A year ago on this very day, I sent out my first edition of Indigenously.   

I had no idea I'd still be at this weekend.  Truth be told, writing was all I could do twelve months ago to cope in the great upheaval that 2020 brought again, and again, and again. Each time it felt as though our narrative, the Indigenous narrative, was more forgotten than before.  To draw strength, I dedicated my first newsletter to my ancestors who bravely orchestrated the Pueblo Revolt.  Then as now, it's fitting.

My second edition remains one my favorites.  I framed it around the city of Minneapolis where hearts were still breaking and passions overflowing following the murder of a man with the kindest eyes, George Floyd.  As demonstrations ensued in an area of the city known as the "urban rez," what I saw that few others did was the colonial narrative going up in flames.  I wrote  about it, centered around one of Maine's celebrated sons, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and his “The Song of Hiawatha”  published in 1855, one of the most saccharine takes on one of bloodiest eras for the loss of Indigenous life and land.

Also in that newsletter, I quoted another journalist in describing how a majority of American's and their understanding of history is akin to "walking into a movie theater in the middle of the movie."  In other words, there's some catching up to do.  This past week, I found myself echoing those sentiments on a podcast in discussing what Harper's Magazine this month has called "The History Wars" - the recent and distinct pattern of horrific acts on marginalized peoples met with challenged calls for justice and demands for an examination of the past.  In many ways, from an Indigenous worldview, that is essentially the formula of this newsletter.  More than anything, the words here hold intention to be seen, heard, but also to be understood in ways that may challenge popular noise about what it means to be Indigenous, today.

I recognize I often take a lone view.

Above, I've featured a word-tree based on responses from that survey that so many of you were kind enough to participate in.  If you click on it, it will take you to an interactive version that I couldn't figure out how to embed here.  That's because my brain hurts.  If you haven't noticed, this week's newsletter looks a little different because I switched email providers, though I had no idea it would require so much heavy digital lifting.  Newsletter school paid off!  But I'm still hurting.  

I'm hopeful that with this latest transition, it can prevent what happened last weekend.  I heard from a good many of you that you didn't receive the last edition of Indigenously. Bummer. It was a fun read about powwows, but one that's probably ready to expire in your Spam box. I haven't done a thorough check but apparently there's a bad link in there.  This email provider I'm now using should be able to detect that kind of stuff and prevent any future disruptions.  So please - don't stop clicking on the links I embed here. I love finding Internet gems like this one and sharing them with you. 

In the meantime, please peruse the Indigenously archives for that powwow piece and also just to see the evolution that my year in newslettering has taken.  The most obvious development for me is how I've come to refine each edition around a central theme, each week. That said, I also recognize that such siloed focus leaves out a lot of other interesting headlines worth knowing about.  I've got something in the works and can't wait to share.  Til then, here are some archive highlights: 

• A tribute to my friend and radio legend, Harlan McKasato (Sac and Fox)
• A reminder: Indian Country is not a monolith, with Inupiat oil as backdrop
• The rise of Indigenous Peoples Day and Canceling Columbus
• Why the Lumbee Tribe in Robeson County, NC were courting Trump
• Indigenously Fellow, Tsanavi Spoonhunter's "Culture Bearers"
• And one of my most read: the fraught issue over policing Indigeneity

The Andy Harvey Indigenous Youth Media Workshop holds a special place in my heart.  One, it is the lovely vision of my Pueblo sister, Loris Taylor.  Secondly, it honors my late friend and colleague, Andy Harvey, who left us too soon.  Some of you may recall that I promoted an open call for applications a few newsletters ago. 

Here's an update: