In the summer of 2017, I helped develop a project in Atlanta, Georgia, focused on a proposed memorial for the enslaved Africans once sold there – and it led me to a giant.

We planned to situate the memorial at the Crawford Frazier Brokerage, an auction house that once stood on the grounds of Five Points MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transportation Authority) station in downtown Atlanta.  

After we had completed the final design for the project and secured the necessary funding, we engaged in ongoing talks with the city about the logistical concerns surrounding the work. During our consultation, the design team decided to approach famed civil rights activist and Congressman John Lewis about the proposal to see if he would be willing to offer his support, an endorsement we hoped would go a long way toward persuading any reluctant officials in city government.  

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So, on a sunny weekday in August, I found myself in a boardroom in an elegantly appointed office in a downtown Atlanta high–rise, my cream–colored cotton suit creased and wrinkled from the afternoon heat. I sat in one of the large, comfortable leather armchairs, thinking about the man I would soon meet.  I thought of the grainy Black and white footage of him as a youthful civil rights worker from Troy, Alabama, leading a group of some 600 peaceful protesters across a bridge in Selma, Alabama, named after Edmund Pettus – a Confederate war veteran and former grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan.  

That day would come to be known as Bloody Sunday. The clubs that split heads open that day – the tear gas that burned the eyes – the ironclad feet of horses that trampled over men, women, and children alike – those searing images had left burn marks on my consciousness.  

I thought of the March on Washington in 1963, when a 23-year-old John Lewis, a seasoned veteran of the freedom movement by then, stood before a crowd of thousands to deliver one of the keynote addresses. I thought of his years of public service and how his principled stand on human rights, environmental justice, and religious pluralism had become beacons of hope for a wayward society lost in the wilderness of racism, materialism, and moral relativism.

Yes, John Robert Lewis, diminutive in stature yet possessing monumental courage, cast a long shadow that I felt honored to stand in. So, as I waited, my palms sweating in anticipation, I steadied myself to meet a man who had contended with the forces of evil in life’s public arena many times over. The cuts and bruises his body suffered, wounds still visible today, show the scarred evidence of his moral convictions. The desecration of the flesh and the consecration of the spirit makes those scars both painful and beautiful to see. 

In a talk in New York City in 1912, Abdu’l–Baha, the son of Baha’u’llah, the prophet and founder of the Baha’i Faith spoke of sacrifice. He said:

If you plant a seed in the ground, a tree will become manifest from that seed. The seed sacrifices itself to the tree that will come from it. The seed is outwardly lost, destroyed; but the same seed which is sacrificed will be absorbed and embodied in the tree, its blossoms, fruit and branches. If the identity of that seed had not been sacrificed to the tree which became manifest from it, no branches, blossoms or fruits would have been forthcoming.

When Congressman Lewis finally walked into the room and I rose to greet him, it felt, in some sense, like a confluence of histories. In his seven decades, he had seen and done so much. His life and the lives of many others – some known, some unknown – represented the sacrificial seeds from which my freedoms germinated. My generation entered the world on the worn heels of those who had marched towards a future made from the mystical intercourse of faith and fortitude. We were the children of the midwives of the movement, men and women alike, who birthed us into a world a little less threatening than the one they had known.  

As we shook hands and I looked into his deep, knowing eyes, I could sense a kind of stillness, a quiet nobility, the acquired dignity of the tested. That grounding force seemed to anchor him to some unstated principled conviction. In his smile, I saw a calming reassurance. I felt a deeply rooted joy, an earned contentment known only to those who have offered up the best of themselves in service to others. In that same talk, Abdu’l-Baha said:

… man must sacrifice the qualities and attributes of the world of nature for the qualities and attributes of the world of God. For instance, consider the substance we call iron. Observe its qualities; it is solid, black, cold. These are the characteristics of iron. When the same iron absorbs heat from the fire, it sacrifices its attribute of solidity for the attribute of fluidity. It sacrifices its attribute of darkness for the attribute of light, which is a quality of the fire. It sacrifices its attribute of coldness to the quality of heat which the fire possesses so that in the iron there remains no solidity, darkness or cold. It becomes illumined and transformed, having sacrificed its qualities to the qualities and attributes of the fire.  

