10/31/2025 | News release | Distributed by Public on 10/31/2025 07:06
Authored by:
Ruth SteinhardtSINAR President Jacob Brittingham hails from Boswell, Okla. (Courtesy J. Brittingham)
A few years ago, Jacob Brittingham took up stickball. The Choctaw version he played, called ishtaboli, is not for the faint of heart. In lacrosse, stickball's mainstream cousin, players use a single stick to handle a ball across a field, dodge, pass, catch and score on a sizable net. In Choctaw stickball, players use two sticks each, aiming to hit a single, narrow vertical post with a small handmade ball. As in ice hockey, full contact is allowed and even encouraged; unlike in ice hockey, there's no protective equipment. The sport's Choctaw-language name translates to "the little brother of war," reflecting its origins as a less-deadly (though still occasionally fatal) approach to settling disputes between Indigenous communities in the Southeast.
"Historically, there were hundreds of players on the field-which could be miles long-and the game would go on for days until there was a winner," said Brittingham, a junior political science and human services and social justice major and president of Students for Indigenous and Native American Rights(SINAR) at the George Washington University.
The modern game is a little smaller in scale, with 30 players on a football-sized field. For Brittingham, a citizen of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, stickball provided a new way to look at something that's always been the bedrock of his experience: his heritage and community.
"An elder once passed on to me an interpretation of stickball where the ball represents the child and the two sticks are the parents, they carry the child along with them to eventually help the child achieve their goals," Brittingham said. "When a player gets a point, or achieves their goal, they bring that achievement back for their team, or their community. The child is raised and shaped by the community, and once the child reaches success, that's a community achievement just as much as it is that one singular child."
That way of looking at things is reflected in the way Brittingham formally introduces himself: in the Choctaw language, naming his hometown, birthplace, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother.
"Halito, sʋ hohchifo yʋt Jacob Brittingham. Boswell, Okla Homma aminti li. Tʋli hina si ʋlhpoa. Sʋshki yʋt Monica Brittingham. Sʋpokni yʋt Teresa Jacob. Sʋpokni ishki yʋt ohoyo nan apesa Edna Belvin. George Washington University holisso apisa ia li. Political science micha human services micha social justice ako̱ ikhʋna li. Chahta sia. Himat nittak ʋla li kʋt sʋ na yukpa fehna!"
"Hello, my name is Jacob Brittingham. I am from Boswell, Oklahoma. I was born in Talihina, Oklahoma. My mother is Monica Brittingham. My grandmother is Teresa Jacob. My mother's mother is Councilwoman Edna Belvin. I go to the George Washington University. I study political science and human services and social justice. I am Choctaw. I am very happy to be here today."
November is Native American Heritage Month(NAHM), an opportunity to highlight and uplift the living voices, stories and cultures of Indigenous people throughout the United States. At GW, SINAR's focus for the month is on the 50th anniversary of the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act(ISDEAA), a landmark piece of legislation that strove to end forced assimilation and paternalistic state control.
Now, as changes in federal policy and funding affect Indigenous communities nationwide, Brittingham says it's a particularly crucial time to celebrate the ongoing impact and importance of self-determination for Native people.
"Culture is living, and culture is shared," Brittingham said. "Native cultures have shaped so much of music, so much of fashion, so much of art and architecture, but we've almost forgotten that-and in fact some of that is even trying to be erased, forgotten or swept under the rug. Not everybody knows about Native cultures or peoples, even when they live on Native land, study on Native land or go on vacation to places that have specific meaning to a people. So it's a time to celebrate, but it's also time to remind everyone that we are here and we will always be here. We're resilient."
Brittingham was raised by his mother, grandmother and aunt in tiny Boswell, Oklahoma, a town of less than 1000 on the Choctaw Nation reservation in the southeast corner of the state. His high school graduating class contained just 23 people. When he arrived at GW, he said, there was some whiplash both at adjusting to city life and at the absence of an Indigenous context and community that had been omnipresent growing up. SINAR, which Brittingham found at the Multicultural Student Services Center(MSSC) Block Party his first year, provided a space that was both familiar and expansive, somewhere he felt understood and supported without having to explain or educate.
"When I first joined, a lot of our work was advocacy and education on things like tribal sovereignty or the Indian Child Welfare Act," Brittingham remembered. "But now we're able to do more things for ourselves. Everyone is welcome to join, and we always invite allies who are interested to respectfully learn about Native cultures and traditions and take part in some of what we want to share. But we're always, most importantly, a Native space here on campus."
Over the last few years, Brittingham has seized opportunities to learn from non-Choctaw specific traditions. He especially took to beadwork. Now anofficially registered Choctaw artist, he makes colorful, elegant geometric jewelry and will lead a beading workshop Nov. 12 as part of NAHM.
Brittingham also is a first-generation college student whose family placed an enormous value on education. A family story says that Brittingham's great-great-great grandmother once carried her baby grandson in a wagon to a a neighboring community's church because his family wanted him to be a minister; when he eventually did attain a ministerial license, he became the only member of Brittingham's direct lineage to receive any formal certification of his education. Both Brittingham's mother and grandmother attended some college but were unable to complete their degrees.
"I used to think, 'How different would our family's lives have been if my grandmother would have gotten a degree?' and "What would life be like if my mother graduated from college?'," Brittingham said. "When I do graduate, I will be the first person to graduate with a college degree in my 600-generation direct family lineage. I feel like everybody in that lineage, every single person in every generation, has had a part in getting me here to where I am today. And I'll have a part in supporting wherever the generations after me go next."
For Brittingham and SINAR, commemorating that journey goes way beyond NAHM. "We are celebrating every month," he said, "every day, every minute."
Follow SINAR on social media for event announcements on an ongoing basis all year. A partial list of events at GW includes:
            Nov. 3 at 6:15 p.m. SINAR Movie Night: "Sugarcane"
            Corcoran Hall 104
            725 21st St., NW
          
            Nov. 5 at 6 p.m. "The Chosen and the Damned: Native Americans and the Making of Race in the United States" Book Talk with Dr. David Silverman
            Multicultural Student Services Center Gallery Lounge
            University Student Center, fifth floor
            800 21st St., NW
          
            Nov. 12 at 5 p.m. SINAR x MSSC Beading Workshop
            MSSC Multipurpose Room
            USC, fifth floor
          
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