What do you think?
Rate this book


352 pages, Hardcover
First published October 1, 2018
I’m tired. I’m tired of carrying this burden of nonbelonging. It’s not really mine to carry. It belongs to my birth family, who opted not to do what was required to keep us out of the system. It belongs to child-placement policy experts, who think removing children and erasing their past by erasing information about their birth family and then placing them in the midst of a society whose history promotes a barely veiled hatred toward indigenous people will produce healthy, happy, and stable children. It belongs to my adoptive father, who didn’t question the racism that surrounded me and didn’t protect me when it entered our home in his alcohol-driven tirades. It belongs to my tribe, who refused to offer “welcome home ceremonies” because, as one tribal member put it, we’ll muddy the waters by bringing our white wives or white husbands to the reservation. It belongs to American Indians who see us as people seeking our birthright because we are trying to get something for nothing: the free health care, cheap housing, a tribal job. We are not interested in those things. We are interested in knowing who we are, where we come from, and who we are related to. We want to learn and know our culture. We want the legitimacy that these same Indian people have been given. But that burden should be heavily carried by white America, who can now pretend that, because we are being raised in a white, middle-class family, everything will be okay. For many white Americans, history and its consequences have no meaning. But right now I alone am carrying this burden and the emotional landslide has begun. (234)The numbers of Native children adopted out of reservations and birth families are staggering—by 1972, says Harness, almost a third of Native children had been taken and placed with non-Native families (227), which feels a great deal like a shitty modernisation of the (equally shitty and racist) policy of removing children to boarding schools meant to 'civilise' them (and train them to be good servants, basically). It's hard to look at Harness's upbringing and say that any one thing would have made a difference—she could have been kept with her biological family, but they too had a great deal of instability; she could have been placed with a more supportive adoptive family, but the surrounding culture would still be racist; more people could have told her the truth sooner, but there are always others who hold information that they don't want to share; and on and on it goes. No, the necessary changes are much broader: the US government upholding its promises and honouring its treaties; policies that work not just to keep children with their natural families but to support those families; investment in community resources and jobs that strengthen reservations...the list goes on.
We drive through dark forests, then stop and cool our feet in the frigid waters of the Jocko River, moving carefully on top of the colorful stones . . . Driving again, we gain elevation and go through acres of timber . . . I spot clumps of bear grass, with their ecru cones of densely packed flowers, my favorites, second only to the bitterroot. At this point peace begins to sift into my soul. I breathe easier, my shoulders relax, and a smile, unbidden, unfolds as we move silently through a landscape of mountain flowers, explosions of red, purple, white, and blue . . .
This is the Montana I love. The people I am learning to dislike and lose respect for don't exist here: people who hurt one another, who forget about one another, who fail to cherish the existence of one another, who destroy one another. They exist in the mileage behind us, and they'll exist in the mileage coming up, but right here, on top of the pass, among the bear grass and the lupine, there is no pain.