The Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache are their Fire Dance. That is to say, the dance represents them as a collective people because it bears the marks of their culture, history, and identity. The Fire Dance expresses their religious outlook while simultaneously celebrating their exuberance and joy in simply living. It is sacred and social, reverent and bawdy, feast and fellowship, athletic and poetic, men and women, humor and beauty. A study of this ceremony reveals the process of change that has shaped the character of the modern Fort Sill Apache tribe and its members. Like the Apache themselves, the Fire Dance has been the subject of sensational portrayal in the writings and perceptions of cultural outsiders, and—fair or unfair—these portrayals have shaped in varying degrees their own perception of themselves. In order to grasp the nuances of this sacred ceremonial practice and its overall embodiment of the tribe’s unique characteristics, it is first necessary to understand some general background about the multifaceted Fort Sill Apache themselves, as well as some basic details about the dance.
The Fort Sill Apache are, of course, first and foremost culturally Apaches. They are part of a larger fabric of southwestern Apachean groups such as the Western, Jicarilla, Lipan, and Mescalero Apaches, who share a related Athapaskan linguistic background. With other Athapaskan speakers in the American Southwest, they also share some similarities in religious outlook, often expressed through the performance of masked-dance ceremonials such as the Fire Dance. Due to these regional and tribal ties, the Fort Sill Apache and their dance are significantly marked by southwestern cultural traits.
The Fort Sill Apache are not merely Apaches, but Chiricahua Apaches. As such, they represent the confluence of several historically distinct tribal entities, or bands—the Eastern Chiricahua, Chihénde, or Warm Springs Apache; the Central Chiricahua, Cochise Apache, or Chukunen; the Southern Chiricahua, Pinery Apache, or Ndé’ndaí; as well as the Bidanku. Although these bands lived in geographic proximity in what is now Arizona, New Mexico, and northern Mexico, each maintained relative autonomy. These diverse Chiricahua groups were thrown together in the late 1880s, united as much by circumstance as culture, language, or blood.
The late-nineteenth-century struggles of the Fort Sill Apache ancestors in the American Southwest centered on the Chiricahua Apache bands that, due to consolidation policies enacted in the U.S. territories at that time, were forced from their own reservations in southern Arizona and western New Mexico onto the San Carlos Reservation in southeastern Arizona. Rather than resign themselves to reservation existence and the distrust, corruption, and crowding characteristic of San Carlos at that time, famous leaders such as Victorio, Mangus, and Geronimo led factions of the tribe on repeated flights from the reservation in an attempt to maintain control of their own destinies in the mountains of the Southwest and northern Mexico. The supply raids on area settlements and military conflict that accompanied these reservation outbreaks continued until August 1886 when the Chiricahua were—depending on one’s perspective—compelled, tricked, or required due to inadequate supplies to surrender to the U.S. military.
Although it is clear that one monolithic tribal identity does not exist, it is safe to say that this violent history in the Southwest has come to stand as an emblem of Chiricahua identity for tribal outsiders. For regional settlers, military forces, early historians, and later Hollywood, the Chiricahua often represented violence and war. Typifying this interpretation of Chiricahua culture, historian Frank C. Lockwood states, “Tradition attributes great cruelty to the Apache. … [M]arauding and murdering, they were … the most disconcerting and harassing of enemies” (Lockwood and Thrapp 1987: 5). Even other Apachean and Native American communities commonly associate the Chiricahua with this period of violence, but they often attach an inverse meaning: cultural resistance and leadership. The continuing currency of this interpretation of Chiricahua history and culture manifests itself in diverse ways in broader American Indian popular culture. In the 1998 movie Smoke Signals, the Coeur d’Alene protagonist, Victor, during a break in a basketball game, states—laced with dry humor and perhaps admiration—that the best basketball player ever was Geronimo because “he was lean, mean, and bloody.” A notable sight at recent intertribal pow-wows is a T-shirt featuring a photograph of Geronimo with three other Chiricahua, bearing the words: “Homeland Security: Fighting Terrorism since 1492.”
Following their submission in 1886, members of the Chiricahua bands became prisoners of war for a period of twenty-seven years; during this period of relocation and imprisonment, popular culture and history texts largely lose sight of the Apache prisoners. Academic writings about this period of incarceration in the East in Florida and Alabama and later at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, often ascribe to the Chiricahua the identity of victim—victim of government policy, cultural loss through assimilative policy, and illness through maltreatment. Perhaps more important throughout this period of upheaval, they were apparent cultural negotiators, or survivors, holding on to cultural elements deemed central to their continuance as a people, while also adopting or adapting as they always had to outside languages, religions, and medical practices.
Their enforced relocation made the Chiricahua the only southwestern group living in diaspora in the East. Once entrenched in Oklahoma in 1894, they were given a new name, the “Geronimo,” or Fort Sill Apache, and an identity of greater complexity. Of the 498 Chiricahua originally sent to Florida, only 237 living members remained upon their 1913 release from prisoner-of-war status at Fort Sill. There they were a small southwestern isolate amid a larger Native American community that, then as today, is predominantly composed of more populous eastern woodland and central plains Indians. Further, the small group of prisoners, also then as now, lives within a larger Native American and Euro-American community characterized by an economic reliance on the local Fort Sill military base and strong adherence to various forms of Protestant Christian theology. These new cultural influences brought with them new relationships, exchanges, and responsibilities that shaped the Fort Sill Apache as they in turn contributed to the overall character of the regional community.
