Disclaimer: This essay was submitted as part of the America 250: A Republic Built on Native Land National Native Youth Essay Contest. The views and opinions expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Native News Online, Native StoryLab, the Center for Native American Youth at the Aspen Institute, or contest sponsors.
Essay for America 250: A Republic Built on Native Land
Before he ever heard the guns, before men shouted orders in a language that was not his first, he remembered the voice of an elder.
The elder spoke not only of war, but of what came before war.
He spoke of sovereignty.
Not the kind written on paper, or argued in government buildings, but rather the kind carried in the chest, living in language, prayer, ceremonies, grandmother’s hands, a grandfather’s stories, in the fire kept alive inside the hogan.
For him, America had never been simple. America was the country that called him “Indian”, “savage”, and “Redskin.” It was the country that asked for his service while still refusing to fully see his humanity.
But America was also the land beneath his feet.
It was the fourth world, where cornfields grew, and horses walked the fields. It was his mother who fixed his hair into a Tsiiyeeł, preparing him for a ceremony that marked his step into manhood. It was his baby sister wrapped in her cradleboard, kicking her feet, laughing as he held her.
He remembered the touch and laughter clearly.
His grandfather entered the hogan soon after, his face aged by time and years of a beaming sun, but his voice steady.
“Everything is ready, Shíyazhí . Come join us in the sweatlodge.”
The memory blurred at the edges, softened by heat, steam, and time. He remembered giving his sister back to his mother. Undressing, taking his seat among his uncles, brothers and grandfather, and listening as his grandfather spoke. Navajo was his first language, the language of home, the language that made the world understandable.
“Shíyazhí,” his grandfather said, “words cannot describe how proud I am of you. Many challenges will come after this ceremony. After today. After tomorrow. But your teachings are what carry you throughout your journey. I am old now, but you know I will be here to make sure our hogan always has its fire burning.”
“Shicheii, why does it matter if the fire is going?” he asked.
His grandfather smiled softly.
“Because your mother and sister will feel its warmth. Because I will continue to pray day and night for their safety. Because looking after others, keeping your strength, helping your family, and remembering who you are. These are the reasons we are glad you are here, Shíyazhí. I cannot move like I did when I was your age.”
The old man chuckled, but the boy did not laugh.
Outside the lodge, there was another world looming near. A world of uniforms, boarding schools, and men are born with the idea that they have authority.
“But Shicheii,” he said quietly, “I heard our friends crying. My friend is gone. They dragged him away by his hair. They hit him until he could not move anymore. He begged them not to hurt his siblings. I still hear the screaming. I am afraid they will come back for us. It makes me angry, I do not take it out on the animals or my family, but it stays with me inside.”
His grandfather was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, “Out beyond our cornfield, there are many people who need help, just as we need help here. Some will not accept it from you, due to how you look, speak, and where you come from. But that language you carry, that voice you use to speak to me, your mother, and sister, to our people. That part is who you are. Without it, we would lose more than our words.”
He leaned closer.
“Your clothes, your hair, your prayers, your teachings, your family. All of these remind you where you come from. Never forget it. If anger or sadness comes for you, remember the holy people, our ancestors. They will help you find your way again.”
Years later, when he heard the sounds of war between nations he didn’t understand, those words returned to him.
He was 18 when he decided what America meant to him. It was not an easy thing to love a country that had harmed your people. It was not easy to wear the uniform of a nation that had not always considered you a citizen, much less a man. But he knew the war did not threaten only the America written in laws and flags. It threatened the world within it. His mother, sister, grandfather’s prayers, the corn, ceremonies, the language that had survived every attempt to silence it.
In his heart, he was not fighting for the America that mocked him.
He was fighting for sovereignty.
For his people. For his home. For the small world his family had kept alive inside a country that tried to make them disappear.
And when he laid back a truck, with the noise of war fading in and out around him, he understood why the memories had come back. This wasn’t just a story being told. This was his life gathering itself one last time.
He knew he would not return home as a brother in the way his sister remembered. He knew his mother would not braid the hair he had cut before going to war. He knew his grandfather’s fire would burn without him sitting beside it.
But he also knew this: his spirit would find its way home.
One day, he would return to the little girl he once held in her cradleboard. Not as the boy who made her laugh by playing with her feet, not as the grandson sitting in the sweatlodge, not even as the soldier America had finally chosen to need.
He would return as her guardian.
And when he saw his family smile, when he saw his sister grow, when he saw the fire still burning, he would know that even after everything, the racism, the pain, the names, the country that asked for his blood before offering him dignity. He would do it again.
Not for the America that failed him.
For the world he loved within it.
About Makia Wilson
Ya’at’eeh, Hello, my name is Makia Faye Wilson, and I’m from Lók’aah Niteel, otherwise known as Ganado on the Navajo Reservation. My clans are Kin Łichíi’nii (Red House), Táchii’nii (Red Running Into the-Water), Tsé Ńjíkiní (Honey Combed), Honágháahnii (One Walks who Around). I have a passion for healthcare and for helping my Native Community through advocacy and service. I’m a Boys & Girls Club of Flagstaff member and a founder of the 2025-26 National Youth Advisory Council for the Boys and Girls Club of America. I got the opportunity to share my perspective on my Native American community, and got to work with members across the country with hopes of improving Boys & Girls Clubs for other youth. I have an interest in art, specifically painting or drawing, and love any opportunity to be creative! With all of these skills in mind, I want to be an example to show my siblings, friends, and family that it is possible to achieve your goals if you work towards them!
