Q+A: Native ‘Aunties’ Take to the Stage

Photo by Jaida Grey Eagle

Justice Anne K. McKeig and Sandy White Hawk are Indigenous leaders in Minnesota who will take to the stage as part of “The Aunties” performance April 20 at the O’Shaughnessy of St. Catherine University.

This site-specific storytelling series features three Native American women from the region who “share their wisdom, humor, challenges, and reasons for celebration.”

McKeig was appointed to the Minnesota Supreme Court in 2016 and previously was an Indian Child Welfare Act specialist. Sandy White Hawk is an adoptee from the Rosebud Reservation of South Dakota and the author of “A Child of the Indian Race: A Story of Return.” She is also the founder of First Nations Repatriation Institute, working with Native people impacted by foster care or adoption.

Upstander Project/Jeremy Dennis (Shinnecock)

Irene Green, executive director of the O’Shaughnessy, says the school’s Integrated Learning Series has focused on Indigenous topics. “At the O’Shaughnessy, we are always looking to program high-quality performances that feature women’s voices, women’s leadership, and influence,” Green says. “And because nearly half of the undergraduate student body at St. Kate’s identifies as BIPOC and because of our core value of social justice—we are especially interested in centering BIPOC artists, BIPOC creative vision, and BIPOC perspectives in our work.”

We spoke with McKeig (Indigenous name: Awaniikwe, meaning “mist woman,” White Earth Nation) and White Hawk (Sicangu Lakota) about the production, “aunties” culture, and their own lives. We used the terms Native, Indian, and Indigenous at their preference.

Theater is essential to the intellectual awakening of people. This all seems like a glorious undertaking. It seems so much more about shared experience than acting. Are you still learning about your culture with each experience?

McKeig: Absolutely. For me especially, I grew up on the reservation, but I didn’t grow up in a traditional home. My dad was Native, my mom was non-Native, and both had influences on where I went on my lifepath, but I certainly did not grow up in traditional house. Even in my professional life, in doing Indian child welfare and child welfare, I came across all these people like Sandy who really took me to another level of understanding as to where my family comes from. That continues to happen all the time. Whenever I hear a Native speak I think, “Oh, I didn’t know that.” You continually pick that up. It’s a lifelong learning.

White Hawk: You hear our elders say that all the time: “The older I am, the less I know.” I think a different way to explain it is how comfortable we are today. When we are separated from the community, we don’t know anything about cultural norms. I had no idea there were as many tribes as there were, or anything. I knew what your average white person knew about Indian people: nothing. So, today I am super comfortable and can talk and go anywhere. I understand now through the healing process and ceremony that I was born Native, and no one can take that from me. I just have to relax and let that DNA flip open and be who I was meant to be. That’s what the journey is for those that have been separated, and sometimes the person doesn’t have people around them to help them understand that. I was fortunate enough to have that. Today, I can say I am Lakota, Cokta Najiŋ Wiŋyaŋ. I know what that means in my heart. That gives me strength in my heart. And then we learn from each other, like Anne said. We are always learning or confirming something we were already experiencing or doubting, and then you hear someone else with that experience and you go, “OK, that’s what that is.”

McKeig: That’s what “The Aunties” project is: the ability to connect with people so well, beyond what most people think of as your nuclear family; to learn more about ourselves and our community and to help guide us in whatever it is that we’re doing. And it doesn’t even have to necessarily be female. I do think there are very powerful women who certainly have been important in my life when I think who the aunties are, but I do think of men as well. Judge [Robert A.] Blaeser has been extremely influential in my career and life. He helped me understand an obligation to the community. The perfect example: I didn’t want to apply to be on the Minnesota Supreme Court. It was not on my agenda, my radar, and he said, “This isn’t about you; it’s about our community. You have an obligation.” It’s a level of trust that I am not sure is familiar to any other community. You have an obligation to put what you want aside for the greater good because many people before us have done so at a much greater sacrifice.

White Hawk: Great example. I have the same example. It was men in my life who mentored me and brought me forward. But then, once I accepted that, then I met the aunties and the women that were already in there doing the work, because it’s usually the women that are taking that lead and doing that. But the men play a very important role in that as well, the uncles.

Photo by Jaida Grey Eagle

I think it’s interesting you use the word “obligation.” Sometimes we approach things from an obligation standpoint, but it becomes a calling, an honor. We know when we’re in there doing the work that it’s what we were meant to do. And do you feel that you’ve transitioned from it being a duty to being an honor?

McKeig: For sure, it just felt like too big of a responsibility, and I wasn’t sure that I was the right person for it. I didn’t want to get in the way, if that should have been for someone else who maybe would be coming after me. But you just sort of trust the process and trust that the Creator is going to do whatever the Creator does. You don’t ask to get appointed to that position. But it is like, if that is what should happen, then so be it. And it did. And certainly, it has been a profound honor. Yes.

Tell me what an auntie sisterhood has meant to you.

White Hawk: I’m in a phase right now where the auntie relationships I had [are] gone. And I was telling George (Sandy’s husband) the other day, I said, “Man, you know, I don’t have any elder aunties anymore. I know women, but not like I knew them. I’m only 70. That’s not an elder.” So that’s kind of where I’m at. I remember my male mentor telling me, “I’m about the only one left.” And I remember at that time—I was in my 50s—thinking, “Geez, that must be lonesome.” Lonely. And the other day I was thinking to myself, why do I feel old? You know, I have friends. But it’s different when you’re the older one. And you’re just learning to be the older one. So yeah, that’s where I’m at right now. It makes me sad even to express that, but that’s the reality.

