As I write this, I sit at the American Indian Resource Center — the only space where many Native American students feel a sense of community on campus — located in Officers Circle. I stare across the field at the Fort Douglas Military Museum, which contains a memorial for Colonel Patrick Edward Connor, a man notorious for leading massacres of Native Americans in the mid-1800s. The irony doesn’t escape me.

On Jan. 29, 1863, Conner led one of the deadliest massacres in U.S. history, brutally murdering over 300 Shoshone men, children and women at their winter camp along the Bear River in Cache Valley, Idaho. My third great-grandmother, Wy-Ve-Dah, miraculously survived this massacre. Her bravery, resilience and pure survival instincts are one of the reasons I even exist today. 

I am Eastern Shoshone, Western European and Scandinavian. My parents have always encouraged me to explore and celebrate all parts of my identity, so I’m lucky to have strong connections to my culture and relatives on the nearby Wind River Indian Reservation. The University of Utah occupies my own and other tribes’ traditional homelands. For many Indigenous peoples, connection to land is vital to our well-being, so it was easy for me to choose this as my home for the next eight years as I embark on the journey to becoming a physician scientist. 

When I joined the U’s M.D.-Ph.D. program, I was fully aware that medicine and research are fields dominated by white men, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exhausting being one of very few Natives in the entire School of Medicine. My outspoken passion for Native American health, research and advocacy has designated me as a “token Native.” I somehow became the go-to person for every question about Native Americans possible, as if I were a spokesperson for 500 unique tribes. 

I’m tired of explaining to non-Natives that it’s inappropriate to ask a Native person about their blood quantum, how much money they receive from the government — which is usually none, by the way — or if they’ve ever smoked peyote. It’s disappointing watching my classmates skip our mandatory medical humanities course, where we discuss health disparities that Native Americans, refugees, LGBTQ+ and unsheltered people face — topics exploring my own lived experiences, but an inconvenient 50-minute mandatory discussion to them.  

If I only focused on these challenges, I would burn out and never make it to graduation. Instead, I do what Indigenous peoples have done for centuries and lean into my community. Although we do not yet have nearly enough Native representation and leadership in the School of Medicine, we have brought dozens of allies into our circle who fight just as hard for our cause. I’ve formed meaningful relationships with the American Indian Resource Center, the Office of Health Equity, Diversity and Inclusion, and the Tribal, Rural and Urban Underserved Education program. Every time I receive administrative pushback, I gain twice the amount of support from my community. 

In the 18 months I’ve been at the U, we’ve been successful in starting Utah’s first official chapter of the Association of Native American Medical Students. We’ve led outreach trips to the Wind River and Uinta and Ouray Indian Reservations, and the Navajo Nation. We’ve encouraged Native youth across the Mountain West to pursue higher education and show them that they too can be physicians and scientists. I’ve had the honor of providing cultural and academic mentorship to students in the Native American Research Internship, a program I once participated in. 

We held a Traditional Indigenous Healing workshop in November and will soon offer the first Native American Health elective at the School of Medicine. Excellent Native American healthcare translates to excellent care for everyone. We strive to build a system driven by traditional Indigenous ideology by focusing on community and holistic care. Medicine needs more reciprocity, compassion, humility, respect, equity and trust.

Alone these are all small steps, but together have already contributed to creating an Indigenous presence at the School of Medicine. To my fellow student activists, I urge you to keep pushing. What we do matters. Our representation matters. Our voices matter. Most of the time it doesn’t feel that way … until I cry with one of my mentees as they open their acceptance letter to medical school or see a Native child playing with a stethoscope and overhear them telling their classmate “I think I will be a doctor too.”

I still often feel like I don’t belong, especially when I see the Colonel Conner memorial. I feel isolated until I meet new relatives, including a distant cousin whose ancestors also survived the Bear River Massacre and who is now on faculty here. It’s difficult walking in these two almost contradictory worlds as a rising physician and Indigenous person, so instead I integrate them. You do not have to choose one or the other. You never have to sacrifice your morals or values in whatever career you choose. You can be successful while still standing up for what you believe in. You will find people to lift you up.

— Jenna Murray, MPH, Association of Native American Med Students at the U

The Daily Utah Chronicle publishes guest op-eds written by faculty, elected officials and other members of the public on topics relevant to students at the University of Utah. The Chronicle welcomes guest op-ed pitches here.