Native American Journalist

Afraid to Ask Questions -- Don't Be

2005-12-01T21:31:00.000-08:00

Perhaps like other ethnic groups, we are rarely approached by people with questions about who we are. And when we do, it's usually to clear up misconceptions. I want to share with you my experience over the Thanksgiving holiday.

An Anglo male waiter at the Dallas Hard Rock Cafe asked me a couple of questions regarding "Indians," after I explained to him my tribal affiliation. He acknowledged that I appeared "like an Indian," but wasn't sure. He asked the following questions:
• "Do you guys live in teepees?"
• "Do you guys dance around fires and use peyote to get high?"

I smiled and thanked him for not being afraid and upfront with me. I told him that I also don't know a lot about other ethnic groups, cultures and tribes. Hence, one of my duties is to inform and enlighten from what little I know about myself, and it is a must that it begins with me. The young waiter took a 15-minute break from his work to listen to my explanations.

My answer to the first question was "no." I told him that teepees are no longer used as shelters. However, instead we use the teepee or hogan to conduct the overnight Native American church ceremonies. I explained further that it was the nomadic Plains tribes who used the teepee as dwellings in the past.

My response to the second question was "no." Navajos like many Native American Indians believe in the Great Spirit. As Navajos, our belief is an integral part of our daily lives. There are many types of spiritualities, such as traditional songs, prayers and dances, including the Native American church and christianity. The Native American church uses peyote as a medicinal sacrament, and it is not a cult and there's no dancing around fires.

When I was done, he shook my hands and said, "You're smart for an Indian." I couldn't help but to laugh loudly at his comment. He seemed puzzled as he wrinkled his forehead and said, "What?" I told him, "We are all intelligent, you, me and everyone." I told him I had to go, but I would be back in spring to talk more. The waiter hugged me and I left.

Last evening, I told a Navajo friend my wonderful experience. I asked what types of inquiries he's heard in his travels. He named a few: "The only good Indian is a dead Indian, Indians don't pay taxes, all Indians do powwows, all Indians are drunks and why don't Indians just get rid of their reservations." We reminded one another the importance of educating others including our own tribal members.

In that regard, the three top leaders of the Navajo Nation government recently came together to proclaim appreciation for changes in Navajo law according to a press release from the Navajo Nation Office of the President and Vice President. The Navajo Nation Council amended Title 17 of its criminal code on July 22 to exempt the use of the azeé or peyote in religious ceremonies. In doing so, the Navajo government gave assurance and comfort to the Diné that it acknowledged the proper regard the Navajo people have for the ceremonial use of this medicine.

"The proclamation was a long time in coming," President Shirley said. "The legislation that was put in place giving birth to Azeé Bee Nahagha of the Diné Nation is something to be celebrated."

The proclamation states: "We are humbled by the sad legacy of fear and discrimination imposed upon our people in years past and we pledge that we will not allow such government actions in the future."

I was not aware of the recent change in Navajo law and the proclamation. I am thankful to the waiter for not being afraid to ask questions because it allowed me to do some research and learn a little more about myself, so I may share with you. With regard to Native American Indian religion, it wasn't until 1978 that Congress passed the American Indian Religious Freedom Act, an official expression of goodwill toward Native American spirituality.

Remember, it doesn't hurt to ask, if you don't know.

Reaching Out to Find a Loved One

2005-11-23T18:24:00.000-08:00

A close-knit family is hard to break. One Navajo family is seeking a family member who has been missing now for 55 years. The family is using the media to locate a loved one, according to an online Navajo Times article titled "He rode away to join the Navy ... Family seeks veteran who was honorably discharged from the military in 1950." The article states, "This Thanksgiving, sister and brother Lorena Askan-Johnson, 79, and Wool Boy Kid, 81, are having a special peyote ceremony to help their brother, Harry Askan, 80, come home."

Media are used in many ways, including finding loved ones. Reading the above article this evening and examining the still photos sent a strong message: emotions the family might be experiencing. The photo shows Wool Boy Kid holding his lost brother's military portrait. The 81-year-old man's wrinkled, weathered hands hold many untold stories, but tonight these hands are reaching out, pleading for your help.

I could not help but think about my late grandparents, especially my grandmother. She hardly said anything, unlike me. Her hands looked like the 81-year-old man's hands. My grandmother lived to be 89. I used to always wonder how she shouldered the many responsibilities, which included herding sheep, tending to the cattle, chopping wood, maintaining the hogan, washing the old-fashioned way using a washboard to scrub my grandfather's Levi pants, and making bread and cooking.

