I Grew Up in Texas. My Indigenous Identity Was Erased

Growing up in Texas as a brown kid I often asked myself: "Am I Black or white?" Like many others, I struggled to fit into the racial boxes we were assigned.

The roots of this dilemma can be traced back to the flawed history lessons we received in classrooms and beyond. For example, my history teacher declared that anyone from Texas had to be white, erasing the existence of Indigenous people and their contributions.

Yet, my family's history and my own identity told a different story—one of deep ties to the land that predated the arrival of European settlers.

A transformative moment occurred when I took an ancestry test, revealing that most of my heritage was Indigenous American. This newfound knowledge filled me with pride in the resilience, strength and power of my ancestors, who I have been aware of but have been told I have no right to own by systems in place in white society.

I knew my family had been in what is now considered Texas for longer than our history had been recorded. This awareness was passed down through the rich narratives shared by my great-grandmother.

According to her stories, our roots extend into Texas, after which we ventured south of the border into Mexico, seeking deeper connections with the land, culture and community.

Growing up, I remember our community festivals, holidays and markets had traditional music, dance, and food. Most of my memories of being young play to the beat of our traditional music that has transcended time.

These gatherings were more than just occasions; they were living expressions of our identity, forging connections across generations and reaffirming the unbreakable bond that ties us to our roots.

Even as a child, I knew my ancestry influenced my mindset and my sense of identity. I noticed this distinction in how I practiced religion, it was different from my peers and the status quo, and was told it was wrong.

My understanding of my relationship with the land also set me apart, marked by a distinct reverence and awareness of it, one that respected its medicine and our role to preserve.

I had known from the stories of my family and our cultural experiences that we were not white but had to pretend to be white to step up. I felt comfortable in my identity until grade school when I was told I should not share that part of myself, and when I did I was questioned or dismissed.

Drawing from the pride and comfort I once held, before external influences urged me to relinquish my identity, now propels me with unwavering resolve to fully embrace the journey of relearning and unlearning. This path that I am walking on now guides me back to my authentic self, empowered and firmly rooted in the wisdom of my ancestral heritage.

In my opinion, the recent debates surrounding the Indian Care Welfare Act, the U.S. Supreme Court's removal of affirmative action, and the rejection of student loan forgiveness have had an undeniably profound compounding effect on BIPOC youth, revealing an intentional attempt at weakening vulnerable communities.

As Latine individuals—particularly youth—navigate these challenging times, I believe that now is a time to tap a source of strength and empowerment: the embrace of indigenous ancestry.

Recent advocacy for the transition from using Latin and LatinX to using Latine pushes for acceptance beyond binaries and acknowledges the intersecting identities of this incredibly diverse community.

Generations have endured imposed external identification that unjustly diminished this population's cultural abundance for the convenience of others.

In large, Latine population states like Texas, where people of Mexican origin reportedly constituted over 80 percent of the Latine population in 2021, I feel a significant cultural shift is needed to address and reform the historical misperceptions of race and identity.

My own later visit to New Mexico's Pueblo community further reinforced this ancestral connection. My visit started off dedicated to being immersed in nature and transitioned into a combination of curiosity and desire to delve deeper into my own heritage.

Accompanied by my grandmother—a treasure trove of family narratives and wisdom—the journey took on an even deeper significance when we arrived in the Pueblo community.

My grandmother and I immediately shared with each other a sense of recognition. She said the smells, colors, and sounds were familiar, whispering common tales of resilience, tradition, and an unbreakable bond with the land.

We talked to the community about the similarities between our traditional foods—maize, squash, and beans—architectural structures of adobe homes, and cultural practices, emphasizing the familiar thread that connected us.

To every individual we connected with, we departed leaning into familiarity, laughing and sharing.

The familiarity shared with the Indigenous community in New Mexico is not coincidental; it's estimated that over 80 percent of people in Mexico have Indigenous ancestry.

However, I believe it is essential to acknowledge the historical trauma inflicted on Indigenous communities, including the forced removal of land, conversion to Christianity, and the suppression of traditional ways of life.

This history resonates with my family's experiences. My grandmother's poignant stories have etched the painful history of our people deep within me. She shared the heartbreaking frequent discoveries of baby bones behind the church in her pueblo standing as a chilling reminder of the exploitation our women and children endured.

Regulations ensured that our traditional practices were only tolerated when combined with Christian practices, a testament to the suppression of our culture and forced assimilation.

Even in today's urban landscape my family and community grapple with the threat of direct displacement and cultural loss. The scars of historical injustice linger.

This has led to a community that is still grappling with the suppression of its cultural heritage. To this day, as a community, threats of displacement, forced rejection of tradition, and the pressures of assimilation are still faced.

Despite the systemic detribalization that many border country Latine people like myself have faced, there is hope for a reclamation of identity.

It is possible to decolonize minds, lean into traditional ways, and connect with living family members and other indigenous communities who serve as invaluable teachers and guides. Latine communities still have deep and undeniable roots of indigeneity; the evidence is in the shared food, dance, stories and music.

Now is the time to reclaim the space that was originally ours to hold. By holding space in local community, statewide and federal policy-making institutions, it is possible to challenge the narratives that have kept this large group marginalized and silenced.

With an identity that transcends borders—from both here and there—celebrating indigeneity can create a more inclusive and equitable society, where the richness of diverse identities is cherished and uplifted.

Many may not remember their ancestors' original indigenous languages, but the pride of identity can still be found in their voices, as the words of equity are still familiar.

The path towards embracing indigeneity may be complex, but the potential it holds for the liberation of Latine youth in the United States is profound.

Dismantling the barriers of historical misperceptions and finding strength in a shared heritage, it is possible to forge a brighter future that celebrates the resilience of these communities and ensures that no one feels out of place in the land their ancestors have long called home.

That reclamation requires engaging in government—by voting, participating in forums and community groups—with a sense of belonging and pride. Latine youth and all age groups need to speak up with pride in community, reclaiming their identity and promoting cultural awareness.

Individuals can become advocates for Indigenous rights, demanding political representation and participating in grassroots activism. These actions by individuals as well as policymakers can bridge historical divides and challenge stereotypes.

By leaning into indigeneity, it is possible to unlock the power of collective voice and engage civically with a renewed sense of confidence and purpose.

It is critical to embrace our heritage, amplify our stories, and stand united as Latine youth, proud of our identity and empowered to bring about positive change for ourselves and our communities.

Catherine Rosas is a reconnecting indigenous social sustainability advocate and a Public Voices Fellow through The OpEd Project.

All views expressed in this article are the author's own.

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