Episode 27

The sting of those words, spat like venom, still finds its way to my eyes, even after all these years. Sixteen years. It feels like yesterday, and yet a lifetime ago. Tooele, Utah. A place that was supposed to be a fresh start, a new chapter. Instead, it became a stark, brutal lesson in the enduring ugliness of prejudice. Ny, my late husband, a proud Apache man, and I, we just wanted to live our lives, to be part of a community. We needed to get our laundry done, a simple, mundane task. But to some, that was too much to ask. "We don't want your kind around here. You're nothing but a filthy savage, the only good savage is a dead savage." The words hung in the air, thick with hate, leaving us exposed, vulnerable, and utterly alone. Ny’s face, usually so full of quiet strength, crumpled that day. He’d faced prejudice before, of course, but to hear it so baldly, so viciously, aimed at both of us, it was a blow that cut deep. He didn’t believe it himself until he saw it, heard it, right there in front of him. The shock on his face mirrored my own. It’s a moment etched into my memory, a scar that remains raw. They forget, these people, that we were here first. We are the original inhabitants, the true Americans, Canadians, Mexicans. We are the ones who have always called this land home. And yet, we are treated as outsiders in our own ancestral lands. It’s a bitter irony, a constant ache that never truly fades. It's moments like these that remind me why this book, this telling of our stories, is so desperately needed. To confront the ugliness, to name it, and to offer a counter-narrative of dignity, resilience, and truth.