Contextualization: The term “sexy” can be triggering, especially for Indigenous women. Ideas of what is “sexy” and what isn’t are based on colonial constructs that affect Indigenous bodies. For the sake of this piece, I am using the term to refer to that colonial construct of deeming something sexy if it is provocative and attention-catching. Decolonization and liberation are about defining our own realities and lives for ourselves outside the gaze of colonialism and white supremacy. We’re getting there. But this piece is about that gaze and its problems.
Native joy isn’t sexy.
And Indigeneity is full of liminality— spaces and experiences that are sometimes difficult to define, that keep us moving in and out of colonization, in and out of ourselves, in and out of our cultures.
Native joy isn’t sexy.
I know this, because I see the reality all over social media, all over our experiences with others.
September 30th is Orange Shirt Day, a day to remember the horrors of residential schools, to grieve and remember history. But it is also a day that Indigenous grief is put on display. From September to November, Potawatomi people remember the Trail of Death, our people’s forced removal from Indiana to Kansas at the hands of the American government.
The tragedy is that acts of Indigenous joy, also happening every single day, aren’t valued over these days throughout the year that commemorate our grief. The grief and oppression, the hate targeted toward our bodies, cultures, languages, and beliefs, are what get the retweets and attention, the fuel that feeds the masses.
Because Native joy isn’t sexy.
Somehow this is the reality of it all: we name our grief but it isn’t truly acknowledged; we share our joy but we are asked to educate instead. So either way, we cease to exist in the psyche of today’s America, today’s Canada, today’s settler experiments.
In my book, Native, I write in the very first line that Indigenous bodies are bodies that remember. We remember the pain and the genocide (both in the past and ongoing today) and yet, we remember the joy in our everyday existence as well. We embody it all, beyond what social media can hold of us or expect of us, beyond how television shows and movies represent us. We can be fierce and ethereal. We can speak truth and celebrate that we are making it. We can be left alone.
And yet, we are told to be (and often tell ourselves to be) resilient. That word— the ability to withstand or recover quickly from something— sometimes only emphasizes that we can be abused again and again and we don’t get to tell the abuser to stop because, at some point, we’ll bounce back.
Somehow, being resilient has trapped us in a stereotype we never chose, just like those John Wayne westerns did.
We don’t have to be resilient, because our resilience requires that we continue to take the abuse thrown at us in all forms.
Am I resilient? Yes. Should I have to be? No.
Native joy isn’t sexy.
Am I confusing you with this stream of consciousness? Maybe. Are you asking, well then what the hell are we supposed to do about it? I have a few ideas.
Here’s what I give to you today, from all the joy, grief, and hope for change that I hold in my own body:
Tell the truth.
Educate yourself.
Celebrate Indigenous peoples AS you tell the truth.
Don’t ignore history, but don’t ignore the present, either.
Support Indigenous work and art without putting extra labor on us to create.
Remember that we are layered human beings who do everyday things and live everyday lives.
And also, remember that we are phenomenal and we have survived all of this.
We will continue to survive.
Celebrate our joy.
I just want to take a moment to thank you all for showing up, for reading my words and supporting me here in this space. It means so much to me and I am having so much fun writing with and for you!
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Onward, friends, together.
Kaitlin, thank you so much for this profound truth spoken to power. There is so much about it that resonates with me. My indigenous people come from what is now known as North America as well as Africa. I know something about the joy our traditions bring. I know a lot about the oppression we suffer at the hands of colonizers. As I read your piece I was deeply moved by the evocative images you chose. And then my eyes landed on a photo of a Black presenting man. My heart skipped a beat as I rarely see indigeneity portrayed as people who look like me. It may appear to be a small thing, but it isn’t. And I think you know that. This is one of the reasons I hold you in such high regard.
Walk in beauty, little sister. 🌻
Thank you for posting this Kaitlin. All of your posts here in this space have been thought-provoking and have made me really stop and think about who I want to be today, and moving forward. I'm taking steps--educating myself more, telling my friends what I've learned (primarily lately about the children found at the boarding schools and reading about their stories), and just investing in indigenous stories and art. I too, like Nicolasa, was struck by the photo of the Black presenting man. Representation matters. Sending love and light to you!