In the 1860s, the Navajo people endured what is known as the Long Walk — a forced removal from their homeland, followed by four years of imprisonment at Fort Sumner, New Mexico.
One evening, they gathered on the plains and formed a giant human circle, miles in diameter. Moving inward, clapping rocks together, chanting — they trapped a young coyote at the center. The U.S. soldiers watching feared a rebellion. But then, the circle opened. The coyote escaped and ran toward the West.
West was home. The people erupted in cheers. Within months, they negotiated their return.
I first learned about the Long Walk while collaborating with a Diné violist here at school. Through our conversations, I felt something I couldn't shake — the deep absence of Native American history, culture, and voices in American amusic and education.
The melody you'll hear near the end of this piece is Shił Naashá — a traditional Navajo song that commemorates that return. It is both a celebration and a spiritual reaffirmation — expressing joy, resilience, and a profound connection to the land. The lyric is often translated as "I am walking," but a Navajo teacher I came across explains that its truer meaning is something deeper: "I am still here." That's the melody I wanted to arrive at — not at the beginning, but at the end, after everything the music has been through.
I don't offer this piece as a conclusion. It's a beginning — one step in what I hope will be a longer journey of listening, learning, and collaborating with Native American artists, whose stories deserve to be heard.