By 1913 the “Fort Sill Apache,” as they had come to be known, had experienced more than two generations in captivity and the death of Geronimo. Freed tribe members were allowed the option of either receiving land allotments near the military post or relocating once again to the Mescalero reservation located in New Mexico, near Ruidoso.1 Approximately two-thirds of the tribe accepted a place with their Mescalero relatives. The handful that remained in southwest Oklahoma after the group split in 1913 continued their lives as a small but distinct cultural group within the southern plains region. Tribal members penned and ratified a constitution in the 1970s, received two federal land-claims settlement awards for their lost ancestral lands in Arizona and New Mexico, formally organized their tribal government, and the Geronimo or Fort Sill Apaches transformed once again, this time known as the Fort Sill Apache Tribe of Oklahoma. Many still reside in southwestern Oklahoma, north of the military post of their earlier confinement, near a town called Apache, Oklahoma.
The Fire Dance remained a cultural constant throughout the Fort Sill Apache transition period of the late 1800s and early 1900s, traveling with them from the Southwest, through years of imprisonment, and into the modern day. Whereas history books and popular culture sometimes generalize the Apache with characterizations ranging from renegade to freedom fighter and victim to survivor, an exploration of the Fire Dance reveals a broader spectrum of identity in Fort Sill Apache culture. Through the dance, they are revealed as a tribe of religious reflection and ideals, creativity and tradition, artisans and craftsmen. In order to get closer to the dance and its meaning to the modern Fort Sill Apache, we must first have a clear understanding of the background and elements of the ceremony.
The masked ceremonial dance common among the Apache tribes of the Southwest has been known by different names throughout the history of its documentation. Early ethnographers fascinated by the spectacular visual image of its performance dubbed the rite the Devil Dance. Still others have classified it as the Horn Dance, a reference to the physical similarity between the headdress and deer antlers. Anthropologist Morris Edward Opler dubbed it the Dance of the Mountain Spirits (1941). The numerous terminologies for this ceremony stem in part from the fact that most Athapaskan-speaking groups of the Southwest practice it in diverse form. Distantly related is the Yeibechei ceremony of the Navajo and the Háschín of the Jicarilla, whereas the Western Apache Crown Dance, the Mescalero Dance of the Mountain Gods, and the Fire Dance of the Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache are more closely related.
The introduction of the Fire Dance ceremony to the Chiricahua and Warm Springs Apache is documented in local oral tradition, given as a gift from the Gahe to aid the tribe in times of need. The recipient of the ceremony was deemed a medicine man. This individual traditionally coordinated dance performances, which were conducted over a four-day period, to heal the sick or in conjunction with what is commonly referred to as the girl’s puberty rite. In both past and present, performance of the Fire Dance is reflective of both the religious beliefs and the social practices of the Fort Sill Apache. Whether held for healing purposes, celebrating the passage of a young girl into womanhood, or simply to bestow blessings upon its performers and audience, this dance commences at twilight as the sun sinks below the western horizon, unfolds around a bonfire, and is performed by masked dancers to the accompaniment of music.
Central to the performance of the dance are the Gahe, a race of beneficent beings who live in the mountains. The Gahe are among the most developed characters within Apache religious belief. These beings often number four—the black Gahe for the East, the blue Gahe of the South, the yellow Gahe of the West, and the white Gahe of the North. Although they bring health, protection, and blessings to the Fort Sill Apache, their power is also feared. Accordingly, these figures were traditionally addressed indirectly with the term Chazhááda, or “pointed hats,” as a sign of respect (M. Darrow interview, April 4, 2002).2 Other forms of avoidance or deference to the Gahe such as not touching them or imitating their characteristic call similarly display respect for their power. Origin stories of the Chiricahua record disease and death among the consequences of disrespecting the Gahe (see Opler 1942: 79; Hoijer 1938: 30–33). As beings of both kindness and, when provoked, wrath, the Gahe interact with the Chiricahua in an evolving relationship that displays emotions of a human nature.
As the Fort Sill dancers perform the Fire Dance, they do so in accordance with the way taught them by the Gahe. The Gahe headdress typically consists of a black buckskin or canvas mask that covers the dancer’s face and vertical and horizontal slats of wood, in the shape of a trident, perched atop the head. The upper body of each dancer is adorned in painted designs, heavy buckskin kilts cover the lower body until approximately mid-to lower calf, and bootlike moccasins that, in accordance with Chiricahua tradition have characteristic upturned toes, are worn on the feet. Their outfits may be accented further with bells or jingles, cloth streamers, or feather ornaments. In addition, each of the Gahe dancers typically carries two sword-shaped slats, one in each hand, as he moves about the dance area performing the high step, or another of their three characteristic dance steps.
