Lumhe “Micco” Sampson holds a shawl made by the Tradish sewing class, typically used during women's fancy dance. August 12, 2025. PHOTO BY SHAY SCANLAN / THE HUBBARD SCHOOL
Sampson does eight repetitions of a hoop exercise he calls “Vibrations,” which engages shoulder muscles. August 12, 2025. PHOTO BY SHAY SCANLAN / THE HUBBARD SCHOOL
Sampson's four-year-old son, Ayo Sampson, in front of his projected logo. PHOTO BY SHAY SCANLAN / THE HUBBARD SCHOOL
Lumhe “Micco” Sampson forms a circle with five hoops while his four-year-old son, Ayo Sampson plays in the background. PHOTO BY SHAY SCANLAN / THE HUBBARD SCHOOL
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Story and photos by Shay Scanlan / The Hubbard School
In the Minneapolis American Indian Center's gym, Lumhe “Micco” Sampson picks up five white hoops, spinning one around his wrist before swiftly forming an interlinked circle.
Since early 2025, Sampson, a member of the Seneca and Mvskoke Creek Tribes, has hosted free weekly public powwow aerobics classes. The class is part of a broader initiative called The Tradish Project, which promotes knowledge of Indigenous culture and encourages participation in powwow circles.
Powwows are celebrations of Indigenous culture and community that feature singers, dancers and drums. “What powwow represents is our culture at its most powerful,” he said. “That is dance, that is art, that is our power to connect with each other."
There are four main styles of powwow dancing, he said: fancy, traditional, grass dance and jingle. The styles differ between genders, with nuances in the dances between tribes.
On the wall of the gym, he projects Indigenous creators such as Miss Chief Rocka and The StyleHorse Collective, who break down powwow dances on YouTube that attendees follow.
A typical class has around 10 people and lasts one hour. Indigenous music by artists like Flank Walm echoes through the gym, blending traditional Indigenous sounds, such as drums and flute, with contemporary beats. Sampson created the classes to combine his fitness instructor expertise with elements of hoop dance. The blend is unique.
Dance shawls are available, made primarily with Indigenous-sourced fabric by a Tradish sewing class hosted at the Center. He wants the aerobics classes to remain accessible for everyone, and adjusts the intensity and activities based on what workout goals people have.
Colette Lawrence, who is Leech Lake Ojibwe and the program director of Native Fitness and Nutrition, said the classes have been a way to promote wellness among young Indigenous people. “When people are safe and feel secure, they thrive,” Lawrence said.
Sampson has performed hoop dance with his brother, Samsoche Sampson, in more than half a dozen countries around the world. He encourages people in the classes to try hoop dancing. “That feeling of accomplishment people have is what I thrive on,” he said. “Seeing people light up, their energy, their mood, their positivity.”
The hoop in Indigenous cultures is a perpetual object that symbolizes the circle of life and the interconnectedness of all things in the universe. To Sampson, hoops serve as a great equalizer, a constant reminder of our shared humanity.
“Hoop is an instrument that is up to the individual,” Sampson said. “It's about exploring your world.”
Anntaya Corbesia, a member of the Ho-Chunk and Ojibwe Tribes, has participated in the class three times and found it inspiring. “For me, when I am dancing, it's not me, it's the spirit,” she said. “I dance for everybody who can't dance. We dance for our ancestors.”
Due to the culturally destructive assimilation policies imposed by the U.S. government in the 19th and 20th centuries, Sampson said powwow was the only part of his Indigenous culture he felt connected to and aware of growing up. “So much had been erased,’’ he said. “Refrained from, beaten out of our families.”
In the late 19th century, the Ghost Dance emerged in Indigenous culture as a spiritual call for help against the colonization they faced. White settlers viewed the dance as demonic. “The way that we ask for help is connecting with our world through song and dance,” he said. “It wasn't demonic, it was looking for hope.”
From 1883 to 1978, the U.S. made participating in Indigenous cultural and religious ceremonies a crime through the Code of Indian Offenses, according to the Native American Rights Fund. The American Indian Religious Freedom Act was then enacted in 1978 to return civil liberties to indigenous people.
From Sampson's perspective – born just seven years after the code ended – powwow culture represents the right to exercise indigenous culture whenever and wherever possible. “When I engage in Powwow,” he said. “I get a feeling like no other, something genetic inside of me powers on. I feel so much more natural, free, unhinged by the world.”