Shortly after 2 p.m. Saturday, members of the Chickasaw Nation Dance Troupe joined the Cherokee Wildcat Clan to perform a stomp dance rarely performed publicly by either tribe. "You just don't see this anywhere," said Dr. Carol Morrow, watching from the sidelines at the Student Recreation Center.
Morrow, an anthropologist who teaches a course about North American Indians at Southeast, was one of thousands who witnessed uncommon sights and sounds at the second annual SEMO Powwow.
The powwow was sponsored by the Northern Cherokee Nation of the Old Louisiana Territory and Southeast Missouri State University. It is, said Donna Sides, assistant director of university relations, an attempt to come to terms with the association between Southeast Missouri State University and the people its teams are named for.
"They are trying to put the emphasis on what Indian means," Sides said.
Donna Courtney Rausch, a historic preservation major at Southeast, was partly responsible for the dance joining the Chickasaw and Cherokee, two tribes that don't ordinarily participate in powwows. The great-great-great-granddaughter of former Chickasaw Nation governor Cyrus Harris, Rausch wanted the Chickasaws to be represented at the powwow since they are believed to have been at nearby Wickliffe Mounds.
She contacted the Chickasaw Nation in Ada, Okla., and they agreed to send dancers. Saturday, Rausch discovered that she is related to one of those dancers.
In the past, powwows were much like spiritually based family reunions of the tribe. Today, the spirituality is still present but numerous tribes and customs are involved. Indians come to perform for each other and for whites as a means of keeping their traditions alive.
By early Saturday afternoon, 1,500 people already had come through the turnstiles at the Student Recreation Center. With the celebration continuing until 10 p.m., attendance at the second annual event was expected to far outstrip the 3,000 who attended last year.
The powwow was a primer of Native American customs, from the admonition of master of ceremonies Nipper Tiddark to walk around the drum that sounds the heartbeat of Mother Earth to the quick-footed fancy dancers dressed in the powwow's most striking regalia.
On entering, the audience members received a booklet providing instructions on powwow protocol. Photography is not allowed during some dances, and non-dancers are not allowed into the sacred circle unless invited to dance.
One who was honored with a dance was Dr. Ken Dobbins, the university's executive vice president. He was standing in for Dr. Dale Nitzschke, whose support for the powwow has been key.
One of Saturday's highlights was the hoop dance by 28-year-old Justin Nesahkluah, a Kiowa/Apache from Anadarko, Okla.
The dance is difficult and intricate, involving the simultaneous manipulation of many hoops. Nesahkluah taught himself the hoop dance, which the Kiowa and Apache learned after World War II from the Navajo and Hopi.
The hoop symbolizes the importance of the circle in Indian culture, Nesahkluah said. "It's how everything comes together. You're never certain about the path you make because sooner or later it becomes a full circle."
His 6-year-old son, Cnoll, wants to learn the hoop dance but Nesahkluah says he must learn the basic dances first. "I told him, One thing at a time."
Bruce Martin brought the New Dawn Native Dancers from Lawrence, Kansas, to participate in the powwow. The group of 15 dancers included some as young as kindergarten age.
"This teaches them about powwow etiquette and they learn self-esteem," Martin said. "Not too many kids are comfortable getting up in front of crowds."
Lawrence is home to an Indian college and members of 21 tribes.
Martin himself is a Delaware straight dancer. In the dance, crouched, circling men portray hunting or war parties after an animal or enemy.
Martin made most of his regalia, which included a breastplate made of bones, beads and bullet shells. His headdress was made of deer tail and porcupine hair.
Rauch has been to other powwows and said outdoors it "would be a little like praying to me." The Student Recreation Center doesn't alter the experience that much, she said.
"To the people here, it's still a reverent thing. And it's the only way we're going to get other people to understand."
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