Sherman Alexie is a contemporary Native American poet and writer from the Northwest, Spokane Reservation. Much, certainly not all,  of his work in poetry and fiction are dark and often humorous reflections on being a Native American in todayâs society.  His graphic novel, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is a fun, poignant, and great read.  What do you think about this poem as a whole, and what do you make of the last 5 lines or so? What theme(s) does this poem reflect on?
On The Amtrak From Boston To New York City
by Sherman Alexie
The white woman across the aisle from me says âLook,
look at all the history, that house
on the hill there is over two hundred years old, â
as she points out the window past me
into what she has been taught. I have learned
little more about American history during my few days
back East than what I expected and far less
of what we should all know of the tribal stories
whose architecture is 15,000 years older
than the corners of the house that sits
museumed on the hill. âWalden Pond, â
the woman on the train asks, âDid you see Walden Pond? â
and I donât have a cruel enough heart to break
her own by telling her there are five Walden Ponds
on my little reservation out West
and at least a hundred more surrounding Spokane,
the city I pretended to call my home. âListen, â
I could have told her. âI donât give a shit
about Walden. I know the Indians were living stories
around that pond before Waldenâs grandparents were born
and before his grandparentsâ grandparents were born.
Iâm tired of hearing about Don-fucking-Henley saving it, too,
because thatâs redundant. If Don Henleyâs brothers and sisters
and mothers and father hadnât come here in the first place
then nothing would need to be saved.â
But I didnât say a word to the woman about Walden
Pond because she smiled so much and seemed delighted
that I thought to bring her an orange juice
back from the food car. I respect elders
of every color. All I really did was eat
my tasteless sandwich, drink my Diet Pepsi
and nod my head whenever the woman pointed out
another little piece of her countryâs history
while I, as all Indians have done
since this war began, made plans
for what I would do and say the next time
somebody from the enemy thought I was one of their own.
I think this poem is very interesting because it’s a way of humbling and being the bigger person. I think this poem is what most people think when others think they are the bad people or the enemy. In this poem, he could have defended his peopleâs work and said much more but he knew the people are only being educated half of the history. This poem reminds me of what’s happening today with the Palestine and Israel conflict. People are judging and making statements only knowing what happened on October 7 but ignoring and being ignorant about the problem that’s been going on for decades. The last 5 lines made me think of how much schools miss on teaching the students. There are many topics that schools donât cover when they should. Even if the country is not proud of its history it should be taught and topics about other countries as well.
I think this poem expresses sensitivity and hatred. It is not the fault of the lady that the poet speaks of for her lack of knowledge. Not knowing the history beyond textbooks and stories is a matter of education. The writer holds a silent grudge on the lady instead, with anger older than he can imagine. He himself is simplified with times past, drinking âdiet Pepsiâ and having a âtasteless sandwich. â Yet, he labels the woman and himself, as though they represent all of their country and past cultural disputes. In the last few lines, he even claims, â while I, as all Indians have done⊠made plans for what I would do or say next time.â As his passiveness fades a little further, he sees the woman as a blind foe, âsomebody from the enemy thought I was one of their own.â.
I think this poem represents ignorance, people in America usually forget that another people have dwelled in places we consider our own a part of history. The history of America is one that paints over the history of another. One that is buried in blood and disease, in ignorance of something before their history.