Chapter 5: Stories of Strength, Roots of Resilience

This one-room building near Bear Mountain was originally built by the Monacan people in the late 1800s to serve as a church, as well as a spiritual and community gathering place. Later, when Native children were not allowed to attend white schools and were often excluded from public education, the Monacan community transformed the space into a school to ensure their children could still learn. Students were taught reading, writing, and math by Monacan teachers and community members. While lessons covered basic subjects, children also learned from their families and Elders about their culture, language, and history outside the classroom. The school stood not just as a place of learning but as a symbol of strength, pride, and the Monacan people’s determination to protect their identity through education. The schoolhouse continues to hold great cultural significance to the Monacan people and is recognized through its addition to the National Register of Historic Places in 1997. The schoolhouse functions as the Monacan Indian Museum today, continuing to preserve and educate people on the perseverance of the Monacan people in educational institutions.

The gravel crunches beneath the tires as Nana and Maverick pull into Higų’s driveway. The sun dips low behind the trees, casting long golden streaks across the hills. Higų’s house rests gently on a small rise, surrounded by tall oaks and pines whose branches sway softly in the breeze. She’s already out on the porch, rocking slowly in her chair. Earlier that day, she had dropped off a jar of her homemade strawberry jam, and now, like she often does when stories are about to be shared, she’s invited them over for dinner. Maverick loves how the air here always smells fresh, like clean leaves and firewood. Inside, the house is warm with the scent of dinner. Nana had brought over leftovers from the night before–a traditional Monacan meal: venison stew slow-cooked with wild carrots and onions, golden fry bread still crisp around the edges, and a bowl of beans she’d soaked and seasoned. As Higų sets the table, Maverick helps pour the glasses of sweet tea.

As they sit down to eat, Maverick listens to the clinking of spoons, the quiet hum of the fridge, and the sound of cicadas chirping outside. The house has a kind of quiet that makes stories feel sacred. After dinner, they move into the living room, the heart of Nana’s home.

The room is cozy and full of memories. A faded quilt lies folded over the back of the couch, and black-and-white photos of ancestors line the mantle. A woven basket sits in the corner, filled with firewood. Everything about the space feels warm and familiar, like history lives in every corner.

Maverick plops down on his usual cushion near the fireplace, hugging his knees to his chest. He loves hearing stories in this room, where the air always seems to glow with something more than just the fireplace in the corner.

“I’m still thinking about what you said at dinner,” Maverick says, looking over at Nana. “About Monacan people being…what was it again?”

Nana smiles gently. “Resilient and self-sufficient.”

Higų nods from her spot in the rocking chair. “It means we take care of ourselves and each other, even when no one else will.”

Maverick tilts his head. He glances at Higų, curious about what she might say. “But how come? Why did we have to be like that?”

Nana leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Maverick knows that look–he is about to hear one of her stories, the kind that makes him feel like he is stepping into the past.

“That’s a good question,” she says, smiling. “Let me tell you a story.”

The Bus Ride

“In the 1970s, when Nana was in school, Monacan children rode the school bus just like you do, Maverick. But for them, it wasn’t always a safe or friendly place. Some of the other kids didn’t understand what it meant to be Monacan. They whispered behind our backs or said unkind things out loud. Some kids made fun of how the Monacan children looked or said rude things about our clothes, hair, and traditions. It hurt because they were being racist, which made the bus rides feel long and lonely.”

Maverick frowns. “That is horrible. How did the children respond?”

Nana smiles softly. “They didn’t give up, that’s for sure. Do Monacans give up, Maverick?”

Shaking his head, Maverick says, “No way.”

Nana nods approvingly. “That’s right. Instead of letting the bullies get to them, the Monacan kids supported one another in small but powerful ways. They sat together on the bus, offering each other words of encouragement. They shared lunches, teaching one another traditional Monacan words and stories. When one of them was teased, the others spoke up, making sure no one felt alone. They reminded each other that they were part of something bigger— something strong.”

Maverick’s face lights up. “I want to be strong like that! How were they strong?”

Nana chuckles. “They knew they deserved respect and wouldn’t let the bullies win. They knew Monacans had just as much right to be on that bus, in that school, and in this world as anyone else.”

Higų has been listening quietly and suddenly speaks up. “You know, Miss Lou had a similar experience with someone she considered a friend.”

Lou’s Sleepover

Nana leans back in her chair. Maverick’s ears perk up. He has met Miss Lou before–she is the Assistant Chief of the Monacan Nation. She is wise, kind, and always has something interesting to say. Maverick trusts that Miss Lou will always tell the truth.

“When Lou was about your age,” Nana begins, “she was invited to a sleepover at a friend’s house. She was so excited, just like any kid would be. But when she got there, something happened that she never forgot.”

