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Voice Of Native American, 79777005 Crist Wall, Los Angeles, CA (2026)

07/29/2026

She is Half Navajo from the Navajo Nation of the Hon´agha´ahnii Clan and half Sans Arch Lakota Sioux of the Cheyenne River Tribe….made history as The First fulltime college student (Male or Female) to ever come out of the state of Kansas and win a National Intercollegiate Championship title and Belt!..Not Kansas University, not Kansas state university, or Wichita state university but from lil ol’ Haskell Indian Nations University!!!!!!…She fight out of the Haskell Boxing Club in Lawrence, KS…

07/29/2026

There was a time—not so long ago—when the Southeast of the United States was shaped by a society that worked in a radically different way from European society. It was the Cherokee Nation. In that society, women were not subordinate. They were pillars.

Their culture was matrilineal: children belonged to their mother’s clan, and wealth—fields, homes, stories—passed from woman to woman. When a couple married, the man moved into the wife’s home, not the other way around. And if a woman decided the marriage was over, all she had to do was place his personal belongings outside the door. The message was clear. And respected.

Cherokee women owned the houses. They cultivated corn, beans, and squash—the “Three Sisters” that fed the community. They managed food, raised children, wove baskets, tanned hides, and kept the culture alive. But they weren’t only mothers and caretakers. They were also leaders.

Some were Ghigau—“Beloved Women”—with religious, moral, and political authority. They could speak in tribal councils, decide the fate of prisoners, and even influence declarations of war. The most famous was Nanyehi, also known as Nancy Ward. During the American Revolution, she negotiated directly with colonial leaders.

When European settlers arrived, they were shocked by this reality. The traveler James Adair dismissed it as a “government in petticoats,” unable to understand a society where women held real power.

Over time, that power was attacked. The U.S. government imposed patriarchal structures: it recognized only male chiefs, pushed private property toward men, and denied women the right to represent their people in official treaties. Missionaries preached female submission. The matrilineal system was slowly dismantled.

And yet, Cherokee women resisted. Some still pass down stories, language, and lines of descent through mothers today. It wasn’t a perfect society. But it was a concrete demonstration that male dominance is not natural or inevitable. It’s a cultural choice. And they had chosen a different path.

That path was almost erased. But not forgotten. Because every time a woman is silenced in the name of “tradition,” we can remember the Cherokee—and say: “Other worlds have existed. And they can exist again.”

07/29/2026

Born in the rugged landscapes of Lukachukai, Arizona, John Kinsel Sr. grew up speaking Navajo, a language that would one day become one of the most powerful and secret tools of World War II. When he joined the United States Marine Corps, he became part of an elite and historic group known as the Navajo Code Talkers—young Native American Marines whose mission would quietly change the course of the war in the Pacific.

During some of the most brutal battles in World War II, including Guam, Bougainville, and Iwo Jima, Kinsel carried out a duty that demanded both courage and precision. Amid chaos, gunfire, and constant danger, he transmitted critical battlefield messages in the Navajo language. What made his service extraordinary was not just bravery under fire, but the fact that the code they used was never broken by enemy forces. Every message he sent helped coordinate troops, save lives, and strengthen Allied operations in moments where seconds could decide survival or loss.

Yet for John Kinsel Sr., this service was never about recognition. Like many Code Talkers of his generation, he returned home quietly, carrying the weight of war while living a life rooted in humility, culture, and tradition. For decades, their contributions remained classified, and their heroism was known only to a few.

As time passed, the world finally began to recognize what these Marines had truly accomplished. John Kinsel Sr. came to symbolize not only military courage, but also the endurance of Navajo language and identity. His voice became a living bridge between history and heritage, reminding younger generations that culture itself can be a powerful force in defending freedom.

After his passing at the age of 107, tributes poured in from Native communities, veterans, and historians who saw him as part of a generation that can never be replaced. His legacy stands as a reminder that some of the most important victories in history were not only fought with weapons, but also with words carried in an unbreakable language.

