There is a long-standing, academically-supported consensus among Indigenous leaders and communities that coast-to-coast colonial settler expansion was won at the cost of genocide. Prior to the 1620 arrival of the Mayflower, North America was home to 10-20 million indigenous people. By 1900, there were fewer than 300,000. Survivors faced forced relocation and the loss of homeland.

In Utah Valley, Timpanogos and Mormon pioneer interactions were initially tolerant and mutually cooperative. In the fall of 1849, tensions escalated. Settlers encroached on indigenous land, diverted water resources, and reneged on trade agreements. That August, Rufus Stoddard, Richard Ivie, and Gerome Zabrisky murdered a Timpanog man, “Old Bishop,” over a shirt they wanted from him. Vengeance violence erupted and settlers petitioned for military action.

On January 31, 1850, Brigham Young issued a selective extermination order to stop the hostilities.

His words: “I say go and kill them.”

Over 9 days-February 8-17-the Nauvoo Legion attacked the Timpanog village nestled along the banks of the Provo River, savagely slaughtering 102 men. Women and children were captured and taken to Fort Utah, where 50 decapitated heads of husbands, fathers, brothers and sons were held on display. Later that spring, LDS church members enslaved survivors in the Salt Lake Valley. Rather than make peace, the Mormon solution was eradication.

From 1954-1996, 50,000 indigenous children participated in the LDS Indian Student Placement Program. The project-designed to educate, convert, and assimilate Book of Mormon “Lamanites”-signalled further erosion of Native American culture and identity.

Like Danial, his mother is Navajo. In the mid-70s, a white, LDS family hosted her in their Orem home during the school year. She was still a teen and unprepared for motherhood when she gave birth to her son on July 18, 1978, at Timpanogos Hospital.

Danial’s foster grandparents took custody and raised him near Mountain View High School. He remembers riding bikes through the neighborhood with other boys his age, and swimming in the Provo River where the bloody massacre took place. He loved his grandparents and speaks highly of their gentle nurturing and academic encouragement-but he suffered behavioral challenges and deep attachment wounds that further distanced him from healthy peer interaction.

He was aware that he was not white-it was a hard childhood.

Thoughtful by nature, Danial excelled in English and cultivated a discerning taste in music. High school teachers urged him to pursue university studies in the humanities, but at 18, someone handed him his first drink-instead of graduating, he dropped out of UVU to pursue addiction.

In the mental health field, psychologists use a 10-point questionnaire to measure a person’s exposure to adverse childhood experiences (ACEs)-abuse, neglect, and household dysfunction-from ages birth-17. Elevated ACEs scores put a person at increased risk for mental illness, substance use disorder, and suicide in later life. In 2021, Katherine A Koh and Ann Elizabeth Montgomery conducted a public health study comparing the relationship between ACEs and homelessness. Of the unhoused participants, 89% scored 1 or more ACEs; 54% reported 4 or higher. In 2023, the Journal of Child and Adolescent Trauma released a study measuring ACEs in 177 indigenous children. Over a six-month span, 37% of the child participants reported 1-3 adverse experiences-44% had 4 or higher.

High ACEs predispose a person for homelessness, and compounded historical traumas put Native American children at a substantially higher risk. Among the unhoused, indigenous people face systemic obstacles, discrimination, and culture-based barriers to housing re-entry that do not affect homeless whites.

White culture generated and proliferated the stereotype of the slovenly, indigenous drunk-a trope that served to skirt accountability for the effects of intergenerational historical trauma inflicted on native people. As Danial’s alcoholism progressed, so did his rap sheet. When he isn’t in jail, he haunts the intersection of University Avenue and Center Street, begging for blankets or spare change to pay for vodka. Statistically, Native Americans experience the highest per capita rates of violent victimization of any racial group, and are among the most vulnerable populations. Crimes against Native men go unsolved if they are reported at all.

Danial’s body is a network of scars. At 47, he’s weathered a lifetime of exclusion, ravaged by the absence of whiteness, and hollowed out by grief. He is not proud of his heritage.

On July 3rd 2025, Danial reclined peaceably under the shade of a sycamore tree on the lawn of the Provo City Center Temple. Temple security alerted Provo PD that he was on the property, and within minutes several patrol cars pulled up to the curb. A slew of officers circled my friend and requested his ID. He complied. The temple worker paced the sidewalk, waiting for Danial to leave the property. He obeyed. Onlookers stared as the native man took up his pack and headed west on Center Street.

“It’s always been this way,” he cried. “For decades.”

I have this story to share because I was there, and now I can’t look away. I have asked myself why I didn’t speak up in his defense; why I didn’t say, “Hands off!” I’m done being quiet. I don’t know what will become of my friend in the long run-he has made choices and has more to make. What I do know is that his life’s philosophy is to be a decent person and to help out where he can, and for the tools available to him he’s doing his best.

For good or bad, and I am in awe. For every racial slur thrown by ignorant residents, he is a beautiful, complex man shouldering a history of tears and rage. I’ve looked into his dark eyes, and I solemnly swear that he is God’s alone to judge. [Text Wrapping Break] You might ask, Who is Danial Gambler? He is Provo’s native son. My question is, who do we think we are?