Persistent Perserverence

Spring 2025, FORUM Magazine

IT'S NO SMALL BURDEN to carry the weight of a family’s history, practices, and legacy, and every tradition, value, and piece of the family lineage rested on the shoulders of my mom, Donna Galbreath, the only daughter of my grandma Molly. Our Ahtna culture follows a matrilineal system of descent, and as such, Donna was entrusted with the responsibility of preserving our clan's continuity. Before Alaska became the 49th state, my grandparents Don and Molly had two of their three children: Larry, the oldest son, and Donna, the middle child. When my mom, Donna, was sixteen, her younger brother, my uncle Michael, was born. While my uncle Larry was deployed in Vietnam, Donna took her baby brother with her wherever she went. My mom shared, “Whatever I was doing, I wanted to teach him about life”.

As the only daughter, my mom felt the pressure to uphold our clan’s future. Determined to meet the expectations placed upon her, she strove to perform as well academically as her older brother. My uncle Larry was known for his excellent grades. My mom attended high school in Fairbanks in the 1970s, which was a time of significant social change in the United States. Schools were desegregating, and more children were attending public schools rather than staying home and learning our traditional ways of life.

My grandma Molly has always shared that she went to school up until the third grade. She didn’t learn to speak English until she was 15, and she would tell my mom that lots of people made fun of her for speaking our Ahtna language. Grandma Molly didn’t want her children to have the same experience as her, so she didn’t teach my mom and my uncles how to speak fluently in Ahtna. When Molly became a mom, she did the best she could to raise her children during a time when outsiders were unabashedly assimilating Alaska Native people. My grandma protected her children by not speaking to them in our traditional language. My mom and her brothers grew up speaking English and only gleaning a few words in our Mentasta dialect of the Ahtna language. Despite grandma Molly’s efforts to protect her children, she couldn’t fight for them in every situation. As parents, we watch our children go to school and hope that they have the best possible day. Parenting my four sons has taught me a tremendous amount about life and humanity. I want to protect my kids just like my grandma did her best to prepare her children for the world, and see them grow up to be successful. My dreams for their lives have been different than the reality, and it has been heartbreaking during the times they are discriminated against at school or other community settings.

While attending school in Fairbanks, my mom experienced quite a bit of racism for being Alaska Native. People would make fun of her for being a “Salmon Cruncher,” call her the N-word, and exclude her from activities. These taunts and stereotypes were not just from other students; sneers and unfair treatment came from teachers, too. “It always seemed like teachers wanted to catch me doing something bad. The expectations for Alaska Native students were that you sat in the back of the classroom or skipped.” When her senior year came around, she decided that attending high school was unbearable, so she dropped out. Thankfully, the vice principal encouraged her to get her General Educational Development (GED).

After obtaining her GED and working a few jobs, she joined many others at the time in building the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System. I can’t help but smile when I imagine my mom, just 5 feet 2 and a half inches, climbing into those massive trucks like it was nothing. She worked just like the rest of them, even though she was a bit smaller in stature. She shares stories about her time in Livengood, 5-Mile camp, and Fairbanks. While she worked at the 5-Mile camp, bears would sometimes come around. One bear, nicknamed “Brownie,” often came around when Donna worked in the warehouse. “Somehow, the bear became my friend. Once, I was standing at the counter doing paperwork and ignoring Brownie, and she stood up beside me and put her front paws on the counter, and leaned over to see what I was doing. Another time, I was sorting parts on a pallet on the floor, and she came around. I ignored her, and she reached over and put her mouth on my arm very gently. I stopped what I was doing and said, ‘Ok, I will pet you.’” I haven’t heard of many folks sharing stories about being friends with bears, but leave it to my mom to make the best of it.

When my mom was able to work in Fairbanks on the pipeline, her dog Rory was always by her side. Everyone loved Rory. As my mom walked by Rory, she would do a big, cheesy grin. After repeatedly doing this day in and day out, her dog gave her the same toothy smile back. The joy that came from her dog helped her get through the challenges of working.

In addition to the stresses of working away from family and friends in Livengood and the 5-Mile Camp, my mom also experienced sexism and unfair treatment. When she was at 5-Mile Camp, many men wanted her to do sexual favors for them. She didn’t even want to go to the mess hall because of the disgusting treatment she experienced. There was a man from Canada who assured her that he wasn’t going to come on to her or hurt her and would escort her to the mess hall if she wanted. She became friends with him, and he upheld his word. The other men left her alone after that. I am grateful to know that someone had the integrity to step up and protect my mom. Sadly, there are far too many times when women have to face challenges alone, without anyone stepping in to protect them.

It is appalling to know that the number of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women in Alaska is 229 women, 149 missing and 80 murdered.¹ This is the same number of federally recognized Tribes in Alaska. Additionally, “4 out of 5 Alaska Native women will experience violence in their lifetime”. I first learned of that statistic in 2014 as I was preparing a protest sign to “Walk A Mile in Her Shoes” to raise awareness for domestic violence and fundraise for the Interior Center for Non-Violent Living in Fairbanks, AK. While at the event, I noticed I was the only Native person present and the only person with a sign about the staggering statistics affecting Indigenous women. I’ve lived much of my life not wanting to be a stereotype or a statistic. I’ve thought for the majority of my life that I wasn’t part of the 4 out of 5 Native women. However, in counseling sessions, I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that some of my own experiences were, in fact, domestic violence. This realization has begged the question, who out there has not experienced violence? I hope no one goes through a violation of their being. It is something I have to use my faith and other resources to help me overcome. I am grateful for different organizations raising awareness about protecting women and also taking action when something happens. If you are experiencing domestic violence, you can get help. You can make a medical appointment and tell them. If it’s an immediate situation, call 911. There is a 24-hour hotline you can call at 907-452-2293 or 1-800-478-7273. You deserve to be treated with respect and not live in fear.

