The Pride of Indigenous Being

By now, I am sure that you have been familiar about LGBT Pride—and many of you may have even celebrated it. Just as we take pride in our existence, today I wish to speak about Indigenous Pride.

To stand as an indigenous person and to embody resilient indigenous identity goes far beyond clinging to ancient views or merely belonging to an ethnic group. It is about carrying a deep history, robust traditions, and the generational heritage of a land that has, for countless generations, nourished its people. It encompasses not only the physical sustenance of working the land and the spirituality attached to it but also the political heritage of deep-rooted connections. In essence, the indigenous mark is like a precious gem that has survived countless challenges and relentless attempts by the powerful to erase it. It is a carefully developed strategy of resistance.

For indigenous peoples, the land is more than just a place to live. Every individual must construct narratives to explain who they are, and the land is the very life force of the indigenous story. Unlike how nation-states view land merely as a project, a site for tourism, or a space for economic development, the mountains, rivers, and forests are imbued with the memories of ancestors, echoes of past battles, and traces of victory. They are invested with the beliefs and traditions passed down through generations. The land teaches us about nature, balance, and respect. When outsiders try to seize or alter the land, indigenous peoples have stood firm to protect it—protecting the very rivers of life that flow from it.

Whenever authoritarian power rises, the first line of meaningful resistance is in one’s “habitat.” The indigenous habitat embodies this very idea. Within it, the ways of living, music, arts, and storytelling are essential elements of indigenous identity. Even when the state sponsors collective visions and attempts to appropriate indigenous lifestyles or impose other ways of life, these traditions are far more than mere cultural practices. They are, first, methods of transmitting wisdom and history from one generation to the next, and second, strategies of resistance. Every song, every legend, every tale carries the spirit of defiance against the erasure of the past and a hope for the future.

Some prominent indigenous leaders have, when confronted by the encroachment of hegemonic powers or the appropriation by other cultures, chosen not to confront with weapons but to craft new writings and discourses—a point some historians note. For ages, authoritarian governments and groups around the world have sought to silence indigenous voices and erase cultural markers. In America and Canada, in earlier times, children were forcefully taken to boarding schools in an attempt to strip them of their identity—sometimes to the point of near genocide. They believed that by controlling indigenous lands and traditions, they could secure dominance over nature and people. Yet indigenous peoples have stood resilient and proud. Among all forms of resistance, the most decisive is the proud assertion of one’s indigenous identity—declaring, “You cannot control us with the tyranny.” This, in its own subtle way, is a powerful challenge to the arrogance of those in power.

What we often hear are old, outdated ideas clinging to obsolete beliefs. Some ask whether certain cultures have lost touch with these old ways—and indeed, they are aware of them. Nowadays, some indigenous leaders are even welcoming LGBT identities within their homes, and we see signs proclaiming “a safe space free from domestic violence.” The question then is: who gets to revise what is old? From an indigenous perspective, isn’t it a matter of self-determination? When external forces, like domineering patriarchal figures, claim “we will fix you,” the indigenous response is to reject such interference. When the power of self-determination lies with the people, then if they choose to change, that is natural; if not, they will stand up and protest, entering the struggle for human rights—just as in other nations.

Today, indigenous peoples include those who are educated and have studied abroad. They integrate traditional practices with modern ideas. In facing modernity, many continue to hold fast to their roots and political heritage rather than compromising for superficial gains. Indigenous networks in America, for instance, are striving to teach others the importance of living in harmony with nature, rooted in their cultural heritage. Although in earlier times people saw themselves as the lifeblood of nature, with the shift from agrarian to industrial modes of production, attitudes changed—people began to dominate and exploit nature, seeking fleeting pleasure. Yet even amid a rapidly changing world, global indigenous networks continue to emphasize respect for both the land and humanity.

Every indigenous artwork, every tale, every festival speaks to something deeper. They remind us that power is not solely the domain of money or those who hold conventional authority. Their legitimacy is intricately tied to history, to the strength of communities, and to the will to protect what is sacred. To stand as an indigenous person—even if others label you as “the other,” exclude you, or reduce you to a decorative symbol during national celebrations—is to hold a pride that endures the oppressive weight of authoritarian domination. It is a call for even more visible networks among those who have suffered, a call for political solidarity. Under the banner of “indigenous,” it is not about everyone being the same, but about celebrating the diverse streams that flow together. Simply put, both “Unity in Diversity” and “Diversity in Unity” are vital for embracing our multifaceted nature.

When one declares, “I am indigenous, a member of the Indigenous/First Nations,” it is a proud defiance against those who try to coercively reshape cultures or appropriate political legacies. It is a testament to a history, a land, and a habitat that remain unbowed amid oppression. This pride is not a boastful display; rather, it is a beacon of hope for all those who resist authoritarianism—a reminder that “we can endure.”