https://www.facebook.com/146170181902902/

Echoes of the Earth, San Diego, CA, United States, California (2026)

06/12/2026

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.

06/12/2026

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.

06/11/2026

The U.S. Department of the Interior has launched a significant investigation into the history and legacy of federal Indian boarding schools, which aimed to forcefully assimilate Native American children.

These institutions operated for over a century, stripping children of their names, language, and cultural practices. Many faced harsh conditions, and some tragically lost their lives.

This investigation is more than just uncovering the past; it's about giving voice to survivors, honoring the lost, and supporting healing for Native communities.

Through oral history projects, the Department is listening to those affected, preserving their stories, and working towards healing.

As we learn about this painful chapter in history, we are invited to reflect, understand, and connect with the resilience and rich heritage of Native American peoples. 🌿🪶

Let’s support the journey toward justice and truth, while standing with these communities.

06/11/2026

Buffalo Calf Road Woman, or Brave Woman, (1844-1879) was a Northern Cheyenne woman who saved her wounded warrior brother, Chief Comes in Sight, in the Battle of the Rosebud (as it was named by the United States) in June 1876. Her rescue helped rally the Cheyenne warriors to win the battle. She fought next to her husband in the Battle of the Little Bighorn nine days later. In 2005, Northern Cheyenne storytellers broke more than 100 years of silence about the battle, and they credited Buffalo Calf Road Woman with striking the blow that knocked Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer off his horse before he died.
During the Battle of the Rosebud, the Cheyenne and Lakota, allied under the leadership of Crazy Horse, had been retreating, and they left the wounded Chief Comes in Sight on the battlefield. Suddenly Buffalo Calf Road Woman rode out onto the battlefield at full speed and grabbed up her brother, carrying him to safety. Her courageous rescue caused the Cheyenne to rally, and they defeated General George Crook and his forces. In honor of Buffalo Calf Road Woman, the Cheyenne called the Battle of Rosebud "The Fight Where the Girl Saved Her Brother".
Buffalo Calf Road Woman is documented as also having fought at the Battle of Little Bighorn. There she fought alongside her husband Black Coyote. In June 2005, the Northern Cheyenne broke their more than 100 years of silence about the battle. In a public recounting of Cheyenne oral history of the battle, tribal storytellers spoke of how it was Buffalo Calf Road Woman who had struck the blow that knocked Custer off his horse before he died in the Battle of the Little Big Horn.
In 2017 Wallace Bearchum, Director of Tribal Services for the Northern Cheyenne, noted that Buffalo Calf Road Woman was an "excellent markswoman", but it was a club-like object she used and not a gun to knock General Custer off his horse.
After surrendering to the U.S., Buffalo Calf Road Woman, her husband Black Coyote, and their two children were relocated with most of the Northern Cheyennes to the Southern Cheyenne Reservation in Indian Territory (present-day Oklahoma). In September, 1878 she and her family were part of the Northern Cheyenne Exodus, a breakout from the Oklahoma reservation to their home in Montana. Along the way, her husband shot and killed a Cheyenne chief named Black Crane, and their family totaling 8 people was banished from Little Wolf's band of Cheyennes. After this, Black Coyote and two other Cheyenne men attacked two U.S. soldiers along Mizpah Creek in Montana, killing one. Soldiers came from Fort Keogh and hunted the family down, capturing them 5 days later on April 10, 1879. This event became known as the Mizpah Creek incidents. The small group was taken to Miles City, Montana, where the three men including Black Coyote were tried for murder and scheduled to be executed on June 8, 1879. While her husband was in prison, Buffalo Calf Road Woman died, "some said of the white man's coughing disease", in May, 1879 at Miles City, Montana. When Black Coyote learned of this, he hanged himself in prison. She was also known as Buffalo Calf Trail Woman.

06/10/2026

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.

06/10/2026

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.

06/09/2026

Native Americans have played an important and often overlooked role in the history and strength of the United States.

The quote reminds us of a powerful truth: Native Americans serve in the U.S. Armed Forces at a higher rate per capita than any other ethnic group, and nearly 19% have served since 9/11. This is more than a statistic. It is a reflection of courage, sacrifice, and a deep sense of duty.

For generations, Native American men and women have served in times of war and peace, from the legendary Navajo Code Talkers of World War II to modern soldiers, veterans, and military families. Their service carries the weight of history: many have defended a nation that did not always defend their lands, rights, languages, or cultures.

That makes their contribution even more meaningful.

