When the “Founding Fathers” gathered on that hot summer day 250 years ago, their hair bound up in wigs, stockings up to their knees, they each had their own ideas about freedom and democracy, about the best way to protect their freedom to practice their religions and drink their tea free from the tyranny of foreign taxes. They argued and negotiated, not always agreeing, except maybe on one point. They were scared of us Indians.
The Declaration of Independence, a document signed by white men in 1776, shows that Native peoples were clearly on their minds as a problem to be solved or eliminated. The “Merciless Indian Savage,” forever enshrined in their language, was to be feared. This savage animal was to be tamed or annihilated. But they had no idea what they were up against.
Since the first settlers set foot on our shores, Native peoples tried to navigate coexistence with the new arrivals. We shared knowledge of our land, commerce, and foods. Yet we quickly learned that greed and inhumanity drove the new arrivals to force us off our land. We rose up and defended ourselves, and sometimes came to a weary co-existence with settlers who always seemed to want more: more land, more resources, more of whatever we had. They took from the land with violence and force, tearing through the forests, wildlife, and waters with an urgency that left no room to consider what would be left in the future. It was all about what was right here and now for the taking.
And so the settlers moved through the decades, seeking to tame the land and our ancestors. Without the skills or knowledge of the land, they tried to beat the wilderness into shape. The buffalo provided food, shelter, and clothing; so, they thought, “better hunt them to the point of extinction. If nothing else, it will exhaust a resource the Indigenous peoples prize so highly, and maybe this will tame both savage beasts.” But at every turn, Native peoples resisted, reclaimed, and rebuilt our ways of living. Our absolutely relentless relatives, battle-worn and exhausted, never once stopped fighting.
They fought battles on horseback and on foot, with weapons in hand. Other times, it was with fishing nets in hand. In the 1970s, Billy Frank Jr. led his community in taking a history-making stand, refusing to back down after they were arrested more than 50 times for fishing in the Nisqually River, which his ancestors had always fished. He and others refused to give up their right to harvest food from the river that had always sustained them. The fight, as it does in modern times, moved to the courts, bolstered with a vibrant fishing-rights movement in the streets. In a sweeping victory for Indian Country, it was declared that the Nisqually citizens had a right to fish in all “usual and accustomed places” as their treaty said.
When a Canadian company proposed the Keystone XL Pipeline through Lakota, Dakota, and Nakota lands, crossing the Missouri River, the largest source of drinking water, hunting grounds, and fishing areas for millions of people, a resistance was organized and led by tribal leaders, Native organizers, farmers, and ranchers.
Indian Country took action because we know every waterway, acre, and ecosystem is connected. We have accepted our ancestral responsibility to be caretakers of all of humanity and Mother Earth. The cancellation of the KXL Pipeline permit was another hard-fought victory in the face of centuries of colonization and systemic racism.
We have also taken our fight to the halls of Congress. We wrote letters, made calls, and lobbied our legislators to demand greater representation in the White House. Through our dogged efforts, the first-ever Native woman, Deb Haaland, was confirmed as Secretary of the Interior. Her win was our win, as we saw so clearly in the culturally competent policy that emerged from her tenure. She wielded her power in a quieter but no less potent way than those before her, acting as the kind of merciless auntie who won’t shy away from doing what is right. It was her thoughtful leadership and Indian Country’s loud calls that led to the first-ever apology from the White House for the harm caused by boarding schools.
Indian Country has also found itself at the center of the country’s immigration debate. Our relatives, whose only crime is having brown skin, were swept up in immigration raids. Minneapolis-St. Paul is home to 35,000 Native Americans and Alaska Natives. We know what it’s like to be pushed out from the land we call home, to be categorized as “other,” and therefore less worthy of living in this place they call America.
When ICE agents began their reign of terror on the residents of Mni Sóta Makoce, Native American Community Development Institute (NACDI) and Pow Wow Grounds were a safe haven for anyone who needed one. Native peoples, as we have always done, saw people in need and provided everything from hot meals, diapers, and medicine to guidance on what to do if you’re detained by immigration enforcement.
It’s the lessons we have learned through centuries of colonization that sustain us. We refuse to sit back and watch as our ways of life are challenged by climate change, capitalism, or colonization. We remain because we know the only way to protect the life and landscape most sacred to us is to organize. We aren’t merciless, we are relentless.
