For years, I have researched the history of the Utah Black Hawk War and the deep suffering endured by Indigenous communities as a result of Mormon settler colonialism. Many times, I found myself overwhelmed with grief, moved to tears by the stories of violence, displacement, and generational trauma.
Until recently, however, I had rarely considered the emotional burden carried by the descendants of those who committed these injustices. Over the past month, I have met and spoken with some of them, and what they shared has affected me deeply.
Some described living with a lifelong sense of shame because of the violent actions of their ancestors. They spoke of feeling unable to openly express their grief or pain, fearing judgment, rejection, or misunderstanding. Recently, I spoke with descendants of individuals who helped lead some of the massacres during the Utah Black Hawk War. Listening to them reminded me that historical trauma can echo across generations in many different ways.
I believe it is important to share their perspectives—not to diminish the suffering of Indigenous peoples, but to better understand the full human impact of this history. Honest dialogue about the past can help create space for accountability, empathy, and healing for everyone affected by it.
George E. Tinker wrote, "It is time we stop viewing these injustices as simply white processes and begin viewing them as human processes. It is time we apply the same yardstick to both groups--compassionately seeking to understand human actions in the past without flailing old wounds by "unabashedly" taking sides. Without confronting and owning our past, as white Americans, as Europeans, as American Indians, as African Americans, we cannot hope to overcome the past and generate a constructive, healing process, leading to a world of genuine, mutual respect among peoples, communities, and nations." But that "mutual respect" must begin by seeking to understand the history and human motivations of all these "peoples and communities, and nations" with a spirit of equity, balance, and compassion."
Healing does not come from simply acknowledging past wrongs; acknowledgment is only the beginning. This realization led me to think more deeply about the silent victims as well. After listening to their stories, I have no doubt that many carry a sincere desire to express regret to the Timpanogos Nation for the actions of their forefathers.
They spoke about growing up as outcasts within their own communities, burdened by a history they did not create but were still forced to carry. Some shared that they hide the truth about their family history from their children, hoping to spare them from shame, judgment, and social rejection. Yet, in time, many of those children eventually learn what their ancestors did, and the cycle of silence, guilt, and isolation begins again.
This is why healing must involve honesty, compassion, and open dialogue for everyone affected by the past. Reconciliation cannot grow in silence or fear. It requires creating space for difficult truths to be spoken, for pain to be acknowledged on all sides, and for people to move beyond inherited shame toward shared understanding and humanity.
"Every day," one mother told me, "Not a day goes by that I ask what it was that made my great-grandfather do what he did?"
Reflecting on these difficult conversations, I was reminded of my own background. As a former member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I was taught never to question the authority of church leaders. I was told to live my life according to the church's teachings or risk being castigated by Mormon culture and society. I was told 'that's all in the past, we just need to forget about it.' I know they mean well when they say that, but it does little to sooth the pain.
Considering the need for healing on all sides, I ask: who can teach us more about human injustice than those who have lived through it? Who is better equipped to help build bridges between cultures than those who understand firsthand how destructive racism and settler colonialism can be—not only to the oppressed, but to society as a whole? By learning from past mistakes and using that wisdom to guide future generations, we create opportunities for greater understanding, compassion, and peace.
I believe the voices of those who have suffered in silence must be heard. People should feel free to share their experiences openly with their families and communities without fear of censorship or dismissal. These stories are essential to collective healing and to a fuller understanding of our shared history. True reconciliation and meaningful progress can only happen when every voice affected by this history is acknowledged and empowered.
Judging others solely for the actions of their ancestors reflects a closed mindset. Growth comes through humility, empathy, and openness—the willingness to better understand one another and what it means to be human. Mistakes are part of human history, but they do not have to define our future. What matters is our willingness to learn from them, take responsibility where needed, and work together to correct them.
See: Truth In Education
