The Untold Truth of Pocahontas

Listen, Grandchild, to the voice of the rivers, the old trees, and the fires that have burned since time beyond memory. Let them tell you of Matoaka—whom the world misnames Pocahontas—for her story is not the one painted by foreign hands. It is deeper than their ink, older than their books, and truer than their legends.

Her Name Was Matoaka

Before she was ‘Pocahontas,’ she was Matoaka—a name held close, like a sacred bundle, not to be spoken lightly among outsiders. ‘Pocahontas’ was a childhood name, one that spoke of her playful spirit, like the shimmering current of a stream. But names have power, and when strangers took hers, they tried to take her story too. Remember: she was never theirs to claim.

She Was a Bridge, But Not By Choice

They will say she ‘chose’ to cross between worlds, that she ‘loved’ the invaders. But what is choice when the alternative is war? What is love when survival is the only path? She was a child when the ships came, a girl when she was taken, and a woman who never saw her homeland again. Honor her as a daughter of the Powhatan people, who walked in two worlds not for glory, but because the storm of history forced her steps.

Her Life Was Not a Fairytale

The white man’s tales paint her as a princess who gave up her world for love. But where is the truth in that? Where is the grief of her father, Wahunsenaca (Chief Powhatan), when she was held captive? Where are the tears of her people when she was paraded across the ocean like a trophy? They dressed her in their clothes, baptized her with their words, and buried her in their earth—far from the soil of her ancestors. This is not a romance. This is a mourning.

Her Legacy Is Resistance

Yet still, she endures—not as their myth, but as our memory. She lives in the stories told by the Rappahannock, the Mattaponi, and the Pamunkey, who remember her as family, not as folklore. Her blood still flows in the veins of her descendants, and her name still rises in our prayers. When you hear ‘Pocahontas,’ do not think of their cartoon or their lies. Think of a stolen girl who never lost her spirit. Think of a people who refused to vanish.

Carry Her Truth Forward

So when you speak her name, speak it right. Say Matoaka. Say Amonute. Say Rebecca Rolfe if you must, for that was the name they forced upon her. But most of all, say, ‘She was ours.’ And remember: our stories are not relics of the past. They are fires that still burn.

Walk with this truth, Grandchild, and let no one twist our history again."

—A Message from the Ancestors, Through the Voices of the Living