Day of Mourning

 

In the summer of 2019, I spent two weeks in rural northeastern Wyoming for an artist residency. The Ucross Foundation was located on a 20,000-acre ranch for cattle. The foundation’s verdant grounds were carefully manicured and mowed every weekday with a hulking riding lawn mower driven by their groundskeeper.
 
On my first morning there, the newly-arrived residents were provided an orientation. The vast grounds included hills where we could hike. One trail had Tipi rings. Mentioning this provided their staff member with the opportunity to inform us that these lands were once inhabited by a number of Native American tribes, including the Arapaho, Blackfeet, Crow, Shoshone, and Sioux.

I still remember my first hike at Ucross. I rode a beach cruiser along the shoulder of Highway 14, then rode up Highway 195 (a.k.a. Coal Creek Road) to the surrounding hills. Ucross’s population was twenty-five at the time; during the day, you could traverse any of the nearby highways and not encounter a single passing vehicle for several minutes, or hours. I was all by myself out there.
 
I strode up a dusty trail toward the Tipi rings. Once I ascended the hill, I was gifted with a panoramic view of the plains, the sun shining above. A wind blew. The reeds swayed like ocean waves. As I looked out to distant mountains, I thought of all the tribes who roamed that unbelievably beautiful land not so long ago; there were no plains bison in sight. Their silence was deafening. I felt their erasure in a way I never had before, growing up in whitewashed California suburbia. And I just quietly wandered for a long, long time, listening to the wind.
 
This week, I’ve daydreamt of that land. I can see now my experience up on those hills altered my path. On that second trip to Wyoming, I realized that state—the least populous U.S. state, the tenth largest state in total area with only one reservation—is a microcosm of this nation forged by genocide. Though it pains me to learn of their history on Turtle Island, I feel honored to have that opportunity as a mestizo peruano living in America. I will always stand with my them. Today I mourn with them.