Mentor Dinner

Karen accepts her mentorship award
Photo Cred: Dean Eyre vie Denni's email

This year's Mentor Dinner at the NACC was especially nice because Karen was recognized for everything she's done for the Native Community. This is a much deserved award, and I am glad to hear she is returning to the NACC.

Muwekma Ski Trip

Looking out over Lake Tahoe

Muwekma's ski trip was especially great this year because it was coordinated with SAIO and a larger portion of the Native Community was able to attend. This community has been the single most important part of my time at Stanford it was great to see everyone together having a good time.

Iqyax - Jacob Stepetin Final

My "Little Bone"

Sewing the "Skin" (fabric, traditionally sea lion skin) onto my Iqyax

            “What’s this dad? What did they use this one for?”

            That was a question I asked a lot as a child when I would go with my dad to Chulka to dig for ancient Unangax artifacts. Spear tips, sewing needles, stone knives, arrow heads, oil lamps; I would find these items, ask my dad what they were, and he always knew the answer.

            “That one would go on the end of a harpoon, and they would kill a seal with it. See how there are barbs facing backwards so it would get stuck in the seal?” he would say. He always knew the answer, because he asked his father when he was a boy, and his father asked his before him.

            But this time was different. “What’s this dad? What did they use this one for?” He looked at it for a while. He twirled it between his fingers, held it up close to his face, then far away…

            “I don’t know what this one is son. I’ve never seen one like this before. Is that blood on the side? What are these little scratch marks? What did they use this one for?”

            He always knew the answer, but he didn’t know the answer this time. I kept that little piece of carved bone for a long time, not knowing anything about it other than that one of my ancestors created it and left it in the dirt for me to find. That little piece of bone held mysteries of my peoples’ past and I was determined to know what it was.

____________

            I have been interested in kayaks for a long time, ever since I was first set down in one as a 9-year-old. Even though I just floated there in ankle-deep water for a minute, I was obsessed. My Ancestors used kayaks, or Iqyas as we call them, to survive. The Iqyax was an extension of an Unangax man’s body, and it was also a living thing on its own. It had to be cared for, respected, and loved, just like a child or a lover. The ocean was their source of life and the Iqyax was the vehicle through which they were able to tap that source.

            When the Russians came, my Ancestors were forced to hunt seals and sea otters for the value of their fur. The Iqyax was still necessary for life, but only because it made it possible to get fur. If a hunter did not get enough fur, they would be punished or killed. Many were killed. Not just because they couldn’t supply enough furs. In the beginning many were simply murdered. Many died from the new diseases. Some died trying to rebel. As much as 90% of the Unangax population in the Aleutian Islands was lost in a period of 40 years between the 18^th and 19^th centuries.  

            90% is a large, sad number, and it says a lot, but it does not say who was lost. Who were those 90%? What was lost along with them? In a culture where all knowledge is preserved through oral history, when someone dies, the knowledge of every generation that came before them dies with them, unless they passed that knowledge on. Unangax people lived in the Aleutian Islands for 10,000 years before the Russians came, and when 90% of my ancestors died, 90% of that 10,000-year oral history and knowledge died with them. We forgot how to build our Iqyas. We forgot what that little bone was that I found in the dirt.

            Now we are learning again. I am trying to learn. I have built my own Iqyax, but not the way it was done by my ancestors. I have built my own Iqyax in the best way we know, but it is not the way it was done before the Russians came. I learned that that little bone belongs inside an Iqyax. That little bone was once a myth, something that was only written about by Russian ethnographers, but now we know they were real. We still do not know what their purpose was.

Tanaya Winder - Sierra

Today, Tanaya Winder, a wonderful Indigenous Poet and Stanford Alum, lectured for Intro to CSRE. She was engaging, honest, encouraging, and her spoken word poems and songs were spellbinding. The reason Tanaya came to CSRE, is because a group of Native students/women in the class (including me) complained to the professors that Indigenous narratives and statistics were not being represented in the class. Although they did not do much to improve their statistics, they did invite Stephanie Fryberg--who gave an amazing lecture earlier in the quarter--and Tanaya Winder. But Tanaya was different than other guest lecturers, even Fryberg. She spoke her indigenous truths, and grounded her lecture in culture, which was incredibly refreshing because those truths are often not given an academic platform, nor are they honored, at Stanford. Afterwards, Tanaya came to the NACC and spoke openly with students. I was really grateful to be able to meet and truly listen to Tanaya today.

