Pulling on a Single Strand

I am Navajo-Native American, my lineage stemming from my Dad’s side. I grew up in Toledo, Ohio, but my Dad was born in the southwest; a vague destination I knew of as a kid as the place my Dad would go help my Grandma with cattle drives and bring back kachina dolls for me and my sisters. He wears turquoise jewelry that was handmade by his Uncle Leroy, and the handwoven blanket made by his great aunt now rests on display in my oldest sister’s living room. Growing up we would settle in on the couch to watch A Man Called Horse, and we listened to a lot of Navajo flute music. My Dad swears under his breath when anyone mentions the name “Custer” and I knew about the dangers of Skinwalkers from an early age. I would page through the Navajo-English dictionary on our book shelf wide eyed and confused, and gingerly put it back as if it were a sacred document I shouldn’t have touched.

When I asked if we would ever visit the reservation in Window Rock, my Dad would say he didn’t think that was a good idea. I later learned my Dad saw first-hand the devastation that alcohol and poverty had brought to Native Americans. As a young boy he recalled seeing Indians passed out drunk in a ditch off one of the main roads leading into the reservation. He said that wasn’t the representation of the Navajo he wanted us to see. This would typically launch my Dad into lamenting about how we learn about the Civil War in school but we don’t learn about the first Civil War of the United States: the removal of Indians from lands that were theirs, and the broken promises the United States government made to the original inhabitants of this country. It would be a disservice to my History degree if I didn’t do a quick dive into this part of history:

Europeans and Native Americans have been fighting over land since the 17th century, but for our sake I will start with our Founding Fathers in the 19th century. Good old Ben Franklin tried to convince the rest of the gang that they needed to create an alliance with the Native Americans, and split their land into pieces to make sure that it was “secure” and that they stayed in their “proper districts.” He presented this idea to the Continental Congress in 1775. Thomas Jefferson was on board because he was fascinated by how the Native Americans were able to live peacefully, “stemming from their sense of moral right and wrong” and thought the best course of action was to actually intermix with Native Americans because he “believed the Indian then to be in body and mind equal to the whiteman.” K, thanks. I think we all know where this leads, but I’ll stick to the quick hits version: It led to a lot of horrible acts passed by Congress to steal land from Native Americans, eventually leading to war(s), the Trail of Tears, and devastating poverty and the withholding of Native American rights.

I digress. I wasn’t necessarily emotionally invested in my culture and heritage from an early age, because I saw it as a factual part of my ethnicity; just like I have brown eyes and dark hair, I’m also Native American. Growing up I didn’t ask too many questions about my Dad’s life. As a child, your parents are, “Mom and Dad” and not “Lori and David” as if their lives began after their children were born. As I got older, my Dad revealed more details about his life in these small tidbits. Such as, he was adopted. Okay, wait. But, why? When? How? What? Dad’s brother passed away when Dad was in his 20s. Grandma lives in Post, Texas. There’s a city in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences and we have some family there. Aunt Judy and Uncle Richard aren’t blood related to each other or my Dad. Who are the Westfalls? We need tribal I.D.s. These pieces of information were missing roots, and missing a cohesive time line. I couldn’t make sense of it.

I pulled on a single strand in this jumbled mess of facts. Why don’t we have tribal I.D.s? Also, what is a tribal I.D.? Another history lesson coming your way: Per the U.S. Department of Interior, Tribal enrollment requirements “preserve the unique character and traditions of each tribe. The tribes establish membership criteria based on shared customs, traditions, language and tribal blood.” Tribes set what the enrollment criteria is, and it varies from tribe to tribe, so uniform membership requirements do not exist. To enroll, you need to do genealogical research, document your ancestry, contact the tribe with which your ancestor was affiliated, and then they will decide on an individual basis whether or not they grant your eligibility for membership. Ancestory.com and 23AndMe need not apply, as each tribe has incredibly documented and meticulously kept records of blood lines. I’ve found some are even handwritten. Spoiler: I found some of my family’s.

So about four years ago I started trying to slowly piece together this timeline. I started with the question: Why don’t we have tribal I.D.s? In asking this, I uncovered more questions than answers, but kept digging. This project has been on my creative back burner, but I am finally able to devote more time and attention to it. Over the course of this blog, I want to tell my Dad’s story, and try to answer some of the questions I’ve had, and make sense of my family’s blood line. Thank you for reading. The story begins next week.