Regain a Just American Spirit
Burying My Heart with My Broken Knees: Reflections on Scars, Wisdom, and Reparations Recently, during a visit to my dermatologist, I remarked lightheartedly about the countless scars dotting my skin—souvenirs of my years as a tennis instructor, spent baking under the relentless sun by my own sundance. These thirty-plus marks, pale in significance next to the deeper, emotional scars I carry as a witness to the long-standing injustices faced by Indigenous peoples in this country. I've always found solace in nature. As a boy enduring Washington, D.C.’s sweltering summers on passive solar panels known as tennis courts. The shade and cool air provided by trees became my refuge from the horrific heat. The wisdom of the forest is where I developed a profound respect for wisdom of Indigenous communities. This connection is woven into my own history. My grandfather, both a genealogist and a government statistician, worked extensively with Native data. My line...
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