07/28/2026

Floyd " Red Crow " Westerman, musician, actor and activist native of South Dakota.
We were told we would see America come and go. In a sense, America dies from the inside out, because they have forgotten the instructions to live on Mother Earth. This is the Hopi creed, it is our creed, that if you are not spiritually connected to the Earth, and you don't understand the spiritual reality of life on Earth, chances are you are not going to make it.
Everything is spiritual, everything has one
Spirit.
We are here on Earth only a few winters, then we go to the spirit world. The spirit world is more real than most of us realize.
The spirit world is everything. Most of our body is water. To stay healthy you need to drink pure water. Water is sacred, air is sacred. Our DNA is made from the same DNA as the tree, the tree breathes what we breathe out, we need what the tree expires. So we have a common fate with the tree. We are all of the Earth, and when the Earth and its water and atmosphere are corrupted, then the Earth will create her reaction. The Mother reacts.
In the Hopi prophecy it says that storms and floods will get bigger.
For me it is not negative to know that there will be big changes. It's not negative, it's evolution. When you look at it as an Evolution, you know it's time, nothing stays the same. You should learn to plant something. This is the first connection. You should look at all things as Spirit, realize that we are family. It never ends. Everything is life and there is no end to life.

07/28/2026

This was written by Chief Dan George, in 1972..

"In the course of my lifetime I have lived in two distinct cultures. I was born into a culture that lived in communal houses. My grandfather’s house was eighty feet long. It was called a smoke house, and it stood down by the beach along the inlet. All my grandfather’s sons and their families lived in this dwelling. Their sleeping apartments were separated by blankets made of bull rush weeds, but one open fire in the middle served the cooking needs of all.

In houses like these, throughout the tribe, people learned to live with one another; learned to respect the rights of one another. And children shared the thoughts of the adult world and found themselves surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins who loved them and did not threaten them. My father was born in such a house and learned from infancy how to love people and be at home with them.

And beyond this acceptance of one another there was a deep respect for everything in Nature that surrounded them. My father loved the Earth and all its creatures. The Earth was his second mother. The Earth and everything it contained was a gift from See-see-am… and the way to thank this Great Spirit was to use his gifts with respect.

I remember, as a little boy, fishing with him up Indian River and I can still see him as the sun rose above the mountain top in the early morning…I can see him standing by the water’s edge with his arms raised above his head while he softly moaned…”Thank you, thank you.” It left a deep impression on my young mind.

And I shall never forget his disappointment when once he caught me gaffing for fish “just for the fun of it.” “My son” he said, “The Great Spirit gave you those fish to be your brothers, to feed you when you are hungry. You must respect them. You must not kill them just for the fun of it.”

This then was the culture I was born into and for some years the only one I really knew or tasted. This is why I find it hard to accept many of the things I see around me.

I see people living in smoke houses hundreds of times bigger than the one I knew. But the people in one apartment do not even know the people in the next and care less about them.

It is also difficult for me to understand the deep hate that exists among people. It is hard to understand a culture that justifies the killing of millions in past wars, and it at this very moment preparing bombs to kill even greater numbers. It is hard for me to understand a culture that spends more on wars and weapons to kill, than it does on education and welfare to help and develop.

It is hard for me to understand a culture that not only hates and fights his brothers but even attacks Nature and abuses her. I see my white brothers going about blotting out Nature from his cities. I see him strip the hills bare, leaving ugly wounds on the face of mountains. I see him tearing things from the bosom of Mother Earth as though she were a monster, who refused to share her treasures with him. I see him throw poison in the waters, indifferent to the life he kills there; as he chokes the air with deadly fumes.

My white brother does many things well for he is more clever than my people but I wonder if he has ever really learned to love at all. Perhaps he only loves the things that are his own but never learned to love the things that are outside and beyond him. And this is, of course, not love at all, for man must love all creation or he will love none of it. Man must love fully or he will become the lowest of the animals. It is the power to love that makes him the greatest of them all… for he alone of all animals is capable of [a deeper] love.

My friends, how desperately do we need to be loved and to love. When Christ said man does not live by bread alone, he spoke of a hunger. This hunger was not the hunger of the body.. He spoke of a hunger that begins in the very depths of man... a hunger for love. Love is something you and I must have. We must have it because our spirit feeds upon it. We must have it because without it we become weak and faint. Without love our self esteem weakens. Without it our courage fails. Without love we can no longer look out confidently at the world. Instead we turn inwardly and begin to feed upon our own personalities and little by little we destroy ourselves.

