Where A White Man He Does Like He Pleases
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Boosted by several years of education about Native American issues in college, I was convinced that âHeartâ was a thematically perfect song, aptly capturing the nobility of the Nez Perce, the unfairness of their relocation, and because of the last verse, the promise of an enduring legacy.
My reaction was obviously rather romanticized and sentimental. Itâs an idealistâs song, a not-so-angry young manâs song. My teenage son loves it, probably for reasons I did when I was about his age. Smallâs song is beautifully written, incorporating Chief Josephâs words. Itâs also an admirable song in a morally earnest kind of way, and the art does not groan under the weight of that earnestness.
Despite âthe Appaloosa living still,â âHeartâ is an elegy, with a guiding theme of injustice. Its animating dilemma is Chief Josephâs: whether flight and independence are better than assimilation, and at what cost. Fighting is not sought, but not to my ear a point of anguish for the Chief. âWe shall fight them if we must, but we will find another home.â A properly nuanced understanding of fighting in native cultures is beyond my ken, reminding me that âHeartâ gives me occasional twinges of misgiving about the risks of appropriating stories better told by others. To Smallâs credit, he provides a historical song, highlighting the Nez Perce connection to the natural world, without relegating them to history or consigning them to nature, which are often the Scylla and Charybdis of majority culture depictions of Native Americans.  My inability fully to parse the question of violence in the song, though, illustrates that, despite its protagonist, âHeartâ is still in most meaningful respects a âwhite manâsâ story.
âHeart of the Appaloosaâ has been with me for close to thirty years, and the only one of these three that I have memorized. I find it impossible to say how I might judge it for the first time if I encountered it today, but I think it did open something up for me that had value and still does.

Appaloosas (uncredited photo)
âMick Ryanâs Lamentâ
I first heard Robert Emmet Dunlapâs âMick Ryanâs Lamentâ on Tim OâBrienâs Two Journeys (2001), which explored Americaâs ties to Ireland through music. Dunlap published it in 1993, making it the only one of todayâs songs to appear after the increase in public conversation about indigenous issues that coincided with the 500th anniversary of Columbusâs encounter with the Americas. Perhaps not coincidentally, itâs the only one of them that came out after Dances with Wolves.
Mick Ryan is an Irish immigrant, Civil War veteran, and soldier in General George Armstrong Custerâs 7th Cavalry. At the start of the song he lies dead at Little Bighorn, only then awakening morally to the painful irony of what he had become and what he had done.
Here is OâBrienâs version:
âMick Ryanâs Lamentâ takes its melody from the 7th Cavalryâs marching tune, âGarryowen,â itself based on an 18th century Irish quick step tune. This thematically resonant, clever songwriting was what first drew me in. The clip below is a quasi-fictional story of the tuneâs evolution, taken from They Died With Their Boots On, the second most popular film of 1941, featuring Errol Flynn as General Custer.
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âMick Ryanâs Lamentâ melodically reinforces the protagonistâs wrestling with the abuses of empire. Ryanâs Irish heritage lies at the center of this fatal irony.  It presents us with a tragic âreversal and recognition,â in the classical sense, where the hero realizes too late how and why he has brought about his own downfall. As a tragedy, rather than an elegy, it is closer to a traditional murder ballad than âHeart of the Appaloosa.â