As we entered Northern California, we were greeted by a sign that said “The Yurok tribe welcomes you.” It felt like a dream biking through areas that looked like they were straight out of a story book: thick redwoods, fog rolling over the curvy roads, and land that seemed to stand still.
Later during a rest day in Eureka, I was lucky enough to meet a Yurok woman named Elidia at a 5k event, and we had a discussion about how legal systems worked differently on tribal land, since they had their own sovereignty. She told me that in all of California, there was only one main investigator who was assigned to trafficking cases on tribal land. She also said that there was a saying: “if you want to do something bad to someone, go on native land.” This wasn’t merely a piece of ominous folklore, it was the direct result of how justice actually plays out for indigenous people. Or doesn’t.
Before Pedal the Pacific, I didn’t know how deeply trafficking and sexual violence affected indigenous communities.
I didn’t know that 96% of Native women who experience violence report that the perpetuator is non-native.
I didn’t know that in some regions in the US and Canada, such as South Dakota, around 40% of reported sex trafficking survivors were Native women (despite only representing less than 10% of the state population).
I didn’t know that LGBTQ+ and Two Spirit youth are at an especially high risk for trafficking. Or that even when Indigenous survivors are seeking legal help or resources, they are met with assumptions, silence, and even criminalization.
I came into this ride knowing I want to be a lawyer, and I still do. But through Pedal, I have started to realize that believing in Justice means looking directly at where it falls short. It means noticing who is getting left behind, especially in communities where jurisdiction is murky, resources are scarce, and the laws aren’t foolproof. It also means understanding that there is no such thing as a “perfect survivor,” even though people may expect one. Someone who grew up with a loving home and who was snatched away in a dark alley. Someone who doesn’t live on tribal land. Someone who doesn’t push back. Quiet. Sympathetic. Someone easy to believe.
That’s not how real life works. Real life is complicated, and so is healing. If we only offer care, resources, and legal help to those who fit a “mold,” then our legal system is failing to offer care at all.
I want to continue riding to ask questions about the communities and people we are passing by. Because Native communities deserve action, protection, and systems that actually work for them, rather than just working around them.
