Oct. 27—ANGOON—On a cold and cloudy Friday afternoon, Tlingit clan leaders were ready to welcome guests to Angoon.
For millennia, the Tlingit have lived on Admiralty Island, or Xootsnoowú, the fortress of the bears. Adorned in regalia, clan leaders performed a traditional Tlingit welcoming ceremony to their ancestral lands.
“We welcome you with open arms,” said Daniel Johnson Jr., a leader of the Deisheetaan clan.
Facing the Tlingit was Admiral Mark Sucato, commander of the Northwest Naval Region, along with a handful of uniformed Navy personnel.
“We’re coming for your ku.éex’!” Sucato said.
Generations of Tlingit had fought for this moment to bury their grief. Now the memorable day had arrived.
The US Navy would finally apologize for what it did on October 26, 1882.
The Angoon bombing
Tlingit oral tradition says the attack was a surprise. Shells rained down on the village. Marines landed and set houses on fire. At least six children died from smoke inhalation.
Storehouses filled with food for the winter were destroyed, and priceless memories of the clan were stolen from destroyed homes. All but one of the village’s precious canoes, or yaakw, were destroyed.
Angoon was wiped out.
Decades later, Billy Jones, who was 13 at the time of the attack, told the story of his village’s destruction to an anthropologist.
“They left us homeless on the beach,” he said.
Alaska was under the jurisdiction of the US Navy at the time. The top Navy official in Alaska was Cmdr. E. G. Merriman.
Three days before the bombardment, a harpoon gun exploded aboard a whaling ship, killing Téel ‘Tlein, a Tlingit medicine man and healer from Angoon who worked as a crew member.
According to Tlingit oral history, villagers mourned Téel ‘Tlein and painted their faces with coal tar and tallow to mourn, which was interpreted by whaling station employees as a sign of an impending attack.
Navy records show that the Tlingit took two white employees hostage and threatened to kill them, justifying the bombing.
In a letter sent to the secretary of the Navy days later, Merriman said he spoke to village elders after the attack, who told him “they would never attempt anything like this again.” The lesson had been learned, he said.
“They were happy that I had set the village on fire,” he said.
The Tlingit of Angoon have consistently denied that any hostages were taken. Historians noted that the attack was ostensibly intended to free hostages, but their fate was not recorded by Merriman and others.
Without shelter or supplies, it remains unknown how many people died from starvation and exposure in the first winter. According to Tlingit oral tradition, it took five years for the villagers to recover and begin rebuilding.
‘The people of Angoon almost all died of hunger. How we suffered,” Jones said.
The ku.eex’
The descendants of those who survived the bombing gathered on Saturday for a long-awaited ku.éex’, or potlatch.
The most important ku.éex’ in Tlingit culture are memorials that help mark the end of a mourning period. Clan treasures are shown. Costly regalia is worn.
For decades, the Tlingit of Angoon and their supporters have asked the Navy to apologize for the destruction of their village. For decades, their efforts were rejected – until now.
“As we all know, this is a monumental event that we must witness,” said Alan Zuboff, a Tlingit elder. “Our grandfathers wished this would (have come) in their time. They are all here with us in spirit. Right at this moment.”
Shgen George reads an account of the bombardment of Angoon in 1882. Rear Admiral Mark Sucato delivers an official Navy apology in the village on October 26, 2024. (Marc Lester / ADN)
Angoon, or Aangóon, usually has just over 350 people. The town’s population grew Saturday as the high school gym was packed with people. Some had traveled a long way to be there.
Marilyn Boggs, a nurse who lives in Arizona, said her ancestors left Angoon after it was destroyed and settled in Hoonah. She returned to witness the apology.
“It took a long time,” she said.
The people of Angoon were told in May that the apology would take place soon. The ku.éex’ took months of planning with the Navy to ensure it was handled with care. And now the day had arrived.
On the 142nd anniversary of the bombing, Admiral Mark Sucato stood before Angoon and formally apologized.
“(The Navy) recognizes that the Tlingit people of Angoon neither deserved nor provoked the bombing and subsequent destruction of their village by the U.S. Navy,” he said.
Sucato said the Navy “expresses its regret for the long delay” in issuing a formal apology. Sucato quotes Navy Secretary Carlos Del Toro as saying, “It is never too late to do the right thing.”
The gymnasium erupted in thunderous and prolonged applause when Sucato finished. The crowd shouted their thanks in Tlingit – “Gunalchéesh!”
One by one, Tlingit leaders accepted the Navy’s apology, wearing regalia that embodied their ancestors.
Shgen George, caretaker of the Killer Whale Tooth House, gave a detailed and emotional account of the devastation wrought by Angoon. After the apology, she thanked the Navy.
“But now it’s time to put our sadness aside. We will wipe away our tears. These are our grandfathers – these hats that we wear – they are here and they are the ones saying ‘thank you’. she said.
U.S. Senator Lisa Murkowski and Dan Sullivan were here for the ku.éex’. Both senators had campaigned for the apology, insisting that the people of Angoon had never given up their fight.
The Tlingit of Angoon had black paint applied to their faces to indicate that they were in mourning. There was no end to the sadness until Saturday’s ceremony. The people here said it was as if Angoon had been destroyed yesterday.
The apology could stop the grieving. A new phase of reconciliation could begin. The black paint was wiped away. The commemoration turned into a party that lasted well into the night.
The evening saw endless plates of food and the traditional exchange of gifts between hosts and guests.
‘We are still here’
Shortly after 1:30 am, while the gym was still full, it was time for the outgoing song. Members of the naval band danced in uniform with the people of Angoon.
More than 15 hours after it started, the ku.éex’ was over. But the destruction of Angoon 142 years ago will not be forgotten.
Rosita Worl, president of the Sealaska Heritage Institute, had long campaigned for Saturday’s apology. She said it is now part of Tlingit history, which would be taught for generations to come.
“It is now your responsibility to ensure that our culture survives,” she told the gym full of elderly and young people.
All day long, in a place of honor in the gym — next to a framed copy of the Navy’s apology — an ornately carved beaver statue stood under a Tlingit vest and Navy hat.
The carved beaver adorned the only canoe that survived the Navy bombardment. Oral history says that the canoe allowed the Tlingit to gather food during the first winter for survival.
When the canoe was no longer usable, it was cremated as a person in a ceremony. The beaver’s bow was lost in the early 20th century. But it was randomly rediscovered in New York in 1998 and repatriated to Angoon.
The beaver’s prow had somehow survived, and so had the Tlingit of Angoon.
“We’re still here,” said Garfield George, caretaker of Deishú Hít. “We are still here, on the land of our grandfathers.”
