Reclaiming Our Truth

A few months ago, I went to my tribe's powwow on Sugar Island in Michigan. I've been to other powwows across the US over the years, but this was the first time I've been to the one by my tribe.

There was something special about it that felt like coming home.

Maybe it was the fact that three generations of my family were there. Or the small, intimate atmosphere. Or simply the fact that it was on my ancestral homelands. Whatever it was, I felt known, connected.

We never made it to this powwow when my mom was alive, but we all felt her spirit with us closely that day. During her life, she made sure to pass on this culture to us.

Her mother enrolled all of her children in our tribe, knowing how important it was to keep us connected. But it was too scary, too dangerous back then to share our culture proudly. So she choose to assimilate, blend in, keep it tucked away to avoid discrimination and hate.

While it saddens me today to think of all that was lost, I understand. Her silence was part of a survival strategy born out of necessity. The genocide triggered by colonization killed 90-95% of Indigenous people in the Americas.

Think of yourself, your immediate family, and your extended family. Maybe you have 10 or 20 close relatives. Now imagine if you could only save one of them. That's what a 90-95% loss means. It's too vast to understand with numbers.

It is felt deep within. And even in the air—this loss "killed so many people, it disturbed the Earth's climate, according to a new study by University College London."

And yet.

Many history books in the US refused to acknowledge the existence of Indigenous people. Others chose to validate their existence, but not their identity, painting them with the widely known stereotype of savages.

This selective storytelling didn’t happen by accident—it served a purpose.

If you can kill nearly all Native people, yet simultaneously weave in the story that they were the violent ones, they attacked you—well, that paints a different picture, doesn't it? Suddenly, you are the victim who simply defended your family. You have justice on your side.

When you print this story in history books and pass down this tale from one generation to the next, that fiction is masked as truth. And people believe it.

That's why those who want to gain power seek to control the narrative.

That's why storytellers are our most powerful allies.

When we instill truth in the media, we push back.

When we allow diverse books into libraries and classrooms, we open the doors. When we claim our own story, we hear the heartbeat of truth.

When we share our unique perspective, we broaden the discourse.

When we allow marginalized voices to speak up, we help reclaim what was lost. When we listen, we find our way home.

Who gets to write the narrative?

Whose voice gets to be heard?

Who owns the truth?