genocide of the Other (to use the current jargon) started with the Pequot massacre and continued. Current racism connects with that long history of ignorance and concomitant stupidity. Howarth has written an excellent essay on how the language barrier exacerbated mutual cultural ignorance and led to conflict between Columbus and the Arawak, but it’s been years since I read it. Deep Creek and its readers need to dig deeper to core issues of being human. We’re all capable of bigotry. Just look in your own back yard. I knew a Marxist in grad school who considered himself a champion of the oppressed until someone mentioned the Armenians, and then, like any good Turk, he waffled and rationalized and back peddled. Choose not to become a bigot, but never be surprised by bigotry’s existence and continuation.
Excellent points, Barry. I absolutely agree–racism didn’t begin in the American West, or even in America–we only have to trace back through the Crusades and into the numerous genocides recorded in the Bible, to name just a couple examples among many, to see that racism is a human problem (and if we take into account the chimpanzee wars and ant battles we have to expand it even beyond that). None of which excuses or condones the presence of racism in our own lives, politics, and social interactions. Ultimately, I think it comes down to a matter of choice and empathy–do we choose to see ourselves as part of a tribe, or part of the world?
Great review essay in the Nov 2013 Atlantic that supports my point about the danger of simply morality fiction. I made the point about the Pequot massacre in “Seven Two” on pages 35-37, wherein the so-called Pequot War is put into context. A massacre occurred, genocide was attempted (and failed), but no morality template works to describe the conflict between whites and native Americans. In fact, the Pequot men of war age were off on a raid of their own against a neighboring tribe when the English struck in May 1637 with their Mohegan allies. Many neighboring tribes hated the Pequot hegemony as much as the English, and wanted to destroy Pequot power to establish most favored trade relations with the English. That complex political reality can not be reduced to good v evil, English v native Americans.
I should have read this before I commented above! As you can see, I agree with your point that we can’t simplify racism into an issue that affects some nations and not others (though obviously value systems make it acceptable to varying degrees). Things are seldom “black and white” issues–for me, the horror of Deep Creek was compounded by the failure of accountability–the perpetrators (whatever their reasons might or might not have been) were shielded by value systems that decreed that the Other was necessarily Less. Also, I found the victims’ lack of access to the law horrifying. Had the victims been white miners the outcome might have been different. Or possibly not–newspaper accounts of murder trials in the Oregon Territory quote defendants who offer “the SOB had it coming to him” as a defense–and being acquitted on the basis of it.
Sorry. The Atlantic essay title: “Why We Fight–And Can We Stop?” Does an innate sense of justice exist in humans or are they genetically predisposed to tribal behavior, as in I’m right, you’re not. And does that sense of justice apply only to those who agree with the tribe? Now, the irony of history that I discuss in the first of two essays on the history of solo mountaineering in America bring the Muir family to America after they are forced off their land in Scotland by the English clearances (the English just can’t get good press), and migrate to Winnebago land to displace native Americans. If you take the very long view of history, the tale is one of displacement, of shifting hegemony as one tribe after another dominates as the Chinese tribe is now doing in the world. A college friend once told that one day, “We [African Americans] will dominate this country?” Okay, sez I, then what? Read Orwell, sez I. So the Deep Creek massacre occurred only because the miners were not armed sufficiently to fight back. The Pequot massacre occurred because the men of the village were off on their on war that day. In fact, the English avoid the Pequot village in what is now New London as being too well defended, and set fire to the village they did attack east of the Thames only because of fierce resistance in the village. The Mohegan, by the way, had the task of killing any Pequot who escaped the fire.
Last, read “The North Sister Protocol” for a dark satire of morality tales. The protagonist is socially classified as white male. The other protagonist is socially classified as native American. The bad guys are, of course, fundamentalist Christians with God on their side, although that’s actually an oversimplification. BTW: Christ does return on skis in a great resurrection scene. It’s a quick read. Just 60,000 words. Suzanne Clark, former chair of the University of Oregon English Department, said she couldn’t put it down once she picked it up until she finished.