Narratives of America

who are we & who do we hope to be?

Friends,

In the midst of an election season here in the United States, we find ourselves once again asking: who are we, and who do we hope to be? Are we the people of weird or the people of joy, and do those labels even work for most of us?

As I ask these questions, I am reminded of the incredible work I’ve been honored to be a part of with the Aspen Institute’s Religion & Society program over the last few years.

Recently, we celebrated a partnership with the US Baha'i Office of Public Affairs and put together a publication called The Narratives of America Project.

Right now we are deeply examining the narratives we’ve told about ourselves as a nation, and about each other as people. We have so much work to do, and I believe that work involves listening, paying attention to the language we use and the stories we tell, and yes, asking how art can be a part of the work that is ahead of us.

Below is an excerpt from my essay in the publication:

America is 250 years old, and instead of thinking of our own life in a linear way, how can we imagine circling back to the beginning of who we are? We must ask this not necessarily to recreate ourselves, but to examine the landscape that got us here and ask if we can imagine it anew, while casting a vision for an expansiveness we have yet to encounter on these lands.

In our culture we practice mino-bimaadiziwin, which means living the good life, a life marked by care and compassion, by kinship and belonging. We all belong to one another, so asking who we are means asking how we can live that good life, walk in that good way that upholds and strengthens our connections to one another and Mother Earth.

Just like we have taken the land and painted violence over it, we ask what stories still remain, what lies at the foundation, and what we can build over what has already been built. This takes the work of editing, of paying attention, of telling the truth and of celebrating the legacy of diversity we are building right now.

Going back to the beginning means going back before we became chemokmankik, not because we can become who we were then, but so that we can learn from that moment how to become better examples of what it means to tend to this garden, to tend to our wounds, and to hope for those who come later to add their beauty to our ever-changing landscape.

I believe we need the power of artists, poets, writers, and thinkers alongside all the other builders of our future, so as we dream, we turn again to language, to words, to teach us what it means to heal, to dream and to find our way to an America we have not met yet but hope to embrace on some future horizon.

Photo by Brandon Mowinkel on Unsplash

You can download the full publication at this link.

I hope that you will, and that it will inspire you to ask big questions and to consider what narratives you have shared and believed in your personal life and on the communal level. And especially in this time, interfaith conversations are incredibly important, and give us so much hope in the work we have ahead of us.

I hope these essays will help you ask what you want to give to future generations.

And yes, of course I wrote a poem for my essay! It’s a new favorite of mine, pondering what the future landscape of America could be:

I’ve seen an artist
take an old painting
and add something to it,
stretch the frame
and re-orient us to
a different perspective
we did not notice before.
I’ve seen a musician
take an old song
and redefine it,
add melodies and
lyrics that create
a new home from
an old one.
I’ve seen a writer
re-create a classic
and allow it to breathe
with diversity and care,
becoming better than
it once was.
So I want to be
an artist too,
and take the
landscape of the
America I’ve known,
painting it, stretching
its boundaries
to become
boundary-less,
placing in new
characters that have
long been forgotten,
remembering
those who went
before who told us
exactly who we are,
and holding space
for the next artist
to come along,
a child reaching out
for the paintbrush
in my hand.
I will offer it
to them freely,
and they will
continue the work,
the artists of our time,
the prophets of our future,
teaching us again and again
the pain and beauty
we’ve come from
and the steady possibilities
of who we can
one day become.

Photo by Júnior Ferreira on Unsplash

Thank you friends!

A few things to share with you:

1. I am now hosting 2 monthly writing sessions with paid substack subscribers. If you’d like to join us, you can become a paid subscriber for as little as $6 a month. As a paid subscriber, you are not only supporting my writing, but the advocacy work I do with interfaith groups and with other authors, building networks of support along the way.

2. Potawatomi Wednesdays are BACK, and we are celebrating back-to-school! Follow me on Instagram and check out my #PotawatomiWednesday videos, which share pronunciations of words from my books and other fun words you can use as we head into the fall!

3. I’m hosting an online zoom workshop for writers called “Holistic Care for Writers.” This is something I’m really passionate about, and I want to help other writers find ways to care for themselves and remember that working with words is an embodied practice.

   From the event page:

   Writing is holistic. When we gather to put our words out into the world, into our journals, onto the page, we are doing sacred work. In honoring that, we honor our own stories and experiences along the way. Join award-winning Potawatomi author Kaitlin Curtice as she guides you through journaling, poetry writing, and sharing with a safe community of fellow writers. Don't miss this opportunity to nurture your mind, body, and spirit.

   You can reserve your spot here.