The recurrence of important religious concepts (specifically, reference made to the cardinal directions and ritual repetition of action by four) adds a sense of unity to the performance. These interrelated concepts—evident in the origin stories associated with the dance, repetition of songs, regalia design, and actions, for example—are evident throughout the historical documentation of the dance and in modern performances. Regarding the symbolic meaning of the number four within some Apache belief, Western Apache scholar Thomas L. Larson counts among its meanings unity, inclusiveness, and balance, and anchors it to observable manifestations in day-to-day human life: the four directions, the four seasons, and the four elements of fire, earth, wind, and air. Larson notes that, in giving a blessing with a pinch of pollen, an Apache “draws a cross in the air above the head and then draws an imaginary circle around it, signifying the four directions unified by the circle, or universe” (1996: 169). Claire R. Farrer, who has worked among Mescalero Apache groups since the 1960s, confirms in part Larson’s interpretation. When speaking of the number four, or what she calls “the base metaphor,” she states that the number four represents balance, circularity, and directionality (1980: 147).
The Gahe are assisted, within both oral tradition and modern performance, by a figure known as Gray One. Anthropologists of Southwest ceremonies commonly refer to figures such as Gray One as a ceremonial clown. His role within the Fire Dance ceremony is in fact often as a prankster or joker, yet his powers are respected and sometimes even greater than those of the Gahe. The clowns dress in a distinctive manner, wearing a pair of cutoff shorts, their full bodies painted white, with white canvas masks accented by angular noses and ears. Though a powerful figure within the ceremonial, it is young novice males who typically perform this role, practicing for the day they will become Gahe dancers.
The Fire Dance of the Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache is a complex performance practice because it is a ritual that rests at the intersection of religion and medicine, oral tradition and visual artistry, dance and drama, history and modern life. The use of music adds further depth to this dense mixture. Rather than simply ornamenting or embellishing the ceremony, the Fire Dance songs that typically accompany the dance, called gahe biyine in the Chiricahua language (M. Darrow interview, April 4, 2002), provide the rhythm and energetic drive for the event. These songs coordinate the angular movements of the individual dancers and Gahe groups, allowing for proper execution of the ceremony. Although most Fort Sill Apaches no longer speak their traditional language fluently, the lyrical sections of Fire Dance songs are the most overt communicators to those event attendees equipped to decode its communicative meaning—whether local Fort Sill Apache, visiting Mescalero or Western Apaches, or other closely related Athapaskan speakers. Music, though only a component part of a greater whole, is the fulcrum around which the other elements elaborate.
Each group of Gahe dancers has an associated group of musicians. Time is kept on a water drum held in the crook of the arm. The drums seen at modern Fire Dance performances are often metal pots with an inner tube or buckskin stretched over the mouth, acting as the drumhead. In the past, young novice Apache boys played along, crowding around a flat piece of rawhide, beating out the rhythm simultaneously. The rhythm for the dance, usually a straight quarter-note beat or sometimes a pulsing eighth-note beat, is created by striking a drumstick with a small hoop on the distal end against the drumhead. Jingles, bells, and small wooden sticks adorning the dancers’ headdresses also contribute to the rhythmic texture.
Though variation is common, the number of singers in a group generally ranges between four and six. The melody is typically a heterophonic line, sung by a male chorus. The head singer begins each song by singing solo a small portion of the melody. Once the other performers recognize the song, they join in. Although subtle variations in form are apparent, the melodic organization of Fire Dance melodies fall under two main categories: a binary strophic form (A/B) and a strophic form (repeated A). These melodic sections are sung in vocables and, in the most generalized form, are often alternated with a contrasting section composed of a speech-song recitation of text,3 a prayer uttered in the traditional Chiricahua language (A B/C or repeated A/B).4
The Contemporary Annual Fire Dance
of the Fort Sill Apache
The Fire Dance began as an organizationally promoted and annually celebrated event for the Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache in 1980. This event at present takes place every September, roughly coinciding with the dedication of the Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs tribal complex and, coincidentally, the same month of Geronimo’s final negotiation to General Nelson Miles in 1886. These annual Fire Dance performances fit broadly into a consistent format. Festivities begin after the workday on Friday evening and last until early Sunday morning. The Friday performance often commences with a Gourd Dance at around six thirty in the evening, with the Gahe dancers taking over the dance ground soon after sundown. The Saturday celebration is usually an all-day affair and might include events such as a horseshoe tournament, an Apache War Dance demonstration, a reception for the Apache tribal princess, lectures by Fort Sill Apache tribal historian Michael Darrow, a communal dinner, and more Gourd Dancing. The Gahe dancers again take control of the dance area soon after sundown and usually perform until sometime around midnight. Round Dances and Back-and-Forth Dances—both traditional social song-and-dance forms of the Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache—follow the Gahe Dance.
The Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs tribal headquarters, the site of the annual celebration, is located on Route 2, just north of Apache in southwestern Oklahoma. A visitor to this multiple-unit facility will notice on the north side of the grounds a gymnasium and the office building for the Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Tribal Housing Authority. Across the asphalt parking lot and to the southwest of this structure is a building housing a kitchen, a communal area, and a small exhibit highlighting the historic saga of the Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache. Beyond this site to the south are the main offices of the tribal headquarters. Located just to the east of these structures is an emergency youth shelter and, on the southeasternmost portion of the complex, the dance area where the September Fire Dance festivities unfold every year.
