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By Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer, Artist in Business Leadership Fellow 2015

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The January day is quiet, the mood somber, the air cold as a mountain stream. A hundred Native youth sit on the patches of grass in the snow and listen to the stories. When a time of silence comes, they listen for the cries of women and children who were shot in this place. Children like them, with their Cheyenne blood. Their ancestors. The tears come and bring healing.

When Phillip Whiteman Jr. (Northern Cheyenne) and Lynette Two Bulls (Oglala Lakota) initiated the Fort Robinson Outbreak Spiritual Run, it was not to traumatize the youth. It was to bring out the hurt and let it go, prepare to return home. The true interpretation of Lynette’s name is Woman who will lead and clear the way for the people. Philip is a traditional chief of the Northern Cheyenne Nation and lives on land his ancestors died for. The run honors the ancestors by remembering their sacrifices.

For two days, the youth are prepared for the 400-mile relay-style run. Now in its 20th year, this run has helped hundreds of youth reconnect with their heritage, culture and themselves. One of these youths was Cinnamon Spear. The run was one of the most important events in her unstable early life at home, and she continues to be involved with the run. She tells the youth, open your heart to the stories, the songs, the language. If you do, it will change your life. Her relationship with her mentors Phillip and Lynette has grown through the years. To Cinnamon, they are living representations of what the First Peoples Fund Community Spirit Award is designed to honor, and led her to nominate them for the award.

Inside replicated barracks at the historical Fort Robinson site in Nebraska, the youth anticipate the moment when the door will open. At 10:30 p.m. — in 1879 — their ancestors waited with a different yet same anticipation. The youth hug one another and say, we are going home.

The ancestors knew death likely waited on the other side of the door. Yet they still broke out. They ran from the barracks amidst rifle fire. Some got away. Most were killed.

At 10:30 p.m., these youth break out, jostling through the doorway, with the sounds of victory — clapping, shouting. The journey begins. They run.

The ancestors ran until they reached Antelope Creek, 22 miles northwest of the fort. Here, most were slaughtered. This is where the youth are brought before the run to hear and to heal.

The ancestors who escaped continued the run — a total of 400 miles — to their home.

For days, the youth run from sunrise until deep in the night through the Sandhills of Nebraska, the sacred Black Hills of South Dakota, and the mountains of Montana. They are going home.

The relay runners are followed by a caravan of buses and vans carrying chaperones, elders, and leaders of the event, keeping everyone safe. The youth run through snow, sunshine, the dark of night. The male runner holds the Eagle Staff and the female runner carries the Cheyenne Nation flag.

Today they are not running from gunfire. They run for the future.

For Phillip and Lynette, this is a part of their work, not only as artists but their lives. There is no separation between life and art, whether they are storytelling, teaching culture, singing songs, being spiritual and wellness advisers, dancing the grass dance, fancy shawl and jingle dress, or showing compassion to relatives. These things are art.

The youth run on and say, almost there. Almost home.

They arrive on the Northern Cheyenne reservation and come into Ashland, Montana, to the cheers, horn honking, and fist pumping of their families and friends. At 10:30 p.m.

This run is just one of the cultural preservation practices Phillip and Lynette have under their organizations, Medicine Wheel Model LLC (a right-brain, circular, holistic wellness model); Medicine Wheel Model—Beyond Horsemanship (a healing with horses program); and Yellow Bird (a grass-roots, nonprofit organization).

The Fort Robinson Spiritual Outbreak Run concludes with a time at the graveyard of the ancestors, the ones who made the original run home. A song, prayer, hugs, tears and a moment of silence, a final remembrance.

They are home.

Phillip Whiteman Jr. and Lynette Two Bulls are 2016 Community Spirit Award Honorees. Join us in celebrating Phillip and Lynette and the other honorees on October 8, 2016.

By Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer, Artist in Business Leadership Fellow 2015

A Dances with Words poet ended the “I Too Am American” session with his poem “You Call Me Indian.” At the Brave New Voices (BNV) competition in Washington, D.C., fingers snapped in approval during his performance, where Marcus Ruff (17, Oglala Lakota) alone represented North American Indigenous people. The audience was amazed at how different the Native voices and narratives were, yet still paralleled their own challenges and struggles. These bold young people from the Pine Ridge Reservation were valued. Their voices heard.

