She’s written a new memoir, due out next month, and in the advance press releases, I don’t notice the word “Indian” anywhere.
I thought surely the fake Indian’s book would have some old-fashioned Indian War-type title. It is, after all, a tome, or should I say, “tome-a-hawk.”
“Drums Along the Mystic.”
“The Last of the Faux-hicans.”
“Forked Tongue: The Elizabeth Warren Story.”
“A Tale of Two Teepees.”
“Dances with Moonbats.”
Instead she calls it, “A Fighting Chance,” a title that seems Eurocentric for the first female Indian in the U.S. Senate, or maybe she no longer is an Indian, because she never mentions her Cherokee heritage anymore. Doesn’t serve on the Senate Select Committee on Indian Affairs, for instance. On the Oklahoma Hall of Fame website, Granny even describes herself as an “Okie down to her toes.”
Many moons ago, when there were more buffalo than stars in the sky, Granny Warren was a white-eyes laboring away in the tank towns of academia until a sudden inspiration struck her — check the box! Claim to be an Indian! No one will ever check up on you, at least as long as you espouse socialist pap!
Worked like a charm — as a newly minted 40-year-old minority, she finally started getting tenure, and at Ivy League law schools at that. First Penn, then Harvard. Now her employment records (and any of the boxes she checked under “race”) are locked up tighter than Barack Obama’s college applications and grades.
Sen. Warren knows a lot about reservations, only she refers to them as “gated communities.”
I do hope, though, that some of the squaw emeritus’ chapter titles will send a tingle up the leg of Comrade Chris Matthews and the rest of the MSNBC crew.
For instance: “If you like your medicine man, you can keep your medicine man.”
Or, “You didn’t build that wigwam.”
Or, “The warpath on women.”
Or, “The scalping of the middle class — Custer had a better chance at the Little Big Horn than Joe Sixpack does today.”
The press release says “A Fighting Chance” is “passionate, funny, rabble-rousing” — all adjectives no one who’s ever seen her up close would ever use to describe her. Especially “funny.”
Whenever I think about her 2012 election, I, too, fall back on an ancient Indian word: “How?”
How indeed? Mainly by raising much wampum, and in a year dominated by the Low Info Tribe of voters, led by Chief Barack Obama. They sent out smoke signals to all the warriors of the EBT tribe, and they danced the Ghost Dance, to resurrect all the dead Democrats to vote, as usual, for the limousine liberal in the fight.
When it was all over, Lieawatha had her first scalp — Scott Brown’s. That part of the story I know will make the book.