Submitted by Wendy Gloyd, Westford Resident
Sometimes moving an event indoors improves the opportunity for real connection.
Westford’s third annual Indigenous Peoples’ Day observance was originally planned for the Westford Town Common on Saturday, October 17, but cool weather moved the two-hour program into the Parish Center for the Arts. Audience members were warmed by the decision, body and soul.
About 30 people gathered close for an afternoon of stories, cultural teaching, music, artifacts and, eventually, dancing. The smaller setting gave us the opportunity to hear directly from Indigenous people and experience culture not as something preserved in the past, but as something very much alive in the room.
The program was presented by the Westford Diversity, Equity and Inclusion Committee in partnership with the Westford Historical Society & Museum, with a simple goal: make space for Indigenous voices, listen, and help those teachings live beyond a single afternoon.
DEI Committee Co-Chair Joe Diamond opened by reminding us that learning from the past can help shape the present and future. As DEI Committee Co-Vice Chair, I briefly reflected on growing up in Westford knowing Columbus and the Pilgrims, but not the Taíno people, and on the continuing work of “untangling those knots one at a time.” Linda Greene, director of the Westford Historical Society & Museum, connected that learning to Indigenous objects in the museum’s collection and the responsibility to preserve them while listening to Indigenous voices and living cultures.
Larry Spotted Crow Mann then offered an Indigenous welcome on the ancestral homeland of his Hassanamisco Nipmuc people before several Westford voices reflected briefly on what that learning can mean here at home.
State Rep. James Arciero spoke about recognizing not only Indigenous history, but the enduring presence and contributions of Indigenous people today. Select Board member Noëlle Donovan spoke of our responsibility not as owners of the land, but as caretakers considering what we leave for future generations. Ishaan Shah, a Westford Academy student and DEI Committee member, added the student perspective: “These conversations are important to have in our classrooms, not only on our calendars.” He also offered a fitting reminder: “Nothing is so good that it can’t get better.”
Larry Spotted Crow Mann: returning to ancestral homeland
There was special meaning in welcoming Larry Spotted Crow Mann back to Westford. Larry is a citizen of the Hassanamisco Nipmuc Tribe and executive director of the Ohketeau Cultural Center. The land we now call Westford is part of the ancestral homeland of his people — roots far older than the town itself, still reaching into the present.
Looking toward Indigenous artifacts brought by the Westford Historical Society & Museum, Larry wondered aloud whether one might have been made or held by a relative — perhaps a great-great-aunt, uncle or cousin generations ago.
In the caring, curious hands of a descendant, an artifact becomes more than an object. It becomes a thread back to family, memory and belonging.
Larry then spoke in the language of this land and shared a healing song — a prayer for peace, healing and bringing people together. The room seemed to settle around the song.
He explained that English tends to focus on nouns — telling us what something is — while his Algonquin language is more concerned with what something is doing and how it is connected to everything around it.
Relationship. Connection. Reciprocity.
Those ideas were present not just in what Larry said, but in the way he taught.
Larry also shared some of the work of the Indigenous-led Ohketeau Cultural Center, whose name describes a place to plant and grow. Its work spans culture, education, wellness, land-based programming and opportunities for Indigenous people to learn from one another and tell their own stories.
Alberto Ayala: “We’re still here”
Then space was made for another Indigenous story — this one from the Caribbean.
Alberto Ayala, a Borikén Taíno speaker, artist and percussionist, arrived carrying pieces of his culture with him.
His table was less a display than a gathering of memory — carved and woven objects, instruments, shells, foods, plant materials, feathers, photographs and tools, each opening a window into family, tradition and a culture still very much alive.
Alberto picked them up, explained how they were used and shared where they fit within Taíno life, opening conversations about food, agriculture, navigation, language, ceremony and survival.
Beside the table hung a roughly five-foot-long handwoven cibucán, also known as a matapi. Alberto explained how it was used in processing bitter cassava, or yuca, removing its toxic liquid so an important food could be safely prepared.
You could admire its craftsmanship from across the room; understanding what generations of people knew how to accomplish with it gave it an entirely different meaning. Again and again, something familiar became a doorway into a much larger story.
Alberto spoke about growing up hearing one version of history in school and another from elders and family.
“How do you take apart 500-plus years of history,” he asked, “and according to who?”
That question seemed to sit quietly underneath much of the afternoon.
He also challenged one of the most persistent things generations of students have been taught about the Taíno — that they disappeared.
“The Taíno did not simply vanish,” he said. “They fought, and when fighting could not hold, they endured.”
Alberto pointed out pieces of Taíno culture hiding in plain sight — in foods, agricultural practices, family traditions and words that traveled far beyond the Caribbean — and spoke about people reconnecting with language, ceremony, family knowledge and identity.
“We’re still here,” Alberto said.
Three small words that carried a lot of weight.
And then we got out of our chairs
Near the end of the afternoon, Alberto invited everyone to stand. Nicole Luz Caban joined him as they shared an areíto, bringing together rhythm, song, movement and community.
Alberto shook his rattle and began the rhythm. Nicole joined him, and then the rest of us were invited in. One person joined the line, then another, then another. A hand rested on the shoulder of the person ahead, and soon the line was winding around chairs and through the PCA like a living ribbon.
There was laughter, concentration and plenty of people trying to figure out where their feet were supposed to go. Alberto went gently on those of us doing this for the first time. Nobody needed to get it exactly right; we just needed to join in.
Perhaps that was the moment that best captured the whole afternoon. We weren’t simply sitting in chairs hearing about Indigenous culture. For a little while, we were being welcomed into an experience — listening to Indigenous languages, hearing songs, learning from objects, asking questions, sharing laughter and moving together.
By the end, culture was no longer something we were only hearing about. It was moving through the room with us.
The afternoon had begun with Larry offering a song of peace and connection on the homeland of his ancestors and ended with Alberto and Nicole inviting all of us to our feet. That felt less like a presentation and much more like community.
Helping the words live on
Only about 30 people were physically in the room Saturday, but the learning will not end there. Local photographer and videographer KrispPhotos recorded the program, which is expected to be available through Westford CAT, allowing more people to hear Larry and Alberto directly.
We made the space. Larry and Alberto trusted us enough to bring their stories, knowledge and culture into it. Those of us in the room listened, asked questions, learned and joined in. Because the afternoon was recorded, those voices do not have to disappear when the chairs are folded and the room empties.
At the bottom of Saturday’s program was a simple reminder: “Indigenous Peoples’ Day is one day on the calendar.”
The gathering lasted two hours. The learning does not have to.
We can keep asking questions, untangling the stories we inherited, making room to hear from Indigenous people themselves, and thinking more carefully about our own relationship with the land and our responsibility to care for it.
Because Indigenous people are not simply part of this land’s history.
They are here.
Teaching. Creating. Reclaiming. Sharing.
And carrying their cultures forward.