Maverick scoots closer. “What?”

“When the friend’s mother asked her name, Lou gave her full name. ‘Lou Branham,’ she said, proud of it. The woman’s expression shifted.

Maverick tilts his head. “Why did her face change? Isn’t it just a name?”

Nana nods gently. “Some people recognize certain last names. The mother had heard the name Branham before and knew it belonged to Monacan families.”

Nana’s voice grows quieter. “The mother didn’t say anything right away, but after a few minutes, she told her husband to drive Lou home.”

Maverick’s eyes widen. “Just because she was Monacan?”

Nana nods. “Just because of that. The car ride home was silent. Lou felt embarrassed and confused. She had done nothing wrong, but suddenly, she wasn’t welcome.”

Mav frowns. “That’s not fair.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Nana agrees. “But Lou didn’t let it make her feel small. She remembered who she was. Her last name, Branham, isn’t just a name–it is part of her Monacan identity. It connects her to her family, her ancestors, and her Nation.”

Maverick leans in.

“Some people knew that name and didn’t treat it kindly,” Nana continues. “But to Lou, it meant belonging. She had a family, a community, and a Nation that loved her. She held onto that.”

Maverick sits in silence, thinking. “So, even when people try to make Monacans feel like they don’t belong, we know that we do?”

Nana smiles, but her eyes are serious. “That’s resilience. We have to be strong because, for a long time, people didn’t treat us fairly. They didn’t understand our ways, and some didn’t want us to be proud of who we are. This racism is still something we experience to this day.”

She pauses, letting the words sink in.

“It’s not right that we’ve had to face those things,” she continues. “But we do what our ancestors did— we remember who we are, and we keep going. That’s how we stay connected to our home, our stories, and each other.”

Standing Strong Through History

Nana’s expression grows thoughtful. “You know, stories like these aren’t just about when I was little or when your Higų was growing up. Monacan people have always had to stand up for themselves.”

Higų nods solemnly, and Maverick leans in, curious. “Like when?” Nana takes a breath. “Well, you’ve learned about school segregation in history class, right?” Maverick nods. “But there was something else too,” Nana continues. “A law called the Racial Integrity Act. It was passed in Virginia a long time ago. The law basically said if you weren’t White or Black, you didn’t count. Almost like officially, you didn’t exist. They called us ‘colored’ to erase us from records–birth certificates, school files, everything. It was a way to try and make the Monacan people disappear on paper. And if you can’t prove who you are, it’s hard to fight for your rights. This law tried to erase the Monacan identity, making it almost impossible to prove who we were.”

“But did they give up?” she asks. Maverick shakes his head.

“No,” Nana says. “Our people fought for their education. They built their own schools. They kept their traditions alive. Monacans proved that no law, no bullying, no one’s opinion could ever erase who they were.”

Maverick takes a deep breath. “Wow, I want to be like that!” He pauses and thinks for a second. “But it sounds kind of scary to convince someone of who you are. And to stand true in yourself, especially when the world tells you no.”

He looks up at Nana. “So, being Monacan means never letting someone else tell you who you are. It means standing together. It means being proud.”

Teresa reaches over and gently squeezes Maverick’s hand. “That’s exactly what it means.”

Maverick grins. “That’s really cool. I’m proud that my grandparents and great-grandparents stood up for what was right.”

Then, a question popped into his mind. “But why did those laws even exist? Why did people think they could decide who was Monacan and who wasn’t?”

Nana chuckles. “That’s another great question, Maverick. And I have just the story to answer it.”

The Racial Integrity Act

Nana leans back in her chair, eyes drifting away. “We always knew how to keep our stories alive,” she says. “We whispered them to our children; we held on to our ways. The government could take our identity off paper, but they couldn’t take our language, songs, and culture. The things that matter.”

Nana then nods to herself, looking distantly, her expression becomes firm.

“Remember how I told you about the Racial Integrity Act? Well, it was a major pushback to who we are,” she explains. “It was a law that said if you weren’t White or Black, then you didn’t exist. They wanted to erase the Monacan people from records, from history.”

“They made it illegal for us to say who we were,” Nana adds.

“They forced us to be called ‘colored’ on birth certificates, marriage papers, school records, and everything. But we weren’t Black. We weren’t White. We were Monacan.”

“Some of our Elders fought in court to try to protect our identity and land, even when it took years. Some stood their ground, refusing to be erased, even when it was dangerous. Others just survived, and that was their kind of resistance.”

Maverick then asked, “Wow, how were you able to do scary things like that?”

Nana assured Maverick, “We were always scared while doing what we did, but we never let fear stop us from fighting for our rights.”