Native American service is not only about wearing a uniform. It is about protecting family, community, homeland, and future generations. It is about honor passed down through stories, ceremonies, traditions, and the memory of ancestors who endured hardship but never lost their spirit.

Their importance cannot be measured only by military service. Native Americans are also protectors of culture, language, land, and identity. They remind America of its first histories, its deepest roots, and the responsibility to respect the people who were here long before the country was formed.

To honor Native American service is to recognize sacrifice.
To recognize their history is to respect truth.
And to respect their future is to understand that Native American voices still matter today.

Their story is not only part of American history.
It is part of America’s conscience.

06/09/2026

In 1975, a rodeo cowboy who had never acted before became one of cinema's most unforgettable characters. He was discovered not on a stage, but through a rodeo announcer who knew the biggest Native American in the circuit.
His name was Will Sampson.
The producers of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest had been searching for months. They needed someone to play Chief Bromden, a towering Native American patient in a psychiatric ward who pretends to be deaf and mute. Someone who could stand next to Jack Nicholson and not be overshadowed. Someone physically imposing. Someone authentic. They had auditioned countless professional actors. None had the right presence.
Then a local businessman and rodeo announcer named Mel Lambert got a call from producer Michael Douglas. When Douglas mentioned they were looking for a big man to play the Chief, Lambert knew exactly who to contact. Six months later he called Douglas back.
""The biggest so*******ch Indian came in the other day.""
That man was Will Sampson.
William Sampson Jr. was born on September 27, 1933, in Okmulgee County, Oklahoma. He was a full-blooded member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. For about twenty years he competed in rodeos, specializing in bronco busting. He stood 6 feet 7 inches tall. He was a painter. He was a rodeo cowboy. He was not an actor.
When Sampson flew to meet with producers and Nicholson, the plane was small. Sampson was so large that Nicholson sat in his lap during the flight. Douglas later recalled Nicholson repeating over and over: ""It's the Chief, man, it's the Chief."" Sampson was hired after a single interview. He brought some of his paintings along, figuring that if he didn't get the part, maybe he could sell one to the producers. He got the part. They bought his paintings too.
On set, Will Sampson became something more than just an actor learning his lines. Director Miloš Forman was obsessed with perfection. Nicholson was full of wild manic energy. The film was being shot at the actual Oregon State Hospital alongside real psychiatric patients. It was intense and ch*otic. Sampson was the calm in the storm.
The film was released in November 1975 and became a massive critical and commercial success. It won all five major Academy Awards: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor for Nicholson, Best Actress for Louise Fletcher, and Best Screenplay. Only two other films in history have ever achieved this clean sweep, It Happened One Night in 1934 and The Silence of the Lambs in 1991.
The final scene, where Chief Bromden rips a massive marble sink out of the floor and hurls it through a window to escape, became one of the most iconic moments in cinema history. A symbol of pure freedom. Of finding your voice. Of breaking free from the systems that c*ge you.
But Sampson never forgot who he was.
""I'm first, last, and always a painter,"" he once said.
His paintings depicted the life and traditions of his Muscogee people. He wanted Native Americans to be seen as human beings with deep spirits, not the savages or background extras they usually were in old Western movies. His works have been exhibited at the Library of Congress, the Amon Carter Museum, the Gilcrease Museum, and the Philbrook Museum of Art.
Sampson also became a fierce advocate for authentic Native American representation in Hollywood. During production of The White Buffalo in 1977, he learned that producers had hired non-Native American actors to play most of the Native roles. In protest, he refused to act alongside them and shut down production for a day. That experience changed everything.
In 1983, Sampson and his longtime personal assistant Zoe Escobar founded the American Indian Registry for the Performing Arts, securing a $30,000 grant from the Administration for Native Americans. The registry became a clearinghouse for Native American actors, giving them opportunities they had never had before. Their work eventually helped pave the way for films like Dances With Wolves, which featured Native American actors in all Native American roles and won seven Oscars including Best Picture.
After Cuckoo's Nest, Sampson appeared in The Outlaw Josey Wales in 1976 as Chief Ten Bears, The White Buffalo in 1977 as Crazy Horse, and had a recurring television role in Vega$ from 1978 to 1981. In 1986, he appeared in Poltergeist II: The Other Side as a Native American shaman, performing real blessing ceremonies on set. People began calling him a real-life medicine man.
In 1987, Sampson was diagnosed with scleroderma, a chronic degenerative autoimmune condition affecting the heart, lungs, and skin. His weight dropped from 260 pounds to 140 pounds. He underwent a heart and lung transplant at Houston Methodist Hospital in Texas. On June 3, 1987, Will Sampson d*ed of post-operative kidney failure and fungal infection. He was 53 years old.
""I will miss a great friend,"" Jack Nicholson said through his agent.
Sampson was buried at Graves Creek Cemetery in Hitchita, within the Muscogee (Creek) Nation boundaries. Years later, his Poltergeist II co-star Craig T. Nelson drove hours to find the grave. He stopped at a corner store to ask for directions. The man standing next to him was Will Sampson's cousin. He showed Nelson the way. It was cicada season. The buzzing was overwhelming. Nelson approached the grave and said, ""Hey Will, it's Craig."" Within seconds, the cicadas stopped. Complete silence. Nelson never forgot it.
Will Sampson's son Timothy later played Chief Bromden in a 2001 Broadway revival of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. His sons Sam and Micco formed a duo performing Native American hoop dance to hip-hop music, and on what would have been Will's 85th birthday, released a musical tribute in his honor.
Will Sampson never wanted to be just another Hollywood star. He was a painter first. A rodeo cowboy. A member of the Muscogee Nation. A father. An advocate for his people. Acting was just another canvas, another way to tell the stories that mattered.
Every time someone watches Chief Bromden rip that sink from the floor and hurl it through the window into the night, they are seeing more than a movie scene. They are seeing a symbol of freedom. They are seeing a man who refused to let the world silence him.
He was a giant in every sense of the word.

