The Nisqually were tailed close behind by the Northern Quest from Shxwhá:y Village in British Columbia, the yellow wooden body of their canoe painted with the crest of a white raven. They were joined by an umiak, paddled by an intertribal group from Seattle, which was in turn followed by over a dozen vessels, including outriggers from Polynesia and canoes from the Northwest — from tribes like the Quileute, the Spokane, the Lummi and many others.

A tule boat representing the local Ohlone — the First Peoples of San Francisco Bay — its belly fashioned from reeds gathered in local marshes, was among the last of the flotilla to leave the beach. Antonio Moreno, its skipper and the artisan who made the vessel, paddled his craft and crew of two out into open water, the bulrush sidewalls of his canoe barely rising above the waves. He made it all the way out to the former federal prison and touched its craggy shore.

For a day — or maybe even just a morning — the canoes made it possible to see Alcatraz as what it is for Native people: a symbol of our rights, resistance and persistence; an island reclaimed by our elders half a century ago; an idea, a story and a moment of organized action that bent the arc of justice in favor of the Indigenous.

On Wednesday, the 50th anniversary of the beginning of the occupation, Native Americans will return to the island for a celebration to carry forward the legacy of the occupation for the next 50 years.

Since the Alcatraz occupation, much Native American activism has aimed simply to make this country’s First Peoples visible. From the earliest days of colonization, Europeans conceptualized North America as empty land free for the taking. To this day, Native Americans, who make up about 2 percent of the United States population, are rarely seen in Hollywood, cable television studios or the newsrooms of most major media outlets. We’re underrepresented in Congress, board rooms and universities while being overrepresented in prisons. It’s easy for many Americans to forget that we exist.

That’s why the Alcatraz occupation mattered — and still matters. It put Native Americans on the national agenda. Forty-six years later, the movement against the Dakota Access Pipeline did the same, and like the occupation of Alcatraz, its memory and influence will also surely endure, if not in the minds of all Americans, then certainly in the minds of the Indigenous.

This fall, after the canoes paying tribute to the Alcatraz occupation of 50 years ago circled the island, skippers and pullers gathered on the boardwalk at Aquatic Park to share songs, dances, gifts and stories about what the occupation meant to our families and our people. Sulustu Moses of the Spokane Tribe told the story of a Salish ancestor, a warrior and chief imprisoned on the island during the Indian Wars in the 1800s. When he finished, he stood and sang a death song to honor indigenous leaders, warriors and activists, past and present. Hanford McCloud, skipper of the Nisqually canoe, spoke of his auntie, Laura McCloud, who joined the occupation when she was just a senior in high school. Lanada War Jack, one of the original student leaders of the occupation alongside Richard Oakes, shared how much it meant to her that a new generation was carrying forward her life’s work.

There is something small but revelatory and potentially even transformative in the recognition that Indigenous peoples are still here and still fighting for our place on lands stolen from our ancestors. Fifty years after the occupation, this idea — the Alcatraz idea — can still move bodies, pull hearts and change minds. As our people, and all people, face crises — catastrophic climate change, mounting inequality, creeping hate — maybe audacious and enduring Indigenous ideas like the Alcatraz occupation are exactly what we need.

Julian Brave NoiseCat (@jnoisecat) is a co-founder of the Alcatraz Canoe Journey.

The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.

Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram.