I am here today to carry the message from the silenced.

To show you some of Native America's beauty.

And to encourage our collective consciousness

to reimagine the way we see each other.

Can we re-learn to see as human beings?

Does the photographic image impact our lives

and the lives of those around us?

If it does, can we use that image

to encourage and inspire one another?

Do something for me:

try to remember the last time that you saw

a Native American in massive media.

Is this what you saw?

If it is, I wouldn't be surprised, because between 1990 and 2000

there were 5,868 blockbuster-released films.

Twelve included of American Indians.

All of them showed Indians as

spiritual or in-tune with nature

Ten of them as impoverished and/or beaten down by society,

ten as continually in conflict with Whites.

However, the image of the professional photographer,

the musician, the teacher, the doctor,

were largely absent.

What's interesting is how this image

manifests itself into our psyche.

You see, when this image

is shown to a young Native person,

they report feeling lower self-esteem

and depressed about what they are able to become

or would like to become.

Shockingly, when shown to the white counterpart,

their self-esteem is raised.

If society only sees us as these images,

it means that our modern issues don't exist.

Nor do our efforts like schooling and economic development

through sovereignty and Nation building.

How can we be seen as modern, successful people

if we are continually represented

as the leathered-and-feathered vanishing race?

For the last ten years,

my work has been about counteracting these images,

to create positive indigenous role models from this century.

My most recent endeavor, Project 562,

is dedicated to photographing

every indigenous nation

in the United States.

So far, I've driven 50,000 miles,

shot 106 tribes,

and shot thousands of rolls of film.

And each tribe that I go to, I interview folks,

I ask them questions about identity and stereotypes.

What does it mean to be a real Indian?

How do we deal with blood quantum?

Tell me about some of the issues within your community.

But most importantly,

can you tell me your story?

Such as this one:

here we have Leon Grant.

Leon is an Omaha Indian.

He was reared on a ranch in Nebraska.

When he was sixteen years old,

he decided that

he wanted to pursue an education.

So he left a note for his folks while they were in town,

and proceeded to walk for 49 days until he arrived in Phoenix, Arizona.

When he got there, he put himself through a community college,

undergrad, theology school, and eventually law school.

And then he set up American Indian Centers all across the country.

Because Leon told me at that time,

Indian People were still considered lesser citizens.

This is a photo of my cousin Anna.

Anna is Swonomish, Hualapai, Havasupai,

Cherokee, Chemehuevi, and Salish.

And, I was talking to Anna the other day, and I said,

"Anna, do you think racism still exists in America?"

Oh, and Anna started crying.

And I was like "Oh, Anna!" and she said,

"You know, Matika, if you want to know about that,

all you have to do is go to the lunchroom.

You can see the segregation."

She said, "I just don't think it's ever going to change."

And I said, "Oh, honey, of course it can change!"

You see, I sat in that lunchroom.

So I could relate to her.

I just love her. This is Marva "Sii~xuuttesna" Jones

Marva is from the Village of Nilichinden,

which is a tribe in Northern California

with a colonized name of "The Smith River Rancheria."

However, the people are Tolowa.

Marva is rad! You'd love her.

(Laughter)

And you'll notice her 111 tattoo.

When I asked her about its significance,

she said,

"I always knew I wanted to get my 111.

Especially after learning the history of it being outlawed in California.

California independent Indian tattooing

was outlawed in the early 1900s.

I always thought I was going to have one.

Learning our history empowered me to get my 111.

It was traditionally applied through the tapping method.

For me it signifies my commitment to who I am.

It signifies my ability

to carry forward my ancestors' message

and the work that my people have laid for my community.

It also signifies courage and strength.

I've had it since January 20th of 2011.

It'll be two years.

I never thought about he experience of people staring at you

everywhere you go until I got it. I really wasn't prepared for that.

I didn't get it for those reasons. I'm really not one for attention,

whether it's negative or positive,

it's about a fifty-fifty.

Airports, stores and public places,

I feel like it's made me not look at people anymore.

You can tell that people judge you.

You can totally tell when they don't like you.

And sometimes they acknowledge you and they say, 'Nice tatoo, sister.'

But some people are just like,

'Who is this freak?'

'Why would you do that?'

I thought you could tell it's tribal.

But I guess people don't know.

So it's brought on a new sense of patience for me."

This is a photo of a White Mountain Apache crown dancer.

I had the rare opportunity to take this photo

while I was in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

They represent the mountain spirit gods,

and dance for traditional, sacred reasons.

