#nativebook

In this book, Kaitlin writes frankly and poetically about the intersections of her Indigenous identity and Christian upbringing, and the tensions that live in that space with her. Kaitlin grew up in the midst of white evangelical culture, where her Potawatomi identity was constantly erased. Native is the story of reconnecting with her heritage and discovering what it means to belong to the land and her people, exploring themes of creation care, politics, colonization, and decentering whiteness along the way. If that sounds like a lot, it’s because it is. As a memoir, it’s a work of raw vulnerability, one that she has noted was incredibly difficult to write. “I feel deep within my bones what it means to be one who is removed, one who is assimilated, one whose people remain invisible.” she writes. “And yet, our stories will always carry us, because that is exactly what they are meant to do.” You could say this is a book written from the middle of a painful journey, where she recounts the dismantling of her comfortable faith, and the rebuilding into something new and more whole. She speaks of her ancestors, of hearing from them in dreams. She writes about laying tobacco on the water as she prays, and teaching her children about the ways of their ancestors. No doubt some Christian readers might squirm a little at this language. I found it beautiful to witness a young woman coming home to herself.

So there’s the story of her own personal experience, and, in the background, a bigger, darker story of colonization, Native erasure, mistreatment of the land, and white supremacy. If you aren’t familiar with the language of social justice, it might be a lot to take in. Maybe you’ll wonder, what exactly does it mean when she talks about settler faith or decolonizing our perspective? Rather than a book written to educate you or spell everything out, Native is an invitation to sit still, listen, and perhaps be uncomfortable.

Another confession: I sometimes felt weary with passages about current events and politics. I wanted to hear her story, not more of the ugliness that I see in the news, in the day to day life in America. But that is my privilege talking, isn’t it? All of this is her story too. All I can do is stop thinking about what I want to hear, listen, and risk being changed. If the book feels all over the place, that’s because true stories are like that. Rather than a linear beginning, middle, and end, real lives are what we have as scattered pieces come together in a slowly evolving whole.

“Telling our experiences, like I’m expressing my experiences to you in this book, is a sacred kind of work, and as we pass our stories and experiences down to our children, we are changing our children, changing ourselves, and changing the world.”

Tonight, I will pause to pray for my Mashpee Wamponoag neighbors. It’s a small thing, but if I, like Danielle Hill, believe that prayer could actually move something that seems unshakeable, or at least unite us in some mysterious way, it’s something worth doing.

And while I do this, I’ll give thanks for Kaitlin Curtice — for the painful work she does every day as she remembers herself, for the way she bravely lets us in on her journey, for the ways she calls us to change our hearts and change the world.

This book is a lot to take in. But it’s a journey worth taking with this thoughtful, brave writer. And if listening is how we open the door to change, then let us listen closer.

* This article states the hearing is on May 7th, but it has sense been rescheduled.