I recall holding her hands several hours leading up to when she was scheduled to be unplugged from the life-support system. I noticed her hands weren't dry and chapped anymore. They were soft like a child's hands. I cried because I remembered how I used to tell her that her hands were like leather and steel. I told her if I ever needed anyone to defend me, her hands would serve as my Army. I enjoyed rehashing for her stories I had read. She never said much, and when she did, it was always to send an important message.

The Navajo sister and brother seek your help to find their brother. A piece of their life is missing, and they are using the newspaper, print and online to get help. My grandmother was very private, but if she was in a similar situation, I know she would have gone to the media to get help.

Thanksgiving is a time to share, give and spread our love. Thank you for reading my blog and allowing me the opportunity to tell you about my loved ones. My hands are getting wrinkled and dry, but I know one day they will be soft again ... like my grandmother's.

Moving Forward

2005-11-17T19:22:00.000-08:00

You get up in the morning, and you never know what the day is going to bring. Today was amazing -- we met and dialogued with the new dean of the journalism and mass communication department. It was incredible because we were given an opportunity to meet face-to-face with him. He was able to see the facial expressions, voice inflections and emotions of the students as they brought their concerns and questions to the table.

Social interaction and communication is important. We share ideas, either verbally or non-verbally, whether controversial or not. Making every effort to have meaningful discussions bring great results, such as our meeting today. Dean Callahan seemed excited as he listened to suggestions and inquiries by a diversified group of students, each providing fresh ideas and different points of view.

What was my concern? You guessed right! Where do we go from here. I asked what was being done to build upon strengthening partnerships and networks with minority organizations such as the Native American Journalists Association. I was amazed at the dean's familiarity with "Unity," the minority journalist organizations, which includes the National Association of Black Journalists, Asian American Journalists Association, National Association of Hispanic Journalists and NAJA. The dean mentioned having worked with the NABJ in his former job, an indication of his past experience with one organization, and a willingness to partner with one and all. He also provided another avenue, which I hadn't thought about -- focus on high school students.

I mentioned the Crazy Horse Memorial Foundation, now in its sixth year hosting the Native American Newspaper Career conference for high school and college students in an effort to introduce them to journalism as a career. What I did not mention is that among its sponsors is Al Neuharth, the founder of USA Today and the Freedom Forum.

Like so many non-Native American Indian professionals, Neuharth is a strong supporter of diversifying newsrooms across the country. According to the Crazy Horse national event press release, Neuharth stated that diversity is lacking in the news business, and he is "embarrassed and ashamed" of the miniscule numbers of Native Americans in newsrooms. He emphasized that a career in journalism provides a "window on the world" and encouraged the participants to pursue opportunities in journalism to provide much needed diversity and cultural perspective.

In addition to Neuharth, there are other sponsors of the annual newspaper conference: the South Dakota Newspaper Association, South Dakota State University Journalism Department and the University of South Dakota Journalism Department. This is an example of the possibilities of partnering in an effort to reach out to Native American Indian high school and college students. The goal is to ensure that newspapers reflect their communities. The stories the newsroom staffs produce should closely mirror the diversity of the population.

Yes, it was quite a day! It's fun to play with ideas and watch them come to fruition. Today, we helped to chart an aggressive course to build a stronger institution and voice. My language and culture is in the process of shifting, which in some cases causes people to take passionate stances about their beliefs, and polarized views on beliefs and practices are voiced. Not all of us agree, but that's OK. Words may define, but journalism connects us all. We are moving forward.

Navajo Language Here to Stay

2005-11-10T16:06:00.002-08:00

Yá'át'ééh ("hello" in my language). This evening I am opening up my backpack to share with you three things that never leave my side, or shall I say, my back: a dictionary, The Associated Press "Stylebook 2005" and, yes, my little book, "The Elements of Style." These books are worn, with smudges from sweat and tears. I use these books as tools to help with my writing. I also have another tool that never wears or tears -- my Navajo language.

I chose a couple of sentences from my little book to explain the importance of keeping my language alive. In the first sentence of the foreword in "The Elements of Style," Roger Angell wrote, "The first writer I watched at work was my stepfather, E.B. White. Each Tuesday morning, he would close his study door and sit down to write the 'Notes and Comment' page for The New Yorker." In the second paragraph, he wrote, "Writing is hard, even for authors who do it all the time."

