I watch the hosts who swing big and loud, playing activist for clicks, and I think about how quiet the elders are when they enter a room. They don’t announce themselves because they don’t need to—they’re already here, already known. Most of the people shouting about decolonization online wouldn’t recognize a land back ceremony if they tripped over the fire. I’ve seen more real resistance in a single beading circle at Wounded Knee than in a year of these performative threads. You can’t hashtag your way into our winter counts. Some of us are still here, doing the work where the light don’t reach.
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