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Being a foreign national I have been curious about the Native American culture for some time now. It
might be since I have never been in the presence of one, or maybe because of the old western movies
portraying them as these feathered warriors, which led me to visit the Native American Museum.
I was surprised at what I found though. I started out to see the wilderness of a nation, only to venture
into a mausoleum of the change of a culture.
The exhibition was held at a superb building; a rare building in a city which wants to conquer the sky.
The entrance was emphasized by these thick roman pillars and two sitting lions on both sides of small
sized scales. When one went in he would be thrown his first surprise by simply looking the ceiling of the
oval room which preceded the exhibition. Different paintings of different but correlated topics would
complete this oval showcase of refined art. Yet these painting were not a give-away of what was yet to
come, since they were paintings of American history rather than Native American one.
The exhibition was rather smaller than I had expected but it was enough to satisfy my curiosity. In
addition to the normal artifacts I was lucky enough to pry into some items of private collectionists,
whom, by my good fortune, were displaying their collections this month at the museum.
After walking around a little bit through the museum looking at the huts, wooden artifacts and ancient
weaponry a photograph caught my eye. It was a photograph of the beginning of this century or the end
of the last one. It was undated but it wasn’t the date I was searching in it anyway. I was searching to find
the identity of the people in the photo. Not who they were, but rather what they were. I guess they
themselves must have been confused or socially pressured to an identity crisis. It was as if you had...