Community Events - Marina

Dinner with Gavin, Caelin, Leah and Sterling

I had a lovely time getting dinner with this fun and friendly group. We haven't had the chance to spend much time together before, and I had a great time. Looking forward going to athlete's dinner with y'all sometime soon!! Thanks again for inviting us over :)

Learning about Hawaiian/Samoan Traditional Tattoo Art

I've always been fascinated with body art and the stories attached to different people's tattoos, so having this opportunity was really exciting and I learnt a lot. It was amazing to hear about the  process of consultation and the symbolism behind Kawena's tattoo, and really sweet to see her grandma there on the day chatting and being there for support. I hadn't realised the importance of helpers to stretch/keep the skin in place, nor understood what is meant by 'tapping' until I saw it for myself! The whole process was definitely something I wouldn't ever have gotten the chance to see or really hear much about otherwise and I really appreciated being invited there.

Brain tanning and smoking a deer hide - Sterling Final

While taking a class on weaving with plants at a local park, I met a naturalist named Dino. He is Native Hawaiian and is very knowledgeable about native culture and traditional skills. He can make rope out of plants, start fires with sticks, weave baskets, identify wild edible plant species, make his own shoes, tan leather, and tons of other stuff. I have always wanted to learn how to tan deer hides and he was generous enough to teach me the process. From start to finish it took three full days. First, we soaked the hide for a week and then scraped off the membrane from each side. Then, we wrung it out and applied cooked and mashed pork brains to both sides. This solution softens the fibers of the hide and makes it pliable. After the brains soak into the hide overnight, the hide has to be stretched and softened for several hours. The last step, as pictured above, involves smoking the hide over a tin of smoldering wood. The hide must be smoked for several hours on each side and the smoking preserves the hide and prevents it from stiffening when exposed to water. Dino allowed me to keep a portion of the hide that I plan to stitch into a small bag.

I am extremely grateful to have had the opportunity to learn from Dino. The process of tanning a deer hide is way more labor intensive and complicated than I could have imagined but I'm glad to have the knowledge and be able to teach the process to someone else in the future. I feel as though it is important that skills like the ones that Dino knows and teaches continue to be passed from person to person. Going forward, I hope to dedicate myself to gaining and sharing more skills that connect people with the natural world. 

Coyote Hills Regional Park Visitors Center

Last month I visited the Coyote Hills Regional Park in Fremont. While there I visited the park's museum about natural history and the history of the Ohlone tribe. The museum had a replica of a boat made of tule grass. There were also traditional bone and stone tools and informative displays about the culture of the Ohlone people and how they interacted with the bay area.

In addition to walking around the museum, I joined three women who are part of the Ohlone tribe in pruning willow plants and gathering willow for basket weaving. It was interesting to learn how through pruning the willow, the plant grows healthier and stronger and material is collected for basketweaving. The willow harvesting process benefits not just people but also the landscape.

Community Events - Caelin

A few weeks ago, I went to the Special D at Muwekma. It was great to have the opportunity to spend time with the Native community in a relaxed setting with good food.

The second event that I attended was at the NACC when Kawena got her tattoo. This event was super fun, because it was during Parent's Weekend and brought several generations together to celebrate the vibrate ways that indigeneity it still alive in our communities.

To My Cheii (Grandfather) - Jade Final

My grandparents after their wedding. 

A couple months before coming to Stanford, I was faced with a dilemma about my identity. I am Navajo, Hunkpapa Lakota, Sissaton Wahpeton Dakota, and Danish.  Living in what is called the capital of the Navajo Nation, I was constantly looked down upon for not being full-blood Navajo. However, the biggest factor for why I was always in this light was due to me being part white. My maternal grandfather is Danish and grew up in a small-town in Kansas. My dilemma begins with the fact that my Danish grandfather is actually one of my main connections to my Navajo identity and culture.