You and I need the strength and joy that comes from knowing that we are loved. With it we are creative. With it we march tirelessly. With it, and with it alone, we are able to sacrifice for others. There have been times when we all wanted so desperately to feel a reassuring hand upon us… there have been lonely times when we so wanted a strong arm around us… I cannot tell you how deeply I miss my wife’s presence when I return from a trip. Her love was my greatest joy, my strength, my greatest blessing.

I am afraid my culture has little to offer yours. But my culture did prize friendship and companionship. It did not look on privacy as a thing to be clung to, for privacy builds walls and walls promote distrust. My culture lived in big family communities, and from infancy people learned to live with others.

My culture did not prize the hoarding of private possessions, in fact, to hoard was a shameful thing to do among my people. The Indian looked on all things in Nature as belonging to him and he expected to share them with others and to take only what he needed.

Everyone likes to give as well as receive. No one wishes only to receive all the time. We have taken something from your culture… I wish you had taken something from our culture, for there were some beautiful and good things in it.

Soon it will be too late to know my culture, for integration is upon us and soon we will have no values but yours. Already many of our young people have forgotten the old ways. And many have been shamed of their Indian ways by scorn and ridicule. My culture is like a wounded deer that has crawled away into the forest to bleed and die alone.

The only thing that can truly help us is genuine love. You must truly love, be patient with us and share with us. And we must love you—with a genuine love that forgives and forgets… a love that forgives the terrible sufferings your culture brought ours when it swept over us like a wave crashing along a beach… with a love that forgets and lifts up its head and sees in your eyes an answering love of trust and acceptance..."

~Chief Dan George was a leader of the Tsleil-Waututh Nation as well as a beloved actor, musician, poet and author. He was born in North Vancouver in 1899 and died in 1981. This column first appeared in the North Shore Free Press on March 1, 1972.

07/28/2026

Nanye-hi (Nancy Ward): Beloved Woman of the Cherokee

Nanye-hi was born into the Cherokee Wolf clan circa 1738. In 1755, she stood by her husband during a fight against the Creeks, chewing the lead for bullets in order to provide his ammunition with deadly ridges. When her husband was fatally shot, Nanye-hi grabbed a rifle, rallied her fellow fighters and entered the battle herself. With her on their side, the Cherokee won the day.
These actions led to Nanye-hi being named Ghighau (Beloved Woman) of the Cherokee, a powerful position whose duties included leading the Women’s Council and sitting on the Council of Chiefs. Nanye-hi also took part in treaty talks (to the surprise of male colonists when they were on the other side of the bargaining table).

As the years progressed, some Cherokee wanted to fight the Europeans who continued to crowd into their land. But Nanye-hi, who likely realized the Cherokee couldn’t win against the numerous and well-supplied colonists, thought the two sides needed to learn to live together (she practiced coexistence herself, marrying an Englishman, Bryant Ward, in the late 1750s, which led to her being known as Nancy Ward). At a 1781 treaty conference, Nanye-hi declared, “Our cry is all for peace; let it continue. This peace must last forever.”

Seeking peace didn’t stop Nanye-hi from recognizing the dangers of ceding Cherokee territory — in 1817, she made an unsuccessful plea not to give up more land. When she died in 1822, she’d spent years trying to help her people acclimate to a changing world.

07/27/2026

The Choctaw Trail of Tears: Survival Through Loss

The story of the Choctaw people is one of the most painful chapters in Native American history. Long before removal, the Choctaw lived across much of present-day Mississippi, eastern Louisiana, and western Alabama, where they built communities, farmed the land, traded, and preserved strong cultural traditions.

In 1830, the Indian Removal Act opened the way for the forced relocation of many Native nations from the southeastern United States. The Choctaw were among the first to face this policy. After the Treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek, thousands of Choctaw people were forced to leave their ancestral homelands and move west toward Indian Territory, present-day Oklahoma.