Writing and speaking the English language and building the words into sentences, paragraphs and eventually into stories has always been difficult for me. I spent most of my life putting these pieces together. Angell goes further, mentioning seeing his stepfather at work -- writing. My first language was the Navajo language. Unlike Angell, I did not watch my mother or father write, but instead heard my mother talk my language; she never learned to talk or write the English language. I grew up learning the language, and today I am still learning. I never asked questions of my mother, which is why I have difficulties pronouncing certain Navajo words, such as plants, animals, astrology and a host of others. It wasn't until recently that I learned to write my language.

"But we are all writers and communicators, with the need at times to please and satisfy ourselves (as White put it) with the clear and almost perfect thought," Angell wrote. For me, that "almost perfect thought" happened several years ago when I decided to learn to write my language. The late Alyce Nuendorf, Ph.D., encouraged me to write my language. At the time, Professor Nuendorf taught at the University of New Mexico in Gallup. Nuendorf started each class session in a sweet voice, "Ya'át'ééh." The ground rule was we would speak only in the Navajo language during class. She told us how she was oftentimes discouraged by the lack of enthusiasm by Navajo students not wanting to learn their language.

For the entire semester, we talked and learned to write the basics of the Navajo language. The last day of class arrived much too quickly. I was happy with the results of my hard work, but I was sad because I knew I wouldn't be speaking or writing my language, anymore. I hugged Nuendorf and told her I would visit soon.

As I surfed the Internet tonight, I came upon the sweet voice of a young girl named Regina, giving a 30-second audio in the Navajo language. Regina expresses what the Navajo language and being Navajo means to her.

Nothing is ever sure, but somewhere out there, there's a strong, vibrant voice like Regina's: promise for tomorrow.

We all wear and tear like my paperback books, but our language never ceases. Indeed, writing the English language is hard, but writing and learning the Navajo language is just as challenging, if not more. You see, I've been at this all my life, and it took a special lady to knock sense into me -- Ahé'héé (thank you), Ms. Nuendorf. And thank you to E.B. White and William Skrunk, Jr.

Skin Color

2005-11-03T19:20:00.000-08:00

As Dineh (Navajo), I consider myself different from non-Navajos in terms of my culture and tradition. However, we have many things in common. For instance, we probably could all recall the bully(s) in elementary and high school. I remember the girl and boy bullies at my school. This is a story is dedicated to my best friend -- Linda -- from my days in elementary school.

I went to a small public school on the Navajo reservation. The majority of the students were Navajos with few whites. My best friend, Linda, was white. Her parents managed the local trading post. Linda and I were considered high achievers by our teacher. We did everything together: had the same lunch boxes, fixed a similar lunch menu, dressed the same, did homework together and told secrets. We were inseparable. One day, we were walking back from school, and the three girl bullies caught up with us. They yelled to Linda, calling her, "the white stinker." Up until then, I could handle their name callings. I couldn't hold back my anger anymore, so I shot back at them. I told them they were rude, acting like little kids. That did it. They pushed me, threw me down to the ground, pulled my hair and started kicking me. I heard Linda shout to them to stop. Instead, they started attacking her, too.

In the process of the beating, they managed to take off our panties. They yelled, "Your panties stink just like both of you!" They ran off. As the dust settled, we examined the damage done to us: our soiled dresses and bloody noses with a few scratches here and there. I sat next to Linda, put my arms around her and told her I was sorry for what they did to her. She told me it wasn't my fault. I told her it was my fault to a degree because I am a Navajo and so were they; I was apologizing for their actions.

From that day forward, I did not want to be a Navajo. I told Linda I wanted to be white like her. We cried and told one another we would not tell anyone for fear of retaliation. This single event convinced me to leave my community and get away from the mean girls. I got baptized by the Mormon Church, so I could live with a white family while attending school in Utah. I eventually got accepted and was placed with a family in Orem, Utah.

I liked my new family, but things just weren't the same. What did I miss in addition to my parents, sisters and grandparents? My culture, tradition and people. Here's a brief snapshot of my tribe, the Navajo or Dineh. I lasted but a couple of weeks in Utah, before I returned home.

I am proud that I spoke up and stood my ground, even if it meant getting attacked. I realized that I can't run from difficult people. Little girls can be bullies and so can adults. The beating incident taught me to be accepting of others, to be a lover and not a fighter. Most important, I am who I am. Today, these values help me to embrace others, whether Navajo or not.