Walking behind the youth shelter and into the dance area during the September celebration, a first-time attendee may be struck by a myriad of images, sounds, and smells. Circling the dance ground are minivans, SUVs, trucks, and sedans of all varieties. Vendors set up booths and market their wares. On the south and north sides of the dance grounds, food sales are earned by pedaling such treats as sodas, cheese-drenched nachos, and Indian fry bread. Beadwork and other crafts are also common items. A booth selling T-shirts featuring the Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs name and a stylized depiction of a Gahe dancer, an image created by famed Fort Sill Apache artist Alan Houser, is usually located on the northwestern portion of the dance ground. When the weather cooperates, craftspeople unload their goods at a healthier pace than on the damper, more sparsely attended evenings of the dance.
Event spectators line the outer ring of the dance ground, some perched on wooden benches beneath a long, slender semicircular arbor, others sitting in the open, atop the ubiquitous foldout chair so common at Native American events in Oklahoma, or on blankets stretched out on the ground. There are many happy greetings, pats on the back, and reunions with visiting relatives. The event draws a diverse crowd. Though the English language—as opposed to the “complex” Apache, the “matter-of-fact” Comanche, or the “sing-song, drawling” tones of the Kiowa once noted by the early 1900s ethnographer M. R. Harrington (1912: 9)—has emerged as the lingua franca among attendees, the demographic makeup of the yearly dance is still predominantly composed of local Fort Sill or visiting Mescalero Apache, in combination with other area tribes such as the Kiowa, Comanche, and Plains Kiowa-Apache, or Wichita, Caddo, and Delaware.
Children chase each other; in one instance, a young boy clutched a younger counterpart with an unbreakable headlock, while the smaller victim wiggled in a vain attempt to escape. Teens often wander the outer circle, some dressed in Tommy Hilfiger clothing and baseball caps with meticulously curved brims, others with spiked hair and flared pants, often with the ever present cell phone prominently displayed, sizing up the scene. Adults at the event may be dressed in regalia typical of the Plains-based Gourd Dance, others in jeans and sneakers, sweatshirts, cowboy hats, and miscellaneous traditional accessories. A significant portion of the audience sits quietly—big and small, young and old, Native American, Euro-American, mixed Native and Euro-American, University of Oklahoma exchange students, and lifelong Okie alike—waiting for the main attraction as the pink and orange southwestern Oklahoma sky yields to growing darkness and the emerging stars.
The Fire Dance segments of these tribal celebrations generally consist of three sections: an introduction, a main body, and a conclusion. Local and visiting dancers first initiate the ceremony in an introductory segment during which each group enters the dance area at separate times— and completely independent of each other—and consecrates the dance area by blessing the four directions.
After the introduction, all Gahe groups exit the dance grounds to the east. The all-male drummers and singers move into position near the western perimeter and seat themselves on a long bench made from cinder blocks and planks of wood. Each drummer cradles a small, round water drum, perhaps eight to twelve inches in diameter, in the crook of his left arm. In his right hand he holds a drumstick of approximately six to eight inches. A hoop of approximately one to two inches in diameter adorns the tip of the stick, striking the drum membrane. Their drumbeat provides the pulse for the duration of the evening.
As the musicians prepare for their performance, female dancers form a parallel line behind them. Groups of women might line up along the outer northeast and southeast perimeter as well. Each female dancer wears a shawl laced with long fringe. A group of Gahe dancers reenters the dance ground for the main body of the evening celebration, makes a full clockwise lap around the dance circle, blesses each of the four directions, and stops on the western side of the fire immediately in front of the musicians. The other Gahe dancer groups enter the dance area and follow approximately the same procedure.
Once the musicians and dancers are in place, the musicians initiate the beat. The single voice of the head singer breaks through the air, and the chorus of male vocalists immediately follows his lead. Local Fort Sill and visiting Mescalero groups each have a corresponding group of musicians with their own distinctive style and repertoire. These groups of approximately four to six musicians rotate throughout the evening, sharing in the responsibility of providing accompaniment for the dancers. The beats that drive the evening performance are composed of a straight quarter-note rhythmic pattern or a subdivided eighth-note pattern.
The rhythmic pattern of the beat signals to the Gahe the appropriate dance step. Taking their cues from their lead dancer, the remaining dancers quickly join in. Moving in a clockwise motion around the fire, the Gahe dancers make sharp turns and strike dramatic poses. Sometimes moving toward the fire, sometimes away, the dancers often bend over at the waist, nodding or shaking their heads slightly. The percussive sticks on the headdress and bells on their kilts accent the rhythm of these movements. The dancers’ wands are held in their palms, often pointed away from the body, or flipped back, resting on the forearms. At times, a dancer extends his arms from his shoulder toward the sky, and calls out into the night.
The groups of women on the outer ring of the dance site move slowly with a gentle kicking step around the perimeter. Their left feet emphasize the downbeat. Watching the movement of their feet, holding a small child, or simply observing the dance scene before them, they shuffle clockwise around the circular dance area.
The dance continues this way for some time, occupying the majority of the evening. The Gahe dance segment typically commences at approximately nine o’clock and does not conclude until around midnight. If the women fatigue, they take a break by walking off the dance area. The Gahe take frequent breaks as well, and if a male dancer wants to rest, he raises his wands as he exits on the east side. At times, an entire group can exit the dance area, with the leader steering the group off the ground, and all dancers raising their wands together as a unanimous “Ohhhhh!” is called out to the east.
