Sexual Behavior in the Contemporary Ho-Chunk Male

My first trip to UW-Madison was not for a campus visit or a football game. It was for a brown bag lunch featuring my father who is the director of my tribe's Department of Natural Resources.
I remember walking into the windowless meeting room and sitting down across from this Indian woman with grey hair, big glasses and lots of silver jewelry. I didn't know at the time, but I was standing in front of Ada Deer, the woman who ended the federal government's termination policy which would have effectively killed off American Indian sovereignty. No casinos, no reservations, no cheap cigarettes.
After telling her my name and age, she gave me a piece of advice: Marry an Indian woman. She hadn't even told me her name yet. This was more important.

There is an incredible amount of pressure for me to date, marry, and ultimately make babies with a Ho-Chunk woman. Although Ho-Chunk is preferred, any Indian woman.
I began with the story about Ada because she is notable personality you are most likely familiar with, but I have heard this mantra since puberty dropped my voice and other parts of my person.
"We are losing blood quantum." My uncle would say, referring to the dwindling percentage of Ho-Chunk ancestry our current members could claim. Quantum, as it is called, is important not so much culturally as it is legally. To be a federally recognized American Indian means you must have 1/4 Indian heritage. This is proven through birth records. Ostensibly, the Bush administration wants to change this number to 1/2 for no other reason than to lessen their workload.
To be recognized by my tribe is a bit trickier. Not only do you have to prove 1/4 Ho-Chunk heritage through birth records, but also provide a DNA test conclusively showing that mom and dad actually created the newborn Indian in question. The rigorous testing is to weed out imposters eager to cash in on casino profits. In my tribe, being Indian is rather profitable. As a student they pay for dorm rooms, books, and tuition.
The problem now is that our numbers are thinning. Personaly, I believe that in my lifetime we will drop the percentage to 1/8th. Every month the tribal newspaper prints the newest additions to the tribal roll. Its rare to see "full" under blood quantum these days. Even 1/2 is quite rare. Typically you can expect to see ridiculously small fractions that are just above 1/4 like 27/104. Sometimes I wonder how these assertions are mathematically possible with only two parents in the mix.
As a result of these thinning numbers we have serious pressure to "keep it in the tribe". When I was 12, I took this early warning seriously. I didn't know why. I hadn't even learned about the birds and bees yet. The reproductive process was still a foreign affair to me that made just as much sense as international tax code does to me now.
I mean, I have a white mother, but saw no problem with that at the time. A true testament of youthful ignorance. But this incident also reveals how early they indoctrinate this idea into a young person's head. I was more interested in exploring rivers and climbing trees than seeking potential mating partners.
Even as I grew up and began to fashion my own opinions, an undercurrent of that 12-year-old still remained. To quote one my tribe's employment procedures, I simply advocated "Ho-Chunk Preference". It's not discrimination. The policy states that if there are two qualified candidates of equal stature, the Ho-Chunk candidate can expect to get the job. But just like that hiring procedure, "Ho-Chunk Preference" can occasionally be used to justify an unqualified candidate.
That wasn't the case for my first love though. I was 14 and her name was Henu, which is the Ho-Chunk word for "first daughter". And that name wasn't just a front: she was full-blooded Ho-Chunk. I was totally smitten with her in a way that only a ninth-grader can be: She had breasts and wasn't too ghastly that I'd lose social capital, but not so pretty at to be out of my league.
When I had finally come around to the decision to ask her out, I asked for advice from the only guy I knew that experience with women: my father.

"Dad, I really like Henu. I think about her everyday."

Again, "henu" is the common Ho-Chunk name for first daughter.

"Well, Casey. You're going to have to be more descriptive. But let me tell you that I'm glad your not in love with a 'cunu'."

You can just guess what "cunu" is Ho-Chunk for.

"Henu Decorah, Dad. That's her name."

"Oh, Henu Decorah. Daughter of Sam. Whose brother is Weston...Who..."

This is the point of the conversation where I would usually drop out. Older Indian men have the tendency to figure out every last person that someone is related to. They usually come just short of mentioning Cain and Abel. By 15, when I told my father about my friends, I would usually just say they were white and that would be the end of conversation.

"Well, Casey. I have some news for you."

My dad had just taken me away from a daydream with me and Henu sharing a malted milk and holding hands; a gentle picture that innocent children believe to be love.

"Henu is related to you. Yup, second...no. First cousins. Yeah. She's family."

The malted milk spilled on the floor as I held hands with someone who could very well be my sister. My gentle picture of love had turned into a lesson about incest. I protested it. I had him check his facts, but it was true. Upon further reflection it makes sense. In 1842, after being forcefully removed from Wisconsin to Turkey River, Iowa. Our federally-alloted village numbered only 750 members. Even accounting for quite a few stragglers, that is not a large number. It is as if a college dormitory was all that was left of a civilization and they had to repopulate. You're going to end up making a few mistakes. The Ho-Chunk clan system, like many Indian clan systems, was put in place many moons ago to keep such an event from happening. Keep your hand in the right cookie jar and your kids won't end up being their own grandpa. But after 150 years, things get pretty strained and clan lines begin to blur.

Recently, I've actually thought of starting a Ho-Chunk personals service similar to Friendster or My Space. The Nation would host a personals site for tribal members to meet and hopefully continue the lineage. To sign up all you'd have to do is by authorized by the enrollment department. I think it's a great idea, but I'm totally addicted to networking websites.
For the time being. I am not actively seeking a Ho-Chunk girl. I know about every Indian in Madison and after 5 years I've exhausted those options as well. Instead, I've been actively seeking Jewish girls. I'm tired with my tribe. I figure I may as well try theirs. Plus, I'm certain that I wouldn't end up dating my first cousin.