Standing Together: The Strength of Community in Uncertain Times
This week has felt like living through a slow-moving sickness, an illness creeping through the body of public service, weakening it bit by bit. The announcement (and then back and forth news) of a sweeping federal freeze on $3 trillion in grants sent shockwaves through public service, leaving organizations scrambling, uncertain of what would remain and what would vanish overnight. While some exceptions were carved out, the vague and ambiguous wording of the order created chaos—domestic violence shelters, suicide prevention programs, public health initiatives, and critical medical care hung in the balance, caught in political currents beyond their control. Our people, our communities, and our future were left in limbo.
For Indigenous communities, this uncertainty is nothing new. Our ancestors have endured waves of policies designed to weaken us, like slow-moving sicknesses that attempt to drain our strength. Economic decisions made without our voice, services cut without consideration of the lives they impact—yet, we have always adapted, survived, and found strength in our collective.
Dr. Twyla Baker, Mandan, Hidatsa & Arikara, shared an Instagram post recently that resonated deeply: the way a buffalo herd protects its most vulnerable members. “Buffalo in herds, surrounded the most vulnerable to keep them safe from threat. The big bulls on the outside, horns pointed outward from the center. The matriarch females form another circle behind them. The youngest, the calves are in the center, protected on all sides.”
This image is a powerful metaphor for how we show up for each other in times of crisis. Some of us are on the frontlines, shielding our communities from harm. Others are holding the inner circle, nurturing and sustaining those who are fighting. And sometimes, we are the ones who need to be in the center, held and protected by the strength of our people.
I am also reminded of the journey of salmon moving upstream, another powerful example of collective resilience and determination. Salmon migrate in large groups, navigating challenging currents and obstacles to return to their spawning grounds. Their journey is arduous, requiring endurance, strength, and the ability to adapt. Yet, they do not undertake it alone. Moving together provides safety in numbers and allows them to find the most efficient paths forward. Their strong internal senses helps guide them home, reinforcing their deep connection to their origins and to one another.
Our Indigenous communities have always understood this type of collective movement and resilience. We have survived generations of hardship by holding fast to our traditions, by listening to the wisdom of our Elders, and by supporting one another in both struggle and triumph. Like the buffalo, we form protective circles around our young, our knowledge keepers, and those who need care. Like the salmon, we persist, knowing that the journey back to our roots is both necessary and sacred. We move together, drawing strength from our ancestors, our land, and our shared purpose.
Now, as we face this manufactured chaos, the lessons of our ancestors guide us. The destabilization of federal funding and programming is not an accident; it is intentional. This disruption is meant to scatter us, to break the protective circles we’ve built. But our power is not in individual grants or isolated programs—it is in the relationships we have fostered, the networks we have nurtured, and the deep-rooted strength of our communities.
Like the salmon, we too are navigating turbulent waters, seeking pathways through obstacles and uncertainty. We rely on our community, on the wisdom of those who came before us, and on the collective strength that carries us forward. What matters most is that we stay together. That we recognize our shifting roles and honor the different ways we contribute to the whole. We are not meant to carry the burden alone. Just as the buffalo move as one, adjusting as needed to protect their herd, and just as salmon work together to reach their destination, we too can shift between roles—offering care, stepping into the fight, and resting when necessary—without ever breaking the circle.
In the face of hardship, grief, and injustice, let us remember that our power does not come from standing alone. It comes from our collective, from the ways we uplift and protect one another. Now is the time to share our stories, to advocate for the survival of essential services, and to strengthen our local networks. It is the time to resist chaos by standing firm in our collective strength. Even amid exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty, we have a role to play. We have always found a way forward.