The musicians are not immune to the strains of performance, either. After the completion of a song, a small pause is often observed before moving to the next. When this happens, the Gahe dancers suspend their dancing and trot around the dance area, calling out to the singers as they pass until the music is resumed.
Documents record Fire Dance practices dating from at least the 1880s, though it is certain that the dance was performed long before that date. Written records such as the following often reflect the evolutionary thinking of nontribal outsiders, yet they document recognizable elements of the Fire Dance:
[The Apache] have medicine men who are allowed no fees from patients. Colds and consumption are about all the complaints the Apaches suffer from. If the patient is very sick, past being benefited by herbs or root, they have a grand medicine dance, continuing it for 6 or 7 days. They commence this strange performance about sunset. The medicine man with four or five others go into the neighboring hills, making their appearance at times whooping to those in camp. These are employed in chanting a single melody and keeping time by rasping a notched stick with one that is held in the hand. A large fire is built in front of the one in which are seated the singers. After a time the medicine men make their appearance with curious headdresses, around the bottom of which feathers are fastened extending over and covering the face. Their backs, breasts, and legs are painted with red and black zig-zag lines. They come in, dance around the fire led by a fellow whose actions resemble the monkey antics of a clown. He is dressed less gaudily than the others. They circle two or three times around the fire and off they go to appear in a few moments going through the same strange performance whilst dancing about the fires. Each gives an unearthly yell at the same time turning to face one another. These nightly dances continue until the patient declares him or herself better. This I presume they would say even on the point of death. (Higgins n.d.: 16–18)
The common use of adjectives such as strange, curious, and gaudy in ethnographic documents expresses some degree of condescension on the part of the writers, or at least strong aesthetic aversion, and reinforces the characteristics of violence and war attributed to the Apache and the Chiricahua in particular. Regardless of its subjectivity, this event description remains historically important for its clear depiction of a Fire Dance–related practice: a multiday ceremony led by a medicine man, with masked dancers, accompanying music, and symbolic emphasis on the number four, held for healing purposes.
The Fire Dance accompanied the Fort Sill Apache throughout their struggles in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Historical accounts tell of its performance by the Apache prisoners of war in both St. Augustine and Pensacola. As the imprisoned Apaches at Fort Marion fell ill due to the unhealthful coastal climate and cramped living conditions, they improvised a Gahe dance with whatever materials they could find in their new home. When the prisoners departed from Florida, they left behind a picture of a Fire Dance Gahe etched into the walls of the old Spanish fort.
The Fire Dance persisted through a ban placed on its performance during the Fort Sill Apache’s imprisonment in Oklahoma at the turn of the twentieth century. While simultaneously struggling with the medical afflictions that began in the East and the influence of Dutch Reformed missionaries, they held Fire Dances with increased interest, often performing them outdoors in the cold of winter. The ban, initiated by the commanding officers in charge of the Fort Sill Apache, lasted only until around 1900 or 1901, and the extent of its enforcement cannot be stated definitively based on available material. This particular event is significant, however, in that it is a nephew of Geronimo, a converted Christian educated at Carlisle Indian School, who claims at least partial responsibility for this limited ban on the dance.
While historically documented events attest to the long-standing practice and importance of the Fire Dance to the Fort Sill Apache culture, they also document a process of adaptation and change for the tribe in new religious, medical, and regional contexts. The medicine man, called di-yin in the Chiricahuan language, was an important and influential member of the tribe and key to the perpetuation of the Fire Dance tradition. This local dignitary was responsible not only for tribal medical well-being but also their spiritual well-being. The introduction of Western medical practices and Christian missionaries to the Fort Sill Apache represented a dual challenge to the influence of the medicine man.
Still other influences shaped the Fire Dance over time. As with other Native tribes, an important cultural link was compromised through the loss of the traditional language as youth were sent to boarding schools. This erosion of language was perhaps more dramatic for the Fort Sill Apache due to their small population and isolated residence amid other Native, predominantly plains, cultures. Numerous other influences might be counted to attest to changes in Fire Dance performance: new intertribal musical practices, or the proliferation of American popular music; intertribal marriage and adoption of woodlands, plains, or intertribal social and ceremonial practices; the geographic distance of the Fort Sill Apache from their regional and cultural neighbors after the tribal separation of 1913; or the severed link between traditional modes of occupation, transition to an agricultural economy as promoted by governmental policy, and finally the modern workweek. Yet there is still the Fire Dance.
Dr. Michael Steck, Indian agent to the Apache tribes of the Southwest in the 1850s, once emphasized the communicative divide between Apache musical practice and the aesthetics of the recently arrived Euro-American population when he commented on the “absurd” custom of the girl’s puberty ceremony, in which “the parents at this feast will sacrifice all the property they possess to feast the tribe, who dance and make night hideous with their songs” (Steck cited in Thrapp 1974: 86; emphasis in the original). Steck’s language use parallels other historical documents of Apache musical and ceremonial performance in the late 1800s, emphasizing perceptions of violence or savagery. Had his writings taken into consideration the lyrical prayers central to Fire Dance song, his written depictions may have been quite different in character.
