Adri Lera - Active Voice

Pre-gold rush, the Chilkoot and Chilkat Tlingits would use the area we now know as Skagway for hunting, fishing and travelling the trade route. They would never settle there due to the wind. Now every summer, this land is used for cruise ships. Their pearly white enamel glistens in the sunlight. They drop off thousands of white people each day who go on tours with white tour guides in big white vans over the White Pass. 

Skagway was so white it never had the space for my skin even if it was only a few shades darker than everyone else's. I was the 23rd Native resident to sign up to be a part of the tribal council.  My cheekbones would stick out like a totem pole. They were a secret in plain sight. Once word got around that I was Tlingit, things got weird. I never made a proper friend in Skagway. Only white people want to exploit my knowledge to impress other white people. I felt like a foreigner on my land. I was suffocated by the stares and whispers. 

I only moved to Skagway because I knew there was a road out. I grew up in the ocean and mountain-locked Juneau. I saved for six months to get a reliable enough car to track up the pass. I thought when I crossed the border, my Bureau of Indian Affairs card might catch fire and burn before my eyes, before being reborn into a status card. Alas, I wasn't that lucky. The flimsy paper slip only wrinkled in the tight grip of the Canadian border security agent. It was the first time I would leave the country, and it was on my land.

That day, for the first time, I visited the Carcross Commons. The last tourist bus loaded up 40 people and drove off. It was a crisp September evening; the sun was considering if it should start setting. My first stop — the Caribou Crossing coffee shop. I could smell the fresh coffee about 20 feet before I entered the building. The aroma hugged me when I entered the cafe. The dessert case had four sticky notes with Tlingit language on them. The shop was filled with more Tlingit people in one place than I had seen in six months — a total of three. 

I got a coffee and sat outside in front of the totem pole. 

A man said to me, "Who's your Mom?" 

My eyes welled up with tears and I stuttered out, "I ... I don't think you'd know her — I'm from Tlingit from Juneau." 

"Oh, haha, no wonder you looked so familiar," He mumbled as he walked away.

I let out a few tears once he couldn't see me. Tears of pain and relief. I stood tall for the first time in months. My cheekbones blended in with the totem pole. For a year, when I needed relief, I would return to that totem pole. There was no question Yukon was my home.