“Why you want to be an Indian, now? You always hated bein’ Indian” brother asked … before he died that meth death.
As children, when he wanted to insult and hurt me he would yell, “You’re an Indian!” Today in 2025, I must ‘prove’ I am Indian – to show my ‘papers’ – like I am livestock!
The world is a different place for Native people than when I was young. My father told stories of Native Hawaiians who were like our Yaqui. This Yaqui man loved Native Hawaiians because “they never gave up their King.”
Stories of King Kamehameha were told to my young mind. Beautiful blue waters of the Islands were the ‘pictures’ I saw in my head as my Yaqui father told stories of battles these people fought.
From the deserts of Arizona, I saw ‘pictures’ of Hawaiian Islands. My sister – a beautiful flower – too, saw herself in the Hawaiian Islands … up until the day she died a far too early death.
“Stories! I don’t believe that!” younger brother, The Fox, laughed when he heard these stories. As The Fox died … on land that was not ours … he recalled stories of our Yaqui father.
The Cherokee woman never ‘saw’ what Indians could be, will be, and must be. The Yaqui man she married ‘saw’ what was needed to be ‘seen.’
“Indian,” “Native,” “Tribal,” “Indigenous” … whatever we call ourselves … we are One People … we are Blood.
Julie Abril
Bayfield
