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Someone once told me that being Native is not easy. I did not fully understand the weight of this statement until I researched my own family history and discovered what happened to my Dakota and Nakota ancestors. They, like so many others, were forced to abandon traditional ways of life and assimilate into the white man鈥檚 world. Generations later, I am a result of that assimilation, a descendant with centuries of ancestral trauma running through my veins. 

Chronic mental and physical health issues have long plagued my family. It is now known that epigenetics impact health over generations. Cycles of abuse, especially with men in my family, have been passed down, and impact how I view the world. It is my responsibility to break those cycles and heal not only myself, but my ancestors.

I did not grow up Native. Neither did my father, nor his father. On the Fort Peck Reservation in northeast Montana, my family was colonized early when my great-great grandmother was given to a wealthy, white cattle rancher in 1891 at the age of 15. I do not have all the answers about why this happened, but from what Native Elders have told me, this was not uncommon. She would later be called a 鈥淣ative American cattle queen鈥� in a newspaper out of Butte, Montana. 

After she died from strychnine ingestion, her husband sent their three daughters (one of them my great-grandmother) away from their home in Montana to attend a private Christian school. Their father (my great-great grandfather) and the U.S. government wanted to erase their Native identity. They were successful for 125 years, until I met the women who would inspire my photography project titled 鈥淢atriarch: Portraits of Indigenous Women in the Pacific Northwest Fighting for our Collective Future.鈥�

In 2023, I received an art grant to do a project that had been brewing in my mind for five years. I had spent a few years on the frontlines, fighting proposed fracked gas and methanol facilities in the Port of Tacoma, both as a water protector/land defender and a photographer. I met many strong Indigenous matriarchs who inspired me to protect the land and water. At the time, I did not realize these encounters would turn into lasting friendships. I did not realize these women would help me come to terms with my own Native ancestry and colonial trauma. 

Elizabeth Satiacum was the first woman I met while photographing a public hearing in my hometown of Tacoma, Washington, in 2016. I was drawn to her cedar-woven hat and the red cape that covered her shoulders. Her warm smile made me feel comfortable enough to ask if I could sit next to her.聽

The hearing we attended focused on a proposed methanol refinery planned to be built on Puyallup Tribal land. The refinery was being planned by Northwest Innovation Works, a private shell company This could explain why, five months earlier, Xi Jinping was in Tacoma visiting with Lincoln High School students and then-Tacoma Mayor , who is now a Democratic member of Congress representing Washington鈥檚 10th Congressional District.

It was the first time I saw so clearly the tie between corporations and our local government. Witnessing the way these companies were responsible for destroying the environment and still had access to our elected officials further motivated our protest actions. We filled city council meetings, petitioned, door-knocked, and protested around the city through artful activism. The community made such an outcry about the methanol project that the plan was scrapped.

I met Nancy Shippentower when we spoke on a panel about environmental activism in Indigenous communities at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington. Her parents fought for fishing rights, and their actions helped impact the Boldt decision of 1974, which continues to guide issues of Native sovereignty 50 years later. 

Today, she instills that same strength and determination in her grandchildren. She teaches young people that everyone has a responsibility to help restore the balance in the ecosystems that sustain us.

In 2017, Carolyn Christmas and I attended the same actions opposing a liquefied natural gas (LNG) facility at the Port of Tacoma. Puget Sound Energy was successful at greenwashing the project by saying LNG burns cleaner fuel than oil or coal. The majority of people do not understand that the LNG to be stored in the facility comes from areas in Canada and the Rocky Mountain states where Native people are dying from poisoned air, water, and soil due to fracking. Nor do Tacoma residents make the connection between man camps at the extraction sites and the epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. 

The women in my photography project did make these connections, and taught me to think holistically.

Still, it was not until years later that Carolyn would impact how I view myself as a Native person. We reconnected when my father donated firewood for her inipi (sweat lodge) in 2023 and she invited me to attend. Her joy and humor were infectious and we hit it off right away. 

Our experiences are similar in some ways; we were not raised in Native households, and we felt disconnected from ourselves. We felt invisible and lost until we learned about our People. While photographing Carolyn, I asked her what she wants the next generation to know. She replied: 鈥淜now where you come from. Know who you are. Know who your people are. Once you know those things, no one can change you.鈥�

Spending time with these eight matriarchs and listening to their experiences helped put me on the path to finding myself and my ancestors. If I had never met these inspiring women, I might still be lost with my identity. I might not have learned about how colonization directly affected my family. I might not have learned about ancestral trauma and how it affects our DNA, even generations later.聽

Now I hope to pay forward the transformative wisdom and friendship these matriarchs shared with me. I share their photos and stories of building a better collective future for all of us, including generations of our grandchildren to come, so they may enlighten and inspire others. 

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Roxann Murray is an award-winning neurodivergent documentary photographer with Nakota and Dakota ancestry based in Tacoma, Washington. Her latest photography project, 鈥淢atriarch,鈥� was funded by the Tacoma Artists Initiative Program grant. Find her on Instagram @atouchofwanderlust.

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