Stories come in all shapes and sizes, some good and some bad, just like people. We can't be afraid to tell our stories despite the consequences. My story could be seen as unfortunate and sad, but it's a good story. It has helped me in many ways including dealing with difficult people during my reporting internships and certainly in other facets of life. Amazingly, I managed to always get an interview and a response or reaction in other areas. Maybe it's because I'm not a bully, but sensitive to others. I don't know what happened to the three girls who gave us a beating, I hope they've matured. For me, I will always be a proud Dineh woman even though at times I might get rediculed or verbally attacked by people who enjoy picking on others. I am sure Linda has grown to become a strong lady, too.

Time Heals

2005-10-27T21:38:00.000-07:00

Changing the face of leadership in mainstream newsrooms, television stations, and radio stations is the motivation behind one organization -- Native American Journalism Association. NAJA has helped many Native American Indian students with scholarships and training programs across the United States. However, the lack of funding negatively affects efforts to widen opportunities for minority journalists and professionals to enter newspaper management.

This summer, CNN awarded $1 million to several minority organizations, namely the Asian American Journalists Association, the National Association of Black Journalists and the National Association of Hispanic Journalists during the 2005 World Report Conference in Atlanta. CNN is to be applauded for this major effort. However, one thing it did not do -- include NAJA along with its sister organizations.

According to a NAJA press release issued in response to this action, NAJA president Dan Lewerenz (Iowa Tribe of Kansas and Nebraska) expressed disappointment. Lewerenz said, "Native people are the most underrepresented of all minorities in national network news. I don't know of a single Native person currently working in news production for CNN. And many of our students attend colleges that don't have formal journalism programs or television training opportunities. CNN could have taken tremendous strides toward correcting these imbalances, but chose not to. That's what makes this particularly painful."

In one word, "painful" sums it up. As a recipient of the NAJA scholarship, I am a product of NAJA's commitment to help educate Native American Indians in journalism. I am sure there are many students who need a helping hand to make ends meet while in school. Indeed, it is disheartening to learn of CNN's no-action. In remaining positive, perhaps as an organization and students, we did not make enough noise. Maybe they don't know of our existence? I can give many reasons, but it all boils down to a question of whether they purposely chose not to help. Whatever their reason, my dreams for the moment have been shattered. I have been broken, but like all the other times, timing is on my side.

In several months, I will have completed one step in my progress toward becoming more directly involved to ensuring that we are heard. I will use my acquired knowledge coupled with a journalism degree from ASU Walter Cronkie School of Journalism and Mass Communication to knock on CNN's doors. If they refuse to give a reason why they did not give support, I will give them a reason why they should.

My struggles maintaining grades and keeping my family, relatives and community close at heart is difficult at times. The pain of losing my maternal grandma and relatives does not help, but sitting here tonight at Starbucks in Flagstaff, Ariz., sipping on Pumpkin Spice Latte and writing this blog in response to CNN's no-action, is a wonderful, blessed feeling. Time heals.

Walking in Beauty

2005-10-20T21:27:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the dirt floor hogan felt good, waiting for the ceremony to start. My paternal grandma Claudia walked into the hogan with the help of my sister. I heard my grandma ask my sister if I was wearing traditional clothes. "She knows better not to be wearing those pants that expose her legs," she said in the Navajo language. I smiled at the medicine man who was sitting to my right. I thought, "Yep, sounds just like my late grandma Helen."

The medicine man was preparing the various herbs used in a protection ceremony. Both he and I sat on a separate sheepskin, with the medicinal herbs, bundles and gourds placed between us on a cloth. As he arranged the various medicine bundles, arrowheads and other ceremonial items, he asked what I was studying. I started to explain "journalism" in the Navajo language. He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. His forehead wrinkled, and his small, moist eyes seemed to pierce me. "I know what you are studying," he said. "You are studying to become a messenger."

He explained to me that he considers himself a messenger between his patients and the Holy Ones. He told me that our communication with the Holy Ones brought us to present time. In a slow and soft voice, he said the profession isn't called journalism but a messenger. He cleared his throat and drank some water, an indication he was ready to begin.

As he prayed and later chanted the traditional songs, I closed my eyes and remembered sitting in the same spot for many years, having different prayers and ceremonies conducted for me. I had changed, but he hadn't. He was still the medicine man and elder I have known since I was 14. The 85-year-old medicine man's voice was still crisp and clear. In the background, I heard a soft voice chanting. My 87-year-old grandma Claudia was singing along, on beat, hitting every note. As I listened to the words, I thought about many things. I thought about my life, my professors, the students and the many people I've come to know. I also thought about a time not long ago.

