A reflection on identity, memory, and respect
By C.R.Luismël
Today I received an email announcing that offices would be closed “in observance of Indigenous Peoples’ Day.” And something inside me stirred.
It wasn’t anger — more like a quiet discomfort.
The kind that comes when the words meant to include us end up reminding us how much we’ve been divided.
I am mestizo: a blend of English, Spanish, French, African, and Indigenous heritage.
And perhaps for that reason, whenever I hear “Indigenous Peoples’ Day,” something feels off.
Not because the term is wrong, but because it still comes from outside — from a gaze that tries to define what we are, without having lived it.
In Canada, they use the term First Nations, and the tone feels different. It sounds more like respect than political correctness. Here in the US, though, it seems the name of an uncomfortable holiday was changed only to soothe our conscience — not to understand our past.
Columbus was no saint, but neither was he the only face of wrongdoing.
History isn’t healed by erasing names, but by understanding wounds. And in that understanding, mestizos have a crucial role:
to remember that from that mixture, a new humanity was also born.
Perhaps the true tribute to Indigenous peoples is not a day off, but learning to see them — and ourselves — with dignity. Without romanticism or guilt. As part of the same root still trying to reconcile with itself.
✌️
— Luismël
