Red Haircrow

An award-winning author/poet, news correspondent, chef and former law enforcement officer of mixed Native American descent (Chiricahua Apache/Cherokee) who lives in Berlin, Germany. Red Haircrow also has degrees in Psychology, Criminal Justice, and is a Graduate Student at Montana State University Bozeman, and owns and operates Flying With Red Haircrow, a multi-media entity. All comments, feedback and inquiries can be directed to theredhairedcrow at Unless noted, all photos were taken by and are the property of Red Haircrow ©2010-2014. All rights reserved.



Filed under Native American, Writing and Writers

My latest at ICTMN “Naked Faux Savages and Neo-Racism in Berlin”

“Nothing is sacred!” the motto of Das Helmi.

“At the Ethological Museum’s Humboldt Lab in Berlin, the play Captain Jacobsen recently premiered, featuring a performance by the group Das Helmi that culminated with brightly painted and masked dancers provocatively presenting what was supposed to be Natives of the Northwest during a potlatch feast.

The dancers writhed intertwined and rode on each other’s backs in what was described as “a naked orgy of naked savages“ by the museum’s outraged former curator of the North American Collection, Peter Bolz (who retired in 2012). Males wore socks that covered their genitalia but most of the young female dancers were naked as they playfully simulated sexual wildness before an audience that included small children.

The play is about the ethnologist Adrian Jacobsen, who traveled to the Northwest Coast to trade with the Kwakiutl, Haida and other tribes, and much of his acquired booty is still at the museum to this day. At its premiere in September, the recreation of his adventures received mixed reviews.

“Part of the audience saw it as an innovative experiment, and part saw it as a form of neo-racism against Native Americans,” said Bolz. “Imagine if representatives of these Indigenous Peoples had been present in the hall. They would immediately leave Berlin under protest and never come back!”

Other opinions were even more harsh…..”

Read my full article at Indian Country Today Media Network
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Photos were taken by Dr. Bolz.


Filed under Activism, Berlin, Current Events, Germany, Native American

“Against the Myths”: My Workshops at an Indigenous Film Fest in Rostock, Germany


This Sunday, 16 November 2014 in Rostock, Germany I’ll be giving two workshops at the “Tages des Indigenen Films”, a multicultural event to help spread understanding and knowledge of indigenous peoples speaking for themselves using the medium of feature film and documentary.

“Elements EV, will be presenting several feature films, documentaries and children’s films created by indigenous peoples to help spread accurate knowledge about themselves across the world in the way they wish to be known.

I will be presenting two workshops: one for adults, and one for children. For adults, “Gegen den Mythos”, directly addressing the Hollywood and European stereotypes that are still perpetuated, as well as discussing modern perspectives, beliefs and progression. For children, a simpler discussion and presentation on why we don’t give feathers, and what they really mean in native cultures. My son, who is accompanying me, will assist in this workshop.”

Workshops begin at noon. For more information, and to see the list of films to be screened, please visit the website.”

Promo Images of the Films from Elements e.V.

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Filed under Culture, Events, Germany, Native American

Poem: “Siblings” & The Story Behind the Words


A wall-eyed young girl in a party dress
with carefully combed dark hair,
brushed tears away from a narrow pretty face
drawn with misery.

Maybe the cause was a word spoken,
or a series of them, a mentioned memory, person or place.
Maybe it was all of those things for

After giving a deliberate satisfied speech
from which she sat back with a faint smile,
her straight sighted twin regarded her dispassionately
on the warm, fine summer evening bus ride.

–Written 8 July 2014


When a few moments viewing of a young girl’s fight to hold back tears guts you, when you want to know what caused it: what words said, what fate contemplated and dreaded forthcoming. But those are things I thought afterwards as I forced my legs to move, to walk away from her, to not follow her and see how I might help, if I could help in some way.

After a long hot day at work, I was riding the same bus I usually do, standing at the back as I usually do, only occasionally watching other commuters as they intermittently moved or conversed, such things. I had vaguely noticed two young girls, probably 11 or 12 years old who sat facing each. I had noticed them mostly because of their wavy dark hair, which reminded me of my son, along with their light tan skin. “Must be twins” I said to myself, for their bearing and countenance was nearly identical.

My thoughts returned to other things. A few minutes passed, and the upcoming stop would be my own. When I glanced back at the scrolling “next stop” marquee at the front of the bus, I noticed the obvious siblings again, as one rose to get off. The “twin” who’d sat across from her didn’t move save to take off her glasses, hold her face in one hand a moment before looking back up towards the window. The dejection, the abject expression of misery on her face, in the lines of her shoulders and slope of her narrow flat chest.

The skin around her eyes were reddened, as obviously she’d been crying or about to. And her eyes, one looked down at her lap while the other wandered elsewhere, the wall-eyed condition so often mocked, which I know personally, for it runs in my family, and I’d had mine corrected as an infant. The dispassionate eyes of the standing sibling turned back to the seated twin with a trace of latent triumph. Something hurtful had been said without doubt.The wall-eyed young girl finally forced herself to move.

As we were all getting off on the same stop, I forced myself to also move also because my body felt leaden for her hurt was so strong, so poignant, I had helplessly absorbed it. I found that I could barely walk. My legs felt numb. I didn’t want to embarass her, to look at her as she still struggled with controlling her feelings, as she dropped back behind her mother and other siblings as we waited for the crossing light. When it turned, I made myself stride ahead away from them, but as soon as I crossed the street and they moved in another direction, I dropped in pace and had to stop. I literally had to gather my composure in order to continue.

I was an often solemn child, except with certain people, seldom smiling in any photo, always somewhat removed from any grouping. I thought of myself, of what I carried in my mind and heart back at the same age, and what it did to my spirit then and sometimes now. I thought of all the things that could make that child look so hurt and alone.

It could have been any city, any bus ride, any family, any child.

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Filed under Berlin, Essays, Germany, Memories, Personal Entries, Poetry