08/08/2025
Far to the south, in the river of grass the people call the Everglades, our Miccosukee relatives stand watch. This land is not just earth and water — it is a living relative, a protector, a keeper of memory. In the long-ago days, when the Seminole Wars came, these wetlands opened their arms to shelter the people. They still stand ready to do so again, if kept whole.
When builders came without respect, without the ceremony of asking, without speaking to the people or listening to the land, many hearts grew heavy. But the people did not stand in silence. The Miccosukee, joined by allies, took their voices to the courts and to the world. They reminded all who would hear: these waters are life, these rights are written in the old agreements and in the Creator’s law, and no one has the right to erase them.
And now — even if for a short time — the great machines have gone quiet. The judge has said, stop. This pause is a breath, a moment for the people and the land to gather strength together. In our way, we know even the smallest pause can turn the course of a river.
I see hope in this. I see the ancestors walking beside our relatives there, as they did when the great airport was stopped long ago. I see the spirits of the birds, the alligators, the plants, whispering encouragement to those who defend their home.
The lesson for us all is this: the circle is strong when we rise for one another. What happens in the Everglades matters here in Pimicikamak, and what happens here echoes there.
Stand with them in spirit, offer your prayers, speak their names in your lodges. For when we walk together — north and south, east and west — no wall, no fence, no false claim can stand for long. The land will remember us as those who came when she called.
This is how we win — by remembering we are never alone.
—Kanipawit Maskwa
John Gonzalez