Due to the Racial Integrity Act of 1924, the state of Virginia would not recognize Native tribes like the Monacans. On official papers like birth certificates, Monacan people were forced to be labeled as “colored.” This law was an attempt to erase Native identity, making it harder for families to prove who they were. Even though these records were changed, the Monacan people never forgot the truth of their identity and worked hard to keep their culture and history alive. They did this by maintaining their tight-knit community life and passing down oral records and histories in their communities.

As the Racial Integrity Act was an attempt to erase Native identity, it was also driven by the eugenicist Walter Ashby Plecker. Plecker was most known for his promotion of white supremacy and his goals of erasing Native identity in America. White supremacy was the ideal that white people were superior to all other races and belonged in the domination of all of them. This ideal helped to reinforce the legal principle titled the “One Drop Rule,” where if an individual even has a drop of non-white ancestry, they are not classified as white. This reclassification worked to subject the Monacan people to the same discrimination and Jim Crow laws that colored Americans faced. Jim Crow laws were a set of laws designed to enforce racial segregation in the use of drinking fountains, restrooms, restaurants, schools, etc.

Maverick thought about that. “Did you ever feel… like giving up?” he asked.

Nana shook her head. “Never. But there were times I felt invisible,” she said softly. “When I was in school, I couldn’t tell anyone I was Monacan. It wasn’t safe. If I did, I would’ve been mistreated, and I wanted to keep my family safe.  Despite that, I still knew.”

Then she smiled a quiet, proud smile. “But now, now we make ourselves seen in this country.”

The Courthouse

Maverick frowned.

“But how did you know? When did you find out they changed your records?”

Nana sighed. “I found out when I tried to get my Social Security card.”

Maverick tilted his head. “Your Social Security card?” Nana nodded. “I was about sixteen, old enough to work. I needed my birth certificate to apply for a job. So, I went to the courthouse with my father. When the man at the desk looked at my records, he frowned and said, ‘It says here you’re colored.” Maverick saw her jaw tighten.

“My father got very quiet, like he was holding back anger. He told the man, ‘My daughter isn’t colored. She’s Monacan, same as me, same as her grandfather and his grandfather before that.”

“The man didn’t care,” Nana said. “They never did.”

“He just shook his head and said, ‘Not according to this record. The state doesn’t recognize Indians in Virginia.”

Maverick gasped. “What do you mean? We’ve always been here!”

Nana gave a sad smile.

“That didn’t matter to them. They thought if they erased us on paper, they could erase us in real life. My father argued, but the man refused to change it. He said if we wanted to fix it, we had to go to court. And we didn’t have the money for that.”

Maverick felt a sting of frustration.

“That’s not fair!”

“No,” Nana agrees. “It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But we weren’t the only ones.”

She taps her fingers gently on the wooden arm of her chair.

“Even when they tried to erase us, our people always found ways to push back.
Families kept detailed records, oral histories, and passed down birth certificates and family trees in secret. They kept proof of who we were, even when the government tried to rewrite it.”

“Some of our people traveled out of state just to marry legally as Monacans, refusing to let Virginia’s laws define them. Others formed tight-knit communities where everyone knew the truth, even if the outside world didn’t recognize us.”

“We didn’t let the law tell us who we were, we defined ourselves. And we made sure our children did, too.”

Maverick was quiet for a long time. “So… they tried to erase us. But they couldn’t.”

Nana reached out and rubbed Maverick’s hand.

“That’s right, my love. Because we remembered and fought for who we are.” She pauses, then adds, “That’s why self-sufficiency has always been a strong belief of ours. We couldn’t rely on the government to recognize us, to protect us, or even to tell the truth about who we were. So, we relied on each other. Community was, and still is, most important to us.”

She continues, “This is why, when I see you argue with any family, I tell you to knock it off. Fighting each other isn’t in our blood. Not when the world’s already against us. We farmed and stayed connected to our land. We supported ourselves. The Monacan Nation survived because we never waited for permission to exist.”

Nana stands up, brushing crumbs off her lap. “Alright, young man. Time for bed.”

Maverick followed her down the hall, past the photo-lined walls and woven baskets full of yarn and cedar sprigs. Higų’s house always smelled like home. Nana pulls back the covers, tucks him in, and kisses his forehead.

“Here, Maverick, now that you’ve learned a few things for the day, let’s get you to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Sleep well. You’re part of these stories now.”

As Maverick lays in his bedsheets, he sinks into deeper awe of all the courageous stories he’s just learned. His open window let in the sounds of the whistling wind rustling through the trees.

Maverick listens, hearing the courageous whispers of his ancestors in a way he never had before.