When Our Uncles And Their Stories Are Murdered

Author: Tsara Shelton
Published: 2025/12/08
Publication Type: Submitted Article
Category Topic: Tsara's Column - Related Publications

Page Content: Synopsis - Introduction - Main - Insights, Updates

Synopsis: This personal essay explores the lasting impact of cultural loss through violence, as the author reflects on her murdered Native American uncle and the lessons learned about fierce advocacy and love. The piece offers valuable insight into how systemic marginalization affects Indigenous communities and families who bridge cultural divides, making it particularly relevant for readers seeking to understand the human cost of violence against Native Americans and the responsibility of preserving cultural knowledge across generations. Through the author's candid recollection of her mother's unwavering dedication and her own journey from childhood confusion to adult understanding, the narrative demonstrates how families can cultivate both fierce protection and comfortable acceptance when supporting marginalized loved ones, including those with disabilities and neurodivergent family members who also faced discrimination and abuse - Disabled World (DW).

Introduction

My adopted uncle was murdered before he could teach me much about his culture. So now he's dead and I don't know. That's how it happens. I think of my Uncle Henry a lot.

My mom was his biggest champion, inviting him to live with us when he'd been kicked out of everywhere, fighting with everyone to see him, to love him, and to listen to him. My uncle was understandably lost, alone, conflicted, afraid to be himself and afraid not to be himself. My sister and I loved it when he sat on our living room floor to make bannock but we weren't ever entirely comfortable around him. Too many people looked at him wrong. Plus, my mom loved him fiercely because she had to. She couldn't just relax and love him because loving my Native American uncle meant fighting for him. So we loved him too, but with a feeling of responsibility we didn't understand.

Main Content

My uncle was murdered, the murderer went to jail and committed suicide, my mom continued to fight and love and fight some more.

I felt conflicted. As a niece who was interested in her mysterious uncle, I wanted her to keep him alive and to tell me more. But as a selfish little girl, I wanted her to stop fighting for him now, to let him go, to just watch me and my sister sing and play.

Mom didn't spend much time on what was wanted and instead focused on what had to be done. She fought on. She gathered more people to care for; diversity of culture and abilities surrounded us. My siblings are from all kinds of cultural backgrounds (Native American, Irish, Japanese) and neurodiversity was the name of our game (autism, Tourette's, genius, retardation) while layers of abuse were all of ours to help peel away.

My sister and I learned how to love fiercely, too.

And we also learned how to love comfortably.

This vintage photograph captures a relaxed outdoor scene, likely from the 1970s based on the color tones and image quality. A person is reclining in a colorful folding lawn chair with a distinctive orange and yellow floral or geometric pattern that was characteristic of that era. They're dressed casually in dark clothing and light-colored pants or shoes, appearing to be at ease. Behind them, another similar patterned lawn chair sits empty. The setting suggests a camping trip or backyard leisure time.

I think we're always evolving with this issue and I think we do it well. Love, listen, learn, connect, support, teach, ask, tell. Don't fight so much as be and show and love. But don't back down or run away either. Clashes will happen. Loving people who are abused by groups of people means stepping up and standing strong. It means, sometimes, fighting for them.

My adopted uncle was murdered before he could tell me much about his culture. So now he's dead and I don't know. But I can try to learn.

And I do.

Insights, Analysis, and Developments

Editorial Note: The author's honesty about her childhood ambivalence - wanting to hear her uncle's stories while also wishing her mother would stop fighting - captures a profound truth about intergenerational trauma and cultural preservation. When violence silences Indigenous voices, it doesn't just end one life; it severs threads of knowledge, tradition, and identity that can never be fully recovered. Her mother's refusal to let go, even after death, wasn't just grief - it was an act of cultural resistance, ensuring that her uncle's existence mattered enough to be remembered, fought for, and honored - Disabled World (DW).

Author Credentials: Tsara Shelton, author of Spinning in Circles and Learning From Myself, is a contributing editor to Disabled World. She is also the oldest daughter of international brain change and behavior expert Dr. Lynette Louise ("The Brain Broad"). Explore Tsara's complete biography for comprehensive insights into her background, expertise, and accomplishments.