Two fellow students and I were assigned to the same group by the staff at the American Indian Journalism Institute at the University of South Dakota in Vermillion. We each completed one week of photography and one week of writing to determine our placement. During one of those afternoons, we were sent on an assignment to take photos using techniques we had learned in class. We left the campus in Lailani's little "rez rocket," listening to pow-wow music blaring from the car stereo. They started dancing while driving, waving their arms, nodding their heads in unison. They were definitely in the mood of expressing a different type of communication -- Indian pow-wow dancing. "Let's do it," Lailani said to Georgia. Within seconds, we had parked at the far edge of the Wal-Mart parking lot. They used empty Diet Pepsi plastic bottles as gourds and feathers to dance to the drum beat. I remember listening to the songs and watching their footsteps keeping the beat. At the same time, I was steadying the camera, taking shots from different angles. Indeed, we were being silly, but it was all for a reason. Georgia and Lailani kept their way of life by dancing with words, different from my culture. What bonded us was we had missed our way of life.

I snapped back to reality when the medicine man finished the first four songs, with still more to go. I opened my eyes and saw my grandma, my sister and my niece, with their eyes closed. Someone was a note off ... my sister. I was encouraged by her learning the old ways. I am sure in due time, my niece will be humming once she becomes fluent in the Navajo language. I focused and repeated the words of the prayers: "Beauty before me, beauty above me, beauty around me ..."

I had learned something important from the medicine man. In my traditional world, I am a "messenger." I won't learn all the traditional concepts of my culture, but knowing a little on both sides of the world helps to maintain balance and walk in beauty.

Voices from the Past

2005-10-06T22:03:00.000-07:00

A huge lump formed in my throat, next came the tears. I wasn't prepared to watch a 1954 video about Navajos in Arizona and New Mexico. The video, Navajo Canyon Country, filmed by a non-Navajo, inaccurately described Navajos as a lonely people living in "lonely hogans" and on "lonely land." It also mentioned other inaccurate information.

Now, I am going to tell you a little about who I am. As Navajos, we refer to the land as Mother Earth. We do not consider the land as a "harsh land." Our creation story tells us that we were made from the sand. The color of our skin is the same color as the brown sand, and that is why the top of our home, the hogan, is covered with sand.

Today, many Navajos still live in hogans, with or without electricity or running water. Yes, it might look "primitive" to an outsider, but as a Navajo, to think that would be lacking an appreciation of our historical experience and dignity. Thus, living in hogans might appear "primitive," but for us it's a cherished way of life.

The sun is our father. At dawn, we face east to offer our blessings with white corn powder, which represents the coming daylight. At noon, we face east or south to offer the corn pollen, which represents the yellow sun. In the evening, we face west to offer the yellow corn powder, which represents the yellow sun rays cast at dusk. We never face north to pray except during a healing ceremony to ward off evil or negative spirits. These spirits are sent to the north to be taken care of by the Holy One. The Holy Ones watch over us from the four directions (east, north, west and north). Hence, we are never alone.

While viewing the video, I thought about my grandmother, recalling her action and words. The vivid imagery of her dry, chapped hands, tightening around my little, soft hands flashed through my mind. In a serious tone, she told me how we were "slowly getting out of their grip," that much of what they say about us was distorted and disfigured. This is what "nearly destroyed us," she added. I had no clue what she was talking about at the time. Years later, I am finally beginning to understand, perhaps, what she meant.

My grandmother might not be with me physically, but she will always be my guide as I tell my stories to educate others, and at the same time helping me to overcome my own ignorance, which so blinds my intellect.

For these reasons, I am advocating for more Native American Indians to become journalists, so we can educate one another. There are few film writers, authors, news anchors, and the list goes on. Indeed, it is up to us, as Native American Indians, to take ownership of the stories of our past, present and future.

Reporting Skills at Work

2005-09-29T22:42:00.000-07:00

The long trip to my internship over the Fourth of July weekend in 2003 was OK until I passed Denver, Colo. The mountains disappeared and so did my excitement and eagerness to get to Lincoln, Neb. I asked myself if I was doing the right thing as I zipped by rows and rows of corn fields and cattle and dairy farms. Of course, it would be silly to forego the 10-week internship because familiarity had faded, so I pushed my foot on the pedal to keep me from doing a 180.