Gahe biyine—or the songs that accompany Fire Dance performance—have a very specific and important purpose, namely, petitioning the Gahe for their blessings and assistance. Harry Hoijer’s Chiricahua and Mescalero Apache Texts (1938) is an important ethnographic document that records, in the Chiricahua and English languages, the stories and song texts of relocated Fort Sill Apache elders residing at the Mescalero Reservation. In a footnote to the translated text, Hoijer states, “Songs . . . are sung by the shaman [or medicine man] when he is preparing the dancers and while they are dancing. These songs function as a message to the Mountain Spirits to acquaint them of the aid required by the shaman. Since they are the songs which the Mountain Spirits themselves taught the shaman, it is believed that they must respond to them” (154).
These songs are constructed with contrasting sections. The first of these is the main sung melody. Rather than having strict literary meaning, these sections are instead sung with abstracted vocables. The second section of the song is the speech-song vocal recitation, or spoken prayer. These sections include text, or prayers in the traditional Chiricahua language. Lyrical content often emphasizes important symbolic concepts to the Apache, including reference to the Gahe, their mountain home, clouds or earth, and ceremonial items of importance such as turquoise, abalone shell, or pollen.
The following verse, taken from Hoijer’s work, is a translation of a gahe biyine prayer that displays some traits typical of these passages.5 Apparent in the text is a lyrical convention typical of many gahe biyine texts, namely, the frequent reference to color and directional associations of the Gahe at the beginning of each line of text (M. Darrow interview, April 4, 2002). Written under the heading “Songs of the Mountain Spirit Ceremony,” the English translation of the lyrical verse reads:
Big Blue Mountain Spirit in the east,
The tassels of the earth are moving about with me,
Here, my songs have been created,
Big Yellow Mountain Spirit in the south,
Leader of the Mountain Spirits, holy Mountain Spirit,
He will ask for the good life for us,
Here, my songs have again been created,
Big White Mountain Spirit in the west,
Leader of the Mountain Spirits, holy Mountain Spirit,
For this reason, my songs have been created,
Big Black Mountain Spirit in the north,
Leader of the Mountain Spirits, holy Mountain Spirit,
My songs will go out to the four directions.
(Hoijer 1938: 54)6
Note that there are four complete stanzas—an address for each of the four Gahe, their four color designations, as well as reference to each of the four cardinal directions.
Hoijer interprets the phrase “the tassels of the earth” as synonymous in meaning to “the pollen of the earth” (1938: 154–55). Pollen is considered a ceremonial or sacred item and is multifaceted in its potential meaning. It is thought to represent health and vigor, growth and vitality. Extending the possible meaning of pollen within Fire Dance ceremony and song, pollen is linked to the color yellow and to the ceremony by the yellow Gahe, or in the case of this lyrical example, the Gahe of the South. Further, pollen can represent the sun and, by extension, God or God’s generosity, or have ties to the female (Larson, 1996: 205). Due to the prominent use of pollen within the girl’s puberty rite, pollen as a sacred substance also may be connected to ideas of fertility.
Pollen as a symbol in Apache religious belief certainly has many meanings, and it is partially in these deeper realms of interpretation that the Fire Dance and its song become the embodiment of Apache belief and worldview—Fort Sill, Mescalero, or otherwise. Fort Sill Apache tribal historian Michael Darrow links the phrase to the properties of pollen— abundance, fruitfulness, and life. He states further that if the “tassels of the earth,” or pollen, were “moving about with you,” then “everything in the world is . . . surrounding you and is causing everything to be that much better. There is goodness everywhere” (interview, April 4, 2002). From that point, the phrase transcends its status as an abstract yet poetic expression, accumulating additional layers of meaning as a commentary on greater human existence. A statement reflective of the values embedded within Fire Dance text, it transforms into a message of doing good things, creating good things, and carrying good ideas with you—having the tassels of the earth move about with you—so that life will be abundant and “goodness” will attain “everywhere.”
Such statements and their interpretation according to the individual who processes them are highly subjective. Analysis of such facets of performance can be a powerful indicator of community meanings behind Fire Dance practice, however, and the ability of that practice to transmit the ideals, values, and beliefs of that culture. This text, an optimistic philosophical statement recorded by Hoijer circa 1938, is as much the embodiment of the intellectual outlook of that era as preceding generations and easily counteracts notions of the violent or victim, or the “strange” or “gaudy” in Fire Dance performance.
The term I was thinking of was validation. All these other
tribes, all these other groups in the vicinity—not just
American Indian—have their various events and activities
and things where they are sort of expressive of themselves,
wallowing in their own culture. And there’s very little of
anything . . . that occurs that’s equivalent to that for Fort
Sill Apache. And for this event that we have, it’s the closest
we can get to that—something that we can do that’s for
us. Everything else is always somebody else’s. And I’m
not sure that most people are aware of what it’s like to be
existing in a world where everything is somebody else’s and
the connection is different than what might . . . exist in a
situation where you can be surrounded by things that you
feel more of a connection with.
