Amanda Erickson is an Apache storyteller and documentary filmmaker who aims to help people see and understand Native communities in new ways.
Erickson directed “She Cried That Day,” a film about the experiences of Native families and the community's response to the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Relatives (MMIWR) crisis, which will be shown at Atlanta’s First Voices Festival during Native American Heritage Month. The National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center reports Native American and Alaska Native women experience a murder rate 10 times higher than the national average.
The month of recognition every November and events like the festival celebrate Native art, language, film, and traditions.
We talked with Erickson about what this month means to her, the misconceptions she wants people to challenge, and the stories she believes deserve more attention.
In regard to describing your ethnicity, do you have a preference?
I was born for the San Carlos Apache of the White Water Clan. I always knew that I was Apache, but I had no idea exactly what that meant, because I grew up in Massachusetts on the East Coast. I didn't have a real connection to my own culture growing up but always wondered about it, because I look so different from my mom and younger brother. There was a piece of me that wondered what it meant to be Native. As an adult I reconnected with my father, and I started to understand, and felt understood, that I do belong to an amazing community. There is so much beauty and power in it.
Did you spend some time in Georgia?
Freshman year of high school, my mom, who worked for Delta, moved to Atlanta. I finished high school in Peachtree City. I attended Georgia State and enrolled in their film program, which at the time was focused on history critique theory, and I really loved it. So, I was going to school, living in Atlanta, and working at the Vortex.
At the time, I was still kind of figuring out who I was as a person. There’s this kind of question of, you're not really white, so what are you? It’s what I would always get asked, and I'd say, I'm Apache, I'm Native, but still trying to figure out what that meant for me. What I found in Atlanta or gravitated toward were communities of color. I felt a kinship in that space. Atlanta kind of opens that up. That's what I’m working on now, our panel discussion (part of the screening of “She Cried That Day”) is really the power of community and the power of organizing for the greater good.
Was there a pivotal moment in connecting with your culture?
Around 2015, my father took me to a Sunrise ceremony on our reservation in San Carlos, Arizona. It’s a four-day ceremony, a coming-of-age celebration. Some families plan for a whole year, sometimes many years in advance. The community comes together and they’re performing, singing, dancing, which is all part of this rigorous ceremony when a girl gets ready to walk this world as an Indigenous woman. I remember driving down the road to our ceremonial grounds and coming upon the biggest fire I'd ever seen, and what felt like hundreds of people encircling the fire, hearing the drums, hearing the music, hearing the singing, and praying. It was the most powerful thing I had ever witnessed. I walked away from it feeling connected to my relatives and culture, like a piece of me had been found.
What does this month of recognition mean to you personally?
For me, it's year-round, recognizing our importance and being a part of the culture doesn’t stop at the end of the month. I think there are pros and cons to having this month of recognition. It's an opportunity to introduce people to Indigenous cultures, issues or changes happening within the community, and highlighting all the amazing qualities that make up Native communities.
That's why the First Voices Festival in Atlanta is awesome, because it gives people a chance to dive in. You're getting an opportunity to see a lot of elements and parts of different Native cultures.
But that's the thing. Native culture isn't just one thing. There are so many tribes who are unique in their own way. It would be better if this recognition happened all year, but getting people in Georgia, in Atlanta to attend a powwow, learn about the multitude of our experiences, and help spread respect, love, and support is important. I hope they walk away with new ideas.
What does this visibility mean to the Native American community?
I don’t want to speak for the entire community, but it's a great time for highlighting organizations that are doing the important work of uplifting Native people. There are many organizations, and artists, putting their energy into the work for years, and the hope is to consistently raise awareness. Again, the month is important, but I suggest people check it out and continue to learn. Continue the support; don’t stop. For example, you can learn about our histories and Native perspectives, and then share those lessons throughout the rest of the year.
Are there any misconceptions you wish more people would challenge during this month?
Re-examining what you know about history. I recently worked on a project about California’s history from a Native perspective, and it made me think about looking back, where the perspective comes from, who's giving the perspective, and what might they have to gain from their version of events. Challenging some of those ideas is vital, and something that I’m learning to do myself. Second, learning about who were the original stewards of the land that you live on.
What stories or voices do you think deserve more attention at this time?
Native organizations and artists, and all of the things they’re doing for their communities. They deserve all of the attention possible. Organizations such as the Coalition to Stop Violence Against Native Women. I’ve worked with them for many years, and they are leaders in educating the public about the MMIWR crisis. Also, Vision Maker Media. They’re amazing when it comes to spreading the word about Native storytellers and art. I could not have done my film without their support.
Some others that people should check out are the Urban Indian Health Institute, National Indigenous Women's Resource Center, and Return to The Heart Foundation. Locally, everyone should check out Seven Stages, which helps uplift Native communities, and Turtle Island Trading. Both are in Atlanta. There are so many others I could mention.
What can you tell us about your documentary film?
“She Cried That Day” is an opportunity for people outside of the community to walk alongside a Native family and experience what it’s like fighting for justice for their loved one. In walking next to them through this journey, you're able to see the obstacles, the gaps in the system that allow for the MMIWR crisis to continue to happen. You see frustration, but you also see the power in the community when we come together. Really, you see a bunch of badass Native women being powerhouses. It’s a small peek into that specific community.
What comes to mind when you think about the future of Native communities?
I'm inspired every day, seeing the work that people are doing, and the innovation that is happening throughout Native communities. The hard work is paying off. There's so much talent, so much spirit, guiding and pushing people to do impactful things, and I hope to see that we continue to support each other.