I spent 45 minutes with John Lewis that day, telling him about my artistic vision, how I hoped to bend light and shadow to tell a painful story. Mostly, though, I listened. I listened as he spoke about the cleansing capacity of truth. I listened as he talked about life and legacy — about the bliss of purposeful suffering and the urgent need for courage. 

When I was a small boy, one of the first things I learned in art class was how to make a vessel out of clay.  I remember stacking coils of red modeling clay, one on top of the other, as I dipped my fingers in water to form a weld between layers. All of the students in the class followed the same painstaking process, yet all of the cups looked slightly different. Some were slim, some were more rotund. Others slumped a little to one side or the other, but the one quality they all had in common was they could all hold water.  This essential capacity defined their function. 

Spending time with John Lewis reminded me of that important lesson. Leadership has no definitive form. It can reside in anyone. The person embodying it can be large or small, Black or white, male or female, rich or poor, educated or not. If the heart is open, we can recognize its substance and its fundamental irony: the path to leadership runs through the crucible of service, and the road to nobility admits only the sincerely humble. 

As I gathered with Congressman Lewis and others for a group photograph before I left, I noticed his powerful posture of submission. He stood there with his hands clasped in front of him, and his head slightly bowed – his face radiant with a beautiful smile. In the photograph, it is evident that I am several inches taller than him, but I knew I was in the presence of a giant. 

Ultimately, the proposed memorial wasn’t realized, despite the congressman’s enthusiastic support.  The divisive nature of politics can grind many worthwhile projects to a halt, but for me, that isn’t what I remember most. I remember, for a brief moment in time, in an office in an unassuming building in downtown Atlanta, I sat and talked with John Robert Lewis, a servant, a quiet warrior for justice, a humble leader. 

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It reminds me of what Abdu’l-Baha wrote about humility: 

…man must become evanescent in God. Must forget his own selfish conditions that he may thus arise to the station of sacrifice. It should be to such a degree that if he sleep, it should not be for pleasure, but to rest the body in order to do better, to speak better, to explain more beautifully, to serve the servants of God and to prove the truths. When he remains awake, he should seek to be attentive, serve the Cause of God and sacrifice his own stations for those of God. When he attains to this station, the confirmations of the Holy Spirit will surely reach him, and man with this power can withstand all who inhabit the earth.

The Baha’i teachings ask every Baha’i to abstain from participation in partisan politics. Click here to read more about why.

In “The Brave Ones,” Michael Orona’s compelling narrative transcends beyond physical courage and delves into spiritual courage and resilience, highlighting the power of remaining steadfast in the face of oppression. As Baha’u’llah, the prophet and founder of the Baha’i Faith, wrote:

The source of courage and power is the promotion of the Word of God, and steadfastness in His Love.

Inspired by his personal experiences, family history, and the Baha’i teachings, Michael Orona discusses how the characters in his novel embody this spiritual courage and steadfastness, reflects on the ongoing fight for representation, and explores the lessons his book offers for today’s social justice movements.

Radiance Talley: Hi, Michael! The title “The Brave Ones” suggests acts of courage. How do your characters embody spiritual courage, and how does this align with the Baha’i view of steadfastness in the face of injustice?

Michael Orona: The title “The Brave Ones” carries deep spiritual significance that goes far beyond physical courage. It’s about a profound inner transformation and the courage to reimagine human possibility in the face of systemic oppression.

Spiritual courage, from a Baha’i perspective, isn’t about confrontation, but rather the ability to maintain dignity, hope, and foresight when every system is designed to break your spirit. My characters embody this through their refusal to be defined by their circumstances.

Consider the Baha’i principle articulated by Shoghi Effendi about the American believers’ special calling — to have the “moral courage and fortitude” to address fundamental issues facing humanity. The characters in the book live by this principle. They’re not just fighting against discrimination; they’re creating alternative models for the advancement of not only their own community, but also for the advancement of their oppressors. 