—Michael Darrow, Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs tribal historian
A developed picture of Fire Dance performance during the prisoner-of-war years and postimprisonment period (1913–present) has yet to be fully realized. With the majority of the population choosing to relocate in 1913, the tribal split between Oklahoma and New Mexico created a considerable strain on the ability of the Fort Sill group to maintain the cultural infrastructure for consistent performance and perpetuation of the Fire Dance ceremony. Some feeling remains in the tribe today that the relocation of prominent Fort Sill leaders and dance enthusiasts strengthened the Fire Dance tradition on the Mescalero Reservation. Locally in Oklahoma, “visitations,” or informal family get-togethers featuring a supper and backyard, basement, or kitchen singing of Fire Dance, Round Dance, and Back-and-Forth Dance songs without the accompanying dances, may have been a important mode of performance during both the imprisonment and parts of the postimprisonment periods.
With a small postimprisonment population, few singers and dancers, and limited occasions and venues for the ceremony, performance of the Fire Dance after 1912 is perhaps best characterized as intermittent. In a tradition that endures still today, a local Fort Sill Apache family started performing annually at the Anadarko Indian Exposition in the 1940s. Aside from informal “visitation” sings, full dance performances occurred only as the occasion arose—for the annual exposition, various family celebrations, upon special request or invitation of other area tribes, and on at least one occasion for healing purposes. Sometimes these Fire Dance celebrations lasted for the traditional four days.
An annual Fire Dance celebration was established in 1980 for the reorganized Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache tribe. The institution of the dance as an annual event linked the dance to an established, centralized political body, bringing with it a new role for the ceremony as the most visible outward manifestation of an official Fort Sill Apache culture. This new status for the Fire Dance is only one change of many over the past century. The Fire Dance in Oklahoma is no longer performed over the traditional four-day period. The display of respect for the Gahe through avoidance has largely disappeared. Also, the sacred ceremony is no longer held for the purposes of healing or to honor a girl’s puberty rite. It is perhaps in part because of the separation of the dance from these important rites that local discussion on the Fire Dance sometimes indicates that tribal members perceive a loss of “significance”—ritual, spiritual, or otherwise—as generations progressed throughout the twentieth century.
Regardless of the debate, the dance continued to perform an important function for members of the Fort Sill Apache over the course of the twentieth century, as it does now at the turn of the millennium. The role of the dance as a vehicle for tribal history, values, and beliefs, or, in the words of Michael Darrow, as a symbol of validation for the Fort Sill Apache (interview, April 4, 2002), makes it a cultural practice of central importance to the tribe and contributed to the establishment of its yearly performance at the tribal headquarters in 1980.
The meaning involved with this—the essence of the
dance—is a combination of the songs and the posturing of
the dancers, and it is all in reverence to our one God, the one
. . . whose teachings we follow, or by whom we live. Because
that is his name—it’s not God—but it is the one we follow,
like good and bad, and evil and all this. It’s not something
you write down; it is something you know. You talk about
lie, cheat, steal. Well, that goes on in many cultures, but it is
very strong in ours, too. That dance just represents all that is
good and all that is holy about us and our people. I feel very
strongly about it because I have grown up, and I was taught
that way. It bothers me if I see somebody doing something
that they shouldn’t be doing . . . let’s say a long time ago
something that they shouldn’t have been doing. But now
they have relaxed a lot of the rules, and I want people to see
this [Fire Dance] as something that is truly a reverent and
spiritual exercise.
—Ruey Darrow, former Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache tribal chair
The Fire Dance has multiple meanings for the diverse inhabitants of southwestern Oklahoma. To an outsider looking in, the Gahe may represent to a non-Apache something mysterious and powerful; for a non-Apache child it may represent something foreboding and scary. On the extreme end of this scale, local knowledge around the Fort Sill Apache tribal office tells of the laying of hands upon a youth who mistakenly wore a T-shirt with a depiction of a Gahe dancer on it to a local Christian church meeting. Reflecting on his exposure to the dance as a youth, an urban-dwelling American Indian who grew up in southwestern Oklahoma noted that, in his earliest memory, the Fire Dance was “magical . . . mesmerizing.” The frequent depiction of Gahe dancers in the artwork of Kiowa, Comanche, and other area artists attests to the power of its visual imagery and the esteem the dance holds within the regional imagination.
The Fire Dance is an icon to other regional tribes, signifying simply the Fort Sill Apache. Although many nontribal visitors sense the ceremonial or sacred aspects of the dance, their knowledge of its deeper meanings to tribal members may be limited. The annual appearance of Gahe dancers at the Anadarko Indian Exposition—where the dance is performed out of its traditional ceremonial context—may contribute to the perception that the dance has become increasingly secularized.
However, the Fire Dance has, according to tradition, also been a practice that balanced delicately both social and sacred elements. When performed for healing purposes or for a girl’s puberty rite, the dance was accompanied by solemn gravity, ritual, and prayer. Yet the dance of the Gahe, both yesterday and today, is often also tied to the performance of the secular Round and Back-and-Forth dances. In the past, boy and girl became boyfriend and girlfriend while dancing as “blanket partners,” and these dances lasted until the break of day. The dance movements of the Gahe dancers, though a reverent re-creation of the original dance taught by the Chazhááda, are equally expressive of the physical prowess, stamina, and energetic performance style of its dancers.
The term fellowship has been used to describe the contemporary function of the annual Fire Dance for the Fort Sill Apache, and it is particularly apt. In many Christian churches, fellowship denotes the period immediately following Sunday services when the congregation can meet and greet each other—on the holiest day of the week, according to Christian theology—while sipping coffee and partaking of sugar-coated pastries. The Fire Dance of the Fort Sill Apache is similar, in that it allows for tribal members to meet, socialize, and catch up while also reflecting on their common religious beliefs as a social community.