McKeig: When I think about aunties for me growing up, I’m lucky that I had a mom who was the auntie to so many people, even though she’s not Native, but she ran the Indian Education Program. So, she was the confider, the counselor, the instructor, the driver, the person who gave hugs, and I just always saw her doing that. But at the same time, she wanted very much to expose me to the other side of my family, which was taking me out to certain parts of the reservation and learning.

I learned beadwork and about ricing and all of those things. And it was much more informalized instruction than I think would have been normal, per se, but at the same time very informal because it was people that I knew and had respect for, and I was going to learn something from them. But I’m so glad that she did that, because it did also allow for an exposure that I probably may not have had because my dad wasn’t going to do that. My dad was just my dad. I saw how he handled things, but it is an evolution.

When Judge Blaeser became my mentor, I didn’t think I needed a mentor. I didn’t know what a mentor was. It was sort of like, “Who is this person who is now taking me under his wing?” He did so in a very natural way so that I didn’t really know what was happening, and [it] had such a profound impact on me. It is just what we do. If I were to say what is one of the things I’m most proud about the Indian community? It’s a level of concern and commitment to others that I don’t necessarily see elsewhere in the way that I see it in the Native community.

Representation matters. So often the American Indian in entertainment and popular culture has been portrayed as the victim, the warrior, the spirit guide, the princess, and so on. We are seeing some outstanding expressions of the Indigenous experience: “Reservation Dogs” on television, chef Sean Sherman in hospitality, Larissa Fasthorse in theater, your own work in the judicial system. Where do you feel representation is today? Are we better off now than we were before? Is the world a better place?

McKeig: You know, in some ways, yes, and in many ways, no. Certainly better than when I was growing up. You hope that we’re going to continue to make greater strides. But it’s sad that we get excited about a single act happening, whereas in other communities, it’s happening either en masse or in much greater numbers.

For example, across the United States—I mean, in 2016, I’m the first Native female to get appointed to a state Supreme Court. And the amount of excitement that was created because of that was great. But also, the question is, “Why did it take until 2016 for that to happen?” And I’m happy to say that there have been subsequent individuals who have been appointed, but not enough when you look at that representation in its broadest terms.

White Hawk: We don’t have representation. Just listen to the news whenever they cite any statistic. During COVID-19, even, I think we were mentioned one time, grouped in with Mexicans. But any statistic that’s cited, they don’t include Native Americans at all. So, I’m salty. I don’t think we have representation [in] much of anything. It’s still tokenism, in my opinion. When we’re in there, people are still just enamored with us and our culture. So, no, we don’t have representation in the way we deserve, respectfully.

How is the act of storytelling integral to the Native experience? Is it the obligation of honoring those that have come before you, or is it telling the story for generations to come?

McKeig: I think it’s a balance. I also just think it’s who we are. It’s interesting how I think that even translates into how we learn. I was sharing with the court the other day that for me, oral argument is so much more beneficial to me than my counterparts because it’s just how I’ve always learned. If I hear it while I’m watching somebody talk, it stays with me so much longer. … It certainly is how I learned a lot about my history, which wasn’t necessarily written down, about my family and my ancestors. But it’s also the best way that I could receive that information [so] that it stays with me.

White Hawk: “Story” to us doesn’t mean what it means in the white world. If somebody says, “Let me tell you something, let me tell you a story,” you just perk right up. You know they’re either going to tell you their personal experience, something they heard from someone else, or a teaching that’s been passed on. It’s more of a teaching than it is a story, but somehow “story” got put in there.

So, when we say they’re going to share their stories, in my work, I have us change it to “testimony” because that makes people perk up. Oh, they’re going to tell a testament, they’re going to share their testimony.

And most of us have been impacted by policy. So, it’s still OK within definition to say it is a testimony because then that changes how people hear it. Otherwise, they’re just telling a story, a Native American story.

We often use words as weapons, but they can also be used to heal. Part of your role as aunties, as cultural custodians of these histories, is to tell the stories in a true and authentic manner. How do you find the balance between humor and honesty in this role?

McKeig: I think Indian people are very funny. What has built our resilience is the fact that we’re just a very funny people. I remember going to a comedy event at a Native conference once, and I had one of my non-Native friends with me and I was, like, dying of laughter during this comedy routine. She was just sitting there looking at me like, “I don’t get it.” And I’m like, “Oh, I suppose you don’t,” but it was just classic rez (reservation) humor.

For me, humor is almost therapeutic in some ways. Otherwise, the world is just a tough place, and history has not been kind to us. It’s also a way to break down barriers. The greatest compliment I’ve ever received is somebody’s like, “Oh, you’re really funny” or “You’re really authentic.” Well, thank you, because I wouldn’t want to be any other way. I think you can teach with humor. You can open up lines of very informal communication that you may not be able to do any other way but with humor.

White Hawk: They don’t often get us  Some of our Native comedians who pulled it together are freaking hilarious. If people really listen, they should be able to laugh at some of that, but I think they get afraid to laugh at whatever.

Minnesota Monthly is dedicated to the Spirit of Minnesota. How does that fit into your lives and this production?

McKeig: Well, I always say, “Why would anybody want to live anywhere else?” I always say, when I introduce myself, “born, bred, educated, and living here forever.” People say, “Minnesota nice,” but it’s a genuineness, it’s a kindness, there’s a sense of loyalty. I think people are hardworking and resilient and care about community. Obviously there’s imperfections everywhere, but I wouldn’t trade Minnesota for anything.

White Hawk: To me it just means Indian. There’s a strong community here, and I came into my work here.

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