Lori Pourier (Oglala/Mnicoujou Lakota), president of First Peoples Fund, joined the Dances with Words (DWW) poets at the opening ceremony for the BNV competition at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Over the next few days, DWW competed with teams from around the country and the world, including Des Moines, Baltimore, Miami, and London.

The experience was unbelievable for Senri White (16, Oglala Lakota). The music, the intensity. The poems gave her goose bumps. The Baltimore team — her favorite — spit a poem about loss that stuck with her, the only poem that made her cry.

The Baltimore team was also Marcus Ruff’s favorite. He felt the energy within the language and imagery as the poets put their hearts and souls into their performances.

Ohitika Locke (17, Hunkpapa Lakota) met amazing people and loved the encouraging words the BNV participants gave. He was nervous, but thanks to the support, performed his poem well.

Once he started delivering his poem, Cetan Ducheneaux (16, Cheyenne River Lakota) felt at home once again. The sights, the spoken words, the people. Memorable.

The youngest poet, Sina Sitting Up (13, Oglala Lakota), shared her sweet heart with the team and leaders throughout their journey.

But for the DWW team, this wasn’t only a trip for an international poetry competition. They explored the nation’s capital for a week. It started with a VIP tour of the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI). They gathered in front of a collage of historical photos with the words We never gave up. This theme found its way into their poems at the BNV workshops and open mic sessions. They presented the NMAI with a Cheyenne River flag, a flag the museum didn’t have.

The DWW team, their leader and mentors — Brandie Macdonald (Chickasaw/Choctaw), Dawn (Denise) Moves Camp (Oglala Lakota), and Josh Del Colle — went to the NMAI Cultural Resources Center to examine collections and touch their history. Bustles, moccasin patterns. Treaties. They were grounded in the connection with their ancestors.

They visited the National Congress of American Indians at the Embassy of Tribal Nations. This broadened their understanding of nonprofits’ work to create and support movements in Indian country, and internship opportunities for young people. The Pine Ridge youth saw it as their embassy, comprehending what sovereignty means for Indian nations.

Food broadened the youths’ experience in cultural diversity. They embraced first-time experiences at an Ethiopian restaurant and discovered the blend of food and feeding their art at Busboys and Poets.

For downtime, the team relaxed on the grass-lined sidewalk of Washington Circle and practiced slam poetry with NMAI partner Keevin Lewis (Navajo). Keevin spit a poem for the first time.

Lunch at the NMAI opened dialogue with the executive director of the White House Initiative on American Indian and Alaska Native Education, Bill Mendoza (Oglala-Sicangu Lakota), about education in Indian country. The youth also spoke with the NMAI education department about ways to bring Dances with Words poetry to the NMAI.

The young poets returned to Pine Ridge, but their lives, families and communities won’t be the same. They experienced the nation’s capital with a brave community of poets. They’ve been transformed by the Dances with Words program, and are now transforming their world.

By Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer, Artist in Business Leadership Fellow 2015

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The class gathers and sits on mats to prepare for a lauhala weaving class. “Lauhala” simply means “leaf from a hala tree.” But this isn’t simply a craft class. There is protocol, an ancient way to approach this art that was taught to Duncan Ka’ohu Seto (Native Hawaiian) by master weavers of his time. Now Ka’ohu is a master weaver, and it is his turn to be the kumu, the teacher.

Ka’ohu’s students share stories while they work, and he joins in, though always watching carefully. When he sees a mistake made, he is the kumu. He corrects the error with humor and understanding. They laugh. There is a balance between firm and fun, because when Ka’ohu takes on students, he is responsible for them. He reminds them that it’s their turn. It’s their time. They stand on his shoulders.

Beyond the chants, protocols, and stories, the harvesting itself should be done correctly, as well as caring for Hawaiian resources. Ka’ohu wants the students to not only weave but reconnect with the legacy of their ancestors. This strengthens his community when they choose lauhala to express themselves as Native Hawaiians.

