In a world where the stories of Indigenous peoples are frequently overlooked, Julian Brave NoiseCat's latest book dives deep into the themes of existence, mortality, and the resilience of Indigenous cultures.
Did you know that in May 2021, a groundbreaking discovery by ground-penetrating radar uncovered over 200 unmarked graves of Indigenous children near the former Kamloops Indian Residential School in British Columbia, Canada? This alarming revelation triggered U.S. Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland to launch the Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative, aimed at investigating the lingering effects of Indian boarding schools in the United States.
As both Canada and the U.S. grapple with this dark chapter in their histories, Indigenous families continue to mourn the profound loss of loved ones, traditions, and cultural heritage that were erased by these institutions. In his compelling memoir, We Survived the Night, NoiseCat intricately navigates this legacy's influence on his own family and community. His previous work in the 2024 Oscar-nominated documentary Sugarcane sheds light on the Williams Lake First Nation's investigation into the maltreatment at St. Joseph’s Mission and the ensuing intergenerational trauma.
We Survived the Night opens with the poignant narrative of NoiseCat's father, Ed, who was discovered hours after his birth in a trash incinerator at St. Joseph’s Mission, an Indian residential school in Canada—perhaps just moments away from dying. Ed grew up on the Canim Lake Indian Reserve, being one of the first generations not sent to such schools. However, life on the reserve was not easy, leading NoiseCat to reflect that his father is “an Indian who barely knows how to live in this world. Just how to survive.”
This memoir was born out of NoiseCat's desire to comprehend and reconnect with his father, who, as he notes, was often "coming and going" in his life. However, the book transcends a mere family story; it interlaces detailed reporting about Indigenous communities across North America with rich mythology and oral histories, particularly those of Coyote, a trickster figure revered among the Salish people. The storytelling tradition surrounding Coyote, which was once a vibrant part of NoiseCat's culture, has been largely diminished due to colonization.
NoiseCat tells me that his aim was to narrate stories of Native individuals and communities often neglected in mainstream discourse while also exploring the diverse roles Indigenous people play across the continent. His travels led him to interact with the Tlingit people in southeast Alaska as they confronted disputes over herring eggs in Sitka Sound, the Lumbee tribe in North Carolina fighting for federal recognition amidst opposition from other Native groups, and a Diné medicine man in Arizona enduring the trials of the COVID-19 pandemic. He shares, "Looking out at that big, diverse Indian world is one of my ways of looking within—just as looking within is a way for me to look out."
In a recent conversation, NoiseCat elaborated on the motivations behind We Survived the Night, calling it a book centered on the existential themes of life, death, and survival. He believes there are spiritual aspects to grappling with such questions, and as part of his writing journey, he immersed himself more deeply in ceremonial practices within his community.
How did you come to the decision to write We Survived the Night?
I am the child of a prominent Native artist and an Irish Jewish New Yorker. My father left when I was quite young, and my Native name—Julian Brave NoiseCat—epitomizes my identity. Yet, despite my appearance and the cultural heritage tied to my name, the father whose connections would anchor me to my lineage, community, and cultural identity was absent. I strove to decipher who he was, the reasons behind his departure, and what it means to be Native—specifically, to be a Secwépemc and St’at’imc man. Reading and writing, particularly the works of prominent Native authors like Sherman Alexie, Leslie Marmon Silko, N. Scott Momaday, and Louise Erdrich, became essential tools in my quest for understanding.
Throughout the book, you exhibit great compassion for the many individuals in your life; often, you refrain from vilifying anyone, despite the pain they may have caused you.
Indeed, I carry a lot of hurt regarding my experiences with my father and other people mentioned in the book. I can reflect on my grandfather’s actions, such as his tendency to womanize and his role in having many children. I recognize the impact of these actions on my grandmother, yet I also appreciate how those men contributed to the complexity of my reality, making it impossible for me to separate the good from the bad entirely.
The very reasons why my father struggled with fatherhood are the same reasons that made him a survivor—he had to focus on his own well-being, which often resulted in difficulties remaining an empathetic and present father. This intense focus on self-preservation also led him to channel his emotions into his art as a means of survival.
My goal was to convey this truth as authentically as I could. I find it challenging to write about people I don't love; storytelling to me means having deeply engaged with a person's life and experiences—it's about revealing an insight that is uniquely mine to share.
