1990 “It’s like when you have a TV program about the Bible, about Jesus. It’s like a pageant. Same thing.”
Hopis Protest Mimicking of Sacred Dance
1990, Aug 24 Los Angeles Times 
Prescott, Az – After two weeks of sacrifice and
secret preparation, the men of the Antelope and Snake clans are now preparing
to enter the plaza of Shungopavi Village high on Second Mesa. There, they will
take like rattlesnakes or bull snakes into their mouths and reenact the solemn
snake dance that their ancestors brought to the Hopi mesas more than a thousand
years ago.
To the white man, this is perhaps the most famous Hopi ceremony, notable both for its use of dangerous reptiles and for the uncanny certainty with which it produces its desires result at the end of each parched August – rain.
The Hopis say they offer their prayers for the benefit of all mankind and welcome visitors to their kachina and social dances, held from spring through fall. But don’t bother driving to the remove reservation in northern Arizona to view the Snake Ceremony.
The Hopis have closed the ceremony to non-Indians, charging disrespectful behavior by tourists and those seeking to profit from the dance. In particular, they cite the mimicking of the ritual by a group of non-Indians who call themselves the “Smoki People.”
First organized here in 1923, the Smokis (pronounced smoke-eyes) today consist of about 125 businessmen and their families who say their only objective is to educate the public about Indians, preserve a dying lore and raise money for their museum. For the last 70 years, usually within weeks of the real Hopi snake dance, the Smokis hold their own elaborate pageant, ending with what they now call their own traditional snake dance.
Earlier this month under brown-painted skin and longhair wigs, costumed remarkably like Hopi snake dancers and clutching huge, nonpoisonous bull snakes in their mouths, the Smokis once again performed their version of a snake dance at the Yavapai County Fairgrounds here.
Outside, about 50 sign-carrying Hopis protested.
The entertainment desecrates the tribe’s age-old beliefs, said Hopi Chairman Vernon Masayesva. The continuation of the Smoki dance against the wishes of Indians will cast Prescott with “a very negative image as a very redneck, insensitive town,” he added.
“I came here for one reason,”
said 95-year old Scott Puhuyouma through a Hopi-speaking interpreter. “To stop
the snake dance from being performed by these people down here.”
The Smokis contend they mean no offense and now have their own tradition to uphold, said Perry Haddon, a second-generation member who wished to make a “peace offering” to the Hopis of free tickets to that night’s performance.
Like many Smokis before him, Haddon said other Hopis have befriended group members, offering them assistance in costume and dance details and inviting them to their reservation homes. He said the groups “chiefs” had visited the Hopi mesas in past years to discuss the tribe’s concerns. Last year, he added, a group of Hopis came to view the Smoki performance and went so far as to bless the snakes and dancers with corn meal.
The Smokis will continue the annual performance, Haddon said.
Alma Jo Stevens, a Smoki member, said the dance is serious, and not sacrilegious. “It’s like when you have a TV program about the Bible, about Jesus. It’s like a pageant. Same thing.”
But some Hopis charge that the Smoki performance commercializes their religion, and they view it as sacrilege. For years, the Smoki Dancers have been Prescott’s biggest single tourist draw of the year, often brining in as many as 3000 people to one show.
The small, pleasant
mile-high city, originally Arizona’s territorial capital, today is home to many
retirees and students attending the two small colleges and aeronautical school.
And because it’s within a few hours drive from metropolitan Phoenix, tourism
has become its principal industry.The Smokis contend they mean no offense and now have their own tradition to uphold, said Perry Haddon, a second-generation member who wished to make a “peace offering” to the Hopis of free tickets to that night’s performance.
Like many Smokis before him, Haddon said other Hopis have befriended group members, offering them assistance in costume and dance details and inviting them to their reservation homes. He said the groups “chiefs” had visited the Hopi mesas in past years to discuss the tribe’s concerns. Last year, he added, a group of Hopis came to view the Smoki performance and went so far as to bless the snakes and dancers with corn meal.
The Smokis will continue the annual performance, Haddon said.
Alma Jo Stevens, a Smoki member, said the dance is serious, and not sacrilegious. “It’s like when you have a TV program about the Bible, about Jesus. It’s like a pageant. Same thing.”
But some Hopis charge that the Smoki performance commercializes their religion, and they view it as sacrilege. For years, the Smoki Dancers have been Prescott’s biggest single tourist draw of the year, often brining in as many as 3000 people to one show.
“If they’re doing this only for profit or to bring tourism into northern Arizona, the it’s wrong,” said Ferrell Secakuku, 52, a member of the Hopi Tribal Council, who said he’s participated in the snake religion since he was 13.
After this year’s Smoki performance, the Hopis were joined by another Southwestern tribe in opposing the dances. Barton Martza, head councilman for New Mexico’s Zuni tribe, who traveled six hours to see the Smoki’s presentation of his tribe’s Kianakwe dance, said he was both angry and amused to see white people seriously pretending they were Indians.
“It’s just totally out of contact with the real world,” he said. “They say they want preserve the Indian ways, but I’m sure that they can have better luck trying to preserve refried beans in a Mason jar.”
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| 1990, Aug 26 Arizona Republic |
