I heard someone the other day say they were sick of "Indians" and their crying around about history. They went on to say that "America" has given enough land to the "Indians" and now they have Casinos and a bunch of money, that Indians needs to shut up, better yet disappear.
I ask my local friends, is racism just a figment of my imagination?
I wish you could walk in my shoes. I wish you could experience the looks I get, and experience for yourself what it is to an Indigenous woman in this town and in America.
There is nothing romantic about being an Indigenous person. It is difficult, painful, frustrating, and requires an extraordinary amount of discipline.
It is painful every day, to pack around memories of the horror stories of my history and that of my people. It is not a faucet I can turn off.
I must be quiet with my pain. I fail miserably some days, at the "being quiet" part. Believe me when I tell you, I can feel the hatred of others. It feels like bees stinging me. I'm just saying...
As I age I realize how strong I am. To have come to my late forties and I'm not in prison nor do I have a criminal records of any sort. I am not addicted to alcohol or hooked on drugs. I am not homeless. I have survived many tragedies and even more misunderstandings. I have produced intelligent children who are balanced and mature.
I believe it has been a gift in many ways, this cultural dichotomy. I was not given a clean womb to grow in. My mother was called home to Creator when I was an infant. I was stripped of my cultural rights by my own people because of the era in which I was born and because I am a woman. I was buried in a foreign country's legal system as an infant and locked away from my heritage and rich culture. I am first generation off the reserve (Canada terminology, American calls them reservations). I have been torn in half from birth and my journey has been consumed with learning how to stitch myself back together.
I survived my youth. I have survived years of anger and sorrow. I am approaching becoming an elder
(in Canada we are First Nations, In America we are tribes) in my culture, because we tend to die young, I am already an elder. I feel calmer. I have a deeper understanding of why I was separated from my Nation and country, family, and culture. I grow closer to being a whole person with scars and longer a broken person.
I will share this as well, I have better days than others. Some days I lament at the lack of knowledge many have about my race and our history. I may feel this way for days or weeks. When I come through those feelings, I inevitably feel like a warrior with a cause to share, to educate others of my journey and that there are thousands of people still alive that are just like me.
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