A Stranger Steps into a New Realm, Awakened

Posted August 6, 2026

I’m a total stranger here. But the moment I entered the circle, joining in a dance guided by melodic drumbeats, I became part of a vast family. I was taken aback by this embrace. This was my first time attending an Indigenous Powwow, held in Los Angeles, home to one of the largest urban Native American and Indigenous populations in the country.

I was there thanks to an invitation from a new friend, Melissa Pasadena—a remarkable activist of Cheyenne heritage (whose people originally migrated from the Great Lakes region) mixed with Chinese, Mexican, Scottish, and Filipino ancestry.

Melissa is, for me, the living embodiment of our demographic future. We met through our work as volunteers with Indian Voices, a Native American newspaper based in San Diego.

“Our unique dresses are called regalia, not costumes,” Melissa, herself dressed in beige regalia, explained. She pointed to her feather fan and shared that because the eagle flies higher than any other bird, eagle feathers are sacred, capable of bridging the earthly realm and the spirit world. In my native Vietnamese culture, our prayers are similarly carried by the smoke of burning incense. The smoke gradually rises above the skies to reach the spiritual realms where our ancestors reside.

Hundreds of people from different Native and Indigenous cultures participated in the gathering—adults and children alike, proudly adorned in their colorful regalia. They gathered for The People’s Home: Intertribal Indigenous Powwow. The event was organized by United American Indian Involvement (UAII) and Cal State Los Angeles. It was held on July 25 at the University Stadium—the historic Jesse Owens Track and Field, which served as a training site for the 1984 Olympic Games.

Indigenous drum groups, vibrant dancers, Native artists, cultural food vendors, and community service organizations all filled the grounds to honor these enduring traditions.

In the past, Melissa noted, many tribes rarely interacted due to geographical and cultural distance. But today, through these Powwows, they find one another and discover far more common ground than differences. The dancing and the drumbeats allow everyone to become one.

Melissa added that most Powwows are organized purely by volunteers. These are people driven by sheer dedication who travel near and far, often paying out of their own pockets to keep their traditions and communal unity alive.

Previously, I understood that regalia and traditional dancing carried cultural significance. I was unaware of their deeper meaning. Until Saturday’s powwow.

Native American dancing is a timeless spiritual engagement—a sacred celebration of connection to ancestors, community, and the natural world. While each dancer’s distinct regalia is an expression of individual story and tribal identity, stepping into the sacred circle binds that individuality into a single collective energy, renewing the heartbeat of the community.

But you don’t need to dress in regalia to take part. During intertribal dances, the circle opens to everyone, bridging strangers and community together—which is the heart and essence of a Powwow.

By late afternoon, Aztec dancers invited all attendees to join in. I decided to step up, inserting myself between an Aztec dancer and a fellow attendee. The leader asked everyone to form a circle by joining hands. It was then I realized the man next to me had lost his right arm. I panicked—without joining hands, the circle had a broken link from the start.

But he was quick to smile and say, “You can grab my shirt sleeve. Just don’t let go.”

I immediately gripped his t-shirt sleeve as the drumbeats kicked in. Left, right, left, right. Turn to your right, feet following the beat. Turn to your left, maintaining the rhythm. When the crowd moved in unison, an invisible force swept us along the great circle around the drummers at the center.

Once the circle was complete, an Aztec dancer broke off and led one end outward, while another dancer did the same on the opposite side, transforming the ring into a giant, weaving serpent. Like waves, one end brushed past the serpent’s body to meet the head. Amazingly, as new participants stepped in, the Aztec dancers skillfully opened the chain like water, allowing new branches to merge seamlessly into the flow.

All the while, I concentrated on keeping my feet to the rhythm while holding tight to my neighbor’s sleeve.

Time became irrelevant. Eventually, both ends reunited, forming a circle once more. When the drumbeats stopped, it felt like waking from a dream, but everyone was beaming. I turned to my left, shook my fellow attendee’s left hand, and thanked him for letting me hang onto his right sleeve. I turned to my right to express my gratitude to the Aztec dancer, who warmly thanked me for joining his community’s dance.

Afterward, I went to look for Melissa, who had suffered heat exhaustion earlier and had gone inside to rest. Her fatigue wasn’t out of the blue. The day before, she, her sister Stephanie, her cousin Denise Escoto—vice president of UAII—and their extended family had worked tirelessly setting up kiosks and coordinating logistics for the event.

When I told her I had joined the dance, her face lit up with pride—not only because I had stayed from the morning Grand Entry to the final evening prayer, but because I had taken the leap to immerse myself so fully.

In her eyes, I sensed a quiet hint: I had stepped through the door. But there’s a whole world left to discover inside for a stranger newly awakened!

Julian Do is co-director of American Community Media. This commentary is published with permission by American Community Media.