Here Ellany is pictured giving a land acknowledgement at Teamsters Union Hall in Tukwila, as she proudly wears her Tlingit regalia.

Gunalcheesh, My Land. Gunaleesh, My Union

I grew up in a redlined, all-white neighborhood in Seattle. There were only 5 TV stations back then, and us kids played outside all summer long. My skin would get darker and darker under the sun. I was teased relentlessly for it and would hear derogatory comments flung at me. By the way I was treated, I knew I was different.

I am Native, a descendant from the Tlingit Nation. My Grandmother Edna was a full-blood Tlingit from a coastal town, Wrangell, in Alaska. She was just a child during the third wave of Klondike Gold Rush when white men came in droves looking for land, looking for water and for gold. Wrangell stood at the head of the Klondike Skitine route. Native populations were pushed out -- their land trampled, their access to clean water restricted. Along with the prospectors came a small bacterium that festered in the lungs. Tuberculosis, originally rare in indigenous populations, spread like wildfire among the Tlingit. My Grandmother caught the menacing cough too and succumbed to it not living to see her thirties. Neither did she see her beloved child, nine-year-old Ernie, apprehended by the white people.

Like too many Native American children, Ernie was taken to a Catholic boarding school to undergo a devastating “civilizing” education. He was forbidden to speak Tlingit or demonstrate any association with his native culture. If children at the boarding school disobeyed, they were subject to severe corporal punishment. At times, they were isolated, and their food was restricted. After many grueling years, Ernie managed to escape. He followed the gold rush route backwards and ended up in Seattle, where he would meet my mother and where, many years later, I would be born.

Despite being torn from his nation and surviving loss of mother in childhood, George "Ernie" Neligan remained a kind man - a hard worker and a wonderful father.

One day, I was riding with my father in his car. I was still young, an early teen, and I proudly enunciated two Tlingit words that I had recently learned. When my father heard his native tongue spoken out loud, he became petrified. He wouldn’t be shaken out of that stupor until much later that day. He struggled with the legacy of European indoctrination that tried to erase his identity, his culture, his history.

It wasn’t until my father joined a union that he found a community of people who weren’t attempting to crush and erase him. On the contrary, they had his back. He was a member of International Brotherhood of Boilermakers while working as a welder at Todd Shipyards during WWII. When he worked for Truckweld Trailers, he was a member of the International Association of Machinists (IAM).

My parents labored incessantly to make a living. When my sister was just born, they both picked fruit and vegetables in Eastern Washington. Their living conditions were far from ideal. In their tent, my mother was sure to boil water every time she prepared a meal for my sister, yet not every family was careful to do so. At times tragedy would strike brought on by microbes swarming in our raw drinking water. Our neighbor lost her baby that way.

In my parents’ care, I survived and I grew. I remember one time my mother took me to Safeway, but we stopped short of entering the store. At first, I didn’t understand what force prevented my mother from entering the place where we got our food. That was when I first learned what a strike line was. My mother refused to cross it. This happened during the Delano Grape Strike that united the Filipino and Mexican farm workers. We did not buy any grapes that summer.

Throughout their life, my parents worked very hard and made little money, yet they always believed that it is the union that supports and defends the workers, including people of color and the native people.

When I was a child, I was treated differently, and I assumed, like children do, that I did something wrong. White society attempted to destroy my nation, erase my language, tear me away from my land, yet I picked up the mantle where my father was forced to leave it. As a teen, I became interested in Tlingit culture. Through the Seattle Indian Center, I got a grant to go to college, getting more involved with the native community and joining a dance group.

Today, I wear my native regalia with pride. I am a traditional drummer, singer, and dancer. As I continue to be committed to educating and sharing my culture, I am also a proud Teamster and carry on the family tradition of worker solidarity that was initiated by my parents.

To share my lived experience, I have developed a workshop to focus on how to be an ally to indigenous peoples and the historical impact of environmental racism and classism. If you’re curious to learn more, I will be hosting this workshop at our Teamsters 117 Womxn’s Conference in August.

I want to leave you with my favorite Tlingit word that once my father was forbidden to utter. Today, I freely let this powerful word resound. Gunalcheesh. Thank you. Thank you to this land that fostered the resilient Tlingit Nation and thank you to the union that lifts all working people regardless of their class or origin.

Ellany Kayce is a Teamster at King County and an enrolled tribal member of the Tlingit Nation, Raven Clan. Throughout her career she’s worked as a racial, environmental Indigenous and social justice educator and program developer, cultural consultant, event planner, coordinator, facilitator, trainer, curriculum developer, contract manager, and fundraiser.  Ellany is Native American/Alaska Native SME and has life-long experience working with Alaska Native, Native Americans, First Nations communities, and is a trainer, traditional drummer, singer, and dancer, and activist. She has over 10,000 hours of facilitation experience and is passionate about equity and social justice.