Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Louise Erdrich’s "Dear John Wayne" is a searing critique of colonialism, cultural erasure, and the enduring impact of racist media representations, all framed within the everyday setting of a drive-in movie theater. As a member of the Turtle Mountain Chippewa, Erdrich uses her unique perspective to dismantle the romanticized myths of the American West propagated by Hollywood, personified in the figure of John Wayne, a cultural icon synonymous with rugged individualism, frontier justice, and Manifest Destiny. The poem intertwines personal reflection with historical commentary, using vivid, sometimes brutal imagery to expose the contradictions and injustices embedded in American history and identity.

The poem opens in an unassuming, almost nostalgic setting: "August and the drive-in picture is packed. / We lounge on the hood of the Pontiac / surrounded by the slow-burning spirals they sell at the window, / to vanquish the hordes of mosquitoes." This scene paints a familiar image of American summer leisure, yet the mention of "hordes of mosquitoes" immediately introduces an undercurrent of discomfort and invasion. The mosquitoes, relentless and immune to the ineffective "smoke screen," serve as a subtle metaphor for the pervasive, inescapable forces of historical trauma and cultural oppression. Just as the smoke cannot keep out the mosquitoes, symbolic resistance struggles to ward off the deep-seated narratives of colonization.

The poem quickly shifts from this personal scene to the portrayal of Native Americans in the film: "Always the lookout spots the Indian first, / spread north to south, barring progress." This line reflects the reductive depiction of Native people as obstacles to be overcome, reinforcing the narrative of westward expansion as a righteous, inevitable march toward progress. The description of Native warriors as "ICBM missiles, feathers bristling in the meaningful sunset" draws a stark parallel between Cold War-era military imagery and the demonization of Indigenous resistance. The reference to Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles suggests that Native people are viewed as existential threats, dehumanized and reduced to mere targets in the broader narrative of American conquest.

Erdrich’s use of cinematic language—“The drum breaks. / There will be no parlance. / Only the arrows whining”—mimics the dramatic tropes of Western films, where Native characters are often denied complexity or humanity. The settlers "die beautifully, tumbling like dust weeds into the history that brought us all here together," a line that drips with irony. The settlers’ deaths are aestheticized, their sacrifice woven into the romantic mythology of the American frontier. Yet this history is not a shared or neutral one; it is a history of violence and dispossession that brought Indigenous and non-Indigenous people together under vastly different circumstances.

The poem’s shift to "this wide screen beneath the sign of the bear" situates the film within a Native cosmology, where the bear symbolizes strength and protection. Yet the sacred imagery is co-opted and projected onto the screen, distorting Indigenous symbols within the framework of colonial narratives. The "sky fills, acres of blue squint and eye that the crowd cheers." This image conflates the vastness of the landscape with John Wayne’s looming presence, his face becoming a "thick cloud of vengeance, pitted like the land that was once flesh." The comparison between Wayne’s face and the scarred landscape underscores the violence etched into both the land and the bodies of its original inhabitants. The land is not just a backdrop for conquest but a living entity, wounded by colonization.

Erdrich masterfully captures the psychological weight of this imagery: "Each rut, each scar makes a promise: / It is not over, this fight, not as long as you resist." The scars, both literal and metaphorical, are reminders that the historical struggle between colonizer and colonized persists. The statement "Everything we see belongs to us" echoes the ethos of Manifest Destiny, the belief that the land—and by extension, its people—are there for the taking. Yet Erdrich subverts this by embedding the declaration within a context of ongoing resistance and unresolved conflict.

The poem pivots back to the personal with a surreal, almost absurd image: "A few laughing Indians fall over the hood / slipping in the hot spilled butter." This juxtaposition of humor and discomfort reflects the tension between the triviality of entertainment and the profound implications of what is being portrayed. The line "The eye sees a lot, John, but the heart is so blind" serves as a direct address to John Wayne, indicting not just the man but the cultural blindness he represents. While audiences consume these films without questioning their narratives, the emotional and historical truths remain obscured.

Erdrich’s final stanzas delve into the existential consequences of this cultural erasure: "Death makes us owners of nothing." This stark statement challenges the colonial logic that land and resources can be claimed through violence and domination. In death, all possessions and conquests become meaningless, highlighting the futility of the imperial project. John Wayne’s iconic smile—“a horizon of teeth the credits reel over”—becomes a grotesque symbol of this empty triumph, a facade that dissolves as the film ends and reality creeps back in.

The poem closes with a return to the mundane: "We get into the car scratching our mosquito bites, / speechless and small as people are when the movie is done." This re-entry into the everyday world contrasts sharply with the larger-than-life violence of the film, emphasizing how media consumption numbs audiences to the deeper implications of what they’ve witnessed. Yet, even as the film ends, its message lingers: "How can we help but keep hearing his voice, / the flip side of the sound track, still playing." John Wayne’s voice symbolizes the pervasive cultural narrative of domination and entitlement, a soundtrack that continues to shape perceptions and attitudes long after the credits roll.

Erdrich’s final comparison of Wayne’s cancer to colonial greed is particularly potent: "Even his disease was the idea of taking everything. / Those cells, burning, doubling, splitting out of their skins." This metaphor equates the uncontrolled spread of cancerous cells with the insatiable expansionism of colonization. Both consume and destroy indiscriminately, leaving scars on both the land and the body. The image of cells "splitting out of their skins" echoes the earlier themes of displacement and identity, suggesting that even at the cellular level, there is a violent rupture at the heart of the colonial project.

In "Dear John Wayne," Louise Erdrich crafts a powerful critique of the myths that underpin American identity and the enduring legacy of colonial violence. By weaving together personal experience, historical commentary, and cinematic imagery, she exposes the deep contradictions and injustices that continue to shape Indigenous and non-Indigenous relations. The poem challenges readers to confront the cultural narratives they consume and to recognize the ways in which these stories perpetuate cycles of erasure and resistance. Through its rich, layered language and unflinching honesty, "Dear John Wayne" stands as both a personal reckoning and a broader call to re-examine the stories that define a nation.

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