Contact us at: whispernthunder1@gmail.comMercy for the People
~Taina Amayi
I have fought for so long, and have struggled
so hard for my peoples' rights to be upheld and
protected. At this point in my life I feel like an
absolute failure, and my spirit, and my mind,
have been irreparably damaged.
After that cheerful introduction, I will attempt to stay afloat on this sinking ship upon which I travel the Bermuda Triangle of Indigenous sovereignties and rights. If I seem angry, disappointed, dismayed (and more), it's because I am. I have lost too much in the year 2025, and have been given nothing but demands from depleted resources within my spiritual "storehouse" of music, spoken and written word. Ah, but I won't exaggerate, because should the truth be told, nobody, absolutely nobody, cares.
No one wants to hear what I have to say, so for quite some time, I have been silent, except for this commentary that I am writing for Whisper n Thunder. Please forgive my ranting, but please understand the reasons why, or at least try to understand.
This old Apache woman is literally running on fumes, and my metaphorical tires are running on their metaphorical rims. At the end of the tunnel I see light. The good news is that it's not a speeding train coming at me; the bad news is the waters rising to overwhelm me as the tunnel floods with toxic waters of too many battles lost.
A bit melodramatic? I think not. If you walked in my moccasins you would know that the soles are no longer there. I now hold my moccasins in my hand because my feet were bare, and cut, and broken, having tried to walk on broken glass on broken grass despite having moccasins on. Life broke my spiritual moccasins along with my too broken heart.
If this appears too complicated, or worse, convoluted, I suppose it is one or the other, or both.
As I write this, I struggle with what I can,, cannot, will, or will not write, and subsequently I don't think it will matter.. Somehow I suspect that IF this quasi-tell-all is read by anyone, it will be forgotten, and that is okay.
On a "positive note," I can say that my life is an urban reflection of my Rez counterparts. From poverty to mistreatment, to downright abuse, the only difference is the rez. I reside in the "Concrete Rez in the Heartland" (© Raven Sanchez).
Very few people, if any, will understand how an Indigenous person can suffer like this in the "wonderful" and "technologically advanced" 21st century. The problem is how people practically "worship" the wonders of technological advances used by governments and corporations to control us, and to a terrible extent, to create the disparities that leave people like me in very bad circumstances.
From the "mundane" to the "mystical" and the "strange," my life has taken inexplicable twists and turns that have left me metaphorically paralyzed - afraid to do or to say anything on behalf of people and all living beings for whom I lived to defend and to serve. Even THEY have turned against me, adding their own cruelties to those of the ones causing the original harms.
I have been left alone to face starvation (no exaggeration), freezing with little to no way to find warmth; since the beginning of 2025, I lost my partner to a systemically thieving nursing home; I went from 135 lbs to 89 lbs in less than two months... but I digress. The "mystical" and "strange" of it all was how close and how many times I almost died, yet I didn't when I should have. To those who might say that this is a good thing, I say that my times of getting through the "near death experiences" exposed me to crueler and meaner treatment, psychological abuses, isolation, forced invisibility, spiritual fragmentation, and mountains of discouragement, and greater fear to speak or to act.
I wish that these things were not true. I wish that this was a fictional tale told in order to share a lesson, but it is not. This is the true story of an Apache woman with very little to nothing left to give. I suppose that this is a true story of a broken Apache woman expressing her pain, and left longing to be with the ancestors so to not be alone anymore.
I titled this strange treatise, "Mercy For The People," and you may wonder why. I will explain. I desire mercy for my people as the government-corporate-complex continues to rob from them at an alarming and exponential rate. Along with the theft Oak Flats, which is Sacred to the Indé, and to other nations, as well, there will come irreparable damage to the land. Yes, I want mercy for my people; I want fair and respectful treatment of my people's who utilize Oak Flats for ceremonies and spiritual connection. I want the government to do what is right for a change. I still care, but my spirit is too wounded to act in any way at all. Nobody who still acknowledge my existence can't understand just how damaged I am.
Where does my story fit in light of the above? It's about belonging, and I do not belong anywhere; I never have.
I am of the people, yet, I do not belong. I am not welcome among them, and nothing that I do or say, even to help them, matters, and never has mattered. My spiritual dark night has always been there. Fifty-nine years as a musician, a teacher, a mentor, and protector have left me in a deep, empty, and lonely darkness. I am under constant and awful attacks. I was strong enough to face such things at one time, but not anymore.
I will conclude this treatise with no apologies. "Federally recognized" nations are barely visible despite "federal recognition." I am less than invisible. I am practically non-existent in real life, EXCEPT for being used to discredit, to attack, and if possible, to destroy. I can't explain who, or what, protects me, thereby preserving a life now unbearable to live. It feels more like cruelty than mercy or kindness. No, I will not apologize. I can't apologize. I have tried inspiring and encouraging others through tools that I mistakenly thought were useful.
I never sought out wealth or fame. I just wanted to share something good that I had hoped would help others.
I got more than I bargained for. I am poor, and as of late, have "earned" some level of infamy and disgrace.
The lives of Indigenous people are tragically sad, with some exceptions. Perhaps my life is one more tragic story of a broken Indigenous woman with no hope left.
https://youtu.be/YMZfZN7ekNE?si=qbaM4ZK4Ch_wM0hU
Video by Lozen's Child
Photo For Article: © by Taina Amayi