Elizabeth Ka’iulani In Takamori counts herself among the next generation of artists that Ka’ohu’s generation is building bridges for. She has known him as a Maoli Arts Month artist, Wailoa Art Gallery curator, teacher, and First Peoples Fund co-trainer. She knows him as a mentor, a quiet, humble giant with deeply rooted ancestral knowledge which is at the heart of why Elizabeth nominated Ka’ohu for the First Peoples Fund Community Spirit Award.

Only a generation ago — the generation of Ka’ohu’s grandmothers — lauhala was a part of Hawaiian households. Families gathered and went through the production process together to make floor mats or baskets. Today, families do not make time for this process. Ka’ohu wants to make the practice accessible for his communities.

Lauhala plays an important role in another part of his life’s work — repatriation, bringing home his ancestors’ bones that have been scattered around the world. Ka’ohu is a member of a Native Hawaiian organization called Hui Mālama I Nā Kūpuna O Hawai’i Nei. They have repatriated from institutions in the United States, Australia, Canada, Sweden, Switzerland, Scotland and the United Kingdom.

There was a great deal of discussion on the proper way to bring bones home with dignity. It was decided to wrap the bones and put them in lauhala baskets. Hala means to “pass on or die.” Lauhala baskets were appropriate for the task. Ka’ohu has made numerous burial baskets through the years.

Ka’ohu began as a student 30 years ago. Now he is a teacher, a kumu who is intimately familiar with Hawaiian styles and philosophies. He has incorporated it into his life and way of teaching his students. He wants them to have a clear path to follow, for them to become deeply rooted in ancestral knowledge. In this way, Hawaiians will always have lauhala mats to sit on while weaving.

Duncan Ka'ohu Seto is a 2016 Community Spirit Award Honoree. Join us in celebrating Duncan and the other honorees on October 8, 2016.

By Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer, Artist in Business Leadership Fellow 2015

Jennie Wheeler (Tlingit) gathers a family at the local church in her Native fishing village of Yakutat, Alaska, and teaches them to create their dance dresses, boots, and moccasins for the upcoming memorial potlatch. They talk and support one another. Sewing is therapeutic in these times when a love one has passed. That is why Jennie teaches the family to make the regalia long used by the Tlingit people. Memorial potlatches are still a vital part of her community and create an environment for healing.

She helps people grieve.

For over 30 years, art has been Jennie’s way of life. Among the Tlingit, one can’t separate art from living. They harvest the natural material God gave them and teach the younger generation to do the same. Part of daily living includes hunting, fishing, picking berries and gathering plants for medicines and teas. When the young people live the art — their way of life — there’s no place for the troubles that plague so many youth because of alcohol and drug abuse. Jennie was taught that you have to have good thoughts when you work.

Mary Goddard, a full-time Alaskan Native artist, witnessed first hand Jennie’s generosity and passion for her culture and community. Mary was privileged to receive her mother’s diligent teachings growing up, and still watches Jennie reach out to help others. The First Peoples Fund Community Spirit Award Mary nominated her mother for gave Jennie acknowledgement and help to continue teaching others.

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Most of Jennie’s work with deer and moose hides, seal skin, sea otter, furs, beads, spruce roots and grass involve making traditional pieces, especially for ceremonial and memorial potlatches. But Jennie also makes purses and cell phone cases. Mixing traditional and contemporary helps bridge the gap between the elders and youth of her community.

Youth are not the only ones with the desire and need to learn the art and way of life. Harvesting, sewing and weaving were discouraged during the boarding school years, so Tlingit elders today want to learn these traditional ways. Elders experienced resistance in the past from the clergy, but the church Jennie attends encourages the Native way of life. That is one reason she holds classes in the church. The sewing, the weaving, the place — all tools for healing. The elders are accepted and celebrated for who they are.

Preparations are complete for the next memorial potlatch. The family continues the healing process.

As Jennie’s parents taught her, “Do the best you can, then pass it on.”

Jennie Wheeler is a 2016 Community Spirit Award Honoree. Join us in celebrating Jennie and the other honorees on October 8, 2016.

By Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer, Artist in Business Leadership Fellow 2015  

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The grade school is filled with Native and non-Native students alike. Wrapped around an acoustic guitar with an eagle feather dangling from it, Jack Wallace Gladstone (Blackfeet Indian Nation of Montana) begins with a tale before singing a song that tells a story. As Montana’s Troubadour, he is an interpreter for understanding where his people have been, where they are, and where they are going. These songs provide context and history, and they instill a pride in Native students while developing a sense of appreciation for all. Because at the human core, everyone is indigenous. The human race.

In Jack’s song “The Builder,” he reminds students that the dance of life is the actions they take and the relationships they cultivate. It is for his long-standing dedication to the students that science teacher Patti Rae Bartlett nominated Jack for the First Peoples Fund Community Spirit Award. She has witnessed him work in half the school districts in Montana. A rich source of knowledge, he has gone beyond expectations in the 20-plus years Patti has known him, his music, and his storytelling. She sees the impact he's had on students that hold him in high regard.

Through stories and songs, he's taught students that they must commit to something greater than themselves. The only way to realize this is to be drug and alcohol free. Jack learned this lesson from someone early in his life.

His father, a World War II Navy veteran, was a heavy drinker. He wasn’t there for Jack. But his dad overcame his addiction, and many years later, he joined Jack on road tours. For ten years, he paid back — with interest — those lost years in Jack’s young life. Jack learned to appreciate his father from the standpoint of a brother. A dad. A friend. And a road manager. They did a lot of miles together.

It is through music, this language of the heart, that bridges are built, cultures are linked, lives are healed. In the schools, Jack teaches students through poetic lyrics that there is strength in unity. A single arrow snaps easily, but when bundled with the others, it can’t easily be broken.

Because of these students, Jack’s songs, his story, has a shot at immortality. Good art can live within the imagination of another generation. Oratory moves culture, moves through time and history and impacts the ideals and tells the story.

Jack’s story is now their story.

Jack Wallace Gladstone is a 2016 Community Spirit Award Honoree. Join us in celebrating Jack and the other honorees on October 8, 2016.  

Drum in hand, Sondra Simone Segundo (Haida) begins movement at the front of the classroom. The eager students are ready to learn a strict art form to create illustrations, as her people have done for thousands of years. Sondra sings in her Native language — songs passed down to her, and songs she has written for this and the next generation. She tells the students where she comes from: the Double Fin Killer Whale Crest, Raven Clan, and Brown Bear House.

Drum. Movement. Illustrations. Songs. Words. They all tell Sondra’s story.

These elements blend in her books. Killer Whale Eyes is a story from an inherited gift of imagination, but also from a tale passed down through 500 years of family history. As a contemporary Native, Sondra creates her own stories from ones passed down to her. In this way, she keeps the ancient way of storytelling alive. New songs, new stories. An old tradition.

With the support of First Peoples Fund, Sondra published another book, Northwest Coast Native: Formline Art Made Easy, to teach the art form of her Haida people. Formline is a highly intelligent system of interlocking shapes that create lines to define a subject, such as raven, bear, wolf. Northwest Coast Native people have practiced formline art for over 3,000 years to design, carve, paint.

This form is seen in works closest to Sondra’s heart, and in her illustrated books. Lovebirds: The Story of Raven and Eagle is based on her Haida grandparents’ lives. After 53 years of marriage, they passed on the same day in July 2000 of natural causes.

In the classroom, Sondra puts aside the drum to work with the students as they draw their first Haida designs. Her step-by-step teaching process makes every child feel successful and proud of his or her work.

Jeanne Jimenez, Haida elder and language specialist, calls Sondra “galaga,” a Haida word meaning “does a lot of good things.” And that is Sondra’s story.

“Haw’aa kuníisiis.

Thank you ancestors.

Díi kíl daguyáagang.

My voice is strong.

Hl t’asdla dagwçíihlda íitl’aa ñugíins.

I will work hard and finish our songs.”

