Indigenous Children in a Non-Indigenous World
Disclaimer. When I write these entries and when I create content, it is meant to reflect the tribes in which I was raised; Nakoda, A’aninin, and Apsaalooke. My intentions in my creating these blogs is to show my perspective and my own personal experiences. My intentions are to represent what I know about my people in the most positive and respectful way. In a good way. I also want to apologize to my elders for when I use the Nakoda language and if I mis-speak.
I started this entry back in November when the ICWA (Indian Child Welfare Act) was being challenged. I decided to write about being a Native American child growing up in a Non-Native world. I only lived on the reservation for about the first seven years of my life but those seven years just so happened to be my most formative. That being said my mothers side of the family are the ones that carry the traditions and teach them to the up and coming generations. Even after leaving the reservation and moving into a Non-Indigenous community, my mother did her best to adapt our ways into our daily lives. It’s gift and some what of a struggle walking both roads. Here is why.
From birth I was raised to walk the red road. Moccasins were placed on my feet and a star quilt in my crib. I would wear a jingle dress and dance during at our tribal celebrations. In time those moccasins turned into Nikes and my jingle dress turned into chapel attire. I was Christened in a Catholic Church but raised in our Native faith. There isn’t even a name for it because it is an innate part of who we are. To help navigate that faith we need the help of our relatives and elders.
When my family and I moved from the reservation, it was to benefit us. Alcoholism had been a problem on the rez for awhile but with the increase in hard drugs and decrease of opportunities, my parents made the command decision to move us. This was a good thing but it came at a cost. We would have to leave our family and ancestral lands to escape the plague of poverty and oppression. Sounds like a modern way of history repeating itself.
Long story short, living in a conservative town with hardly any other Native American families was hard. It was basically culture shock. I had to adapt to new customs. This community had a “good ole boys” mentality so on top of being treated like an outsider for years, I was also the target of racism. This is not a “poor pitiful me” story. This is a story of trials and hardships that Indigenous children face when placed outside of an Indigenous community. Although I faced hardships and racism, it made me stronger, smarter, more intuitive, and more tolerant. I am grateful for the adversities that I faced. I don’t know if I would be as appreciative of my life without them.
My point is that I was a Native American child who was placed in a Non-Native world but in that world I still had my culture. The reason that I had my culture is because I still had my mom. Without her my siblings and I wouldn’t have had any ties. She made sure that we lifted our plates at dinner, we were taught the meaning of smudging and would do it on a regular basis. She made sure that my sisters braided my hair and that their hair was braided as well. My mom would save whatever extra money that she could so that we could go “back home” and be with my Grandma and the rest of our relatives. She would adjust my regalia in the passenger seat on the long drive back to Montana so that I could dance. Everything that she ever did was not done in vain.
The reason that I overcame the obstacles of living in a Non-Native world was because I had at least one person teaching me our Native ways. When I’m lost or stuck I can look to my roots. My roots carry the map to who I am and my roots are visible because of growing up in a Native American home. To those who are not placed with their Native relatives, they have roots but they are not made visible to them. Children in a broken system are already lost, how are they able to find their way without their map? With each generation the Indigenous pool gets smaller and smaller. We are limited on preserving the culture but the sure fire way to continue our ways is to teach our traditions to new generations. This is why they are called “the sacred ones”.