Their journey became part of what is remembered as the Trail of Tears. The march was brutal. Families walked through freezing weather, poor roads, hunger, sickness, and exhaustion. Many had little protection from the cold, and shortages of food, wagons, and supplies made survival even harder. Historical accounts describe the Choctaw removal as especially harsh, with many people dying along the way.

Yet the Choctaw story did not end in suffering. Despite immense loss, survivors carried their language, traditions, family bonds, and identity into Oklahoma. Their strength allowed Choctaw culture to continue across generations. Today, the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma stands as a living reminder that forced removal could take land, homes, and lives, but it could not erase a people’s spirit.

The Choctaw Trail of Tears remains a symbol of injustice, resilience, and cultural survival. It reminds us that Native American history is not only a history of loss, but also a history of endurance, memory, and unbroken identity.

07/27/2026

America Was Not Discovered. It Was Already Home.

For generations, history books told children that Christopher Columbus “discovered America.”

But how can a land be discovered when people were already living there?

Long before Columbus crossed the ocean, Indigenous peoples had already built lives across these lands. They had homes, languages, governments, trade routes, farms, ceremonies, art, medicine, spiritual traditions, and deep relationships with the earth. They knew the rivers, the mountains, the seasons, the animals, and the sacred places. This was not an empty world waiting to be found.

It was already home.

The people shown in images like this remind us of a truth that was too often ignored: Native peoples were not background figures in someone else’s story. They were the original peoples of these lands. They were the first caretakers, the first teachers, the first protectors, and the first historians of this continent.

When Columbus arrived in 1492, he did not step into an unknown world. He entered a world filled with nations, cultures, families, and civilizations that had existed for thousands of years. The problem was never that Native people had no history. The problem was that colonial history chose not to honor it.

The word “discovery” hides too much.

It hides the people who were already here.
It hides the lands that were taken.
It hides the treaties that were broken.
It hides the children who were forced from their families.
It hides the languages that people tried to erase.
It hides the strength of those who survived.

But Native history did not begin with Columbus.

It began with ancestors who walked these lands long before European maps gave them new names. It lived in songs, stories, ceremonies, beadwork, baskets, drums, prayers, and the wisdom of elders. It lived in the knowledge of how to plant, hunt, heal, build, lead, and live with respect for the natural world.

To teach the truth is not to erase history. It is to finally tell it honestly.

Children should learn that Indigenous peoples were not “discovered.” They were already here. They should learn the names of Native Nations, not only the names of explorers. They should learn about survival, resistance, culture, family, and the deep connection between Native peoples and the land.

America was not discovered in 1492.

It was already known.
It was already loved.
It was already protected.
It was already home.

And the people who were here first deserve to be remembered not as a footnote, but as the beginning of the story.

07/26/2026

Pascal Cleatus Poolaw Sr. grew up Comanche in Oklahoma, raised with warrior traditions that stretched back centuries. When WWII broke out, he enlisted and quickly became known for something rare among combat soldiers. He was calm. While others panicked under fire, Pascal moved with purpose. He led men through hellfire and brought them home. By the time the war ended, his chest was covered in ribbons.
Most decorated veterans retired to quiet lives. Pascal re-enlisted. When the Korean War erupted, he was among the first to deploy. His reputation preceded him. Men requested to serve under him because they knew he would die before abandoning them. Between 1942 and 1951, he earned four Silver Stars for gallantry, five Bronze Stars for heroism, and three Purple Hearts for wounds received in combat. 42 total decorations. Each one represented a moment when he chose his brothers over his own survival.
On November 7, 1951, during combat operations in Korea, enemy fire finally found him. Pascal Poolaw was 30 years old. He left behind a wife, four children, and a legacy that forced America to recognize what Native warriors had been doing all along. Serving. Sacrificing. Leading. His son, Pascal Poolaw Jr., would later serve in Vietnam, continuing a family tradition of service that demanded everything and asked for nothing in return.
The military would eventually name buildings and memorials in his honor. But Pascal never fought for recognition. He fought because when his brothers needed him, he answered. Every single time. That kind of courage doesn't come from medals. It comes from something deeper, something the Comanche people had always known. A warrior's duty is to protect, no matter the cost.

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