Anne Frank, Can We Talk?

Dear Ann Frank,

I never thought I would write to you, but I am certain you would understand all that I will pen to you today. Today’s society probably looks a lot like the days you witnessed. Being a Native American, I am a minority and repressed more than many cultural communities. Even though the Hispanics and illegal immigrants are the target right now, Native Americans are now being detained too. I know you had seen the same social disorder happening around you as I am seeing in my world today.

Well Anne, I too like to write in journals. I have many where I make accounts of my life. As I page through the pages, I smile at the memories I kept but the pages that are about to get written, I admit, will be laced with fear or confusion. This time in history will be remembered, but how will the world’s stage impact me. Already, I feel a heavy state of anxiety. The “Great Father” isn’t interested protecting and respecting the culture that they tried to destroy. My journal, my story, my thoughts will unfold through the coming years.

Years, fifty-nine of them. I have quite the story, but I didn’t want to live this one. I had hoped that I would only learn about the holocaust you survived. I learned about the treatment my people had suffered while the dominant society discriminated against us. I had hoped society would have developed better but here we are, we are targets for greed and power. Over years, my culture has had to fight for recognition, basic rights and built a working relationship with the “Great Father”. I must say, “Great” hasn’t been safe. Not for my culture. Just in the fifty-nine years I have lived, I can say that I am a witness and a survivor.

Well, Anne, the times have caused me to be more aware of those around me. People I once trusted have shown their truth. I am often caught by surprise of the words people are saying right now. “Illegal”? To my eyes, anyone who isn’t Native American is “Illegal”. Yet, the tags that have been placed on my culture have had a huge impact on our communities. As children, we moved and played like all children do. However, due to the dominant society we couldn’t sing our songs, talk our language and dance in reverence. We could never be sure who was watching and now, as an adult, I feel I must watch people even closer.

Anne, my walls are closing around me. I think the fear has caused me to be content behind the safe walls of my room. To be honest, I am thankful that the snow is falling so I do not have to work today. ICE has come to the small town of Petoskey. I had read a DoorDasher who was confronted by them and the unsettling fear set into my being. That could be me. I could be one they would target just because I am brown. As I sit here writing, I decided the room was just a cocoon I can pull around me in a blanket of safety.

Once, I watched a video of your story in school. The images I saw burned into my brain. The things you saw and experienced were an awful display of humanity and unfortunately, my culture has seen that too. Families separated by authorities are a common element between us. Being abducted is another similarity between us. Trains loaded with carts of people is like our children being taken to boarding schools. As others watched in disbelief, I knew how true this treatment really is.

With a click of the television, I can watch the truth of what’s happening around me. People’s lives are uncertain. I applaud the protesters. There are so many people turning to the streets to stand up for their rights and life. As I sit here, I think, “I am one, only one, what can I do?” I could attend Protest, but my presence may put others in danger. Yes, I know they are supposed to peaceful protest, but they have shown that they are not peaceful. What’s happening in the United States, is ugly and I have no remorse in turning off the T.V.

So, Anne, as an adult, I must stand like your parents did for you and protect my family. As I sit here and ponder, I wonder what the Creator would have me do? What should my level of participation be? I stopped for a moment to consider the level to which I must rise. Just so you know Anne, I am a mother and a grandmother, so I have a lot to fight for. Like your parents, I must keep them safe too.

Older than the hills, I am older than the hills. Not really, but I feel like it. If I were required to walk the trail of tears, I would be one of the bodies laid along the path. I am a researcher. I have read testimonies of Native Americans near escape from soldiers. Most had to hide to escape. Dear Anne, as I sit here hiding from the world, I wonder where I could run with my children. What hills can we hide in now?

Since the presidential election, I have lost many friends. I even lost one who I would have given my life for. However, the love of her life leads her in a way that I can no longer trust. My loyalty is a life commitment. However, if your beliefs are a danger to the ones I love, I must walk away. Anne, how many people did your parents trust? How many friends betrayed them. I know, like Hitler, Trump is betraying our country.

Anne, I wonder how similar the concentration camps were where to the Native American Boarding schools or any other “Cultural” holding camp is. I know the students starved and were beaten. I remember seeing the bodies of the starving people in your camps. I see the poverty some of my people live in and I remember seeing the pictures of starving kids. The conditions, the abuse, the neglect of such institutions just freezes my heart. Human ugliness runs similar across all society.

You know Anne, that arm band that had to be worn? I have something similar. I have a Tribal ID card. This magic card is supposed to stop ICE from taking me away. Anne, it was just reported that four tribal members have been taken. Obviously, The Tribal ID meant nothing to the captors. If I am approached, would my Tribal ID save me or my babies? History shows, the answer will be no. Would it be more respected if the ID was sewn into an armband so we can be identified on sight. That was a cringeworthy thought but, there is the question. Anne, I wonder how you felt wearing yours.

In the spring, I must be ready to rise and shine. The big oil company is tearing up our graveyard for their pipeline. The Federal Government flipped their middle finger at us and said, “Deal with it.” So, us Natives must dig up our ancestors and move them to a safer place. Anne, I see the protest and worry that when time comes, the recovery team will be met with hate. All this strife for oil. All this strife for land and resources. I just pray they let us rise together and remove our ancestors peacefully. I must rise to this challenge.

Dear Anne, I need to be able to tell my grandchildren that I did not stay silent. Even if my voice takes me away from them, I can not stay silent. How loud is this going to get? How much more fight must we do? How can we protect our culture and community members? Our family’s matter. My family matters. I want to see my grandbabies grow and dance at their weddings. Therefore, I can not stay silent.

Anne, I want to thank you for listening. Perhaps, one day I will come back to talk. If not here, then I will open my diary, get out my favorite pen, and spend the day talking with you there. For now, I am going to curl up in my blanket and slink away into slumber. Good night Anne, rest well.

Your Friend,

Sheila L. Chingwa