The annual Fire Dance is also a homecoming for tribal members. Relatives, friends, and neighbors from the Mescalero reservation in New Mexico, as well as Fort Sill Apaches residing elsewhere throughout the United States, all converge at the tribal headquarters in the latter half of September every year. With hospitality, resident Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache host their guests as they visit, eat, celebrate, partake of organized activities, relax, sing, and dance. Familial relationships are updated, old friendships reaffirmed, and new friendships made. Through these interactions, “tribal members could get together to reassure themselves about who they were” (R. Darrow interview, April 4, 2002).
The modern Fire Dance brings blessings to the Fort Sill Apache through its annual performance. This function of the dance is now often stated as the central purpose for the event, rather than as a healing rite or for a girl’s puberty ceremony. Elements of its original function as a healing rite may remain, however, in the words of a local practitioner who attests to the ability of the dance to alleviate fatigue and encourage the elderly into dance. Such statements may, however, simply point to the seemingly universal power of music to uplift—a power that often stems from early memory and a comfort, familiarity, and understanding of the dance and song meaning. Regardless of interpretation, this sentiment affirms the considerable respect paid the dance by local Fort Sill Apache tribal members.
The importance of respect and reverence for the dance is a common refrain of tribal members. For some, respect is shown for the dance through adhering to codes of conduct not only within dance performance but also in day-to-day existence. In this way, the Fire Dance is an important social mechanism in the transmission of behavior. Other tribal members display respect for the dance through emphasizing continuity in the performance of the rite. Whether speaking in terms of consistency in song performance, adherence to traditional taboos, or proper intergenerational transference of a specific dance tradition, it is believed by some that continuity must be maintained across generations through diligent adherence to the ceremony as it was originally received from the Gahe.
The Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache also show their respect for the Fire Dance through protecting the sanctity of its practice. Diverse nontribal people—including hobbyists, Boy Scouts, and academics, as well as other non-Apache Natives—show great curiosity and interest in the Fire Dance ceremony and accompanying songs. Tribal members and performers are aware of the importance of teaching nontribal audience members about their tradition but are often very careful about how much they will talk about the Fire Dance, to whom, and for what purposes. The motivation for this watchful, guarded secrecy is fear of the appropriation, commodification, and diminishment or desecration of a ceremony that holds a sacred and important place within the hearts, minds, and culture of the Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Springs Apache community.
Throughout their documented history in the Southwest, the Fire Dance has been the continuing cultural thread that reminds the Fort Sill Apache who they are as a cultural group. The dance serves in this self-identification through the transmission of their religious, philosophical, and behavioral ideals, among others. In reminding the tribe to have “the tassels of the earth move about with them,” members are encouraged to reflect on their idealized self in a tradition in keeping with their best cultural values. The Fire Dance has also, like the Fort Sill Apache, endured a history of conflict, imprisonment, and relative cultural isolation. In the process, it has been adapted and altered to fit into new contexts and contemporary meanings but never surrendered its unique cultural allegiance. Also, like the Fort Sill Apache, the Fire Dance has meant many things to many people. Whereas early ethnographic documents portrayed the ceremony in a manner that reinforced cultural stereotypes of Apachean violence, the dance today, as it likely has since its earliest performance, represents more clearly “everything that is good and holy” about the Fort Sill Apache. The Fire Dance is a central marker of Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Spring Apache identity for both tribal insiders and outsiders. As the post-prisoner-of-war generation continues to age, it will be left to the younger generations to maintain the integrity and careful transmission of this important ceremony for those who follow.
1. The Fort Sill Apache were originally promised ownership of the land upon which the Fort Sill military installation is currently located. The option to receive allotments in Oklahoma was discouraged in large part. Only a small minority of the group received their claims in the state of Oklahoma, often at reduced acreage.
2. The origin and meaning of the term is a matter of debate. Some argue that the term refers to a bird. Both John G. Bourke (1892) and Morris Edward Opler (1941, 1942, 1983a, 1983b, 1994) use this terminology to refer to the Gahe and the performance of the healing ceremony.
3. The term vocable is often defined as sung syllables without dictionary definition.
4. The solidus between the melodic sections (A or A/B) is used to emphasize the distinction between the sung melody and the sprechstimme-like textual sections.
5. Analysis of lyrical content may provide some insight into Fort Sill Apache perceptions of religious belief. Ethnologist Harry Hoijer collected his Fire Dance texts from David Fatty (1858–1934), a former Fort Sill Apache prisoner of war then residing at the Mescalero reservation in New Mexico.
6. Note that the color and directional associations listed above are atypical of the most commonly cited Chiricahuan representation—black for the East, blue for the South, yellow for the West, and white for the North (see also Hoijer 1938: 154; Opler 1994: 77n1).
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Darrow, Michael, Fort Sill Apache Tribal Historian. Interview by author, April 4, 2002, Apache, Oklahoma. Tape recording. University of Oklahoma, Norman.
Darrow, Ruey, Fort Sill Chiricahua Warm Spring Apache Tribal Chair. Interview by author, May 2, 2002. Tape recording. University of Oklahoma, Norman.
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