Random writings, videos, images, opinions, social issues, cultural and heritage facts relevant to Indigenous people from my perspective, and the occasional rant. Artist: "Healing Bear" by H Kyoht Luterman. https://www.facebook.com/heather.luterman
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
The most difficult place to live is in the middle.
The
family I know, the people who raised me, the people who spent countless hours
and dollars educating me, investing in the young girl that became me, this is
the only family I know. They do not want
to hear about my feelings of being tormented.
This family gets angry at me at any mention of this torment. No matter how small the mention is, it never
goes unpunished. Harsh words and the
customary accusations of playing the victim, and a lifetime of shutting off
this voice hardened me.
There
is more…
The
family that I am related to by blood, the people who look like me, the people
who threw me away in 1967 because I am female and half white, my tribe, they
reject me with silence. One half of me
is Lake Cowichan First Nation, the other half is white. So this post is about where I live inside. The place I call the no so soft center. The center I decided to expose a small piece at a time. It hurts.
I
am older now and maturity has assisted me in many ways. I am calmer.
I am quieter. I am less aggressive. I have stopped attempting to be Indian to my
white family, and I have stopped trying to be Indian to my Native family. So what am I?
Good question.
I
am the result of a government experiment conducted in 1967. I am quite sure this program started long
before and ended sometime after, however, I am unable to verify the actual
dates/numbers. Why? Because no one has ever written about
it. Especially the survivors, people
like me.
At
the risk of pissing off my adopted family, my white family, I am beginning to
speak of this experience I have lived and am still living. At the risk breaking some tradition or custom
or embarrassing my tribe, I am speaking of this experience I have lived and am
still living. Not to purposely anger or
offend anyone. I speak of it only so it
will not be lost in the silence of my pain and anger of powerful and intimate
and unknown people. It is time to introduce
myself to me and to you. I am…
½
White
½
Lake Cowichan First Nation
I
am going to find my voice, and I will do it publicly.
BigMamaBlaze
~Great Spirit~ Great Spirit, Give us hearts to understand; Never to take from creation's beauty more than we... http://t.co/syRDLT22QP
— BigMamaBlaze~BMB (@UnifiKshuNaShun) August 10, 2013
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Decided to expose the center
Decided to expose the center
Decided to expose the center. The part that is crucified between two identities, two worlds, two cultures, two families, two races, and two sets of standards. The center that is not so quiet. The place that offends the onlooker, offends the listener.
Decided to expose to the world. The not so soft perception of my modern duality. Decided to no longer live in silence. An attempt to explain how I feel, ultimately how I see.
The campaign for ending violence against women is to break the silence. Shall there be a slogan, a campaign for society to begin to acknowledge and account for the stolen generation?
It is a moral dilemma for society to assign accountability for something not necessarily committed by this generation, but, the victims/survivors are still here. Who is accountable to them? Can we break the silence for them?
She is gone. She is a ghost. She was my mother's sister. This is all I have of this generation, of my mother. I never met her. But then again, I am pretty sure I have never really met myself.
Maybe I will be able to show you what I see. Just a little bit at a time. I dare not release too much silence at once. The world would not understand.
Tweets from @UnifiKshuNaShun/tweets-for-blogs
Decided to expose the center. The part that is crucified between two identities, two worlds, two cultures, two families, two races, and two sets of standards. The center that is not so quiet. The place that offends the onlooker, offends the listener.
Decided to expose to the world. The not so soft perception of my modern duality. Decided to no longer live in silence. An attempt to explain how I feel, ultimately how I see.
The campaign for ending violence against women is to break the silence. Shall there be a slogan, a campaign for society to begin to acknowledge and account for the stolen generation?
It is a moral dilemma for society to assign accountability for something not necessarily committed by this generation, but, the victims/survivors are still here. Who is accountable to them? Can we break the silence for them?
She is gone. She is a ghost. She was my mother's sister. This is all I have of this generation, of my mother. I never met her. But then again, I am pretty sure I have never really met myself.
Maybe I will be able to show you what I see. Just a little bit at a time. I dare not release too much silence at once. The world would not understand.
Tweets from @UnifiKshuNaShun/tweets-for-blogs
Saturday, February 1, 2014
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