Personal Narrative: Myself As An Indian-American

We Native American’s live a horrid and terrifying life full of mistreatment, brutality and often complete genocide if we do not comply with the demands of the European’s. The foreigners not only changed our lives for the worse, but also brought along with them violence, disease and death. They changed my way of life, our way of governing, and if we don’t comply to their way we might as well have asked for a death sentence. People called us “Savages” and “Violent”, but what choice were we left with when they invade our homes ultimately destroying our way of life. Being put in the position of watching women and children slaughtered before my very eyes everyday is something I have to experience for the rest of my life. We Native Americans were pushed to the edge of extinction by the total genocide induced by the European People.

I am a Native American born and raised in Jamestown, Virginia. It was always just my father and I, my mother passed away when I was an infant, so my father raised me to be an independent woman. My father is the head commander of the tribe. He only allowed me to go to the village near our tents. I never went further than the village, till this one day that I was feeling so curious about what was out there, so I decided to walk beyond the village to see what there is to explore.

As a first generation Indian-American, I am no stranger to being a part of a distinct community while observing two unique cultures. Traveling to India exposed me to a dynamic population with rich diversity comprising of numerous languages and differing religions. Though these individuals may have had differing customs from their neighbors, there were similar ambitions to conquer grinding poverty. This poverty can be clearly noticed by seeing citizens sleeping on floors of a railway station, or the lack of air conditioning in searing hot weather. The frailty and mortality of the human condition was starkly visible in India. As a fellow human, I was humbled not only by the lack of privilege and opportunity of many citizens, but also by their

We have learned that Columbus and his team discovered Indians hundred years ago; we know that the Pilgrims started Thanksgiving tradition because Indians helped them survived their first brutal winter; we know most of Americans worship Jesus, but how many people know what god does native Americans worship? A lot of people can speak English but how many people can speak in Indian language? In the lecture, “Museum Indians” by Susan Power, talks about the blue experience of her mother as a traditional Dakota woman moved into urban city, Chicago. We have less and less Indian people, at the same time, we are losing a significant culture that we should remember, called Indian.

As an uncultured, whitewashed, charter school Indian, going into high school trying to find an extracurricular activity for me was a bit of a challenge. I was very unexposed to my culture, and had friends who showed me something I could be apart of. When I saw what it was, I turned the other way as fast as I could. We walked into the Canton cafeteria on a Tuesday after school, and I can truly say I’ve never seen so many Indians gathered in one place—on time—for the same cause. It honestly felt like being back in the motherland, and never do I want to go back there. I look ahead with the only two Indian friends I had standing at my sides and as I stand in awe, they go about greeting everyone and catching up. I’ve never felt so out of place, which was was weird considering everyone usually knew who I was, but I had no idea who any of these people were.

I am an African American. You must be wondering what’s my name since im “black”, you might be thinking that its ghetto, right? No need to know where I came from, you must think that I come from the projects right? It’s not like it’s important to you. You probably think that my future plans are that I won’t finished high school and that I will become pregnant. One look at the color of my skin is all it takes. Right? Look again.

Being born in the large west African nation of Nigeria, I was aware of the economic, social, and health hardships faced by many people in my country. This reality did not escape my life and the hardships my family and I faced while in Nigeria had a profound impact in the person I am today. Fortunately for us we were able to win the Visa Lottery and immigrate to America where my passion for learning and science began.

I am Waynoka, and I am from the Cheyenne Tribe. Waynoka in my language means sweet water. Just like the water that runs through the rivers that surround and cross through the Plains, my home. Cheyenne means the “relatives of the Cree” but we call ourselves the “Tsitsistas” which means the people. My tribe lives in the plains of Northern America, we lived in the states now known as Montana and Wyoming, but we just called it home. My family was like all the others in the Cheyenne tribe, me being one of two children, living in earthen lodges, the women farming, the men hunting. I was like all the other girls, idolising Roman Nose and his righteous victories against our enemies, learning my roles in our community that I will later have to fulfil,

I am an Asian-American who will be the first in my family to go to a prestigious college such as UT Austin. I am also a swimmer and that has taught me many great traits such as time management and work ethic, of which I have transferred into my education. As the first-born in my family, continuing my education is a necessity for my parents, and thus they have pushed me to take challenging courses such as AP Chemistry. I moved to Texas during the summer of my sophmore year, and thus was thursted into a brand new enviroment, but thanks to swimming I adapted and was able to excel in both academics and extracurricular activities.

My family’s Native American heritage has influenced me by encouraging me to assist the poverty-stricken Lumbee community that I grew up in, whether that be by volunteering my time, energy, or resources. Growing up as a member of the Lumbee community, I have witnessed firsthand the struggles that many Native American families face, including living paycheck to paycheck, being ridiculed for our heritage, and alcohol abuse in many households. My culture has instilled in me the desire to educate the youth to be proud of their heritage despite the derogatory stereotypes that people associate Native Americans with. Unlike many children I was raised with, I have the opportunity to go to college and become only the second person in my family to do

It is not common for the populace to try to block out guilt of past actions of their people. I remember learning that Native American people had had their land stolen from them, their food sources were over hunted and were actively killed or enslaved. But that was never taught to me in school, I had learned about it from books and my parents. I was aware they were treated poorly in the past but it didn’t occur to me that many of these practices were happening so recently. That western setters and gold miners would kill them for taking cattle, when the tribesmen only took the cattle because their traditional food sources were gone. The Native Americans were massacred and their killers would be celebrated as local heroes. In addition, it was a shock to me how Ishi was treated as a circus show, it is natural to be curious of other peoples but how the public acted and

I was born in Darby and raised in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania but based off of my vivid memories, I considered myself to be a Southwest Philadelphian native. When I was in seventh grade, my sister and I started attending Arabic and Islamic School on Saturdays to improve our knowledge of the Islamic religion. The name of of the masjid we would learn at was called the Southwest Community Center. The masjid was not only a school for my sister and I, but also a place of worship for others in the community, which made it very different from a traditional, public school. All the boys had to wear long garments that covered their arms and legs. They also had to wear religious head wear called “kufis”. The girls had to wear long garments as well, but

Being a child of parents who are immigrants, tends to be troublesome when finding your cultural identity. Huwang agrees by saying, “ I identify with Americans, but Americans do not identify with me. I’ve never known what it’s like to belong to a community…” This statement captures my day to day internal struggle of who I am, an Indian or an American? Raised in an Indian household in an American environment I am torn between deciding which represents me as a whole. My family dictates that

I was born in Havana, Cuba and lived there for ten years. If I am honest I cannot remember much about Cuba unlike my mother; however even though I cannot remember much I always used to think that Cuba was home regardless of how long we stayed in America. Similar to most children I took after the actions of my parents while growing up. If my mother and grandmother spoke about Cuba or any topic related to it I would listen to them and then I tried to have the same conversation with my uncle as if to let them know that I was thinking about Cuba as well. I used to believe that when we flew over to America we brought Cuba with us and that was a normal thing; however my thinking was changed over the course of only one year in America.

Indian-Americans are people who either originated themselves or descend from an ancestor who was born in India. The dynamics in a home where parents are native Indians and the children are first generation born Indian-Americans are quite different from other hyphenated American cultures. The languages used within the homes as well as the rituals to show levels of respect are critical things implemented within a family unit of this stature. The spoken and unspoken rules of communication shape the first generation Indian-Americans and how they interact with others in their generation.