Biography & Autobiography
I live just over the hill from where the Wounded Knee massacre took place, over by Wounded Knee Creek. … For white kids it’s just something in a history book. For me it’s my family. It’s my ground that they bled on. It’s personal.
— Destiny, 15
Even white people who know I’m Native can sometimes act like jerks. They’ll say, “Heading home to your teepee?” or go “Woo woo woo woo!” and pound their hands to their lips, doing some lame Hollywood version of a war dance.
Others ask me questions, and some of the questions are fine. You can tell when people really want to know something in order to get to know you better. But some questions go too far. Like, because I’m Ojibwe they think I was born on some sort of different spiritual plane or something.
— Brittany, l7
My chanii [grandfather] and my nana and others ran away from the residential school they were put into. Some of the older generation like my great-grandparents looked at the residential school as a good thing, but the schools weren’t as bad for them. For my nana and chanii, it was a whole lot of abuse. They were treated really badly.
My mother says there is no way to make up for the crimes of the past. There’s only forward.
— Cohen, 14
I caught Vuckovic, and not a moment too soon. There were only about a hundred meters remaining. I flew past him, and he could not respond to my push. I was running away from him. Running toward my destiny. Running toward Olympic glory and gold. Running toward a finish line banner that every Olympian dreams of crossing first.
There has never been a war fought that was started by children—or one that failed to harm them. Children are the grass beneath the feet of the men, the tribes, the armies and the nations engaged in armed conflict. Regardless of the winner—and there is a strong case to be made that war produces no winners—the children always suffer.
