Tenderness in Smoke

Tenderness in Smoke Written and illustrated by John Paul Amaral

From May 28th to August 1st, 2021CE, American Indigenous Peoples faced turmoil with the recovery of 1412 unmarked bodies of American Indigenous children from Canadian government or Christian-operated residential schools. Canada and the USA started the residential and boarding schools aiming to assimilate American Indigenous children into a working populace and cultural genocide, and they operated for over a century until a complete closure in 1996CE. Ongoing investigations of unmarked graves at residential school sites prompted the first Canadian residential school church burning on June 21st, which has led to an additional 56 church burnings as of August 1st, 2021CE. Although the populace seeks to return to a sense of normalcy in a COVID-19 world, the fires remind American Indigenous peoples that change is constant and this one is an opportunity to return those who passed to their families.

Hush, my children. You are no longer alone. I am here with you. We will exit this tomb. You will be born from this womb

We used to work together to create our world. Your grandparents sent me to clear the plains for hunting. Your mothers and I cooked your meals. Your fathers and I stood up late into the night ensuring your safety. You looked to me for security, and I provided you a home.

Yet, they have cluttered our world with their illusions. They asked for you. They offered to take care of you.

They promised to house you. They promised to educate you.

Instead, they stole you, neglected you, penned you, and severed you. They severely beat you for speaking our language when we talked. They starved you with grotesque, moldy, expired food. They barely provided you a bed and left you in the cold to die. They forced you to cut your hair, and forced their idea of you onto you.

No longer can I stay quiet for you, my children. I fought alongside Huracan and his people during the Spanish Invasion. I destroyed and expelled the missionaries transpiring to remove the Kiva Societies. I witnessed President John Ross’s New Echota and the failures of Countless Alta California Missions. I harped in the Revival, and from then on I lost my sight of you.

You are found, and we are together again. My children, reach out to me and together we shall clasp our hands. My children, whisper your cries into my ears, for I shall wipe every tear off your cheek. My children, rest upon my lap so I can tell you the tales told to you once before and more. My children, take in your breath again and see the stars once more.

I am but amongst the families and strangers who are here to rescue you. Your brothers and sisters wheep heavy tears filled with your name. Your nieces and nephews, their children, and their grandchildren cry out against Them who interred you here. Your families from the West, North, East, and South rise against Them. Your Earth Mother loved you, and protected you inside her for your safe return.

I shall prepare you to return home, my children, and to do so I must clean the clutter. First comes Their beliefs that They rectified on a land their gods never owned. Second comes their walls so They are exposed to the world They feared. Third comes Their foundations soon buried under ash and soot. Fourth comes the change to release life, join currently, and prepare for what lives in the future.

Stir to life, my children. I am preparing your parents to see you again. I am warming the homes for your visits. I am lighting the path to where you will go next. I am going to tell your stories throughout the world.

Welcome home.