'Americans' Review: Detailed Portrait of a People

We know the controversies over sports team names and we see some souvenirs. We know, too, of American places that invoke an Indian past (Miami, Seattle). But something more sweeping is evident here. A chief in feathered headdress appears on a bottle of True American bourbon, a can of “Indian Head Hydraulic Brake Oil,” a box of Savage Arms 32-caliber bullets, and in 1950s television test patterns. On Land O’Lakes butter, an Indian maid proffers another box of Land O’Lakes. Argo Corn Starch containers portray the maid herself as an ear of corn. The exhibition notes that “nearly all that can be named or sold” has been touched by such associations.

Not everything, of course, is as seductive as intended. An advertisement for the 1958 De Soto station wagon (named after the Spanish conquistador) says it has “Room for the whole darn tribe!” The copy adds: “Without reservation, a De Soto is your best station wagon buy.” Children dressed as Indians in a 1951 advertisement for Post Toasties cereal declare “No skipum breakfast now!”

But generally, the Indian represents someone to be emulated, even envied. One wears a chrome headdress as the ornament on a yellow 1948 Indian Chief motorcycle (other colors included Mohawk Green, Seminole Cream, Navajo Blue and Apache Gray). Another Indian’s head seems sculpted from amber, his mane swept back by wind: the hood ornament of a 1951 Pontiac (named after an Ottawa chief). Some images allude to secret knowledge. The Boy Scouts have an elite “Order of the Arrow” whose members, we are told, dress in Indian attire for initiations. One fraternal organization that once limited membership to white men and traces its history back to the Revolutionary War is the “Improved Order of Red Men.” American figures regularly appear in headdresses:

Calvin Coolidge,

Franklin Delano Roosevelt,

Richard Nixon,

Albert Einstein,

Elvis Presley.

But why? “How is it,” the exhibition asks, “that Indians can be so present and so absent in American life?” Some suggestions that they proved “worthy foes” appear in annotations for these objects (though aside from comments shown at eye level, they are awkwardly relegated to touch screens). And adjacent galleries give focused surveys of image and controversy in Custer’s Last Stand, the Trail of Tears and

Pocahontas’s

reputation.

In its approach, the show is a breakthrough for this museum, which under its current director,

Kevin Gover,

has been reinventing itself. When first opened in 2004, it was declared a “museum different” in which tribes would tell their own stories. This was one of the first major identity museums made by and for a people. The result was a formulaic cartoon.

But “Americans” is the third open-ended exhibition created in just over three years. One explores the Inka Road in South America; another surveys the violation of treaties between the U.S. and Indian “nations.” In both, aspects of the identity genre remain intact, blurring a full perspective, but understanding takes a leap forward.

This exhibition goes further. It uses “we” not to refer to the museum’s “community” but to all Americans, including Indians. The curators—

Paul Chaat Smith

(Comanche) and

Cécile R. Ganteaume

—do not preach; they demonstrate, often with good humor. Their goal is not to dismiss but to examine a complex relationship, asserting that we are “a country forever fascinated, conflicted, and shaped by its relationship with American Indians.”

An example of its puzzling character is Pocahontas, whose story was considered so important to Virginia’s history that the oldest families boasted of her ancestry. When the state passed the Racial Integrity Act in 1924, to prevent miscegenation and maintain “Caucasian” blood, a “Pocahontas Exception” left that heritage unsullied. Another example: A 1923 postage stamp portrays Chief Hollow Horn Bear, who rode in

Theodore Roosevelt’s

inaugural parade in 1905. But he also helped defeat

Gen. George Custer.

Even the U.S. Army—the Indians’ nemesis—celebrates those they once vanquished. A 1969 Pentagon directive specified that aircraft were to carry “Native American terms and names” and should “suggest an aggressive spirit and confidence.” We see a Tomahawk Missile and models of Apache, Comanche and Iroquois helicopters.

What a strange phenomenon! Perhaps out of guilt, idealization arises. Indian virtues are heralded: speed, cleverness, pastoral wisdom and strength. This is the classic romance of the American Indian—and the phenomenon has been repeated in other contexts. I wish the exhibition had explored this mythology, and also paid more attention to government images. But try to see this show. It reveals an aspect of American culture that perseveres. In a strange twist, the Indian romance, with its idealized vision of a masterful, pastoral people, was embraced by the early incarnation of this museum as well.

—Mr. Rothstein is the Journal’s Critic at Large.