Perhaps there is no greater privilege than to be allowed to speak for yourself, to tell people who you are, introduce yourself in your own words rather than having somebody else present the person they see in you. I remember times when I was younger, times when it seemed that I might never have the privilege.
Perhaps that is why I noticed the story about Shane Yellowbird. Some people from Hobbema sponsored a surprise party for him and it made the morning news. It would not have been newsworthy had Yellowbird not won the Canadian Country Music association Rising star award. Hearing the word Hobbema, knowing from the word that Shane would be an Indian, I was expecting a story about barriers. I was waiting to hear that Shane overcame the barrier of growing up on an Indian reserved beset by drug problems and youth hopelessness. I was expecting some mention of the cultural damage done by the residential schools. Indeed, the Indian issues were addressed by the reporter near the end of the story. , But the highlight of the story was that Shane had found a way into a singing career despite a major stuttering problem. Apparently, when Shane was about nine, the target of bullying and derision, a speech language pathologist had recommended singing as a way of getting the words out. His mother was tearfully telling that part of the story to the reporter.
And then there was Shane’s story. Over top of all this complex coverage was Shane, speaking for himself, speaking loudly and singularly about his career in country music. It seemed to me that he knew he needed the media coverage and was cooperating with that. Nevertheless, he wanted to shape the story, to tell us about his career, the kind of songs he likes to sing.
All of this reminded me of a story I once heard told by another musician, Oscar Peterson, the incredible black Canadian jazz piano player. He was such an amazing talent that, as a teen-ager, despite being both Canadian and black, he was featured on American radio shows in the 1940’s. This, of course, was more than he could possibly have hoped for, except that the hosts introduced him and spoke of him in the language they would have used when talking to or of a black boy. It was demeaning, it was humiliating. It pretended to be flattering. They fully expected him to be grateful. Listening to this, with no choice but to play to the show, Oscar followed the rules. But in an act of hope, he promised himself that he would become so great, so powerful with his playing, that he would make the rules of how he would be introduced. In fact, he became so great that he would do his own introductions and extremely powerful people would have to choose whether to play the show his way or do the show without him.
If you are a member of a visible minority, it is not enough to distinguish yourself through a notable achievement. The achievement has a difficult time being part of the main story because it has to compete with the drama of overcoming whatever barriers the minority confronts. Still, Oscar Peterson and many others have been able to stay the course so long that their achievements outdo all the other bits that would interest the public.
When you hear Shane sing, and you may hear him sing in future because he will be making his next album in Nashville, there will likely be nothing to tell you that he is either an Indian or a stutterer, though he will certainly be both of these. He is only 27 years old. Perhaps he, like Oscar Peterson, will cherish the privilege of introducing himself to the world. Perhaps he, like Oscar, will keep the focus on the talent he has, rather than the characteristics that might—through no fault of his own--have held him back.
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