The Long Game

Teaching Tuesday this week is offered by our friend, mentor, and teacher, George Harris Jr.

George recently watched a film that stirred something deep and familiar. What he shares here is not a movie review, but a reflection on belonging, dignity, quiet strength, and the people who make it possible for others to walk through doors that were never built for them.

As you read, notice where you see yourself in this story. Notice where you feel invited in. And notice where you feel gently challenged.

We are grateful to George for sharing these teachings with us.

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I want to start off this Teaching Tuesday with a spoiler alert.

Recently, I watched a movie called The Long Game. This film is based on the true story of the San Felipe High School golf team, the Mustangs, from Del Rio, Texas. In the 1950s, five Mexican American teenagers faced segregation and discrimination while pursuing a sport that many believed was not meant for them. Despite these barriers, they went on to become the 1957 Texas state high school golf champions.

Before they were ever seen as golfers, the boys worked at the local country club as caddies. This was one of the few ways they were allowed into that space. They carried clubs, walked the course, and observed the game up close, all while being told, directly and indirectly, that they did not belong. They were allowed to serve, but not to play.

The boys were supported by their new school superintendent, J.B. Peña, who was also of Mexican descent. J.B. later recruited his former commanding officer from his time in the Marines, Frank Mitchell, who is of settler descent and a member of the country club. Frank played a key role in supporting the boys and helping create opportunities for them, even when doing so challenged the norms of the time.

Throughout the movie, we are also introduced to Pollo, a man of Mexican descent who worked at the country club as the groundskeeper and retrieved golf balls from the driving range. His role may appear small, but his presence carries deep meaning. He represents those who cared for the space and the land, even though they were never meant to fully belong within it.

One of the moments that stayed with me most happened near the end of the movie. After the boys won the state championship, they were simply handed the trophy. There was no celebration, no recognition of the magnitude of their achievement. Their coaches were upset by the disrespect and disregard shown toward the boys. Yet the boys chose to respond differently. They met that moment with dignity, grace, and quiet strength.

With their heads held high and the trophy in hand, they walked through the country club toward the front door. As they moved through the room, they were met with uncomfortable stares from club members and other tournament participants. The space felt heavy and unwelcoming. But something powerful happened as well.

They were met by their own people. The servers and waiters, fellow Mexican workers who were only allowed inside the club to serve, offered simple head nods as the boys passed by. No words were exchanged, yet everything was said. To me, those head nods were signs of respect, pride, and recognition. These workers were not allowed to play golf. They were only there to serve. Yet they laid the foundation that allowed those boys to walk proudly through that space as champions.

The country club did not celebrate them. But when the boys returned home, their community did. Their people did.

This movie connected to me on many levels. I felt a deep connection to the characters because of the shared experiences of racism and discrimination that our peoples have endured. Watching those scenes reminded me that I am here today because my ancestors fought for our survival. They fought for us to still exist. They gave us those same quiet nods of support and respect, even when their voices were ignored.

My ancestors laid the foundation for me and for so many others to have a place in this world beyond the reservation. They made it possible for us to move forward, to walk into spaces that were never built with us in mind, and to help create a better tomorrow for the generations yet to come. Their voices were often dismissed. Their accomplishments were rarely celebrated. Yet they persisted.

Today, our voices are finally being heard. Our cultures are being shown honour and respect. And while there has been progress, the journey is far from over.

So now I look to you, my siiye’yu, my friends.

Are you willing to be the Frank Mitchell in our story? Are you willing to stand beside us when we face adversity? Can you speak up for what is right, even when it feels uncomfortable or costs you something? Because despite all the progress that has been made, there are still people who do not want to celebrate our people or our success.

What does it look like for you to offer that head nod of respect and honour? In what ways can you move from being a witness to being an active supporter? How can we create spaces where people are welcomed rather than tolerated? How do you respond when progress is met with resistance?

Thank you all for allowing me the space to share my thoughts and feelings.

Huy ch q’u | Thank you

Wholwolet’za | George Harris Jr

George’s words remind us that progress is not only marked by those who win trophies, but by those who quietly laid the groundwork long before the win was ever possible.

This Teaching Tuesday is an invitation to reflect on the role we each play — in the rooms we enter, the spaces we influence, and the people we stand beside.

With gratitude to George for this teaching.

<3 Kim