06/08/2026

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.

06/08/2026

In the spring of 1933, guests gathered at the White House for a state dinner hosted by Franklin D. Roosevelt. Diplomats and officials expected speeches and formalities. Instead, they watched a Chickasaw woman step forward in traditional dress and begin to tell a story older than the republic itself. Her voice carried legends shaped long before the founding of the United States.

She was Mary "Te Ata" Thompson Fisher, born in 1895 near Emet in what was then Indian Territory, now Oklahoma. Her Chickasaw name, Te Ata, is often translated as Bearer of the Morning. She grew up hearing the stories of her people, accounts of creation, animals, and moral lessons preserved through oral tradition. At a time when federal policy aimed to assimilate Native communities and suppress their languages, such stories were acts of continuity.

Te Ata studied at the Oklahoma College for Women, where she trained in drama. Her instructors recognized that her talent lay not in adopting fictional roles, but in presenting the narratives she had learned as a child. She began performing Native American legends in churches, schools, and civic halls, using modest fees to support herself. Her performances combined careful research, expressive movement, and a deliberate cadence that emphasized respect for the source material.

As her reputation grew, she traveled beyond Oklahoma to New York and other cultural centers. Audiences accustomed to romanticized or stereotyped depictions of Native Americans encountered instead a woman who framed these traditions as living heritage. She presented Chickasaw stories as part of a wider tapestry of Native cultures, often explaining their context before beginning the tale.

The invitation to perform for Roosevelt marked a turning point. In the years that followed, she appeared before national and international figures, including Eleanor Roosevelt, who maintained a friendship with her, and during the 1939 visit of George VI and Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon. These appearances did not transform federal policy toward Native nations, but they signaled a willingness in certain circles to acknowledge Native culture as part of the country’s present, not only its past.

For more than sixty years, Te Ata traveled extensively, performing in schools, camps, and concert halls across the United States and abroad. She adjusted her selections for different audiences, yet she maintained a consistent purpose. She sought to counter the idea that Native Americans belonged to history alone. Her stage became a forum for cultural endurance.

In 1987, the state of Oklahoma named her its first official State Treasure, a symbolic recognition of her contribution to cultural life. She also directed proceeds from a documentary about her work toward scholarships for Native students, reinforcing her commitment to education and continuity.

Te Ata died in 1995, shortly before her one hundredth birthday. By then, she had witnessed dramatic changes in the legal status and public perception of Native Americans. Her performances did not claim to resolve those struggles. They preserved and shared stories that might otherwise have faded from public view.

When she stood before presidents or royalty, she carried narratives shaped by generations who had survived displacement and policy aimed at erasure. Her work demonstrated that oral tradition can move from fireside to formal hall without losing its authority. The stories she told were not relics. They were reminders that cultural memory endures when someone chooses to speak it aloud.

Echoes of the Earth

06/12/2026

06/12/2026

06/11/2026

06/11/2026

06/10/2026

06/10/2026

06/09/2026

06/09/2026

06/08/2026

06/08/2026

Address

Website

Alerts

Shortcuts

Share