EDITOR'S COLUMN: Always a Bilagaana, never a Sourdough

Growing up on the Navajo Reservation, there was never a bad day to play sick, but there was one day you could circle on your calendar that was worth faking sour tummy at all costs —Tribal Clothing Day.

At an unknown hour sometime in the afternoon on Tribal Clothing Day, there would be a summons over the intercom and all the kids would be led down to the playground where some tribal council member in a blue blazer would preside over the handing out bags of clothing to all the Navajo children. He would remind them that this handout was somehow meant to make them feel proud about their heritage, even as we handful of white kids stood and watched.

We pretended it didn’t bother us. We joked that nobody would want these lousy government clothes stuffed into trash bags anyway, especially those KangaROOS with the zipper pocket on the side, perfect for keeping something like a house key. Secretly, though, I thought KangaROOS were the coolest things I’d ever seen and was close to crying out of sheer jealousy.

Deep down, we Bilagaanas really didn’t begrudge our Navajo classmates all this free clothing. We knew we had built-in advantages most of them didn’t, but you can’t very well give a gift to one 7-year-old, while making another 7-year-old stand and watch and call it a good idea.

Then one year a teacher wised up and arranged to have her class go with another to the giveaway while she stayed behind with all us Bilagaanas so we wouldn’t have to watch all the giving of all the gifts we’re not getting because of our pigmentation.

This act was a considerate thought, but it had little effect. Our classmates would be back in no time anyway noisily showing off their new duds, and yet complaining about them just to seem unappreciative and haute couture.

I haven’t really thought about Tribal Clothing Day for years. That was until last Friday when I watched Gov. Bill Walker, along with a smiling eighth-grade girl from Palmer, unveil the value of this year’s Permanent Fund Dividend. At $1,022, it’s only about half of what it was a year ago, thanks to Mr. Walker’s unpopular vetoes, an outrage to many Alaskans, but obviously of no personal matter to me.

Again, I watch as everybody gets their handout and then complains about how it’s not good enough.

Much as with my young Navajo cohorts, I really don’t begrudge all of you getting what I don’t. Alaska’s expensive, and anything that can mitigate the inflation, even a little bit, is welcome and even necessary.

But unlike Tribal Clothing Day, the PFD tells me I might not always be left out. All I gotta do is fill out some paperwork and wait to be accepted into the tribe.

Apparently I miss out next year, too, because, I’m told, you need to do a full calendar year in Alaska to qualify, and I arrived in July.

Down in the Lower 48, we’d heard about this program, but it always sounded a bit like urban legend. The truth, you had to figure, was that it was only for Native Alaskans, and maybe those hardy souls who’d been there since before the Al-Can was finished and have lived in a dry cabin since.

But everyone who’s been there a calendar year?

Really? So if the cricks don’t rise, by October 2018, I should be rubbing my hands together in sweet, sweet anticipation of my first PFD payday. Yeah, I’ll sign up, because Alaska’s expensive and every little bit helps, and you can bet I’ll cry the cry of entitlement when whoever’s governor decides to short it again, but I sincerely hope this payday never comes at all.

What I hope to see by fall of 2018 is a state of Alaska that’s ready to grow up — that instead of waiting Quinn the Eskimo to come bearing gifts each October, we’re building infrastructure instead.

By fall 2018, my sincere hope is for an Alaska that has no PFD, but a pound of ground beef in villages no longer costs $20 or more.

I hope for an Alaska with no PFD, but also no people flying to Seattle for routine medical procedures because it’s that much cheaper.

I hope for an Alaska that has no PFD but doesn’t hitch its economic hopes to a commodity as elastic as oil.

I hope for an Alaska that has no PFD, but builds bridges to somewhere.