Our Voices Rachel Muckelvaney

Prove it. I’ve heard this sentence a million times, and I’ve hated it more each time I’ve been asked. I always found it odd that I was asked to prove that I was Native American. I can’t recall a time in my life I heard someone ask another person to prove they are any other ethnicity; they seem to take it as fact and move on.

With a last name as unique as Muckelvaney, I was asked often from a young age, “Where does your name come from?” I would always answer that I am part Native American, part of the Edisto Natchez Kusso Tribe. I would be given a perplexed look, and this usually came with being asked if I could prove it. It was such a weird thing to be asked as a child, it felt like being asked to prove I was human.  Their reason for asking was because I didn’t “look” like I was native. I couldn’t understand why I was asked to prove I am who I am. I certainly know I don’t look like the native people found in textbooks, but it doesn’t make me less than what I am…right

As I grew older these questions began to feel more like interrogations; they wanted details, history, papers, evidence, anything, and everything that would prove I’m telling the truth. It also began to chip away at my sense of belonging and my “right” to claim that part of me. I wasn’t involved with my tribe at the time, knew next to nothing about my specific tribe, and I didn’t look like a native. I was thoroughly convinced that I didn’t belong, that I had no right, that I would not be accepted. How could they accept me when I looked nothing like them? How could they when I wasn’t involved with them? I made a decision that I would be “just white” from that moment on. I went on this way for a long time, and it wasn’t until a series of unfortunate events reunited me with my dad’s family that I began to acknowledge that side of me again.

I met many members of my dad’s family at the funeral of my grandfather. Much to my surprise, I was not shunned or turned away for not looking like them, in fact they were excited to finally meet me. I was even more surprised to see that one of my great uncles had bright blue eyes, just like me and my sisters. It was sad that the death of this man had to bring me to the point of reconnecting with that part of me, but I was determined to make the most of it. I was not the only one, my dad went on to become a member of our tribal council, and my youngest sister makes frequent appearances at powwows and competitions in her regalia as a Fancy Dancer. I began to research my tribe, learn about our history and even the history of other tribes close to us. I found myself doing more searching during the pandemic, I had so much time on my hands. Social media really helped me connect with others who felt similarly to me from all over the world. I am not the only person who felt this way, like they didn’t belong or had no right. There were natives who looked native but didn’t grow up on the reservation and felt like they couldn’t connect or feared not being accepted because they didn’t face the same adversities as others. It is so easy to feel like you don’t belong because you aren’t the same as others around you.

I do from time to time struggle with people questioning if I truly am native because I do not look the part. I remember that I am not less than others or do not belong there because I look different. I am still a member, I am still valued, and I am still loved and accepted by them. That is all the “proof” I need.