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Sunday, February 22, 2026

A NIGHTMARE OF COLOR

by Dick Altman
 
 
As reports come out across the country of Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents detaining Native Americans, a couple dozen New Mexico lawmakers are pushing a bill that would allow tribal citizens to update their state-issued IDs to reflect their enrollment status. House Bill 20 would give people enrolled in a federally recognized tribe the option to request a “distinguishing mark” identifying them as Native American on their driver’s license or other identification cards. A similar law passed in Arizona last year went into effect in January. On a sample license posted online by that state’s Motor Vehicle Division, “Native American” is written on the bottom left side of the card. —New Mexico In Depth, February 12, 2026


Northern New Mexico


In my mind

it begins,

a Pow Wow

of dance,

chant,

drum,

lofting

my Anglo dreams

to heights

of ritual

more ancient

than Columbus.

Despite the festive air,

masked figures,

I don’t

recognize as Native,

badged and holstered,

lurk in the shadows,

beyond

the drum circle—

waiting.

*

I try to sense,

living as I do,

in Indian Country,

what you,

a Native American,

feel like

awakening now

to a face

in the mirror,

that greets

morning’s light,

not with a smile,

but fear

your complexion,

perhaps only a shade

darker than mine,

might find you

in ICE’s

angry grasp,

two steps away

from expulsion.

*

Identity docs,

once sacred sources

of pride,

and connection,

sat vaulted

in your tribal home,

rarely,

if ever,

in need

of exposure,

to the world

outside.

Now,

I’m told,

you dare not leave

the reservation,

without

your paper shields

of origin.

*

Your biggest fear—

how could I not feel

the same—

likely separation

from your children,

an old fear,

dating back

to early last

century,

when federal agents,

as if yesterday,

drag off

Native offspring

to attend

schools,

to acquire

more “whiteness”.

A curriculum

leading often

to forced labor

and early death,

as history’s

numerous

graves attest.

*

I hesitate,

these days,

to stroll

the town square,

birthed

and sustained

by Puebloans

like  yourself,

long before

the arrival

of Europeans.

I reel,

with broken heart,

as ICE grabs you

off the street,

to challenge

your sovereign right,

stretching back

a thousand years,

to call America

home.

 

 

Dick Altman writes in the thin, magical air of Old West’s high desert plains, where, at 7,000 feet, reality and imagination often blur. He is published in the American Journal of Poetry, Santa Fe Literary Review, Fredericksburg Literary Review, Foliate Oak, Landing Zone, Cathexis Northwest Press, Humana Obscura, Haunted Waters Press, and others here and abroad.  His work also appears in the first edition of The New Mexico Anthology of Poetry, published by the New Mexico Museum Press.  Pushcart Prize nominee and poetry winner of Santa Fe New Mexican’s annual literary competition, he has authored over 290 poems, published on four continents.