I reminded myself that I was among eight students selected to intern for the summer after graduating from the Freedom Forum's American Indian Journalism Institute. Somewhere out there, these students were also making their way to a home-away-from-home.

My home for the summer was with Nancy, a reporter who worked at the Journal Star. We had exchanged e-mails prior to my departure from Window Rock, Ariz., and she had mentioned that her husband would be returning home early from their vacation in California to meet me. Upon my arrival, Larry took me to dinner and drove me to the Journal Star, helping me to become acclimated to the area.

My first assignment at the Journal Star was a renovation project at the local park. I dutifully applied my reporting skills, and the story was placed on B1 of the local section. Out of the seven stories, my favorite was titled "Playhouse auction to benefit home," which was about raising funds for Nebraska's Children Home Society. The story was picked up by The Associated Press. I was pleased with my work, but more important, I had learned about the lives of other people -- adoptive parents. Reporting is not just about fairness, attribution, accuracy and relevance, it's about flexibility and open-mindedness, which open doors and allow connectivity to sources.

Indeed, my first internship was hectic, but with Nancy, Larry and Bart (the family dog) as my cheerleaders, best friends and family, I was able to balance things. Nancy provided feedback to my stories and told me it was OK when I ran into little problems, such as when the copy desk editor called me one night. What I had failed to do was send the final story to him. I was sure it was sent, but the botttom line was the story did not get sent. I started to give my reasons, but he cut me off and told me in harsh words to read to him the changes to the story. I was lucky because I had my notes. Whew, that was scary. That's when Nancy told me, "Don't worry, after 15 years, he still gets on my case now and then." After that, I was on a roll never forgetting to keep my notes handy and to always double check and triple check ... just in case.

Boot Camp Experience

2005-09-25T23:05:00.000-07:00

My summer (2003) internship at the Lincoln (Neb.) Journal Star would not have been possible had I walked away from the boot camp at the Al Neuharth Media Center in Vermillion, S.D.

For starters, I made a big mistake -- did not do my homework nor did I take serious that the American Indian Journalism Institute was demanding. Instead, I looked forward to a relaxing vacation. Reality hit once I got to Sioux Falls Regional Airport in South Dakota.

The little airport held more stares than airplanes. I was the only Native American Indian with three big suitcases ready to burst open. After waiting for what seemed like eternity, I was rescued by a van driven by Henry Craig, a staff member at AIJI. Craig turned out to be my savior. He had gone through the program the summer prior. He told me what to expect and the do's-and-don'ts.

For the next couple of months, I lived in a single-room dormitory in freezing temperatures. The entire time was spent studying nonstop The Associated Press Stylebook and meeting story deadlines into the midnight hours. During one of those evenings, while attempting to write a lead, I got lightheaded. My mouth, fingers and head started tingling. I left the room to go out to the atrium to seek help. I prayed in silence my traditional Dine Bisodizin (Navajo prayers) and drank some water to cleanse my mind to renew my spirit and energy.

From this experience, I learned that no matter where I am, whether I am alone in a newsroom, lost in a storm or trying to write a lead, I am protected by the Holy Ones. My traditional prayers gave me strength to walk back into the lab that night, which led to my first and subsequent stories to be published at the Reznet, an online student newspaper. Reznet is a project of the University of Montana School of Journalism and the Robert C. Maynard Institute for Journalism Education. My first story was posted in 2003, titled "Big, Blue, Furry." Check out additional stories at the "Reznet" and see also what other Reznet members are doing.

i will blog about my experiences in Lincoln, Neb., next time.

Searching for Native American Journalists

2005-09-14T10:52:00.000-07:00

Two summers ago, while I was driving to my first internship in Nebraska, I thought about how I use to spend countless hours reading history books in elementary and high school. One question seemed to always pop into my mind: Why aren't any of these books written by Native American Indians? This question lingered in my mind until decades later when stories written by Native American authors finally begun to appear.

With the help of others, I am now a part of this medium as a soon-to-be professional Native American journalist. I am grateful to the American Indian Journalism Institute, a joint program of the Freedom Forum and the University of South Dakota at the Al Neuharth Media Center in Vermillion, S.D., which served as an initial steppingstone. I realized that in order to ensure that our voices are heard, we need to communicate and embrace all cultures including our own. I don't know all the answers to my questions, but I do know that we need to speak and write for ourselves. In doing this, we learn about ourselves and bring others into our circle, so that we may speak one voice.