I have a story

A story of power
A story of culture
A story of family
A story of resistance

In this story my people have been
Beat down, shut down, persecuted,
Exploited, cheated, ignored,
And made to be extinct

In this story my people have been abused by a racist system that
Devalues and dehumanizes their traditions,
Their culture,
Their race,
Their beliefs

In this story my people have worked the fields,
Hammered down the railroads,
Mined for gold in holes of dirt and rock
In the name of Manifest Destiny

My people built this nation
With their sweat,
With their tears,
With their blood

I will not be silent!

My people formed this country with their labor
and their hearts
and their love of freedom and a better life

My people died so that I can have a story

But this isn’t the end of my story,
It is just the first couple of chapters scattered throughout
My story of beautiful dark skinned kings and queens
My story of sun kissed dancers and drummers
My story of golden skinned warriors and chiefs and weavers
My story of great and magnificent temples and pyramids reaching to the moon and the sun
Of artists and singers and storytellers
Of longhouses and community feasts
Of brown doctors, red lawyers, yellow teachers, Black leaders
All entwined in one great novel that tells of generations of oppression and culture, of triumph and defeat, of beauty and tradition, of survival.

My story is not the dominant narrative of colonialism wrapped up in that “Columbus is a hero” bullshit

My story is power
My story is culture
My story is family
My story is resistance