Let's chat about representation
What I know about my family matters
Over the past couple of years, I have been reading and learning more about the indigenous peoples of North America. There is so much to uncover and learn in that regard. Many tribes are actively working to revive languages that residential schools systemically destroyed. There are attempts to restore religious and horticultural practices, legal battles surrounding land use, and fair practice.
I believe all of those to be good things. The few Indigenous people I know personally (and they are very few) have no interest in retaliation for the wrongs done in the past but rather in peace to pursue their lives and restore the dignity of the Indigenous peoples.
Family history has been an interest of mine since childhood. I am unsure how I knew that Kirsten, the Swedish immigrant American Girl doll, and I shared some commonalities, but knowing that was a massive part of my childhood personality. I knew that one of my great-grandmothers was Swedish, born to Swedish immigrants of the Pacific Northwest and that she married a son of Norwegian immigrants. That line of my paternal family history was reasonably well established. So recently, I decided to look into my maternal family history. Family lore there is so riddled with divorces in recent history that it takes a bit more digging to learn things.
With some help from Ancestory.com, I made some discoveries. My maternal line is deeply rooted within the early settlements of America, including some settlers of the Plymouth colony and a Mayflower ancestor. This means that centuries of my family lineage can be tied to the devastation of Indigenous peoples.
The fact that I can trace this line is a sign of my privilege as a descendant of these people. So many tribes have faced the dwindling of their names, the loss of their languages, and constantly being lied to and pushed away from their homelands by my ancestors. I have representation in the history books. There are names that I can tie myself to should I so desire.
From these records, I can find many Quakers who would have fled persecution in England only to find more persecution in the New World. I can find those who were accused of witchcraft and those who accused people of witchcraft. There are abolitionists, but there are probably those who enslaved people as well. There are people on both sides of the law, some guilty of crimes that are recorded and probably many who were not.
I don’t seem to have any particularly famous ancestors; very few make more than church registers of births, deaths, and marriages. There are a handful of humorous stories, a smattering of photos, and the occasional road bearing a name. It is not a memorable line. Nevertheless, these people are the masses who came to the shores of Turtle Island and made it their home. They pushed back the forests, built towns, traveled the prairies, had farms, and spread from sea to shining sea. They fought wars and weather and carved out a space for themselves in the name of Manifest Destiny.
My ancestors may not be named in the history books. Most of the records are church registers and census records. A long line of coagulating white people choosing to dehumanize some groups of people in their quest for…? For what? Religious freedom? An ideal now touted by Christian Nationalism, but really only means acceptance of their definition of religion.
Did they leave a land where there was no longer any room for their families to grow? Well, none of us has achieved the oh-so-glamourized American Dream. Those streets of “gold” crisscross lands that once held massive herds of buffalo and rich tracts of farmland are depleted by the greed of corporations. Perhaps there was famine or war or illness. Maybe their lands were stolen from them in the days of yore. I don’t know the personal stories of my ancestors. They were not told through the generations. They are simply part of the great American story, cogs in the machine of democracy and capitalism.
I know my family is not Indigenous to this land. But I don’t think I could walk into a German, Norwegian, or British piece of land and say, “This is where I am from.” Because I am from all those places and none of those places, the colonists, the pioneers, and the immigrants represent my story. I feel at home in the lands of the Pacific Northwest, places I have been driving through and living in. My story is one of stolen lands, broken promises, and, hopefully, reconciliation.
Representation is seeing how we fit in the world. It is my hope that I am part of a generation that does not need to make other people disappear. That the past persecutions can stay in the past and not be repeated. So, to all the indigenous tribes of Turtle Island, I offer my deepest apologies. I want to hear your stories, I want you to live in religious freedom, and I will continue my journey of learning and teaching my children to love ALL their neighbors.
October 14th is Indigenous Peoples Day. If you have a chance to learn stories about the people indigenous to your home, I encourage you to search for the resources available.
For the Ears
I have been listening to audiobooks to learn the history of several tribes, including Killers of the Flower Moon. Earlier this year, I listened to The Cost of Free Land. Several more audiobooks are on my list as I continue to focus on learning.
For the Eyes
I highly recommend putting Kaitlin Curtice on your Substack reading.
For the Taste Buds
Family recipes mean different things, depending on your family. I grew up on Midwest-inspired casseroles and California-Mexican. As an adult, I am a more adventurous cook, so I wonder how my children will remember family recipes. I think over time, we develop different skills and staples. How would you describe your family recipes?
May this week bring patience to your senses and your soul.