10/05/2025
Still standing through the fire.
It’s true, the winds have shifted again. And once more, that familiar name echoes through the halls of power: Trump. The same man who rode into office years ago with the weight of corporate oil behind him, now stands again at the helm of the nation. And so, I offer these thoughts — not just as commentary, but as memory. As a man who watched the seasons turn under his first administration, and now, watches again with eyes sharpened by experience.
I do not write from anger — though we have plenty to be angry about. I write from the drumbeat of our ancestors, from the steadiness of our lodges, and the memory of every woman who has not yet come home. I write because stories — our stories — are stronger than fear.
When Trump first took office, we knew immediately that the path would not be easy. I remember that bitter January when he signed the executive orders reviving both the Keystone XL and Dakota Access pipelines. At Standing Rock, we had built not only a resistance, but a ceremonial village — a place where unity lived. His orders dismissed all that. No consultation. No consent. Just a signature and the sound of sacred ground being sold.
It wasn’t just the land. Our schools — like Haskell Indian Nations University — faced funding cuts that threatened to silence voices still finding their way. Indian Health Services, already underfunded for decades, endured even more setbacks. Clinics closed. Staff were laid off. And still, our people kept walking into those buildings with hope, because what else could we do?
And yet, even in that storm, good came through.
Savanna’s Act and the Not Invisible Act — both passed during Trump’s term — emerged because of Indigenous women, not politics. Still, the administration did sign them. These laws brought national attention to the epidemic of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, creating tools for better data, more accountability, and cross-agency coordination. It wasn’t perfect, but it mattered.
Likewise, the launch of the Presidential Task Force on Missing and Murdered American Indians and Alaska Natives, known as Operation Lady Justice, was a step — a late one, and incomplete — but it cracked open a door long shut.
Now, in 2025, the Trump administration has returned, promising to be even bolder. Already, there are whispers of new extractive projects in Alaska, Montana, and even discussions about revisiting the mineral rights of lands protected under Bears Ears — as if time had stood still and lessons had gone unlearned.
Some of our tribal leaders have been invited to meetings. Photo ops. Grand declarations. But we know too well how these meetings go. Words in English, promises in ink, and then silence when our rivers run black or our hunting grounds are fenced off for “development.”
At the same time, we face new threats disguised as innovation. Under the guise of energy dominance and national security, tribal lands are again being targeted for lithium, rare earth minerals, and uranium. The administration talks of clean energy, but our people know better — we’ve seen how “clean” becomes deadly when our lands and waters are the price.
There is talk of cutting back the already fragile funding for tribal programs, claiming “efficiency” and “reducing government waste.” But how can you cut what was never enough to begin with? A diabetic elder waiting six months for insulin is not waste — it’s a life.
Still, I will not write this as a lament.
Because even now, we are rising.
What they may not understand in Washington is this: every attack on our sovereignty only strengthens our will. I see young people learning the language again — nehiyawêwin rolling off their tongues like it never left. I see aunties sewing regalia for ceremonies their grandmothers were once forbidden to dance in. I see councils forming not just in tribal government halls, but in circles of community, ceremony, and resistance.
We are not just protesting anymore — we are proposing. We are building our own schools rooted in land-based knowledge. We are advocating for Indigenous food systems, governing ourselves with old laws older than Canada or the U.S. ever dreamed of. We are defending the land not just with signs and songs, but with science, maps, and law.
Even amid federal rollbacks, I have seen tribes exercise their sovereign rights under self-governance compacts, taking control of health care, education, and economic development. We’ve created Indigenous data sovereignty platforms, land reclamation movements, and language nests for our babies.
This is what they didn’t expect — that we would grow stronger not in spite of adversity, but because of it.
I do not write to condemn a man, nor to praise him. Trump is a symbol — of many things — some real, some imagined. But what I care about is not who sits in the Oval Office, but who walks beside me when I return to the North, to Pimicikamak, where the waters remember the treaties and the muskeg holds our ancestors.
To our allies who ask how they can help — listen. Stand with us when we defend our waters. Use your platforms to share our voices. Push your leaders to consult us, not just “recognize” us.
And to my Indigenous relatives — don’t wait for their permission. We are not waiting anymore.
We are the ones we were waiting for.
From the north wind’s breath, I remember: we are still here. And that is our power.
Kanipawit Maskwa
John Gonzalez
Standing Bear Network
