* A Postcolonial Parable

In my Native American literature courses, two or three students every semester tell me/"us Indians" to "get over it. I didn't do anything to you people!"

And so I wrote the following PARABLE for them:

My dad raped a woman. And when he was done, he took this great diamond from her dresser drawer, a diamond beautiful beyond imagination. When my dad died, I used that diamond to make my fortune on Main Street, and on Wall Street. But later, the sons and daughters of that raped woman came to me and said that they wanted the diamond back. "Go to Hell," I said. "I'm not the one who raped your mother or stole your diamond. Take your claims elsewhere!" Proclaiming all this with a mighty huff of triumph, I walked blithely away to enjoy all the more my profits and my privilege.