There is a story told among the Kiowa Indians of North America’s southern Great Plains about the arrival in their midst, in a time long past, of a stranger in a black suit and a tall hat. This missionary-appearing figure is confronted by Saynday, a mystic hero of the Kiowa.

“Who are you?” asks the stranger.

“I’m Saynday. I’m the Kiowa’s Old Uncle Saynday. I’m the one who’s always coming along. Who are you?”

“I’m smallpox.”

“Where do you come from and what do you do and why are you here?”

“I come from far away, from across the Eastern Ocean. I am one of the white men – they are my people as the Kiowa are yours. Sometimes I travel ahead of them, and sometimes I lurk behind. But I am always their companion and you will find me in their camps and in their houses.”

“What do you do?”

“I bring death. My breath causes children to wither like young plants in the spring snow. I bring destruction. No matter how beautiful a woman is, once she has looked at me she becomes as ugly as death. And to men I bring not death alone but the destruction of their children and the blighting of their wives. The strongest warriors go down before me. No people who have looked at me will ever be the same.” (Crosby 1986)

Stories such as this abound among indigenous peoples throughout the world. Sometimes they are simple sayings, as among the Hawaiians: “Lawe li’ili’i ka make a ka Hawai’i, lawe nui ka make a ka haole” – “Death by Hawaiians takes a few at a time; death by white poeple takes many.”