These words of an Elder at First Nations in Canada awakened in my heart the pulse and voice of my South American indigenous ancestors.

Fourteen men and two women, whose ages equaled nearly a thousand years, shared about their lives and struggles with a Christian Peacemaker Team delegation in Grassy Narrows, Ontario, in March 2006. The wisdom and experience gathered in that place was palpable. Transmitted by each Anishnaabe for hundreds of generations, it has borne her/his nation's life, culture, and traditions for more than 13,000 years. It sent chills up and down my spine, especially as I remembered, with sadness, all the indigenous wisdom lost in my home country of Colombia.

"We were removed from our homes, taken far from our parents and grandparents, far away from our nation." I frequently hear the voices of Anishnaabe and other First Nations men and women in Canada who -- surviving Residential Schools, where they "learned" religion, math and English -- refused to forget their loved ones' faces or the smell of home-cooked food, and shed millions of tears hoping for a quick exit to freedom. To these dark places the Anishnaabe never want to return. Hearing their voices, I realize that I have not heard the historic voices of indigenous communities that survive in my nation.

The idea behind the schools was to impose on thousands of Anishnaabe a certain way of thinking and seeing the world. This imposition set them wandering down a path of pain and despair. But a deep connection with the earth placed on them an incessant call to a life destined for them. The wisdom of their culture and history kept calling out from their hearts, saying, "you must be who you are: Anishnaabe." The same call gives me a longing to know who I am.

The voices I hear are also those of Anishnaabe women: beautiful, strong, powerful, sensitive, sweet, brilliant; mothers, wives, daughters, nieces, Anishnaabe. Blended, they form a great song of love, power, struggle and hope. The immense spiritual strength given these women by the Creator has allowed them to persist in the long struggle for their nation -- one that is both full of hard times and is budding with hope and joy.

That same struggle exists in Colombia, and it has been for me a source of energy, pride and hope. It has its origin in different world views. Most people see their planetary home in fragments. Dams, lumber, gold, oil, uranium, fertile lands, tourism: any and all of these, catalyzed by acquisitive desires, become excuses for subtly or violently destroying or uprooting First Nations here in North America, in Central and South America, and other parts of the world. For the First Nations, on the other hand, "it is impossible to possess something we have not created." The earth is All-Living, and all life depends on a fragile and intimate connection. From that standpoint, I see that we are all one, I understand that the Creator Spirit is one and I feel a part of something larger than myself, and far beyond my own comprehension.

As this struggle has unfolded, the lands and lives of many First Nations have been snatched away. Others have designed, defined and set limits to their ways of living, their "prosperity" and their civilization. Sadly for the First Nations, the arrival of colonists meant mostly pain, exclusion, death, and desolation. As a mestiza (of mixed blood), I want to listen to the voices, including my own, that defy all attempts to be silenced. I can identify intense feelings of rage, anguish, and hopelessness, energy and joy.

With increasing strength, First Nations voices continue to cry out around the World. Though others turn away and deny them, as I listen they lead me to question myself: if all are brothers and sisters, why don't we see it that way? Why continue in the race to self-destruction?

As my ears remain open to these voices, may my life give adequate answer to the questions they raise.