~ Sondra Simone Segundo

In her studio this day, Valerie Veis (Montana Little Shell Band of Chippewa Cree) is able to choose what she will take up: a brush to paint with or reeds to weave. She chooses weaving. But Valerie no longer views this art the same way since her life-changing trip to Suitland, Maryland. There, she found a missing piece of herself.

Valerie begins weaving. Each basket begins with the base, the most important part of the basket design. Without a solid foundation, the basket won’t be stable. It won’t become strong.

The foundation of Valerie’s business was woven with the help of First Peoples Fund’s Artist in Business Leadership Program (2015 and 2016), along with an additional research grant in collaboration with the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI), Smithsonian Institution. With the research grant, Valerie was able to study Chippewa/Ojibwa basketry and beadwork, and also to review the extensive document archives of the Cultural Resource Center in Suitland. With this, her life was changed.

Valerie is a nontraditional basket weaver and painter, but her soul was touched so deeply by her Native roots, she couldn’t hold back tears during her art presentation to the NMAI staff. Someday, Valerie will become a traditional basket weaver.

Birch bark baskets meld into her work now, as will porcupine quills and traditional beaded designs. Her art is turning in a new direction, though still stable on its woven foundation.

In Valerie’s studio, she does her triple weave, working with round reed rattan. She cuts her own willow, dogwood and birch for basket handles. Her work is a reflection of the world around her on the Rocky Mountain Front in Montana. Each piece is a reflection of her, of her Native heritage, of her present and now of her future.

Valerie is whole and stable. She creates on a strongly woven foundation.

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By Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer, Artist in Business Leadership Fellow 2015

The 19th Annual Brave New Voices International Youth Poetry Slam Festival in Washington, D.C., is just around the corner for five courageous young poets from the Pine Ridge Reservation community. The First Peoples Fund-supported culture program — Dances with Words — has teamed Cetan Ducheneaux (16, Cheyenne River Lakota), Marcus Ruff (17, Oglala Lakota), Ohitika Locke (17, Hunkpapa Lakota), Senri White (16, Oglala Lakota), and Sina Sitting Up (13, Oglala Lakota) to represent Native youth at the high-energy, Olympic-style Brave New Voices poetry competition. Poets are “judged” by a panel of 5 judges based on the quality of the writing, the content of the piece, and the performance. This platform encourages youth to critically and creatively analyze their worlds, strive for excellence, and share their voices.

Youth Speaks — the organization behind Brave New Voices — fills a need for creative approaches to literary arts education and literacy development. Youth Speaks believes it’s crucial to provide spaces where youth can undergo a process of personal growth and transformation in a program that enriches their educational, professional, leadership and artistic skills.

This goal reverberates in Dances with Words. Within the program, mentors address the modern realities of Native youth navigating their lives in their communities on Pine Ridge.

Young people on the reservation don’t always have the opportunity to honestly share the things they want to say and may never feel it’s their time to say it. In Dances with Words, they are speaking, they are writing, they are sharing their everyday lives and how they relate to everyone around them. At the meetings, they talk about poetry or what is going on at the rez. They’ve found a part of themselves that has always been there. The Dances with Words youth on the Brave New Voices team have undergone transformations as individuals and as a family. They are change-makers.

“Son, I’ll pay you $20 to try out this poetry session.” Ever since Cetan Ducheneaux’s mom bribed him to attend the Dances with Words program, he’s loved poetry and the group. Three years later, he’s preparing for his third Brave New Voices competition.

The Dances with Words program impacted Cetan’s life by letting him express his emotions how he wanted, adding to his personal growth. For the Brave New Voices competition, he’s presenting a poem about alcoholism on the reservation. It’s an issue he sees every day, and he wants those with this problem to be helped.

The Brave New Voices team poem addresses issues Native people face in the U.S. today, including a portion on missing and murdered indigenous women. The second group poem is about the body shaming within the Korean-pop (k-pop) industry and how it’s also embedded within American culture.

The youth have studied select writings and documents, including Native American treaties with the U.S. government. They are challenged to think, to have an opinion. To share that opinion with the world in a bold way. To stand up and tell their story.

Nervous? Excited? The Dances with Words team is a blend of both as they prepare for the Brave New Voices competition at the nation’s capital in July, where they will join some of the most outstanding and outspoken youth poets from around the world.

