Over a century late, the U.S. Navy finally apologized for bombarding the Alaska Native village of Angoon in 1882, leaving villagers pondering if 'better late than never' applies to apologies as well.

In a historic ceremony in Angoon, the U.S. Navy, represented by Rear Adm. Mark Sucato, acknowledged the devastation caused by their bombardment which destroyed homes and resources, resulting in deep-seated trauma for the Tlingit people. While locals have long awaited this moment, they are left grappling with whether such an apology can heal over a century of hurt—or if it simply adds another chapter to the book of delayed reckoning.

The event in question took place on October 26, 1882, when the U.S. Navy decided that firing cannons at a small village was a good way to spend the day. Unfortunately, the villagers were not aware they were participating in what could only be described as an ill-conceived, albeit historically vivid, episode of neighborly relations. As a result, Angoon's homes, stores of food, and canoes were not merely damaged; they vanished like socks in a dryer, leaving the community with dire conditions that could only be likened to a particularly unhelpful episode of Hoarders.

During the emotional ceremony, Rear Adm. Sucato mentioned that their actions not only led to property destruction but also to loss of life, a depletion of resources, and, perhaps most piercingly, an irrevocable impact on the Tlingit culture. Imagine walking into a place where members of the Navy, probably a bit taken aback by their own history, attempt to express regret while balancing on the seesaw of military pride and historical accountability—the outcome was bound to be awkwardly touching, if not downright tragic.

The Navy's timeline of apologies is rather sparse, having previously issued a heartfelt sentiment to the nearby village of Kake way back in 1869 for similarly destructive antics. After nearly a century of silence, including a rather awkward stretch during which generations of Tlingit leaders dutifully marked each anniversary of the bombardment with the hope that someone from the Navy would show up and apologize, it appears the Navy has finally decided to pay attention. It’s a bit like finding out that there's a forgotten birthday present hiding in the attic—and realizing it’s been gathering dust for 141 years.

From the ashes of this incident, the Tlingit elders showed remarkable fortitude and selflessness. They sacrificed their own well-being, wandering into the forest to preserve food for younger generations, which demonstrates a profound sense of community spirit entirely at odds with the Navy's approach. In hindsight, perhaps a few rounds of shared meals instead of artillery fire would have been a more favorable method of fostering goodwill.

Conflicting narratives make the situation even murkier. The Navy's historical account of the events clashes with Tlingit oral tradition, suggesting that while the Navy brought the shells, the Tlingit brought the histories. Where one story paints the Navy as a solitary player in a complex role, the Tlingit versions reveal a rich and resilient culture—a tapestry of community stories woven over generations, which is hard to match with official records featuring more cannonballs than heart.

Today, the small community of Angoon, with around 420 residents nestled serenely in the Tongass National Forest, continues to deal with the intergenerational trauma stemming from their explosive past. Eunice James, a direct descendant of Tith Klane, one of the village’s elders, expressed hope that the Navy's apology might assist in the healing process. However, forgiving and forgetting is a rocky road, especially when a history of bombardment is strewn along it like so many unexploded shells.

As the dust settles from this century-old apology, Angoon faces a future where healing may not arrive on a silver platter, but rather through an ongoing dialogue of reconciliation. Here’s hoping that the Navy’s newfound interest in making amends does not lead to more unintended consequences—unless they plan on sending flowers instead of cannonballs next time. One can only imagine the Army's strategic meetings wondering, "How can we make amends without making a mess?" In the end, perhaps it’s best to stick to picnics rather than bombings if you want the locals to join you for lunch.