This is Starflower Montoya.

Star is Barona and Taos Pueblo.

She's wearing her traditional manta

that she received during her coming of age ceremony.

When I asked Star,

how do we navigate being an Indian in 2013, she said:

"My grandma said it best: 'You have to wear your moccasin on one foot,

and your tennis shoe on the other.'"

(Laughter)

This is Paul Chavez.

Paul is Bishop Paiute and Apache,

which is in the Owens Valley.

It's one of the most beautiful places I've ever been to.

Paul has spent his life dedicated

to the preservation of Native culture.

First by serving as the tribal chairman, by setting up TANF programs

throughout Indian Country and by working with Native youth.

While I was visiting Paul in Paiute country,

I was most taken aback by the story of the "paya,"

which means "water" in Paiyute.

Pre-colonization, the Paiyute people

constructed and managed 60 miles of intricate irrigation systems

for millenia, long before the city of Los Angeles secured its largest water source

through modern engineering over a century ago.

After the Indian Wars of 1863,

surviving Paiute returned home to find

their ancient waterworks taken over by white settlers.

Today, 150 years later, the Paiute tribe

is still in litigation for those waterworks.

It's a fine example of our tribes' continued struggle for sovereignty.

When I talked to Paul about these issues,

he said, "The important thing is that we are here. We survived.

If you think about it, every Native that is alive today as a result of

our ancestors surviving.

So you have to ask yourself,

'Why are you here?'

'Why am I here?'

I've come to the conclusion for myself that we are here to carry on as a tribe.

Otherwise, we will become our colonizers.

We will just blend in.

And that's our struggle, not to do that,

because being a Native person from here, or wherever you are,

there's value in being who you are.

Not only as a tribe,

but for the sustainability of the Earth.

It has a lot to do with our traditional, sustainable ways.

The most fundamental part of being sovereign is

believing you are sovereign.

Believing that you are a nation. That's the basis.

Then, the next step is acting upon that.

This is Jane Blackman.

Jane is from the Pala tribe in Southern California

and she is a devout Catholic.

Jane wanted to have her photo taken in the mission.

Here we have a photograph of Hayes Lewis.

Hayes is the superintendent for the Zuni school district

And it's really exiting.

The Zuni tribe just broke away

from the neighboring district.

When we were talking about how it was

that they had come to decide this,

we were talking about how federal policy has affected education, he said,

"The next step in development

is actually changing the policies and the structure of education

that will make a difference.

If you just take the structure of education the way it is,

with its policies, practices and mandates, what difference does it make

if you don't go back into the community and basically rebuild from the bottom up?"

This is Guylish Bommelyn.

Guylish is also Tolowa.

He is an Athabascan speaker.

He teaches his language in the tribal school there.

Since I've been on this journey, I've met Athabascan speakers

in Alaska, in California, in Arizona,

in New Mexico,

and the southern tribes say that the northern ones got tired of walking.

(Laughter)

This is Mary Evelyn Baumgarten.

Mary is just lovely.

Mary is a retired professor from the University of New Mexico

where she taught indigenous education.

Mary is passionate about training teachers

to work within indigenous communities.

After a very long conversation about

the history of boarding schools in this country, and assimilation,

she said, "When are we going to stop asking our children

to choose between cultural education and western education?

I think we are ready to stop the assimilation process.

The time to change is already among us."

This is Anthony "Thosh" Collins

from the Salt River Pima tribe.

Thosh is a bird singer.

That's his rattle there.

Thosh is dedicated to total body wellness

by eating mostly plant-based foods.

When I'm with Thosh, it is always way easier for me to choose

the salad over the French toast!

(Laughter)

So, I was in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

We went down for the Gathering of Nations.

I got there and I was like,

"Oh, my God! There's 21 tribes in New Mexico.

Who am I gonna photograph,

and how am I going to reach all of these people?"

So I put it on Facebook: "I'm looking for friends,

and I need to go to all of these tribes."

And I realized that my friend Dana's mom

was from Navajo Nation

and Valerie called me and she said,

"I'll take you."

So we drove, and drove and drove

and drove down a dirt road

until we finally arrived here

at Ray and Fannie Mitchell's house.

Ray and Fannie are 82 and 83 years old.

They've been married for 65 years.

They only speak Diné.

So, their daughter translated for me.

Ray is a retired railroad worker.

He's retired to ranch life.

Fannie is a weaver.

Here where they live on Navajo Nation, they live without