These Native youth will be ready to share their voices.

Image: Marcus Ruff (17, Oglala Lakota) at the 2015 Atlanta Brave New Voices competition. Photo by FPF Staff.

By Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer, Artist in Business Leadership Fellow 2015

David A. Boxley (Alaskan Tsimshian) studies the old pieces. He listens to the passionate voices of the old masters. Create us again. Use us again. Celebrate us again.

He emulates these old masters as he carves, designs, sings and dances for the preservation of their ancestral teachings and cultural practices. He learned the language of his people from his grandfather who raised him. As a father to his own children, David tries hard to follow his grandfather’s example.

He works with his sons in the art of the masters, in celebrating their life-ways through the performance group he founded, Git Hoan Dancers (People of the Salmon). David writes songs in his Native language, and the group creates their own performance props — carved masks, rattles and paddles. Young people bring these pieces to life through dance. They have performed throughout the United States, Canada and Europe, sharing the rich culture of the Tsimshian.

David carves in the old Tsimshian style. The totem poles he’s created are found at the National Museum of the American Indian, Walt Disney World, and Knott's Berry Farm, among other places. There are more than a dozen of his poles in his home village, the place where revitalization of culture begins. David’s pieces — bentwood boxes, rattles, masks, prints and panels — are in collections of the king and queen of Sweden, the emperor of Japan, the president of West Germany, the mayor of Chongging (China), and Microsoft. The House Front (The Man Who Held Up the Earth) at the Sealaska Heritage Institute in Juneau, Alaska, is a major permanent exhibit that works to educate and share the Tsimshian culture.

Most of all, David lives the culture. Young people follow along. They celebrate together. He teaches youth to emulate the masters as he has done. To not fear putting their work in galleries, shows, exhibitions, and on the Internet. They should not be afraid to create, use, and celebrate.

David A. Boxley is a 2013 & 2016 Cultural Capital Fellow and a 2012 Community Spirit AwardHonoree. Read more about his FPF journey here.

At the National Museum of the American Indian, Karis Jackson (Crow/Hidatsa/Arikara) browses the collections as part of a Crow delegation for the Recovering Voices program. The pieces created by her ancestors come alive with color and designs. She studies the traditional ways of their work. Then it happens — her heart and soul are touched when she has a vision for her next piece.

Some call it art. Karis calls it a labor of love.

At 10 years old, Karis sat at the kitchen table with her grandmother, who cut baby moccasins from buckskin. Her grandmother let Karis pick out the beads she wanted, and then they worked side-by-side. Her grandmother would lean over and answer questions, give Karis instruction or a quiet, “Yes, you do it like that.” Her grandmother taught for hours. Not only beading, but life lessons through stories.

Her grandmother is the one Karis talks to each day for the guidance she needs in beading. Her grandmother cautions Karis not to overdo her designs, but she also gives Karis permission to follow her own inspiration.

Though Karis’ style is more contemporary, she puts things together in traditional ways. She brings her own artistry to it. Each piece is one of a kind.

Some call it art. Karis’ grandmother doesn’t call herself an artist.

Karis never considered herself an artist either, yet she’s learned through First Peoples Fund of the opportunity to provide financially for her family as her beadwork is recognized as art. At the Heard Museum Guild Indian Fair and Market, two of her pieces took home first-place division awards.

Karis still beads for family, too. Her two young daughters dance, and she makes their regalia. Her oldest has expressed interest in beading. They might sit down this summer and work on something side-by-side.

Some call it art. Perhaps it can be called an art of love.

By Lori Pourier, President of First Peoples Fund

When Pat Courtney Gold (Wasco/Wishram) nominated Bud Lane III (Siletz) for the Community Spirit Award in 2009, she described him as a person who “honors the Creator in many ways; the medicine plants, basketry plants, the Siletz people and for all life.” Pat, herself an internationally known fiber artist, basket weaver and 2004 CSA honoree, understands the true meaning of community spirit. She understood that Bud — who was selected for the CSA and later became a member of the FPF board of directors — embodies that true meaning.