The Indigenous peoples in the story — members of the Yaqui Nation from Sonora — represent this beautifully. They could have accepted their limited circumstances. Instead, they dream beyond their immediate reality and then act. Their dreams and the action to make them a reality symbolize hope — a spiritual act of resistance that transcends physical constraints.

Abdu’l-Baha’s teachings profoundly influenced how I conceived spiritual courage. He spoke about the Indigenous peoples of America having the potential to “enlighten the whole world” if properly educated and guided. My characters embody this — they’re not victims waiting to be saved, but transformative agents with inherent spiritual power.

“The Brave Ones” is a testament to this spiritual courage — a celebration of Indigenous peoples who refuse to be broken, who see beyond current realities to potential futures of unity and justice. I believe this embodies us as Native people, it’s who we are. 

Radiance: Did you draw from personal experiences, oral histories, or Baha’i teachings on the value of diverse cultures?

Michael: The book is deeply rooted from personal experience, family narratives, and the Baha’i teachings that have shaped my life.

Growing up, I was steeped in my Indigenous cultural heritage in large part to the profound support of my late Apache father, Dr. Joel Orona, and my Yaqui mother, Esther Orona. Storytelling wasn’t just a tradition in our family — it was a way of preserving history, of maintaining cultural identity, and spiritual development. The oral histories my grandparents and elders shared with me as a child were living histories, not just personal narratives but collective experiences of resistance, resilience, and survival. It was through these stories that I was taught the importance of being of service not only to my own community, but to the global community. It was through these stories that I was reminded of the responsibility to honor the legacy of my ancestors. 

As a child of the 1970s, I was acutely aware of the lack of diversity and limited representation of Indigenous peoples in the media. I remember watching television or going to the movies and rarely seeing people on screen who looked like me. Those rare times when Indigenous people were portrayed, it was done by non-Native actors in a demeaning manner.  The watershed moment for me was watching Alex Haley’s “Roots” on television — a chronicle that brought the history of African Americans to the forefront. The importance of seeing the struggle and unique perspective from another marginalized community gave me hope that someday I would have the opportunity to share the historical challenges and success of my own people.  

The Baha’i teachings were instrumental in shaping my perspective on cultural diversity. Baha’u’llah’s message on this topic was revolutionary, it was not about reforming existing social norms, but fundamentally shattering the very notion of racial superiority. This wasn’t just a social justice message, but a message of spiritual transformation.

Abdu’l-Baha’s teachings were particularly profound in the writing of the book. He spoke about the unique spiritual potential of Indigenous peoples, stating we will “enlighten the whole world” and serve as spiritual “standard bearers.”  This isn’t patronizing but rather the sincere belief, acknowledgment, and recognition of the inherent spiritual wisdom found within Indigenous communities that have been historically and systematically marginalized.

Ultimately, the book is an embodiment of the Baha’i principle of the oneness of humanity. It’s not just about documenting historical struggles, but about creating a vision of human potential that transcends racial, cultural, and historical divisions. 

Radiance: How do the themes of “The Brave Ones” resonate with today’s social justice movements? What lessons can readers draw from this historical narrative?

Michael: The story of “The Brave Ones” is not just a historical account, but a powerful lens through which we can understand the ongoing struggles for equity, solidarity, and human dignity. I believe the narrative of Indigenous peoples fighting for equality in partnership with African Americans speaks directly to the intersectional nature of social justice movements today.

First and foremost, the book illuminates the power of unexpected alliances. At a time of profound racial discrimination, these communities found strength in their shared marginalized experience.  Today, we see similar dynamics in modern social justice movements — whether its organizations focused on Indigenous rights, economic empowerment, or struggles against systemic oppression. The lesson is clear: solidarity and collaboration across different marginalized communities is not just possible, but essential.

