I believe that being true to yourself is the most meaningful work one can do. I say “work” because honoring your heritage is no easy task.

I grew up going between Boulder, Colorado, and Santa Fe, New Mexico. From a young age, I was familiar with how the colonial American “nation” deliberately evicted the Native American inhabitants of this country from their lands and nearly eradicated them, my family included.

As my grandfather and uncle have always reminded me, this is why the preservation of our people is so vital. In my eyes, Native identity is a commitment to honor the traditions that have given life to those who came before you and a deep connection to the world, especially the land. My ancestors and I will not be forgotten.

When I was applying to GW, I took its claims of a vibrant, diverse community at face value. I expected there to be Native students, as admissions advertisements flashed organizations and the promise of a diverse community in my face. For a school that makes a point of including land acknowledgments on most syllabi, actual Native students are bizarrely underrepresented and ignored.

It was only when a friend told me of a Native students “affinity night” hosted by the Multicultural Student Services Center that I gained a modicum of hope.

I was the only undergrad there. The only other Native student was an equally disgruntled grad student who just looked me in the eye and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

The realization that I came to was simple: We are not a priority.

It was hard to get over the feeling that I had been stranded. Native students represent 0.065 percent of undergraduate students and 0.2 percent of graduate students at GW, according to enrollment data from 2022. There were 10,798 undergraduate students here last year — 0.065 percent of that is just seven people. How is that possible?

How can the administration claim Native students are present at all if fewer than 40 of us attend the whole school? Going from one of hundreds of Natives I knew to being one of seven I haven’t even met was beyond jarring. It made me lose a peace of mind that I didn’t know could leave me. I have lived places with few Natives before but never somewhere with an amount I could count on my hands.

I imagine that other Native students across D.C. feel a similar way — both Georgetown and American universities have few, if any, Native students. This is a problem, and the universities in the country’s capital should be on the leading edge of educating its Native population.

The lack of a thriving Native student population creates a situation in which teachers and students alike are free to disseminate their own views on Native issues as they see fit. I sat through a talk in which a white professor stared me down and explained how he understood the nuances of my tribe’s sacred activities. And when faculty do encourage research and interest in Native issues and politics, actual Natives are not present to take part in that discourse.

In the absence of a thriving Native student body, some students at GW, including friends I’ve made here, are oblivious to and ignorant of Natives — they rarely know we even exist.

This ignorance regarding Native students on campus is a systemic issue, and some diversity and equity initiatives completely overlook Native students both at GW and across the country. That being said, enrollment of Natives in higher education is low nationwide — in 2019, only 17 percent of Native students entered college after high school. For white Americans, that number hovers around 60 percent.

It’s also felt like administrators involved in diversity programming on campus are less concerned about the events and associations related to Natives than ever before. I’m hesitant to suggest expanding campus organizations meant for Native students — GW needs to first focus on outreach and scholarship opportunities in Indian Country before it can tackle the issues on campus.

Ultimately, GW’s responsibility to Native students extends beyond simply acknowledging its existence on colonized land. It must include reparations in the form of scholarships for Anacostan and Piscataway students, whose land this campus sits on. This isn’t without precedent. The University of California system began fully covering tuition for students enrolled in a federally recognized California Native tribe at the start of the fall 2022 academic year.

GW must publicly recognize, promote and take care of the few of us who are here. Being seen for who you are is an inexplicably uplifting experience, and the school definitely has the resources to reach out to seven students and check in. This work cannot be that hard for GW to do — the money is there.

Just give us something to hold on to: a landmark on campus honoring the Native ancestors who cared for this land in the past, a space for Native students to gather, a message of “We can help, you’re not alone.”

Being invisible is a beyond dehumanizing experience. It makes you feel like nothing. It makes you look in the mirror and question the skin that adorns your body. It makes you jealous and resentful in the face of something that should never spark those feelings within you — your identity.

It feels like my world is hidden, that sometimes I would be better off leaving it in the shadows than trying to bring it to school with me. Nobody deserves to feel like that. College is supposed to be the space where the true you can blossom. And as long as I have a say, I will not be forgotten here.

Noah Edelman, a sophomore majoring in journalism, is an opinions writer. He is of Santa Clara Pueblo descent.