During a recent board meeting, we visited the Siletz Tribe on the Oregon coast, and First Peoples Fund staff and board members learned first-hand what drives Bud, in his role as a father, culture bearer, language teacher and tribal leader. Bud began our day by grounding us in prayer in the Siletz language. He surrounded us with a table full of beautiful baskets he had woven. In addition to spending the past 30 years restoring Siletz basketry, regalia and dances, Bud is committed to teaching Siletz language. The depth of his commitment to teaching other tribal members quickly became apparent when we learned he would be driving four hours round-trip to teach language lessons after our first full day of meeting.

Bud also shared a slideshow demonstrating the history of the Siletz tribe and 50 other tribes who by 1854 were forced to relocate along the Oregon coast and near present day Lincoln City. In that slideshow, we saw the roots of Bud’s own tenacity. We learned of the old people who fought to hold on to their ways after the signing of The Rogue River Treaty of 1862. The treaty guaranteed the tribes nearly 1 million acres of uninhabited timberland and coastal shoreline. Just 20 years later, most of the land would be taken illegally, first by executive order then by an act of Congress. The Dawes Act of 1887 would further divide remaining tribal land into individual allotments. By 1954 the Siletz tribe was terminated, meaning they lost their federal recognition, eliminating any trust responsibility held by the United States government. The Siletz tribe would not regain federal recognition until 1977 following a long struggle.  The Confederated Tribes of Siletz Indians was only restored 3,600 acres of their original treaty lands. Hopeful Bud said, “It’s not 1 million, but it’s a start.”  

Following our board meeting, we accompanied Bud to the community center where their tribal archives hold more than 300 baskets and other ancestral items that found their way home. “To see our people making and proudly wearing ceremonial caps and work caps, carrying our children and grandchildren in our baby baskets, wearing bark capes and dresses, using traditional mats, and cooking and eating from baskets to me is preserving the very core of our collective tribal existence,” Bud said.  

As Bud held each basket with pride, I reflected on Pat Courtney Gold’s words, “He honors the Creator in so many ways.”  

Our day ended in the traditionally built dance house around a fire listening to Bud drum and sing the songs of the Siletz tribal ancestors. All of us left that day renewed in the collective spirit. As we parted ways Bud may not have known it but he left an unforgettable impression on each of us. And, as our family of Community Spirit honorees grows (nearly 100 this year) we are reminded of our responsibility to uphold our values and stay on our path. We at First Peoples Fund are fully committed to our three-year strategic directions: Investing in our own Collective Spirit® to adapt and grow for our future generations.

On a dark stage, flood waters are projected over Rosy Simas Guthrie (Seneca) and over her simple white prairie dress, a dress like her grandmother wore in boarding school. The floods meet a crinkled screen behind Rosy. Her shadow moves with it. She dances in her grandmother’s time and now. She moves with the images, the sensations, the memories. Voices echo Seneca words. Quadraphonic sounds of the land and water recorded in the area around the New York reservation fill the air.

Her grandmother’s letters are read. They are filled with humor, wisdom, and how the grandmother committed to hold on to her identity as a Seneca woman.

Every sound, every sight, every movement in We Wait in Darkness is healing.

Emotion is heavy beneath Rosy’s skin, but it never overtakes her. She is passionate in her approach to bring her people and her history together through dance. She transforms small movements or complete stillness into a captivating story.

This dance is a personal artwork of loss, family, perseverance and home. Rosy spent time researching more about Seneca culture and its matrilineal society, and unraveled her grandmother’s heartbreaking story. Rosy traveled to the New York reservation to speak with elders, to trace generational scars, to find what she needed to bring back for healing.

Rosy’s work is not to educate non-Natives about Native culture. It is to encourage the audience — no matter their race — to see Native people in a contemporary light and as a vital part of 21st century American art. Her choreographies express cultural and historical truths.

Dance is a way to translate Rosy’s stories into a form that draws out the memories deep inside everyone. It goes beyond watching a performance. The audience experiences a story, both Rosy’s and their own.

Rosy brings out a map of Seneca lands. She tears it up and passes the pieces around. It’s time to heal.