The book underscores how systemic discrimination creates seemingly insurmountable barriers. Members of the Yaqui community in the book faced limited opportunities, forced to live under difficult circumstances with little hope for advancement. This mirrors the ongoing challenges faced by Indigenous peoples around the world and other communities of color — unequal access to education, economic opportunities, and social mobility. Yet, the story is ultimately one of hope and resistance, showing how collective action can challenge and ultimately transform unjust systems.

Moreover, the narrative underscores the importance of telling our own stories. For too long, Indigenous peoples have been relegated to the margins of historical narratives, our experiences either silenced or misrepresented. “The Brave Ones” is part of a broader movement to reclaim our narrative, to center Indigenous voices and perspectives. This resonates deeply with contemporary calls for authentic representation and self-determination.

The themes of dignity, resilience, and a shared humanity are particularly relevant in our current social and political climate. We continue to grapple with historical injustices, systemic racism, and the ongoing impacts of colonization. The book offers a blueprint for understanding how communities can come together, recognize their common struggles, and work toward collective liberation.

I was inspired to write this story by the experiences shared by my grandparents and their generation — a reminder that our current struggles are deeply connected to historical experiences of oppression and resistance. The book is not just about the past; it’s a call to action for today’s generation to continue the work of building a more just and equitable society.

Ultimately, “The Brave Ones” teaches us that change is possible when we recognize our shared humanity, when we have the courage to challenge the status quo, and when we stand in solidarity with one another. It’s a message of hope that I believe is more crucial now than ever before.

Radiance: A reviewer mentioned that this story “finally broke the barrier” for Indigenous people to tell their own stories. What challenges do Indigenous authors face in having their narratives published and recognized, and how does the Baha’i Faith encourage perseverance in such efforts?

Michael: The publishing world has long been a gatekeeping system that marginalizes Indigenous voices. For generations, our stories have been told through a colonial lens — filtered, misinterpreted, and often romanticized or vilified by non-Indigenous writers. Breaking through these barriers requires persistent courage and a commitment to authentic storytelling.

Indigenous authors face multiple systemic challenges. First, there’s the structural inequality in publishing: limited representation in editorial boards, fewer publishing opportunities, and a publishing industry that historically prioritizes mainstream narratives. Many publishers view Indigenous stories as niche or unmarketable, failing to recognize the universal humanity and complexity of our experiences.

Our narratives are often expected to conform to stereotypical expectations — stories of trauma, historical suffering, or exotic cultural experiences that fit comfortable narratives about Indigenous peoples. But we are not museum artifacts or historical footnotes. We are a living, evolving people with rich, nuanced stories that speak to contemporary human experiences.

The Baha’i Faith has been instrumental in giving me the spiritual strength to persist. The principles of the Baha’i Faith, including the oneness of humanity, universal education, and the independent investigation of truth, are not philosophical concepts, but active guides for my writing and activism. The Faith encourages us to see beyond divisive boundaries, to recognize the inherent worth of every human being, and to work tirelessly for justice and understanding.

When I face rejection or encounter systemic barriers, I draw strength from the Baha’i teachings about perseverance. We believe that true progress comes through consistent, compassionate effort. Just as the members of the Yaqui community in my book refused to be defined by their circumstances, I refuse to let institutional barriers silence our stories.

The process of writing “The Brave Ones” was itself an act of spiritual and cultural resistance. By centering Indigenous agency, showing our community’s resilience, and highlighting our partnerships across racial lines, I’m challenging the dominant narratives that have historically marginalized us.

Moreover, my work is part of a broader movement of Indigenous authors reclaiming our narrative space. Indigenous authors have been instrumental in breaking down these barriers, proving that our stories are not just important — they are essential to understanding the full complexity of the human experience.

My Faith teaches me that every voice matters, that every story has the potential to bridge understanding. By persistently sharing our narratives, we challenge systemic inequities and create opportunities for genuine dialogue and mutual respect.

This is why “The Brave Ones” is more than a book. It’s a testament to the power of storytelling as a form of cultural preservation, resistance, and hope.

Radiance: Thank you, Michael, for sharing your profound insights and reflections. If you all are enjoying this Q&A, be on the lookout for part three where we’ll discuss practical actions we all can take to promote justice and harmony!