My maternal grandparents met at the Indian Cultural Center in Gallup, New Mexico where my grandfather was working one summer. As he tells the story, “The one day that I didn’t look my best and at the time when was hauling out trash, your grandmother decided to walk in. From that moment on, I knew I wanted to stay here.” Shortly after inter-racial marriage was legalized in Arizona, my grandparents were finally able to marry. Since then, my grandfather was set on fully immersing himself into the Navajo culture, as well as learning to speak the language fluently. In later years, my grandparents would go on to help start the Navajo Immersion School for language revitalization, help run the schools in Rock Point, Arizona, and even got the Fulbright Fellowship to learn more about language revitalization in New Zealand.   

Unfortunately, I was not able to be around my grandmother that long before she passed away when I was five. With that said, I spent, and continue to spend, most of my time with my grandfather. In elementary school, he would come over to help me with math and science, as well teaching me to speak and write in Navajo. After elementary school, he was diagnosed as being “legally” blind and deaf. That did not stop him, however, from pushing me and my sister to learn all that we can about our Navajo culture. He encouraged us to compete in as many Navajo Song and Dance competitions as we could in high school. He was front and center at our coming of age ceremonies, helping with the fire and trying his best to participate in the running portion with us.

The irony in having been taught a large portion of what I know about my Navajo identity from a “white man” is something I never contemplated. I never thought of him as being white. It just slipped my mind until the day I took him to the hospital and was filling out his paperwork when I came to the question regarding ethnicity and had to pause. For some reason, checking off the “Caucasian/White” box was so odd to me.

My grandfather is a big reason for where I am at today. He continues to play a major role in my involvement in my Navajo culture and community. During my graduation speech, I wanted to acknowledge him in some way. I did so by how he taught me how. A majority of my speech was in Navajo. When he heard it, he smiled and cried. My grandfather is my best friend and my everything, and I cannot thank him enough for all that he has done.

I Was Asked Where I'm From The Other Day -Hamzeh

Where do you come from?

A question I think of when I want to fathom my own sense of belonging 


As I stand here I blink every now and then to give my cuticles the decency of re-hydrating while my throat goes dry thinking of such a question


I was born in a hospital in the capital of a small country in the middle east called Jordan. 


Wait that means I’m from Jordan, doesn’t it? 


What’s your heritage? 


My family originates from a small town called Yafa in Palestine. 


Pause.


Wait ... that means I’m from Palestine, doesn’t it? 


You mean Israel… don't you? 


Heavily breathing


Do I? 


Nostrils narrowing


Where do I come from? 


I blink now and with every blink I see my grandfather.


Blink. 

Grandfather, where do you come from? 


Blink. 

Palestine, my boy. 


Blink. 

Why aren’t you there now? 


Blink. 

I am not allowed my boy. 


Blink. 

Why? 


Blink. 

Because … 


Blink. 

Pure silence.


I was 8 when I realized a person could answer the question: “where do you come from?” With silence. 


The other day my friend asked me:
Where are you from? 


I answered ...

Kaorihiva

This past weekend, I performed with Kaorihiva (Stanford's Polynesian dance group) at the Parent's Weekend event and at Rhythms. We performed three different pieces that varied in style. Being apart of Kaorihiva has been an eye-opening experience for me. Alongside the performances, this group serves as a way of spreading awareness about a culture that is thriving and one that is rich in stories amongst many other things. I am thankful to be apart of this group and look forward to learning so much more. 

- Jade

Frybread Friday

A couple of weeks ago, I volunteered to help cook during one of Diné Club's Frybread Friday's. I have made frybread for a while now - for fundraisers, ceremonies, special events, and just because. To me, making frybread feels peaceful and has many memories of home. Although it is not technically a traditional food, it has integrated its way into many of our native cultures. Frybread can be a symbol of oppression and a direct link to a painful history, but it can also be seen as a demonstration of resiliency. Either way, frybread has become so deep-rooted in our cultures that to eradicate it would cause a major uproar. Frybread power.

- Jade