I’ve asked my mom how she always has this calmness about her, even when everything seems to be chaotic. She indicated that she knows that she has food, a home, and family, and everything else isn’t what’s important. When I was a teenager, I wrote a poem about the different personalities in my family, and I distinctly remember her description as one of quiet resolve. There is a point where my mom has had enough, and that’s when she takes matters into her own hands and changes her circumstances.

The circumstances working on the pipeline included working for supervisors with whom my mom knew she could exceed expectations. After conversations with friends, she decided to pursue a college degree at the University of Alaska Fairbanks (UAF). While attending UAF, she married my dad, Jeff Mann, and shortly after, I was born. While my mom went to college, she realized that she wanted to pursue her passion for biology and helping others by becoming a medical doctor. A particular professor of hers told her that she wouldn’t even pass his class, let alone become a doctor. Like many obstacles placed in the way, you find a way through it. Donna passed the class with a B and went on to attend the University of Washington’s medical school, moving our family to Seattle, WA.

I remember her being extremely busy while she went to medical school. My mom was either in school or studying for it. She shared a particular memory of hers when we went to a potluck. My little 4-year-old hand held hers in mine, and I introduced her to all the people at the dinner. My dad and I spent evenings together with friends and taking care of household responsibilities. Being that my dad is quite gregarious, he’s always meeting new people and making new friends. My dad, Jeff Mann, was the only white man at Mt. Edgecumbe High School as an exchange student from Massachusetts. His love for Alaska was fueled by his experiences in Sitka and going to a small village near Bethel with his roommate during long breaks. My dad’s longing to be in the Arctic led him to attend the University of Alaska, where he met my mom. It is amazing to have them as parents. They are both passionate about living healthly, pursuing their dreams, and modeling great relationship skills. Growing up, they never raised their voices at each other; they would always talk over situations as they came up. Together, they moved our family, which had grown to include my brother Tikaan Galbreath and sister Kate Lillie, to the Midwest. In the small town of Marquette, MI, my mom went to a family practice residency school. True to my father’s nature, he pursued one of his greatest dreams: to create community through dog mushing. He and an amazing group of visionaries started the Upper Peninsula 200, more affectionately known as the U.P. 200.^2.

Our time in Marquette fills the memories of us all. Lifelong friends were made, dog mushing was brought back to the Upper Peninsula after 100 years of absence, and my mom passed the residency program. My mom’s dream was to move back to Alaska after becoming a physician. So we packed up and drove back home the summer of 1991.

Back home in Fairbanks, my mom started working at Chief Andrew Isaac Health Center and was recognized as the first Athabascan doctor in Alaska. Native people across Alaska were so thankful for my mom becoming a doctor. After she started practicing medicine, Alaska Native people began to feel more comfortable receiving medical care. My mom understands Alaska Native culture and was able to meet the needs of people because she took the time to listen and didn’t judge. One of our respected Elders in Fairbanks shared with me their gratitude for my mom seeing him for who he is. At the time, he was drinking a lot and staying under a bridge. When she saw him at the clinic, she encouraged him to stop drinking and be the leader he was meant to be. He shared how thankful he is to have her help him realize what he needed to do. Over the years, many people have shared stories with me about how much my mom helped and cared for them.

It’s incredible to think that, out of all the people in the world, my mom became the first Athabascan doctor. Perhaps even the first Alaska Native medical doctor and first Indigenous doctor working at Chief Andrew Isaac Health Center for all of Tanana Chiefs Conference and in all of Alaska!³ My mom, Donna, has carried forth an incredible legacy for our Tsisyu clan. She overcame incredible odds that were stacked against her: racism, poverty, historical trauma, and so much more.

As my mom practiced medicine, she was a part of the American Indian Association of Physicians (AIAP) and later became president of the organization. Through this affiliation, she has inspired countless Indigenous youth to get involved with medicine and to go after their dreams. After working at Chief Andrew Health Center for thirteen years, Donna remarried and moved to Anchorage, and began practicing at Southcentral Foundation. After a few years, she became one of the medical directors there. She is a recipient of the 2018 Alaska Federation of Natives President’s Award in Health. In 2022, she was recognized for her 30 years in health care and awarded the Dr. Anne P. Lanier Meritorious Health Service Award.

My mom is a living testament to what determination, commitment, perseverance, kindness, and love can achieve. She’s an inspiration to me, my siblings, our clan and anyone lucky enough to know her. ■

¹  MMIW Fact Sheet April 13, 2025. https://www.aknwrc.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/MMIW-FactSheet-1.pdf

²  https://thenorthwindonline.com...

³  If Athabascan people are Indigenous to Alaska, does this mean that she’s the first Athabascan Doctor everywhere? Not everywhere… Athabascan is actually a term that is representative of the language family. People who are related within this Indigenous peoples group are more appropriately called Dene. The Dene people have relatives that extend over into Canada, the Pacific Northwest, and all the way down into the Southwest. 

Yatibaey Evans is Ahtna, Athabascan from Mentasta, Alaska and is the proud mother of four incredible boys. Yatibaey is the Creative Producer for the Emmy Award winning PBS series, MOLLY OF DENALI. She is also an adjunct professor for the College of Indigenous Studies at UAF. Previously, she held the position of Alaska Native Education Director for the Fairbanks school district and was awarded Champion for Kids in 2021, by the Alaska's Children's Trust, A Friend of Education from Fairbanks Education Association, and Alaska's Top 40 Under 40 in 2017. Yatibaey is a 2025 FORUM Writing Fellow.