How did today’s post “When Valor is Stolen: Resisting DEI Erasure and the Rise of a Dark Future” come about. Here is why, here is my personal feelings on this and why it resonated so strong with me for so many reasons.
When I was a young girl, I dreamed of serving in the military—not to fight, but to heal. I wanted to be a medic on the battlefield, saving the lives of those who save us. It wasn’t about war; it was about compassion, about standing beside those who risk everything for our freedoms and rights. That dream fueled my spirit and gave me purpose. But when I couldn’t pass the medical requirements, that dream was ripped away. It was a heartbreak that shaped me, a wound that whispered of failure and what-ifs, and it became a battle in itself to find meaning in a world that told me I wasn’t enough.
That fire, though—it never went out. It flickered through the heartbreak, guiding me as I began another journey: grappling with my disability and the way society so often dismisses those who don’t fit its mold. Society tried to tell me I couldn’t belong, that my worth was defined by limitations. But that fire pushed me to fight back against what had been ingrained in me since childhood—to challenge the narratives that sought to confine me. It became not only a source of strength but a call to action, reminding me that my voice, my words, could be my greatest weapon.
Last night, that fire blazed to life once more when I heard the story of the Navajo Code Talkers. These brave men, who used their language to create an unbreakable code during World War II, represent the very heart of Indigenous resilience. Despite being silenced and dismissed by a world that saw them as “less than,” they rose to save lives and change history. Their story is deeply personal to me. It is a testament to the strength of Indigenous peoples, a reflection of the spirit and courage that my own Cree heritage has taught me to carry. And yet, despite their sacrifices, they have not been honored as they should be. Instead, their contributions are overshadowed, and their legacy remains tarnished by the ongoing mistreatment of Indigenous communities.
That same fire reignited when I learned that Lieutenant Colonel Charles Calvin Rogers’ Medal of Honor page had been erased—disappearing into silence as though it had never existed. Lieutenant Colonel Rogers was a hero whose valor transcends generations, and the removal of his Medal of Honor page is not just neglect; it is erasure. It is a desecration of his sacrifice and a chilling reminder of how easily history can be rewritten to suit the narratives of those in power.
For me, this isn’t just about the Navajo Code Talkers or Lieutenant Colonel Rogers. It’s about the fight for truth, for justice, for the stories and legacies that define who we are. And it’s about the future—the generations yet to come who may never know these stories, who may grow up in a world where the lessons of the past have been erased. That thought fills me with sorrow, a deep and aching sadness for what we stand to lose if we don’t act. How many more injustices must we fight, across all walks of life, before we finally say, “Enough”? And now, here is one more battle—one more critical fight that we cannot afford to lose.
How My Mind Became My Greatest Weapon
Throughout this journey, I’ve come to embrace how my neurodivergence—living with ASD and ADHD—has shaped my voice and given me unique tools to fight this battle. My need for accuracy is my shield, driving me to uncover the facts and find the exact words to convey my message. The chaos of ADHD, instead of being a burden, has become my ally, allowing my mind to jump between fragments of military history and connect patterns across time. These elements of who I am, once seen as obstacles, have become the foundation of my strength.
I didn’t find out I was First Nations until my late teens. The revelation was life-changing, opening the door to a part of me I had never known but felt deeply connected to. On the rez, I was taught that what society calls “disabilities” were once seen as gifts—powers of the mind that were highly valued in Indigenous communities. At the time, I struggled to see how this could be true. But today, I understand. Even with the high cost that comes with ASD and ADHD, I see now that they are indeed gifts. They have sharpened my ability to see connections others might miss, to focus deeply on the truth, and to fight with precision and clarity. It’s as though this realization came at just the right moment, providing me with the tools I needed when I needed them most. Talk about right time, right place for self-realization.
When I sat down to write my post, “When Valor is Stolen: Resisting DEI Erasure and the Rise of a Dark Future,” I poured every ounce of that strength into it. It was my autism that refused to let me overlook the nuances of these stories, and it was my ADHD that pushed me to explore every thread of connection until the bigger picture emerged. This clarity of thought allowed me to expose not only the erasure of heroes like the Code Talkers and Lieutenant Colonel Charles Calvin Rogers but also the larger, terrifying patterns we’re seeing today. Trump’s dismantling of DEI initiatives, his manipulation of truth, and his silencing of dissent are not isolated incidents—they echo the actions of history’s darkest figures, and they demand our attention.
Why I Fight With My Words
For years, I let the heartbreak of my unrealized dream silence me. But no longer. I’ve come to understand that while I may not have been able to serve on the battlefield as a medic, I can still fight—with my words, with my passion, and with everything I have. My fight is to save the legacies of those who came before us, to ensure that their sacrifices are remembered and honored.
I fight because the stories of people like the Navajo Code Talkers and Lieutenant Colonel Charles Calvin Rogers show us the best of humanity. They show us the courage, resilience, and compassion that exist even in the face of unimaginable odds. They remind us of what it means to stand for something greater than ourselves, even when the world doubts our worth.
And yet, as I fight, I can’t help but feel the weight of it all. It is terrifying to live in a world where there are so many battles to fight, so many injustices crying out for attention. And now, this—this erasure of history and the momentum of actions that threaten our very foundation—is the most terrifying fight of all. I fear it may go unnoticed until it is too late. Unless we all speak up, unless we raise our voices together in a chorus loud enough to shake the very earth, this fight will slip through our fingers. We need to make the world stop and listen. We need to turn the tide before the momentum becomes unstoppable.
I am a warrior, and I will fight for my people. My people bleed red, and so do you. It doesn’t matter what you look like or what your creed is—if you are human, you are my people. We are family, even if I do not know you. We are all family in one way or another, and I refuse to let this world divide us. Together, we have to fight for the future. Because if we allow this trajectory to continue unchecked, we risk facing another Hitler—this time with far more firepower and the ability to wreak devastation with the simple push of a button. I fight with my words because the stakes are too high to remain silent.
The Journey to Understanding Sacrifice
It has taken years to fully understand the depth of sacrifice—the kind that asks not only for your life but for your memory, your story, and your legacy. My Cree heritage has taught me to honor the scars we carry, for they are not marks of shame but of resilience. They are reminders of where we’ve been and what we’ve overcome.
The Navajo Code Talkers embodied this understanding. Despite the systemic injustices they endured, they rose to become warriors who changed the course of history. But as a society, we continue to fail them. We spit on their legacy by ignoring the challenges Indigenous communities still face. And now, I see this happening again—legacies like Lieutenant Colonel Charles Calvin Rogers’ being erased, history being rewritten to serve those in power.
It’s impossible to ignore the echoes of history’s darkest chapters. Adolf Hitler’s rise to power began with the erasure of marginalized communities and the rewriting of history. Today, we see the same patterns emerging. Trump’s policies, the dismantling of DEI initiatives, and the rewriting of historical narratives feel like the same nightmare repeating itself.
Why I Stand Up
This personal journey is what inspired my main article, “When Valor is Stolen: Resisting DEI Erasure and the Rise of a Dark Future.” In it, I call on all of us to rise up, to pick up weapons of forgiveness, prayers, and compassion, and to fight for the truth. Because if we don’t, the consequences will be devastating—not just for those whose stories are erased but for all of us. Our shared history is what holds us together. When that history is rewritten or painted over, we lose not only the lessons of the past but our very foundation.
This isn’t just my fight—it’s everyone’s. Whether you’ve faced erasure yourself or you simply believe in the power of truth and justice, you have a role to play. The time to stand up.
I stand up with truth as my bow, and prayers as my arrows. Stand with me.
Who am I? 
I would love to hear from you!